Radio chatter occasionally interrupted casual conversation with news from ship to shore and shore to ship communication with the flotilla anchored off the Diamond Shoals lighthouse. The lighthouse was a dot out to sea but the various craft around it let you know its location. Diego, yesterday, let us know that the private owner of the lighthouse was no longer at the oil-rig-looking platform with the single auxiliary lighthouse located there. Changed, dead, ashore, at sea? No one knew. Just missing.
A line of sailboats stretched from Bruxton to the lighthouse out there as volunteers began learning how to sail small shallow craft back and forth.
“Taylor? It’s nearly time,” Dante, the muscular, Italian New Yorker of our group, informed us from the lighthouse interior, bringing the portable radio out and setting it on a collapsible table.
The broadcast that we were told sounded like military jargon had continued and strengthened in the last few days, always broadcasting at nearly the same time, like a patrol. The lookouts waited for me, as the leader of the survivors, to listen to the signals and give orders to the rest of the Bruxton survivors based on whatever we learned.
Reluctantly, for whatever insane reason, the survivors did chose me as the de facto interim leader. Interim is my decision. Not everyone agrees with me. Personally, I think there’s much older and more experienced people than me to be leader; I’ve always said I’m a follower, only leading when I absolutely need to. Apparently, lots of people feel that time is now.
My hometown has a low bar for guidance if you ask me.
Static filled the radio’s speaker.
“This is Cape Hatteras Lighthouse calling any survivors,” Dante transmitted. “We have a safe area. If you can hear this broadcast, please respond. If you cannot respond, please come to Hatteras Island, the North Carolina Outer Banks, United States. Currently, the island is free of mutations and safe. Please respond.”
We waited, then he repeated the broadcast.
“Could the sun or weather, or . . . or . . . radiation affect the transmission?” Cheyenne asked.
We shrugged. We didn’t know.
The speakers produced a series of clicks and Dante repeated his announcement.
“Course of . . . degrees . . . knots.” A man’s voice, broken by static, proclaimed.
“Four Niner . . . North . . .” he continued, “Come about . . . fourteen . . .”
“It’s directions.” I frowned, “Sounds navigational. Nautical maybe.”
“Bravo Tango Zulu.” A woman’s voice interrupted, “Roger. Engine trouble.”
“. . . course! Hold . . .” Another man’s voice responded.
“Got . . . Tango sighted.” The female announced.
“Sounds like there’s problem. They sound military to me.” Cheyenne said.
“Turn course . . . Charlie two.” The first man had an accent.
“Roger . . . tonnage . . . decks.” The female was interrupted by an earsplitting squawk from the radio and we covered our ears.
“Do the broadcast,” I told Dante.
He repeated our message.
“Hear . . .” The woman said. “Hear . . . survivor.”
“They heard us, repeat it, give them time to respond,” I told him.
He did so, and the radio went silent for a moment.
“What . . . banks?” The accented man asked.
“Come . . . receive . . .” The female’s voice sounded faint.
“Survivors . . .” the first male spoke, “Come in . . . repeat.”
Dante repeated his broadcast.
“Come in . . .” The female shouted into the receiver.
“Bravo . . . keep eye . . .” the accented male added.
“Hear us?” the first male asked.
“Yes, we hear you!” Dante answered. “Our location is Hatteras Island! Are you military?”
“Lost . . . do . . . contact?” The female spoke faintly.
“Nega . . . hat . . . think.” The first male grew faint too.
“Pattern . . .” the accented male broke in, “Suits . . . aft . . . signal.” And then static replaced the transmission.
We tried for several more minutes, but the signal was lost.
My walkie talkie clicked, and Julie called for me.
“This is Taylor, go ahead.”
“Hey, sexy!” Julie’s perky voice piped back, “I can almost see you guys up there! See me waving! I’m waving!”
Cheyenne and I looked out toward the barrier walls where Julie and her trainees were operating.
“Nutjob, you’re too far away.” I laughed.
