The Unchanged (Book 3): Safe Harbor

by Starnes, T. M.

  “Taylor?” she whispered.

  I leaned too far forward and slammed my head against the open door.

  “You okay?” I asked, looking for new cuts and bruises.

  “I’m okay.” She mumbled, “Who taught you how to park?” she grinned, then rubbed her head with both hands. “Ow. Ow. I think I’ve had the crap knocked out of me.”

  “You should have had your seat belt on.” I grinned, my anxiety making me crack jokes. I fumbled for my Colt to shoot the other Fish men if I could get my bearings.

  “My head is swimmin’.” She mumbled, “Just gotta lie here for a minute.”

  The man screamed from the other Jeep and then a shot rang out.

  Glancing back, with my head spinning too, the Fish man wasn’t moving anymore with its limp, dangling legs hanging out the window.

  “Help!” someone yelled on the other side of the Jeep, further down Calver street.

  “Go,” Cheyenne said, pushing me away. “Go see what’s happening.”

  I pushed myself up. I knew the danger wasn’t over, she was hurt. I was staggering but getting my balance back, but if someone was in trouble we needed to help. King hurried to the end of the Jeep and looked up the road. He stepped back, whined as his ears and tail dropped in submission, looked back at me, then at Cheyenne on the ground. King rose to his full height, turned back facing whatever was coming and growled defensively.

  I stepped around the Jeep and faced down Calver street toward the ocean.

  Oh, ya gotta be kidding me.

  Rick, the tall teenaged kid was running at a slow jog toward us, holding his limp left arm. His jog was intermittent as if his leg was damaged too. Behind him was his pursuer.

  I remember the Tank the survivors of Bruxton said was in Avon. The one that looked like a giant snapping turtle.

  They had described a giant. A monster.

  This must be the junior version.

  It was purplish and brown, the spots covering hardened skin across the thing’s back that did look like a ridged turtle’s shell. It’s head vaguely resembled a snapping turtle’s, stretched two feet high and wide, large enough to bite off the teenager’s head in one snap. The weight of its shell made it crawl on all fours in a dipping swagger, but it wasn’t slow like a turtle. Its clawed feet and hands dug into the sandy road to give it traction. It also had a weird tail dragging behind it to balance its gait. It wasn’t as fast as a Runner, but still kept a good pace. While it resembled a turtle, the Changed still retained the warped features of a stretched human face and body. Its purple veined, golden irised eyes reflected the sun.

  “Well, crap.”

  King bumped against my leg but didn’t turn away from the oncoming monster. I looked back at Cheyenne, still holding her head, and nursing her elbow. I looked around for her Winchester and saw it on the side of the road several feet behind us.

  I calculated that by the time I went and got it, came back and opened fire on the monster, either it would already be on us, and Cheyenne wouldn’t be able to fight, and the kid would be dead, or I would be.

  “Son of a-” I mumbled, pushing King off my leg, drawing my Uberti Colt .45, and took a shooters stance. “Run Rick! Don’t look back! Run right at me!” I shouted.

  An old tune ran through my head that was a soundtrack for a 90’s western, singing about going out in a blaze of glory.

  “Keep running, Rick,” I said, not really to anyone.

  BANG

  BANG

  BANG

  “Hold still,” I ordered the Changed Tank.

  Two shells had to have struck it on or near the neck.

  Three shots left.

  BANG

  The Turtle man Tank roared and shook its head. That had to have hit.

  Its head appeared to be growing in size as it came closer, blood trails trickling down its body.

  BANG

  Okay, that was right in the cheek.

  BANG

  Yeah, you don’t like that do ya?

  Click.

  I rushed to reload, still yelling at Rick to run, but I knew the Tank would be on us before I could reload and fire more than twice. The wind changed, and I could smell the rank blood of the thing, making me gag for a moment.

  I sighed, “I love you, Cheyenne.” Might as well say it before I die.

  “Yeah, I know.” Cheyenne stumbled beside me, taking the Colt out of my hands and shoving her retrieved Winchester into my hands, “Now kill that son of bitch right between the eyes, so we can get out of here. You’ve got two shots.”

