Surviving the Zombie Apocalypse (Book 9): Frayed

by Chesser, Shawn

  Shielding his eyes against the instant and overwhelming glare, Cade fumbled in his jacket pocket and came out with a pair of scratched and abused Oakley sunglasses, which he donned just as an epic sneezing fit wracked his body.

  With Raven’s repeated bless you’s trailing off, he wiped his nose on his sleeve and looked uphill towards the break in the trees where the hidden overwatch was. He regarded Raven for a moment then, in a voice meant to leave nothing open to interpretation, said, “I want you to stay right here with Max while I take a quick peek at the old hide.”

  Raven said nothing. She just nodded and stomped her feet, trying to keep warm.

  “Be right back.” Cade turned and hiked a couple of dozen yards up the hill and when he finally arrived at the hide he found the place undisturbed. Apparently, in the weeks since the position had been abandoned, nothing, dead or alive, had found its way here from the nearby fire lane. Whether that last incursion by the dead that precipitated Phillip’s death could be chalked up to just dumb luck or cunning creatures on the hunt, Cade hadn’t a clue. However, the decision to abandon it afterward had nothing to do with the attack. Manpower issues and the changing weather were the driving factors. And the vote to do so was nearly unanimous, with Cade and Lev being the only dissenters.

  Shaking his head, he gazed at the back of the hide where the creatures had entered. The undergrowth was trampled and the branches that had gotten broken in the struggle were now hanging limp, the leaves on them wilted and brown. The red clay soil ringing the abandoned shooter’s position was scarred from the struggle. And as if to punctuate the life and death battle that took place here just a week prior, the lake of blood that had drained from Phillip’s body at a lethal rate was still evident, albeit dried to black and reflecting the tangle of branches and snippets of blue sky overhead.

  “Come on, Dad,” Raven called. “I’m freezing my you-know-what off. And so is Max. His tail is not wagging.”

  Cade looked downhill and saw her kneeling and draping the shepherd with the bottom of her woolen army surplus coat.

  “One more second, sweetie.” He went to one knee and double-checked for new footprints, anything indicating the place had been visited—by the dead or the living. Nothing. He hustled back to Raven, shouldered his carbine, and gripped her gloved hand. He gave it a soft squeeze and helped her stand. “Feeling any better?”

  “Yesh,” she said, the word coming out garbled as she wiped her nose off on her shoulder. “I’m still real sad about Phillip, though. He was funny.”

  “I lost that bet,” Cade conceded, hanging his head.

  “What bet?”

  “Oh ...” He looked at the State Road for a beat. West and east before meeting her eyes. He saw a steely determination in them—just like Brook. Finally, he went on, “The bet I made with your mom. I thought you wouldn’t make it past the Chief’s grave without losing it. Bottom line, Raven. You’re a lot stronger than I give you credit for. You’re a lot stronger than I think even you know. You’re a survivor with ... as Mom used to say ... an old soul. Just like my pal Mike Desantos. Only he was old.”

  Raven stopped and fumbled around for the antiserum canister. Once she grasped it with her glove, she stuffed it back inside her coat and zipped that up to her chin.

  “No reason to be embarrassed you have that,” Cade said. “I earned it for you. It’s yours. And yours, only.”

  She said nothing. Didn’t stop walking. Didn’t look up. Kept her eyes on the white ground.

  He put his hand on her shoulder and in a somber silence—a silence possessing an almost physical quality—walked side by side with her down the hill. They climbed over the fence, crossed the road and were back at the truck and ensconced inside with the heater blowing on them before either of them spoke.

  Raven said, “I won’t tell Mom that she was totally right. Cause’ she’ll never let you live it down.”

  “You got that right,” said Cade. “And that’s mighty big of you.” He rattled the transmission into gear and started reversing to a spot wide enough to turn around. They drove in the same silence, through the inner fence—which Cade closed and locked behind them—and almost all the way to the clearing before Cade, unable to help himself, asked, “So, what are you going to tell her?”

  “The truth,” Raven said. “I wanted to run but my legs wouldn’t work.”

  So you toughed it out?”

  “Yep.”

  That’s my girl.

