I steadied my aim and fired twice more. The creature huffed with each hit. Cheyenne joined me and opened fire. The thing rebounded with her hits but continued coming.
Julie and Janessa formed a line to our right and left, Janessa firing with her Glock and Julie with this weird rubber slingshot thing with an arrow for ammunition.
Julie’s arrow struck it in the neck and it reached up to yank it free.
“On the right!” Janessa screamed, as another one of the things stalked toward us.
Cheyenne joined Janessa, targeting the newest mutant as Julie calmly notched another arrow.
“Use your damn gun!” I shouted at Julie.
Julie pulled the rubber end back to her chin, holding the round end up like a drawing a bow, and let the arrow fly.
The arrow went through the creature’s right eye and out the back of its head. It paused, reached up to the arrow as my bullets punctured it with holes, then its arms dropped, and it toppled backwards.
Shocked, I stared at Julie. She was shocked too.
Julie shrugged. “Let’s get out of here!” she cried.
The other Fish men were shrieking and running toward us, two dived into the surf and swam toward the boat. They were much faster in the water than on land. The rifleman began firing at them and the pilot angled away from shore and headed south. The woman waved at us and indicated south.
We turned tail and ran.
The caravan was already moving, following Randy and the plow. We ran toward the sand-covered parking lot where Demetri had left the doors open on the green monster and the Jeep. He ran to the driver’s side of the raised green monster pickup and started it up. King kept pace with Cheyenne, continually checking on her. Julie hurried to the passenger side of the green monster as Janessa climbed in the back of the Jeep, King jumped in, Cheyenne took her seat, and I buckled in and started the Jeep.
Just as my door shut, clawed feet slapped on the sandy pavement. Not looking back, I threw it in gear and the wheels spat sand behind us as we lurched forward, last in line.
Shrieks and hissing echoed from our rear.
“Did you see that?” Cheyenne yelled, looking back, “Did you see how many bullets we put in that thing?” She pulled my .45 from its holster and reloaded it, doing the same with her Winchester.
“Taylor! What kind of food do you feed the fish out here?” Julie laughed over the radio.
I snatched the radio. “How did you know an arrow through the eye would kill it?”
“Well, I’m very skilled at my craft. I excel at slingshottery.” She laughed. “Anyway! I didn’t know! Bullets didn’t seem to be phasing it. It was stubborn. I guessed shooting it the brain might make it fall down.”
We laughed, releasing tension. “I like to think all the other bullets, especially mine, helped you kill it.”
“Nope, negative, Captain. I killed the scurvy beastie with me trusty harpoon! Call me Ishmael!”
Randy cut in and asked for a replay, so the rest of the survivors would know what happened on the shore. I told them it looked like the people on the boat were telling us to go south. Luckily, that’s the direction we were going anyway.
I hoped that meant more survivors.
We hurried back to our places in line and turned left onto Hatteras Park road.
We relaxed, driving through the lifeless, parched, desiccated trees and land on either side of the road. First, it was trees and brush and then it became high dunes. Everyone wondered at the beauty of the tall dunes on the seaside part of the road. The dunes, nearly twenty feet high hid the Atlantic on the other side from view.
Cheyenne was disgusted with herself over the Fish man. She said the teeth and thing’s eyes made her think of the gator and it startled her. We understood. More than she knew. We knew how scary it was and how it affected her.
On our left, we could see the roofs of residences along the shoreline through dips in the dunes and dead or burned foliage. Lexi gave us a running commentary from Mia over the radio.
Many houses were burned and deserted, human remains rotting on the decks. The buildings Mia could see through the dead forest were three-storied. One group of twelve Runners searched by the sound of our engines for our group from balconies, but they couldn’t pinpoint us. Too far away and too many obstructing trees in the way. Mia thought she saw something moving on the edges of the dried area between us and the homes but couldn’t make it out. It was large enough to shake dead leaves and branches from trees. Mia could see several houses where people had made it to their roofs with supplies but there were no sign of survivors. They left flags or banners set up with “Help Us” or “Don’t Leave Us” written across them or painted on the roofs or sides of the houses’ raised decks.