  Then she sank to her hands and knees, dropping the Colt before rolling over on her back as King started aggressively growling and barking at the fast approaching, mildly wounded Tank.

  Rick ran by us and kept running.

  Smart dude.

  I sighted through the scope, but the thing’s head was moving too much. Its gold irises and the purple veins in its eyes a blur.

  Two shots.

  I lowered the rifle to my waist.

  I shoot better from the hip. I do. I know I do. I shoot better that way. I do.

  BANG klik-klack

  BANG klik-klack

  The Changed mutant twisted its head to the left with the first bullet in the left eye, looked back at me with the right and I shot it in that one too. It tossed back its head, fell forward and toppled to the ground on its belly, both bullets penetrating the brain. It slid to the ground feet from us.

  “Hunh. Would ya look at that,” Cheyenne mumbled as King flattened to the ground on his belly with the Tank so near. It released a final hot blast of its dying breath. Both eyes a mass of oozing, blackened, reeking, molasses.

  I looked down at Cheyenne.

  She was looking up, still lying on her back, at the dead Tank.

  “Okay. Maybe, just maybe, you’re good at shooting from the hip.” She smiled, “It was probably just luck.”

  I sat down on my butt beside her and slowly reloaded my Colt as she dug into her shorts for more rifle shells.

  “Hey!” Rick yelled from behind us.

  We glanced back at him as other cars were turning on Calver street.

  “Help’s here!” He yelled back at us, waving at the approaching cars with his usable arm.

  “Well, thank goodness,” Cheyenne mumbled. “I was getting worried.”

  “Tell them to keep watch for more monsters!” I shouted back at him.

  He looked at all the dead things around him, “I think you got them all, but I’ll tell them.”

  Three cars pulled up and emptied an armed team of young and old. Scared, but ready to fight, two people ran to help us.

  “You gonna live?” I asked Cheyenne.

  She shook her head with her eyes closed. “No. Not if you keep parking like that. Kiss me before I puke.”

  “Ew.”

  She grinned with her eyes still close, “Kiss me, dummy.”

  “You’re so demanding.” I leaned over and kissed her before rolling over and lying on the ground beside her.

  “King? Keep watch, we’re beat.” I told the dog.

  We would worry about the dead later and set up more patrols to watch the water. Four more people killed by the Changed.

  Now we just needed to shut our eyes for a minute and sizzle like bacon on the sand-covered asphalt.

  It’s much more comfortable than fighting the Changed.

  * * *

  Janessa chastised us over our conditions when we returned to the rec center.

  Our bumps and bruises weren’t serious, although we would have headaches for a few hours. Julie showed up an hour after we arrived to tell us the Changed in Avon were scattered, no longer blocking the road and footprints of that Tank Snapper, the monstrous sized one, not the one we just fought, were all they could find of the monster.

  Julie said she and two of her ninjas had made it nearly to the middle of Avon before turning back. The boxes, or wooden crates, lined the road all the way to middle of the small town. She suggested ag
ain that someone had taken pity on the Changed and set up a place to feed them. It was generous of who ever did it, but dangerous too. That might lead to the Changed stalking the roads instead of wandering freely.

  Once Cheyenne and I were somewhat recovered from our wreck, which didn’t damage the Rubicon at all, we turned to our duties with Bruxton and the survivors.

  Janessa was doing great with training nurses and sharing her medical books with the scouts, lifeguards, and anyone who wanted to learn medical skills. She had read all her mom’s medical books when she was young, for fun and to know what her mom was doing, so she was already ahead of the game. Cheyenne’s knowledge from college helped, but she hadn’t had more than one semester and had to keep reminding everyone that Janessa was the person studying and taking the responsibility of teaching, and she had full faith in the beautiful, short, young, dark-skinned teenager.

  Cheyenne took her trainees and began training them in small arms and rifles. King didn’t like the gunfire, but he remained faithfully close to Cheyenne. Diego was doing a fine job of teaching rudimentary punches, kicks, and Chin Na–-joint locks–to anyone willing to learn. It was a slow process, but everyone needed to start somewhere. I left him to it, knowing how skilled he was.