  ***

  By the time Cade was wheeling the F-650 toward the compound motor pool, Alexander Dregan was passing by the quarry entrance and no longer looking in his rearview every few seconds. Moreover, the more miles the still-grieving father put between himself and his recent discovery, the more the anger that had trumped patience and driven him to follow the tracks in the first place had diminished. And when he finally made it to the junction with 16 and the scene of Lena’s death, he was feeling a Zen-like calm and in the first stages of planning his long awaited revenge.

  Chapter 14

  Save for Brook, Seth, Heidi, Raven, and Sasha, the rest of the Eden survivors were topside and enjoying the sun’s emergence.

  Lev was in the process of hoisting a large black duffel bag into the bed of Daymon’s Chevy pickup when Cade nosed the big Ford in next to it. As Cade killed the engine, Daymon, sporting a nasty shiner, his stocking cap pulled low, heaved his Stihl chainsaw into the Chevy’s bed. The moment Cade stepped from the truck with Max shooting by him like a furry missile and nearly causing him to fall, he was fielding a flurry of questions. The first of which was Daymon inquiring as to how Cade knew for certain that the two vehicles on the far side of the roadblock were going to start.

  Holding a finger up to both Daymon and Lev, an act that instantly stilled the verbal barrage, Cade clambered up onto the Ford’s left rear tire. “Raven,” he said, stopping her as she passed behind him. He leaned into the bed and, under the watchful gaze of Lev and Daymon, and with no attempt on his part to conceal the items, handed Raven two powder-blue boxes with no heft to them. “That’s all for your mom.”

  Daymon looked to Lev and mouthed, “Tampons” and cracked a smile.

  Shooting the pair a sour look, Raven started to walk away.

  “Wait a second,” Cade added. “There’s more.” He leaned back in and there was the rustling of plastic and the sound of something small rattling against hard plastic as he transferred some items from a garbage bag to a smaller paper bag. He jumped to the ground and handed the bag to Raven. “The medicine goes to Glenda.”

  Arms full and with her rifle slung on her shoulder and banging against her backside, Raven started off for the compound entrance.

  “Tell your mom I’ll be there in a minute,” Cade called after her. He pulled a navy blue exercise ball from another pocket. It was about the size of a lemon and made with a rubber whose compound was just firm enough to provide forceful feedback when squeezed and kneaded. Though it was intended to be used by victims of stroke or paralysis for strengthening their hands and forearm muscles, Cade figured it would keep Max busy for a while. He got the plastic whip-like doo-dad from the truck and nestled the ball in the cup on one end. He cocked his arm then flung it forward and watched the shepherd come from out of nowhere to give chase. He handed the ingenious and nameless (to him) invention to Wilson, then walked between the truck beds, around the Chevy’s tailgate, dropped it down and planted his butt on it.

  Exhaling, he regarded Daymon and Lev with a steely gaze. “You two kiss and make up yet?”

  Daymon grunted.

  There was a whirring noise and scratching of paws and claws on the ground as Max tore off after the hurled ball.

  Lev tracked its path for a second then dropped his gaze and said, “He’s the one who swung on me. I’m waiting.”

  Like a little kid, Daymon mumbled something unintelligible under his breath.

  Lev shook his head.

  Cade did the same. He cast his gaze at the ground beyond the tailg
ate. “The price of greatness is responsibility,” he said. “Sir Winston Churchill.”

  Daymon waited until Cade looked his way then stared him down. “Finished?” he asked, irritation evident in his tone.

  With a sweep of the arm, Cade said, “You have the floor, my friend.”

  With no sorry to Lev, or thank you to Cade, nor millisecond of hesitation, Daymon said, “I want to go to Huntsville.”

  “Done,” said Cade, to looks of amazement from both men—Lev more so than Daymon.

  “That was easy,” Lev said, wagging his head.

  “One condition—” Cade began.

  Daymon arched a puffy black-and-blue eyebrow, then grimaced from the pain.

  “You have to bring Kindness,” he said. “I think he ... she, whatever you call a machete, is going to see lots of action.”

  Daymon smiled and rested his hand on the machete’s Day-Glo green handle. “It’ll be just like cutting back a fire break. Only more rewarding.”