A bubble popped as she answered, “Yeah, I know, just wanted to wave. Anyway! We’re north of the Alpha wall setting up traps for the ogres, gremlins, and what not. We found something strange.”
“Yeah? What kind of strange?”
“We didn’t pass any boxes on the way to the wall when we first arrived, did we? We’ve got wooden boxes every half mile or so along the road.”
I frowned at Cheyenne, “I don’t remember any. What’s in them?”
“Nada. Zip. There’s no top on them. Just empty wooden boxes. Like I said, it’s strange. Maybe Benson and his group are polluting the environment? Dumping their trash. They ought to be fined.” She laughed. “Anyway! Ya think someone is feeding the Changed? Like you did with the burned Porcupine on the way here?”
I shrugged, “Don’t know. Yeah, that’s weird.”
“No food or packages or anything like that. Just empty boxes.”
“Okay.” I shrugged at Cheyenne again. “How are things going with the smoke bombs?”
“Oh, smashing guvnor.” She adopted an English accent, “We’ll see them for bloody miles, wot! A bit of smoke here, a bit of smoke there, a bit of the ol’ one two, one two, eh, wot?”
“Pay attention to your surroundings. Remember Benson set up that ambush one time. Are you keeping watch for Changed?”
“Sexy! I’m wounded!” She sounded offended. “Of course we’re watching. We took that abandoned truck the CDs left behind and it’s driving down the shoreline as we move toward Avon. Nice four-wheel drive. I hate disturbing the environment but what can ya do? I feel you don’t trust in me? That hurts, Taylor, hurts I say.” She giggled.
“Right, right. Whatever. Are you encountering anything or anyone?”
Cheyenne grinned, “I swear, that woman needs help.”
“No Chief, no Changed, no Constitutional douche bags, no survivors. Lots of horseshoe crabs! Oh, we did see one huge black snake and a giant sea turtle though. It looked like it could take our foot off.”
“Tell your ninjas to watch their toes then. We heard those transmissions just now, we think they heard us.”
“Nice! Can you make out who they are?”
I sighed, “No, not yet. We’ll keep trying.”
“Affirmative, big daddy.” Julie popped her gum, “Oops, sorry, didn’t mean to sound like Cheyenne when she talks to you.”
I glanced at Cheyenne.
“No, I don’t call you that.” She disagreed. “I won’t ever either. Ew.”
“Alright, Julie, keep up the good work. How are your new people working out?”
“As good as expected. Nervous. Worried. Brave. Doing their best. We’re fine.” She popped another bubble.
“Good. How do you feel about getting even closer to Avon? See how populated the Changed are now along the main road?”
“Hmm, I would have to do that on my own or with my best ninja.” Her voice moved away from the radio. “No. None of you are my best. None. Don’t look at me like that. No. You’re not.” And she started laughing. “We’ll have to see. People here have a high opinion of themselves. You all can only aspire to my greatness. No, not you either.” She addressed someone in the background. “We’ll come back to home base and figure out a plan. Maybe after nightfall. Anything else, oh ye of the sexy legs and tight tushy?”
Cheyenne burst into laughter, “I love her.”
“No, Julie. Th
at will be all.” I smirked at Cheyenne. “You know this is an open channel, don’t you?” I asked Julie.
“Of course, I do. Like people don’t love your legs and sexy tushy?” She laughed again. “Anyway! This is your friendly neighborhood road warrior, over and out! Later!”
Dante stared at me, shook his head and said nothing as he picked up the radio and moved it back inside. Lexi and Mia looked at my legs and wrinkled their noses. Cheyenne laughed at their expressions.
“Yeah, yeah, too old for you two.” Cheyenne turned them around and pushed them toward the staircase down. “Just right for me.”
I sighed and followed them down.
The metal staircase echoed down the entire structure with each step. Wind blew through the pane-less windows and doors. As a precaution, the door to the top platform and spotlight was kept closed while the windows and entrance were kept open to allow a breeze to blow through. The top door was shut just in case a Changed, if any did appear, would not be able to trap someone at the top by surprise.
Halfway down, our radios suddenly erupted with shouts.
