The Unchanged (Book 3): Safe Harbor

by Starnes, T. M.

“Don’t tease us.” I grinned. “You wouldn’t have enough for us and it wouldn’t be fair.”

  “Okay, we’re stopping, people,” I announced over the radio, “Spread out. Armed guards get out and watch our surroundings.”

  Multiple voices agreed they were ready as we slowed to a crawl behind the big city truck in front of us.

  We climbed out, weapons in hand, joining Randy and Patty and introduced King to them both.

  Julie ran to me and gave me a high five for my references. She wore her sunglasses and a giant, floppy, sun bonnet.

  Randy wore his dark sunglasses and his baseball cap with a big “3”. The gift that Janessa gave him and Demetri back in Georgia.

  Randy was a tall Hispanic man, slim and slightly muscular in his mid-thirties. He had thick, dense, black hair and was clean shaven, with bright teeth, and a clear complexion. He worked for the Patterson, Georgia’s street maintenance department that operated snow plows like the one he drove now, and he had been the de facto leader of the first large group of survivors we met until his leadership was taken over by a narcissistic opportunist back in Georgia.

  Patty, his current object of mutual affections, was tall also, wearing cowboy boots, jeans, and a yellow spaghetti strapped top, and also in her thirties. She owned a horse ranch and performed professionally in rodeos before all this. Tanned, with short, fine blonde hair, and blue eyes, still wearing an arm sling on her right arm from where one of her ranch hands had attacked her during the Change. She lost her father days before while her dad tried to save us from the opportunist that took leadership away from Randy leading to the death of many survivors.

  King let both pet him as he sniffed the air and ground. He moved to Cheyenne’s side and walked close to her.

  “Looks like I’ve got a guide dog,” Cheyenne said, resting her Winchester on her right shoulder and caressing King’s snout.

  I reached down and rubbed King’s head, holding the Remington 870 with pistol grips loosely down by my leg on the right.

  I hoped King was a PTSD assistant trained dog. While Cheyenne’s sporadic freezing hadn’t happened in the last day and a half, we knew she remained traumatized over the death of her family. She wasn’t as brutally cold-hearted recently as in the beginning when she saw no difference between the Changed and the Unchanged; but hell, in some cases over the last week like with Amos Benson’s group, there really wasn’t a difference. Everyone’s moral compass spun lately. No time for deliberation or discussion when someone was in trouble, abusive, in danger, or dangerous. Reaction to stimuli was the only response and that response needed to be quick. Either you acted, or you died. No time to think.

  As we approached the eighteen-wheeler we switched into defensive mode, spreading out to search cars for recently Changed, if there were away, trapped inside. The Changed in the first few days didn’t know how to get out of vehicles or operate door handles. Why? We don’t know. The ones stuck in cars slowly cooked to death in the heat if they couldn’t get free or didn’t free themselves before the change took them over completely.

  Julie, Cheyenne, and King ran to the middle of the inbound and outbound lanes to stand guard. Janessa and Demetri hurried to the edges of the bridge. Behind us, people were doing the same along the entire caravan.

  Randy, Patty, and I moved toward the rig. Randy and I knelt to look beneath and beyond the trailer.

  “Look,” Randy said, pointing, “It looks like someone did clear the bridge the rest of the way toward the island.”

  He was right. Every car, truck or otherwise was pushed to the side and a relatively straight path was made toward Roanoke Island.

  The island was covered with a haze of smoke as far as we could see. The northern part still had an active fire going on judging from the amount of smoke. The central part, the way we needed to pass, looked burned out, the southern tip looked partially burnt but nothing active.

  The winds were blowing toward the northeast, which was strange since the wind usually came from the ocean, not toward. I stood and scanned the way we came. In the distance, there were other dark clouds. If only those clouds were packed with rain instead of smoke, we all would feel a lot better right now. We were running low on everything. Especially water. We could only drain so many wells and water spigots on our route before the Changed took notice of us.

