Six vehicles are parked inside beneath the humming halogen lights. There are a pair of high-end pickup trucks, one in red and one in black. There is also a green Hummer, an electric-powered economy car, a vintage Corvette, and a brand new black Mustang with red stripes along the hood.
For a minute, I just stand in the doorway staring at the sight of all of the cars and trucks. Then I remember the map. I open up the door of one of the pickups and check the center console. I finally locate one in the glove compartment.
The sound of glass shattering on the floor startles me, and I jerk my head up.
Hoff stands by the door with his mouth hanging open. A shattered bottle sits in a puddle of beer on the floor.
“Oh my god,” Hoff gasps.
“You scared the fuck out of me, Hoff,” I say as I slam the door of the truck.
I walk toward him and can smell the alcohol from several feet away. The big guy has clearly been going at it pretty hard. He ignores me and wanders over to the Chevy parked near the other end of the garage.
“I can’t believe my eyes,” Hoff says as he places his hands on the hood of the car.
“Pretty nice,” I say.
“Pretty nice?” Hoff says. “This baby is incredible!”
“I found a map,” I tell him, but he doesn’t seem to care.
“I had my doubts before,” Hoff says. “But I know now that the big guy up there is watching over me.”
“Are you crying?” I ask him.
“No,” he leans down and kisses the enamel.
He is definitely crying.
“I guess I’ll leave you two alone,” I say and then I head back inside the house.
Thirty-six
Morning comes around and I wake up to the sound of a rooster squawking in the yard and the scent of cooked bacon. For just a moment, I lie there with my eyes closed on the sofa and wonder if it was all a dream. Then I open my eyes and see the mounted deer heads on the wall, the family photos of the deceased owners in their hunting gear, and the expensive furniture and realize it is all very real.
I head to the kitchen and find everyone is already awake and sipping coffee in between bites of scrambled eggs, hash browns and fresh melon. It is rare for me to be the last one awake, but I must have been completely wiped out since I barely remember falling asleep on the couch last night.
“Coffee?” Blake asks me, holding out a steaming cup.
“No thanks,” I say. “Don’t drink the stuff.”
Claire holds out a plate of food for me.
“I’ll take some of that,” I say. “Thanks.”
I grab a seat next to Natalie and start shoveling food into my mouth. I’d really rather have my eggs sunny-side up, but I’m not about to start complaining about eating any of it. After weeks of stale chips, canned veggies, and the occasional jerky when I can find some, a meal like this is something I never thought I’d get again.
“We better get moving,” Hoff says. “We probably should be on the road already.”
No one gets up from the table. I can hardly blame them.
“I don’t want to leave,” Stevie complains.
Scout puts her arm around him and points to some of the food on the table to get him to eat more.
“Hoff,” Scout says. “I think we’re going to stay.”
She looks over at Steven who nods in agreement.
“Scout,” Hoff says. “Are you sure about this?”
“Yeah,” she says.
“It’s nice here,” he says. “Real nice. But even if it seems like it is safe here, it is just a matter of time before someone else finds this place.”
“If that happens, I’ll be ready for it,” Scout says.
“Is this because of what happened to Fletcher?” Hoff asks.
“No,” Scout says. “That’s not what it’s about at all.”
“Then come with us,” he says. “We know where this place is. If we need to we can always come back here. But help us finish this.”
She looks down at the empty plate with the scraps of food on it and thinks about it. I can’t blame her or anyone else for wanting to stay. But this isn’t a laboratory. Claire and the doctor won’t be able to help anyone here. If we want to try and put an end to all of this, we have to keep going.
“Don’t quit on me now, Scout,” Hoff says. “Think about what kind of world you want for Stevie.”
“Fine,” Scout says standing up from the table abruptly. “Let’s get moving then.”
“But you said—” Steven says, but Scout interrupts him.
“That was before I realized that I’d only have you to talk to here,” Scout says. “I think I’d rather go die in Colorado.”
Steven gets up and follows her out of the room as everyone has a laugh at his expense. Scout is really something else. That gal has one hell of an attitude. You might not think it when you look at her, but she is as hard and tough and resilient as any Marine I’ve ever met.
We pack up the two trucks with as much food and ammunition as we can safely carry, and then Hoff pulls the Corvette out of the garage.
“You can’t be serious,” I say to him.
“This baby is coming with me,” Hoff says. “The way I figure, the universe owes me for everything I been through. I’ll take this as a down payment.”
I know that driving a car like that around out here is only going to destroy the thing, but I don’t have the heart to tell him that. It’s just going to go to waste sitting in that garage anyway. The guy might as well have a little fun.
We pull down the driveway, and all of us can’t help but look back at the beautiful mountaintop ranch and wish we could stay there. Most people would probably say we are crazy for leaving, but we might be the only ones able to help bring all this to an end.
We pass through the small mountain town of Questa. It’s a beautiful place tucked between snow-covered mountains with dozens of dead wandering the street.
Even out here, way up in the mountains, the dead have taken over every small town. But in-between those towns are miles and miles of rugged terrain. There are stretches of wilderness along the road where the only things to be seen are huge meadows and towering peaks. The sight of them is so amazing. It makes me wonder how it was ever possible to navigate these lands before we had roads and automobiles. If we don’t succeed, one day soon we might understand what those early settlers experienced.
Claire spreads the map out in her lap and tries to find the best route to Cheyenne Mountain.