  Lev put his elbows on the edge of the truck bed. Looked Cade in the eye and said, “Me too? And Jamie? Because we want to get some … for Phillip, mainly.”

  Right away, Cade nodded. “You can come. And Jamie too as long as she brings her attitude and that war tomahawk of hers.”

  “Done,” answered Lev, smiling.

  “We’re going to need to bring Duncan,” Cade added.

  A disembodied voice behind them said, “What’s that Old Man good for … exercising the mutt?” Then a cackle filled the air and Duncan materialized from the nearby tree line. “By the way, the inner fence is clear. Not a single frozen rotter to be seen.”

  “Sneaking up on us like that is likely to get you killed,” said Daymon in a near whisper, his voice taking on a gravelly rasp.

  Duncan let loose another burst of grating laughter. Wiping away a stray tear, he said, “Son, if that’s your best Clint Eastwood, you better go back to the drawing board. Cause you sounded more like Fred Sanford than ol’ Dirty Harry. I bet somewhere the old boy is probably rolling over in his grave.”

  “He’s probably holed up in a mansion somewhere in L.A.,” added Lev.

  “Los Angeles is toast,” interjected Cade. “Load up. I’ll round up the Kids and we’re Oscar Mike.”

  From across the clearing, someone bellowed, “Cade Grayson … I have got a bone to pick with you.” A thin band of gray clouds parked in front of the low sun. Cade removed his Oakley’s and steeled himself against Glenda’s fast approach. “In private,” she said, stopping a few yards short of the testosterone-filled huddle.

  Something in the older woman’s tone led Cade to believe that if he didn’t capitulate and join her pronto, she’d march right over, take his earlobe in a death grip, and drag him to a place more suitable for interrogation.

  “Go on,” drawled Duncan. “She don’t take no for an answer.”

  Cade twirled his shades in his hand, thinking.

  “I don’t like that broad,” Daymon whispered.

  “I heard that,” Glenda said. Her hands went to her hips. “Now, Mister Grayson.” She turned and walked a dozen feet toward the center of the clearing.

  Leaving the three men chuckling in his wake and stepping clear of Wilson, who was winding up to chuck the ball again, Cade marched across the snow and stopped a yard away from Glenda. “Yes?”

  “No bone to pick. I just wanted your attention.”

  “Well, you certainly got it.”

  “Three things,” said Glenda. smiling at the admission. “If you make it as far as my house on the hill, will you go inside and bring me back some pictures of my boys? Maybe one of Louie, too. Duncan doesn’t have to know.”

  “Mums the word. And …?”

  “There were survivors on a sailboat anchored in the east end of the reservoir. I was keeping tabs on them through Louie’s old field glasses. They didn’t look too good then—” Her shoulders rolled forward.

  Remembering seeing the boat she was alluding to on the trip out to Grand Junction, Cade said, “I know the one. I’ll make it a point to check on them. And …?”

  She began, “Don’t take this weather for granted. Here today—”

  “—Gone tomorrow,” Cade finished.

  Glenda nodded. “Exactly,” she said, “and … you better bring Duncan back to me … in one piece. He’s got to read his Fourth Step to me.”

  “Fourth Step?”

  “A.A.”

  “Ah,” Cade said.

  No,” shot Glenda, her brow furrowed. “A ... A. Alcoholics Anonymous.”

  Cade smiled and nodded dumbly. He asked, “How many days has it been?”

  “Twenty-one,” answered Glenda, beaming. “Not a detectable drop. Doesn’t he look good?”

  “He dropped some pounds. That’s for damn sure. Not quite to fighting weight, though,” Cade said with a wink. “That’s three questions. Are we done here?”

  “The question part, yeah,” she said. “I wanted to thank you. There’s some stuff in the bag Raven brought me that Heidi will benefit from. At least a couple of things that will keep her out of the booby hatch and sleeping topside in the Winnebago with her man.”

  Liking the sound of that, Cade said, “Then I’ll be sure to keep my eyes peeled for more.”

  “You’re a good man, Cade Grayson. No matter what Brook says.” She laughed at her joke then looked past Cade and blew Duncan a kiss. Without another word to Cade, she about-faced and strode off toward the compound.