  Julie took a small group and played hide and seek in Bruxton. Yes, hide and seek. The Atkin sisters trained with Julie on her hiding and seeking. They were really good at it. She also showed them how to break and enter, quietly, without bringing attention to themselves.

  The ways of the road warrior ninjas are strange and mysterious to the uninitiated.

  Lori and Sheila worked with the toddlers and infants at the nearest daycare area. Our survivors blended in with the Bruxton survivors and my hometown treated them well.

  Caroline and Bass, my sister and nephew, stuck close to me, following me around, catching up on the details of the last week. We privately cried over mom becoming a monster, and possibly killing dad but not giving up hope. Caroline made it home, so could our dad, and wished we knew more about our big brother Nash and where he might be in Raleigh. Caroline made herself an eye patch out of a kid’s costume, a black pirate’s eye patch. It seemed to help. Her eye wasn’t getting better, it was actually getting worse. Her severed finger was healing well though, and the mosquito bites and bad sunburn were fading. She was even getting her weight back. She didn’t care about any of that, though. She had Sebastian, and that was enough for her. After she felt better and was back to normal for her, she planned on building nurseries and gardens for the survivors to plant edibles. Home-grown veggies.

  During the day, more boats appeared near the flotilla, and our numbers grew. We continued to check them for CDs, but none appeared. Or none any of us recognized. Four survivors here, three there, and a family of five with none of the family members having changed. Once brought to shore, we found that many of the survivors were starving or traumatized, and we took care of them. Mrs. Gale coordinated and found homes for the refugees and survivors to occupy after they recovered as best they could.

  Me? Apparently, I was the go-to-guy for decisions, which made Caroline either smile in pride, unlikely, or smile in humor, much more likely. She knew I had no brain for decision making.

  Somehow, I was making it work though. Patrols were assigned, scavenging groups sent out and searching, wall enforcers placed. Randy worked on the walls, boats were sent north and south for survivors and for sighting dangers, food was passed around, and more jobs for survivors to do were happening everywhere.

  Either people were just exhausted, or they were willing to be guided by the first group of people who would direct them, feed them, and keep them as safe as possible. Either way, few arguments broke out, and everyone worked together.

  The watchers at the lighthouse picked up more transmissions, but none of the unknown transmitters could respond back clearly. They continued transmitting our information.

  Maybe humanity had a chance after all.

  In the afternoon, at the height of the hottest part of the day, and when we made sure everyone was taking a break indoors and hydrated, as we were creating plans to approach the FEMA supply truck still parked on the bridge and take more needed supplies, my radio squawked, and Randy called me from the Alpha wall.

  “This is Taylor, go ahead.”

  “Hey, Taylor, we’ve got some weird stuff going on past the wall. I think a fire hit a gas main or a fireworks store. We heard a boom. The lookouts said there was an explosion in the Rodanthe direction. One of the boat spotters said it looked like fireworks exploding everywhere. Just a huge boom and then sparking fireworks. Rodanthe may still be burning. The spotter thought it was weird because it didn’t look like any major fires were still going from what they could see from the ocean.”

  “Could the Changed have ignited something? Or maybe it was just smoldering, and something finally ignited?”

  “Don’t know. The spotters just thought we should know and I’m passing it on to you.”

  I shrugged, “Okay, it’s passed. Tell the spotters to keep watching but continue patrolling for survivors. How’s the Fish men situation? Any new mutants?”

  “Nah, negative. The spotters say they see Porcupines everywhere, Fish men mounds on the shore, some canine Changed, but nothing new. No sign of Tanks. No moving vehicles anywhere, and they’re heading up to the pier, but no sign of people on land. They’ve seen a beached boat, though. Probably abandoned. That’s about all.”

  “Okay, tell them good job, and let us know if any monster groups are building up by Jenny’s Pier off 64. We’ve got plans and we need that area clear.”

  “Roger, will do, Randy out.”

  We went back to making assault plans on the FEMA truck.