Passing a water tower on our left, everyone could see “Hatteras Lighthouse” painted across the tower twice in giant red letters. The caravan cheered as we passed, filling the radio with their excitement.
Passing a row of burned houses, twenty or thirty on our side of the road, we couldn’t tell on the far side, nearest the beach, how bad it was. Eventually, we came to the National seashore and slowed. Arriving at an intersection, on our left was the seashore, on our right was the access road to the Birdie Island lighthouse near Cedar point. The lighthouse appeared and the survivors who had never seen the Cape Hatteras lighthouse asked if it was the Hatteras lighthouse. Disappointment flared momentarily when I told them it wasn’t.
When we came near the great, high arching part of the bridge highway before Pea Island Wildlife Refuge, many were amazed at the superstructure. I suspected this might have been where the power to the islands might have been severed that my parents told me about when I was down in Georgia, but I didn’t know. I never asked specifics and I was already on the road when it happened and wasn’t watching or listening to the news.
We were just past the turn off to the National seashore when Lexi announced Mia couldn’t see any more mounds in the sand.
We reluctantly volunteered to go check the beach before moving on. The others would wait, engines running until we gave a yea or nay. Then we would continue to Bruxton.
I switched the Jeep into 4x4 and drove toward the beach.
We drove down a tree-lined short road into a parking lot with only one abandoned car, parked in a lane by a small set of toilets by the tree-lined side. We drove onto the edge of the beach, got out and checked in both directions using our scope and our binoculars.
Nothing but pristine shores.
At sea, in the distance out to sea on our left, was a lone boat, not the one that warned us to go South earlier, but a small sloop with wind-filled sails heading south or out to sea. Another boat moved to our right, moving down the shoreline. It could have been the boat that tried to warn us, but we couldn’t be sure. We’d covered a lot of distance in the last half hour as we headed from 64 and the Fish men to where we were now. Rodanthe was still south of us. We still had a long way to go to get to Bruxton.
After deep consideration, the three of us agreed it looked safe, as safe as we could tell. We conceded to give the okay to have everyone come to the shore, park in the parking lot we passed after guards were set up, and alternating groups would be allowed down to the surf under guard.
We assigned guards and groups. Adults with an accompanying child went to the surf, spent no more than ten minutes and would come back and switch places with others. As usual, all keys remained on dashboards or in ignitions. Guards stood on the highest vehicles, the plow, and the ambulance and kept lookout. The youngest kids and their supervisors, Lori and Sheila, with a few others, would watch the children in the shade on the edges of the parking lot. The elderly could stay or go to the shore, depending on what they wanted. The mentally unbalanced would stay with their helpers until relieved.
We would not let our guard down.
Most of the adults had already gone into the water, and we had to deal with screaming, crying, little kids who didn’t want to leave the cool waters and return to the sw
eltering heat of dry, parched land before Cheyenne, myself, Julie, Demetri and Janessa could go in.
King panted, lying at Cheyenne’s feet. Janessa came out of the water, laughing and splashing, Demetri, gallantly, gave her the shirt off his back to cover herself before he went in, her white, running top and bike shorts not exactly built for swimming or for immersion in water, as she quickly found out to her surprise. Demetri, ever a gentleman, avoided looking at her until after she put on his shirt.
No one wore bathing suits, of course, so we went in the water with what we wore. With as many stores along the route and in Bruxton that sold beachwear and surfer gear, I thought we would have no problem eventually finding something to wear to replace the small collection we already scavenged.
Julie removed her fringed miniskirt and combat boots, put them on top of her sunglasses and sunbonnet, then peeled down to her pink and white sleeveless top, her gold and brown yoga pants and dived right in.
“Whoa,” Cheyenne said appreciatively as Julie sauntered out of the water like a supermodel after several seconds.