“Monsters on Calver street! Monsters on Calver street! We need help!”
“What the hell?” Cheyenne said, taking Mia in her arms, lifting her, and carrying her down the stairs in quick step. “How did they get past us?” Lexi and I hurried after her.
“This is Taylor,” I said between shouts, “What kind? How many? How did they get by?”
“Swimmers! Those Fish men!” Someone answered. “There’s three of them. Damn! They’re fast! Like those quick ones!”
“Help is on the way!” Someone else shouted.
“What the hell is that!” A woman yelled, “Move! Move! Get out of here! Go!”
“Where? Where are you?” Another shouted.
“Calver street and, and, um, hey, where are we? We just passed Thomson avenue! Near the Cape B&B!” Someone screamed and there was a crash.
“Are you guys there? Guys?” Several people started asking.
“Lexi, you and Mia stay here,” Cheyenne said as she set Mia down at the base of the stairs. King ran to us from the shade of the small Ranger’s building at the base of the lighthouse as soon as we set foot on level ground, the Irish setter shaking out his long red coat of hair. “Go to the museum by the old keeper’s house over there and stay there. We’ll be back,” Cheyenne said to the girls.
The sisters nodded and ran for the old renovated Lighthouse keeper’s house. The two white buildings sat side by side. Park rangers had used both, one was a museum to the wrecks on the Diamond shoals and about the Lighthouse. The other was the old keeper’s house. Updated for Park rangers use.
Cheyenne unslung her rifle and ran for the Jeep parked in the grass in front of the parking lot by the lighthouse tourist store, near stone blocks dedicated to the lighthouse keepers of the past, and in front of the base of the tower. I grabbed my cane by the lighthouse door and hopped toward the driver’s side as King leapt into the back. The climb up and down the lighthouse weakened my leg.
“You know where they are?” Cheyenne shouted.
“Yeah, I know where that B&B is.”
As we opened the doors a loud roar cut the air from the direction of Bruxton.
A Tank was on the island.
Chapter 19
We flew through Bruxton, meeting a blue Jeep coming in our direction, and pulled in behind them on Calver Street.
On the left side of the street was the Cape B&B, a two-story lodge, and further down the street toward the ocean was an overturned grey Honda Accord. The second Jeep slowed and allowed us to pull up beside them. Two men waved at us from the Jeep as they searched the area for movement.
A disemboweled man lay at the car’s front with an older woman crushed beneath the vehicle. I rolled down the window and leaned over.
“How many were in that patrol?” I kept my voice down.
“Three. There’s a boy missing.” The blue Jeep’s driver, a fiftyish-year-old, tanned man, answered. “His name’s Rick. Teenager. Tall kid.”
I nodded and motioned them forward, keeping their pace.
An overturned car was typical of Tanks. They tended to do that when they attacked. Ramming vehicles and turning them over. They broke things. They were always angry, even against their own, and were sometimes big, sometimes gigantic. We had a hypothesis about what made them different from other Changed: aggression. That’s why Fort Craig in Fayetteville was heavy with them. Lots of aggressive personalities.
A Fish man came running out of a backyard, saw our Jeeps and began running toward us. Its claws kicking up sand behind it.
“Got it!” The passenger in the other Jeep said as he stuck his arms out his window holding a high-powered rifle and fired.
The shot struck the Fish man’s right shoulder and nearly took off his arm; it remained hanging by sinew. The Fish man shrieked in pain and anger and continued its charge.
“Don’t get distracted,” Cheyenne warned, watching her side of the street. “Fishy or not, that’s a Runner, and they hunt in packs.”
The passenger fired again, and the Fish man staggered and fell. They increased their speed to get closer and finish it off.
I kept watch on the left and in the rear mirror as Cheyenne’s attention focused on the right and front.
“Look out!” Cheyenne yelled, crawling out the window to her firing position.
Ahead of us, a Fish man dashed out of an overgrown hedge directly at the driver. Their Jeep had plastic windows and a convertible top. The claws of the Fish man slashed through the side window just as the driver realized what was happening and he screamed once before accelerating.