  “Let me see if maybe there’s gas in the tank and we can just move it.” Randy headed toward the cab, its engine pointed toward the middle barrier.

  “Anything?” I asked Cheyenne.

  She shook her head. I did the same to Demetri and he shook his head too.

  Patty followed Randy carrying her own Remington she had finally gotten used to firing, the barrel aimed toward the asphalt. I strolled over toward the bridge rail and looked in the direction of my home.

  Crossing over the Virginia Dare bridge I always felt like I was nearly there. Now, I was reluctant to get there with what I may find of my family and neighbors.

  The rig roared to life.

  Randy leaned out, “Give me a minute to figure this out then I’ll try to move it.”

  I waved at him and glanced at the back of the trailer.

  There was a lock still on the latch.

  It was an unmarked trailer and hadn’t been opened.

  “Hey! Julie!” I grinned, moving to check the lock.

  Julie held onto her bonnet against the wind as she faced me, “Yeah, what’s up?”

  “Where’s your lockpick?” I smiled, pointing at the rear door.

  Her face lit up, “I’ll be right back!”

  “It’s still locked?” Cheyenne asked.

  I nodded as Julie ran to her green monster truck and seconds later ran back with a bolt cutter.

  Her lockpick.

  “Step aside, step aside, this takes skill and concentration!” she waved dismissively at us.

  Demetri laughed at us but kept a lookout, Janessa smiled and rolled her finger by her temple letting us know we were crazy.

  Julie handed me her rifle as she applied pressure to the cutter.

  The lock dropped to the pavement and she set the cutter down.

  “Everybody make a wish!” She cried.

  Sometimes we were lucky. A pallet of food. Lots of summer clothing. Furniture. Electrical equipment. Construction parts. So far, grocery store trucks were wrecked, burned, destroyed, or scavenged by the Changed or looted for anything to eat.

  She flipped the latch and shoved the door upward.

  Our eyes grew three sizes larger.

  Wrapped pallets of water bottles. Nonperishable food.

  Ready to eat meals. Diapers. Baby food. Batteries. Canned goods. And best of all: Medical supplies.

  Cheyenne and Patty noticed our stunned expressions, Demetri’s and Janessa’s looked the same as they stepped up behind us.

  “What is it?” Cheyenne yelled.

  “It’s Christmas!” Julie screamed.

  The power outage on Hatteras Island.

  Marked across every crate, carton, or pallet were four letters.

  F. E. M. A.

  Chapter 7

  One rule I made everyone follow: Never take all the supplies.

  No matter how much water, food, or other supplies we found, no matter how desperate we were, we always left some for others.

  After setting up more guards with binoculars on either end of our group, we distributed the trailer’s plethora of gifts. We formed a chain of every able-bodied young person to adult who could lift and pass along the line.

  Mia and Lexi Atkin stood on a car between the lanes as Lexi kept lookout along the island with her binoculars.

  Randy coordinated the supply line from the back of the trailer after he moved the rig, with some difficulty, out of the way of the caravan.

  We were a third of the way finished when Lexi whistled for me.

  Mia signed to her sister as I came over, the binoculars swinging by their strap below the smaller sister’s waist.

  “She says there�
��s lots of movement on the island ahead. There’s a building smoking just past the bridge’s end. Most of the movement is down by the water on the southern end but far from the bridge.”

  Mia signed again.

  “She says there’s no sign of people, or nobody wearing clothes at least.” Lexi frowned, “Anywhere. Nobody alive, she means.”

  I nodded, “Okay, keep watch. Let us know if there’s any change.”

  They nodded and went back to keeping watch.

  I turned to walk away and saw King sitting beside Cheyenne who appeared fairly relaxed and turned back to the sisters.

  “Hey, Mia, how are you two doing?”

  Lexi turned back to me as Mia kept watch.

  She shrugged and gave a wane smile, “We’re doing okay. A lot better since you found us. Mia?”

  Still looking through the binoculars, Mia held a thumb up and continued looking out.

  I raised an eyebrow at her sister, indicating if she was alright.