Julie brushed back her fauxhawk, her small tunnel ear piercings and nose ring reflecting the sun, and squeegeed off her clothing with her hands, effectively caressing herself.
“Whoa,” Cheyenne whispered. “She’s gorgeous.”
I chuckled. “Nah, not as much as you.”
“Pfft, please.” She motioned at Julie. “She’s just . . . whoa.”
Julie went under again, came up, pulled her top from her body and bottoms to let the sea water pass, then flexed in some yoga positions as she squeegeed off again.
“Whoa.” I finally said as Julie faced the ocean and bent at the waist with straight legs to wash sand out of her top.
Cheyenne’s eyes grew wide. “I know, right?”
Julie glanced back at us from her bent position, straightened, turned, and did this little strutting cat-walk thing out of the surf up to us, with the most obvious playful smirking expression.
“Hey, sexy. Hey handsome,” she said, glancing at both of us. “Great view out there, huh?” She licked her lips, walking by us. She picked up her things and headed back to the waiting cars.
“She’ll know if you watch her walk back,” Cheyenne whispered.
“Hey, you’re the one who made me look at her.”
We looked back at her at the same time.
Julie kept up her strut, paused, didn’t look back, and slapped her wet, left, butt cheek, sending water flying off her yoga pants before laughing and continuing up the beach, pulling on her sun bonnet.
We glanced at each other.
“She’s a bad girl.” I grinned.
Cheyenne nodded. “She knows.”
When Demetri and Janessa finished, we waited until they retrieved their possessions, before setting our things down so they could guard us. King dashed back and forth in the surf, bouncing and splashing.
Cheyenne grinned at me. “Y’know. Salt water is good for wounds.” She indicated my bandaged leg below my shorts.
“Oh, lord.” Janessa smiled, shaking her head at Demetri.
Sigh.
Janessa checked my bandaged arms, removing the bandages and informed me I could leave them off and she would remove the stitches soon. They were healing well.
I removed my leg bandages and followed Cheyenne as she backed into the water wearing her cutoffs and a red bra. Her stitches across her chest wound and arms were healing fine. Her busted lip from days ago was gone, and the black eye she received in a fight was not as badly discolored. The small cut on her cheek from a claw was nearly healed, just two stitches remained. Her back was covered with stiches too. All healing quickly.
Cheyenne was breathtakingly beautiful.
She reached her hands out for me, grinning, her attention focused below my waist.
I smiled. “Hey, I have eyes.”
She glanced up, “Yeah, I know.” She looked back down. “I’m just checking out your legs to see how they’re healing.”
“That wound is a lot lower than where you’re looking.”
Janessa and Demetri laughed behind me as I moved deeper.
“Shush!” Cheyenne hushed them. “Mind your business you two. Watch out for danger.”
Janessa yelled back, “I think Taylor is in danger already!”
Smirking, I took Cheyenne’s hands and moved deeper into the surf like a captivated sailor enticed by a beautiful mermaid.
King calmed, on duty, and watched us from the shore beside our friends as we moved further out. The water was cool but this close to the shore felt warm. We dunked ourselves under the surf and came up laughing. It felt incredible. Our worries for the last week disappeared for the moment. We splashed each other, shoved each other, kissed, held each other as the surf buffeted against us.
Cheyenne hugged me then leaned back to look me in the eyes.
“Thank you,” she said.
I grinned. “You say that too much.”
She smirked. “You keep saving me.”
“Pfft. Like you don’t do the same for me. Hell, you’ve saved all of us multiple times over, Annie Oakley.”
She shrugged. “I get lucky.”
I squeezed her rear end. “Yeah, you do.”
Her eyes widened, and she squeezed my rear too, “Easy now, don’t start nothin’. We’re being watched.”
On the shore Demetri faced south, Janessa faced north with her right hand against the side of her face, so she wouldn’t directly see us. She put up with us when we needed private moments along our route. She’d roll her eyes, shake her head, and give us some alone time when we weren’t running for our lives as our displays of affection grew over the past week.