  Our present strategy was to take shallow hulled, but fast, boats around the island, up Croatan sound, find a place to land, approach the FEMA truck, either lower supplies over the side of the bridge to waiting boats below or somehow haul them back to the shore, and back to the waiting anchored boats. Taking a team all the way back through the patches of occupied Changed towns didn’t seem a good idea since so many survivors had already been lost.

  It would probably be best to do it during the night when the Changed were dormant. They continued to cluster together with like types and rest or sleep in packs. Bruxton sea spotters already told us the Fish men hunted fish on the shoreline during the day and crawled into their mounds when not active. The Porcupines tended to forage or eat plants. Runners chased down prey, although prey was getting scarce, so we wondered what they would turn to next. Those were the habits we knew of the Changed exhibited in the last week. The animal Changed thought, we hadn’t been able to define their habits yet, other than wanting to kill their own kind, just as the human Changed did and continue to do.

  With Demetri’s death just two days ago, along with the recent deaths of four more Bruxton survivors, we planned to let everyone rest and then form a team for tomorrow night’s planned excursion to the bridge.

  Tonight would be a time for rest and recovery.

  Chapter 20

  The alarm went out just as the blazing sun was dropping in the west.

  “Taylor! Everybody! We’ve got a situation on the Alpha wall! Send help!” Randy yelled over the radio.

  Without a second thought, every able defender grabbed a weapon and hurried to their cars. The protectors of the other survivors stayed behind, standing watch at the rec center. Mrs. Gale nodding at me as we rushed out the door, while Caroline looked for a rifle or pistol to keep watch with the others at the Center.

  “Randy, what’s going on?” I yelled, bumping into Janessa as she grabbed medical supplies and shouted for two of her nurses to come with us.

  “Some asshole just rammed the wall with a tractor trailer rig! He bailed out into the back of a pickup and the pickup took off! We’ve got injuries!”

  “Benson,” Cheyenne cursed as the others and King climbed into the Rubicon. Diego jumped into Julie’s green monster with the sisters
and roared off.

  “It’s gotta be.” I agreed.

  “We’re on our way. What’s the damage?”

  “We saw it coming. It started speeding up and then the pickup pulled alongside. When the driver bailed out the rig kept rolling, slowed down and started rolling to our left. We had time to get most of the people off the wall before it hit. The wall is damaged near the water, not the ocean side but the other. The rig didn’t explode but it’s on fire. I’m keeping people away from the wall until it’s out. We’ve got ten people hurt. One with a busted leg.” Someone shouted at him. “Make that one busted leg and a another with a broken arm. We need Janessa. Patty is looking after them now.”

  The Rubicon leapt into life and we raced after Julie, other cars trailing behind us. “She’s with us, we’ll get there as fast as we can. Beta wall? Can you hear me?”

  “Beta wall here, go ahead.” The old sea salt, a Bruxton local named Junior Cartwright in charge of the Beta wall, responded.

  “Crack your wall open so the cars going to the Alpha wall can pass.”

  “Already on it. Don’t spare the gas, she’s wide open.”

  “Good man! You heard him, everybody, speed, but don’t go crazy!”

  Julie’s green monster rumbled and accelerated, throwing a sand cloud against our windshield.

  “This may be an attack!” I shouted in the radio. “Keep an eye out on the water and as best you can at the Alpha wall. If any boat captains can spot for the defenders on the Alpha wall, contact Randy. Taylor out.”

  “Amos is an asshole,” Cheyenne said. “Why would he want to destroy the wall? Just because he can’t be behind it?”

  Janessa sighed, “Some people are just mean. Evil fills their heart. Amos Benson and his people are just evil.” She bowed her head and prayed.

  “I swear, if I get him in my scope, he’s done.” Cheyenne cursed Benson angrily enough that Janessa covered her ears but kept praying; the younger female teenaged lifeguard nursing assistants with Janessa, grinned at Cheyenne’s language.

  We flew through the Beta wall and I thought of how vulnerable it looked in places, where reinforcements were needed, and how few manned its defensive positions compared to the Alpha wall.