  Lexi nodded, with the same wane smile, and gave me a thumb up too.

  “Okay, then.” I turned to leave. “Take a break if you need one and let someone else take your position.”

  They’re tough kids, but still kids. Many have forgotten over the last few days our group is mostly young, and kids are acting like adults, taking responsibilities only an adult should ever have to do, but for the most part, handling themselves exceptionally well.

  “Hey, Gimpy?” Cheyenne strolled over to join me. “Doc Janessa and I think the next time we stop for a long break, we’re gonna take a look at your leg. She’s in the Jeep now looking through her manuals and the antibiotics and anti-inflammatories. I told her what to look for but she’s already ahead of me.” She petted King’s back. “She’s got a great memory and a dedication to learning. She reads every day and night between checking on her patients. I didn’t even study that hard in college.”

  Cheyenne wrapped her free arm around me as I moved beside her, planting a quick kiss on her cheek.

  I glanced southeast toward home.

  “Hey,” she said, noticing where I looked, “Don’t think about it until we get there. You didn’t change, maybe your parents didn’t. Not everyone in my family changed. No need to get worried about it until we get there.”

  I smiled at her and gave her a kiss on the forehead. She’s the one with PTSD but she’s worried about me. I’m just rolling with the blows, and yeah, they think I’m ignoring my pain when I’m not, but I’m still happy to know she’s concerned over my own welfare compared to hers.

  We were walking back to the trailer and Patty joined us.

  Patty tilted her head toward the rear of the rig. “Still lots of supplies in there. We’ll be finished soon. Everyone is rehydrated, getting fed, medical supplies are divided up and the ambulance restocked. How do you want us to leave the rig after we get done?”

  I shrugged, “Seal it with a loose zip tie for anyone else. We have any paint left?” She nodded. “Then if we have any red paint, paint a big red cross on it. Hopefully, the next group will be as generous as us or at least desperately needy to take all that’s left.”

  “Y’know,” Cheyenne said, “It wouldn’t be a bad idea, when we have a permanent base, to set up supply stations around us. Meds. Gear. Guns. Bullets. That sort of thing.”

  I nodded, “Yeah, I was thinking the same thing.”

  The radio squawked.

  “Hey, this is the rear guard. We’ve got a Tank on the road behind us, wandering on the bridge. It’s not heading toward us, just kind of wandering around. You guys might want to hurry things up in case it decides to come this way.”

  “Roger that,” I responded, “Okay everyone let’s close up and get on the road. You heard that, let’s get moving before we become a target. Saddle up.”

  As we were piling in, Lexi waved me over.

  “Looks clear past the hump in the bridge.”

  We checked our ammo and headed toward Roanoke Island.

  * * *

  Ash floated like snow everywhere in the seaborn breezes.

  The closer to the island the more there was. Combined with the smell of burned wood, the ocean smell was severely diminished.

  As we approached the island, Patty informed us she could see lots of Porcupines moving along the shore. So far, we had nothing to fear from that particular group of the Changed.

  Porcupines, the Changed with mohawk quills, weren’t particularly aggressive. We originally called them Dog boys because, before the completion of their change, they had mannerisms like canines. As they transformed, their knees bent backward, and their bodies elongated. Their fingernails became hard black claws. Each finger developed another finger joint as did their toes. Their hair became quills and extended down their backs from the top of their heads. The male’s quills were more pronounced and thicker than the females. The quills on the male were as thick as a finger, dense, and made a clattering sound if they shook their heads hard enough. They also could climb walls and hang upside down off ceilings. The females resembled mohawk-wearing versions of the males.

  We also learned, living or dead, their bodies had a strong aroma of marijuana. It was our best early warning if one of their type was near.

  We began to wonder if they partook of “the weed” and it affected their transformation. A kinder, gentler monster than their cousins. We assumed they hadn’t continued smoking it, or maybe it was just a coincidence, but that’s how they smelled.