“You’re taking me home,” Cheyenne said.
I looked back at her. “Yep, I sure am.”
She grinned one of her most pleasant, satisfied, smiles.
“What?”
She shook her head and kissed me. “Nothing.”
“Oh.” It dawned on me from the talks we’d had what she meant. “I’m taking you home.”
Southern girl. Guy taking her home to where he grew up. Meet the parents, well, hopefully meeting the parents. Serious stuff for a southern, country girl.
She laughed and snorted at my expression, moving us deeper into the ocean.
“Does that mean we’re serious?” I played along with her.
Her legs wrapped around my waist and locked her ankles behind me. “You tell me.”
I kissed her, long, passionately, and deep. “Hell yeah, we’re serious,” I mumbled against her lips.
“Guys!” Julie screamed from the shore, waving frantically, King barking to get our attention.
We cupped our ears to hear her while Demetri ran back to the parking lot and Janessa motioned beside Julie for us to come in, holding up our clothes.
“Damn it,” Cheyenne cursed. “Never a moment of peace.”
She untwined herself and we body surfed into the shore.
“What’s wrong?” I asked, taking my clothes from Janessa as she retrieved our weapons. “What’s going on?”
Julie began running back to the lot, “One of the kids is missing! Everyone is looking for her! She’s just gone!”
Chapter 11
“Rebecca!” Sheila screamed, nursing her arm resting in its sling.
Sheila had been an elementary school teacher, and with Lori, took care of the youngest children in one of the two vans we commandeered.
Small groups of people were wandering along the length of the far end of the parking lot nearest the bathroom, calling for the little girl named Rebecca.
Lori sobbed, her glasses pushed on the top of her head as she ran with us back to where she had last seen the little girl.
“I looked away for a second!” Lori screamed, “Just for a second! Sheila was showing a seashell to Bobby and Erin, and I just looked away from Rebecca for a second. When I looked back, she was gone! Just for a second!”
We ran to the dense brush
where everyone was searching with loaded weapons.
My immediate fear was a gator. I told everyone to look for crushed grass, a path leading further into the brush back toward Hatteras road.
Two cars had driven down toward the far end of the lot and the Atkin sisters stood on the roof of one, Mia shading her eyes as she carefully scanned the edge of the tree line. I waved at Lexi and she shook her head. No luck yet.
We ran with Lori down to where Rebecca, the cute inquisitive five-year-old, disappeared.
“She was right here!” Lori ran to the end of the trees and pointed. “I was right here,” she ran to where she had been and stomped. “I turned to look at Sheila and the rest of the kids,” she repeated her actions, “And when I turned back,” she turned back around, “She was gone! We made all the kids go back and we started looking for her!”
Cheyenne and Janessa paired up while Julie and I paired up moving into the trees.
“Don’t tell me it’s a gator,” Julie whispered, “Don’t tell me it’s a gator.”
Cheyenne waited a few feet away with her rifle at her waist.
I lowered my voice, “It might be a gator.”
Julie carried her rifle this time, “You’re really going to have to work on your listening skills.” She lifted her chin in Cheyenne’s direction. “Should she go back?”
I glanced at Julie. “You want to tell her to get back to safety?”
“No way,” Julie whispered back. “She talks too much about hiking boots stuck in butts. It’s not one of my fashion choices.” She jumped as a bird burst from cover. “Anyway! You see a gator, you do what you did back at the barricade. For me. Protect me. Okay? Protect her. But think of me. And Janessa. Protect her. Or me.”
“Julie?”
“Yes, Chief.”
“You’re babbling.”
“You’re not scared?”
“Every minute.”
A furious set of clapping and a shrill whistle made us look back at Lexi and Mia. Mia was pointing toward the north of us and signing at her sister.
“Cynthia’s gone!” Lexi yelled. “She was there, then she wasn’t! All the way at the front! By the restrooms!”
The Unchanged (Book 3): Safe Harbor Page 8