The acceleration helped the attacking Fish man as it tried to pull the driver out the window by the arm. The driver’s arm was severed at the shoulder by the thing’s claws then the Fish man tossed it away to pursue its escaping prey.
BANG klik-klack
Cheyenne fired, but missed their attacker.
Their Jeep careened at the overturned Accord, running over the downed Fish man, hit the Accord, spun, and flipped onto the drivers side and slid down Calver Street.
BANG klik-klack
The Fish man took a hit in the shoulder but directed its attention at the frightened passenger as he struggled to climb out of the Jeep.
Cheyenne cursed and let loose a barrage of gunfire.
She dug into her pockets and reloaded on the windowsill.
I glanced at her to see if she had wrapped her leg in her safety rope harness she’d made; she hadn’t, so I reached over to grab the waistband of her shorts.
Out of the corner of my eye, I caught movement from the right as we passed.
“Behind you! Behind us!” I yelled above the ringing in my ears and Cheyenne’s cursing.
She didn’t hear me, and the Fish man was coming up on her side fast.
I tugged on her waistband and she kicked out at my arm.
She was determined to kill the other Fish man.
I turned the wheel to angle away from the Jeep and the Fish man ahead of us, while simultaneously turning away from our own pursuer.
“Behind us!” Cheyenne yelled and turned around on the windowsill.
Well, duh.
We shot past the Fish man in front. It was limping from Cheyenne’s hits but still pursuing the passenger who had ducked back inside the Jeep, to get his rifle, I guess. I hoped we had time to help him.
BANG klik-klack
Cheyenne fired at the Fish man behind us.
The Fish man ducked and dodged, turning its attention to the driver’s side, my side, and me.
In the side mirror, the purplish creature concentrated on my face just as I looked back at him, saliva dripping from fangs exposed in a confident, malicious, grin.
BANG klik-klack
The Fish man’s face exploded, and it toppled backwards.
“Come back around!” Cheyenne yelled, turning her attention back to the other Fish man.
“Help!”
someone screamed ahead of us down the street. “Help me!” They must have been screaming loudly for me to hear them over the ringing in my ears.
BANG klik-klack
An even louder roar from somewhere ahead of us echoed over the ringing.
A shot rang out from the overturned Jeep behind us, followed by screaming.
BANG klik-klack
“Taylor, turn around! Turn around!” Cheyenne shouted.
“Help!” the person ahead of us screamed, but I couldn’t see where it was coming from.
Another shot rang out behind us.
“I can’t get a good shot!” Cheyenne yelled, firing again.
I turned to the right to stop the Jeep when a Fish man leapt over an abandoned car and landed right in front of us.
“Cheyenne!” I yelled and accelerated right toward it as it sighted and targeted Cheyenne’s exposed back.
We hit it; it held onto the winch and protective bars on the front of the Rubicon and tried to climb up the reinforced bars.
Startled, Cheyenne was crawling back into the Jeep, when her door popped open and she screamed, halfway in and out.
There was a pole behind the Fish man and I angled toward it, striking the pole with the creature caught between, and came to a full stop.
My head slammed into the steering wheel as King jettisoned into the dashboard, between the seats, from the backseat.
King was barking.
I touched my head.
Whoa, that’s gonna leave a bruise.
Changed!
The passenger door was open.
When did King get out? What’s he barking at?
Where’s Cheyenne?
I kicked the door open and got out. The Fish man wasn’t moving across the hood of the Jeep, squashed between the pole behind him and the metal reinforcements in the grill.
I staggered toward the back of the Jeep.
Far behind us, the Fish man on top of the other Jeep fought with the passenger trapped inside.
“Cheyenne?” I mumbled.
King barked at me from around the passenger’s side.
I came around the corner and he was lying on top of Cheyenne, barking until he saw me and ran to me and back to her.
“Cheyenne?” I hurried to her side.
She moaned and rolled over onto her back.
The Unchanged (Book 3): Safe Harbor Page 15