  Another rule we had was never, ever, kill a Porcupine unless it threatened to harm or kill you. They were off limits. A Porcupine had defended us on our escape from Georgia and the hotel we were nearly trapped in, from other Changed attempting to slaughter us.

  As we passed over the end of the bridge and neared the smoking building Patty ahead of us described, I realized she meant the welcome center of the Outer Banks located on the island.

  Randy kept distant from the building as we drove past.

  The lot had a few cars parked haphazardly. The bushes in between the road and parking lot and the welcome center was burned and gone. Unchanged bodies lay decaying in the sun beside their vehicles, bloated, and burst from the heat, after apparently having been attacked by Changed.

  I slowed and waved on the caravan behind us as I slowed to a crawl, seeing movement near the front of the center.

  Janessa leaned forward pushing King’s sleepy head off her lap, “What are you doing?”

  Two male Porcupines squatted defensively on either side of a reclining female. The female appeared burned along her hind left leg and arm. Both males’ quills were scorched.

  All three appeared starved. Rail thin.

  “I’m going to help.”

  “What?!” Cheyenne and Janessa said together.

  I rolled my eyes. “I’m not going to get near them.” I turned the Jeep into the turnoff and approached the parking area, reaching back and grabbing three bottles of water and some dry energy bars we found in the rig. “No one needs to starve to death.”

  Janessa filled a bag of other easily opened food for me and I tossed the bottles in the bag.

  Vehicles drove by and their passengers looked at me like I was crazy. Pulling in between abandoned cars, ignoring the horrors of the dead, I stepped out of the car. The big green monster Julie drove slowed at the turn off and stopped.

  “Hey, Cheyenne? Is he trying to be a hero again?”

  Cheyenne sighed and answered, “Of course. It’s really irritating.”

  Julie laughed. “Yeah, but you gotta love him. We’ll take your place until you get moving. Yell if something eats him. We’ll come back to get you and Janessa.”

  “Can you come and get us anyway?” Cheyenne grinned as I shut the door.

  Julie laughed again. “Nah, he needs you to watch out for him. You know how men are.”

  Cheyenne sighed. “I know. I know. I just know I’m going to have to pull his butt out of the fire again.”

  I stuck my tongue out at her as I ran ar
ound the Jeep and she rolled down the window and partially extended her Winchester.

  “God, it’s like you’re three years old,” she mumbled. “‘Ooo, look something shiny.’”

  The Porcupines pressed lower to the concrete once they saw I was out of the Jeep. Neither of the males moved from protective stances beside the female. Clicking and twirling noises carried across the parking lot rising in volume and deepening in tone.

  I think I was being warned to keep away.

  I squatted and dumped the bag’s contents on the hot concrete.

  “Water!” I yelled holding up the bottles. I screwed off one of the tops and opened it. The Changed appeared to have a fantastic sense of smell and could track the scent of water to its source we’d learned.

  “Food!” I held up the pouches and tore one open to expose the contents.

  One of the males glanced back at the female, she made a twirling sound and he looked back at me. The other never took its golden eyes off me.

  “It’s what we can spare. Eat. Drink.” I began backing up.

  None of them moved. The wind shifted in their direction and, one by one, their noses caught the scent of the water and food. The males’ quills quivered slightly. The female leaned up on her elbows, ignoring me and looking at the gifts.

  I turned and ran back to the driver’s side of the car and got in.

  “They’ll figure it out,” Cheyenne said, rolling up the window and turning the A/C back on.

  We crept back around the building and headed back toward the road, following the last car in line ahead of us.

  “Look,” Janessa said, behind us.

  We glanced back. The two males advanced to the gifts. The one that wouldn’t take his eyes off me continued watching us. The other dashed forward, sniffed the water and food, grabbed the bottle and food, and ran back to the female to give it to her. The other male angled himself, so he could watch us as he rummaged through the offerings until the other male returned to him.

  The second male reared on his back legs, rose to its full height, shook out its quills and gave a high-pitched series of whistles we could hear even inside the confines of the Jeep before it settled, and both took the items back to the female to share.