  Cade turned and slinked back to the huddle. “Is she gone?”

  The men craned and looked past him and nodded in unison.

  The clouds scudded away to the west, leaving the sun’s rays lancing down with a vengeance.

  Cade donned his Oakleys and pulled his hat down low. “Load up the truck,” he said. “Food, water, and ammo. Someone grab the battery and cables out of the F-650. I’ll be right back.”

  “I’m driving,” Daymon stated. “It’s my truck.”

  Cade said nothing.

  Duncan stared hard at Glenda’s backside until she entered the compound. The second she was gone from view, he said, “I like her comin’ and going.”

  Shaking his head, Cade tossed his rucksack in the Chevy’s bed and hustled off towards the compound. He passed Tran and Foley along the way, the former clutching a handful of tools, the latter carrying the shroud and all three of the shades from the quarry outbuildings, now minus the gooseneck poles and light fixtures.

  Cade nodded.

  Tran reciprocated while Foley, displaying the fruits of his labor, held the fixtures up in front of him and said, “Superintendent is on it.”

  Chapter 15

  Cade stepped inside the foyer, closed the plate door at his back, and suddenly couldn’t see a thing. Pausing to let his eyes adjust to the change in light seemed to have no discernable effect.

  “Sunglasses,” said a voice from down the shadowy hall.

  Cade said nothing. However, flashing a sheepish smile, he removed the Oakleys and stuffed them in a pocket. He transited the Conex and paused at the makeshift plywood security desk where he whispered thank you to Seth, who was grinning and staring at the flat panel monitor. Smile fading, Cade reached past the man’s head and with one hand grabbed the thin black satellite phone, its green missed call light still steadily pulsing. With the other hand, he worked the charging cord loose and tucked it out of the way.

  Seth looked up from the monitor. He flicked his eyes to the phone and asked, “Aren’t you going to see what Nash wants?”

  “Not right now.” Cade quickly stuffed the phone into his pants pocket.

  There was a long pause during which both men stared at the monitor and watched Tran man the middle gate while Foley wheeled the white Dodge Ram on through. Finally, Cade shifted his gaze from the monitor, met Seth’s eyes, and whispered, “But maybe later.”

  ***

  Topside at the motor pool, the six people joining Cade on his impromptu excursion had already checked and rechecked their
weapons and stowed their full magazines in pouches affixed to their load-bearing MOLLE gear.

  Jamie was sitting on the open tailgate and methodically running the gleaming blade on her black hatchet across an oiled whetstone, the rhythmic rasp interrupted by Duncan and Daymon debating the merits of a machete over a Gurkhas’ khukuri, with the older man, of course, extolling the value of the latter primarily only to push Daymon’s buttons.

  A few yards away, in the Black Hawk’s shadow, Taryn and Wilson took turns throwing the ball for the thoroughly exhausted Australian shepherd.

  ***

  Roughly a hundred yards away and ten feet underground, in the Grayson’s quarters, Cade set the overflowing garbage bags on the floor. He propped his carbine by the door. He shed his pack and coat and put them on a chair by the door. Greeting Brook with a kiss, he reached in a cargo pocket, came out with the second stress ball and handed it to her. She nodded then gave it a squeeze with her right hand and promptly deemed it “perfect”. Then, looking like a magician performing an impromptu trick, Cade pulled the balled-up elastic bands from his pant’s pocket, one at a time. Green, red, yellow, then another green band, which was followed by a final red one.

  “Where’s the rabbit?” asked Brook, the left side of her face lighting up with a smile, the opposite showing a touch of paralysis.

  “Daymon ate it.”

  Raven’s head popped up. She put her book down and scooted to the edge of her top bunk, eyes wide, jaw slack.

  Seeing this, Cade said, “Joking. Daymon only eats squirrels. But don’t tell him I told you so.”

  Raven’s headlamp beam cast crazy shadows on the back wall as she pantomimed zipping her lip before inching back to the center of her bunk.

  “You break down and listen to the message from Nash yet?”

  Cade shook his head side-to-side.

  “I’m impressed. That’s got to be a record. What’s it been ... five days?”

  “Seven. But who’s counting,” he said.