We pass through the tiny town of Castillo, and then we pass a lop-sided wood sign that reads WELCOME TO COLORFUL COLORADO. I glance around at the bland grasses in the meadows surrounding us.
“Colorful, my ass,” I say.
We continue along the same road for miles, passing by countless small farms and the occasional factory in the middle of nowhere. The mountains play games with my mind as I drive. They seem to take forever to get closer, then the road turns and you see another distant mountain ahead that seems to never get any closer. Finally, after an hour drive that seems three times that long, we come to the town of Fort Garland where the road we’ve been following comes to an end.
“Go right up ahead,” Claire tells me.
I slow down at the stop sign. This place is a ghost town. The dead lie in the streets. Their bodies have been mutilated in horrific ways. Some of them aren’t even dead. A few of them with their limbs chopped off slither around in the streets like slugs. A head stuck on top of the street sign stares at us and moves its jaws. I’ve seen a lot of shit since this started, but nothing like this.
Everything has been picked clean from the town. The stores are all empty. Cars methodically stripped down. Whoever did this took their time and made sure they got everything.
Then, in the rearview mirror, I notice the graffiti on the back wall of a gas station.
The grim reaper with a black cloak and a scythe stares at me and points a bony finger in my direction.
No one else says anyth
ing. I glance around the truck and see Claire looking at the map. Scout is thumb wrestling with Stevie, while Steven watches Scout. I am guessing they haven’t noticed what I have seen in these towns. They just see another shitty destroyed town in a long line of shitty destroyed towns.
I could tell them, but I don’t want to get them panicked for no reason. After all, we might never cross paths with these people, whoever they are.
I hope not, at least.
From what I have witnessed they are methodical, brutal, and they seem to enjoy what they are doing. They’ve bypassed small towns that had little or nothing to offer, but when they find a place with something of value, they take everything and leave plenty of carnage behind.
The narrow road curves around to the east through the grassy high plains. Deep green spruces and pines appear atop the hillsides across the meadows.
“Turn left here,” Claire says.
At first, I don’t even see the dirt road. It just looks like a driveway.
“Here?” I ask her. “Are you sure?”
“It’s on the map,” Claire says.
I make the left turn and steer the truck down the dusty gravel driveway.
“This doesn’t seem right to me,” I tell her.
“Look,” she says and holds the map up.
I can’t really see it, but I glance over and look at her expression. I can tell she is certain this is the right way, and that is enough for me.
The single-lane road winds between dense patches of birch and pine. Wedged between mountain peaks rest dilapidated cabins, some burned to the ground. Even the dead don’t wander out here. The terrain is too treacherous. We should feel fairly safe out here, but I do not feel safe at all.
The sight of tire tracks in the damp dirt road make me uneasy. Someone must have passed through here recently. It could have been days. It could have been hours. There is no way to tell for sure.
I slow the truck down and watch anxiously around every bend.
“What’s wrong?” Claire finally asks me.
“What?” I say.
“You look like you’re worried about something,” she says.
“It’s nothing,” I say.
I relax my grip on the wheel and lean back in the seat. I don’t need to get them rattled. If it turns out to be nothing, it will just make the rest of the car ride unbearable.
The only problem is Claire isn’t buying it.
“Chase,” she says. “I know you.”
I see an intersection ahead where the road ends.
“Right or left?” I ask her and gesture at the road.
She looks down at the map and tells me to take a left. I make the turn, my eyes staring at the tire tracks that still tread the road ahead.
“Well?” she asks me again.
Apparently my attempt to change the subject didn’t work out.
“It’s those tire tracks,” I tell her. “We have been following them since we left the highway.”
“So someone must have come down this way recently,” she says. “What makes you think we need to be worried about them?”
“I have my reasons,” I say. “Just keep your eyes open for anything out of the ordinary.”
“In case you haven’t noticed,” Scout chimes in. “Everything looks out of the ordinary now.”
Thirty-seven
The tracks in the dirt road lead us all the way back to a paved highway.
“Go left here,” Claire tells me.
I stop the pickup before the intersection and shift it into park.
“What are you doing?” Claire asks me.
“Just hang on,” I tell her as I open the door and get out of the truck.
I walk over and crouch down to inspect the tire marks in the mud. A door slams behind me and I look back to see Hoff climbing out of the car. He scans the road as he walks to meet me by the intersection.
“What’s the hold up?” he asks me, and then he notices the tire tracks on the ground in front of me and his eyes dart around the road again.
“Been following these tracks for the last thirty Mikes,” I say. “Can’t tell which way they went from here.”
“We don’t got time for any rescue operations anyway,” Hoff says.
“That’s not why I stopped,” I tell him.
Hoff adjusts the strap of his rifle and spits a shell into the dirt.
“Did you see the graffiti?” I ask him. “Back at Los Alamos.”
Hoff thinks about it for a moment.
“You had to have seen it,” I say.
“The Reaper?” Hoff says. “What about it?”
“The Reapers,” I correct him. “I think it must be some kind of group. A gang. Whatever you want to call it. I saw something similar back in Fort Garland.”
“Probably just some kids,” Hoff says, but I can tell he is at least a little concerned.
“I don’t think so,” I say.
“Come on,” he says and gestures for me to move back to the truck. “We’re only a couple hours away, then we can forget about all this shit.”
I follow him back and watch him get in the car before I glance back at the tracks. I really hope I am just being paranoid and overly cautious. After I get back behind the wheel and shift the truck in drive, I pull out onto the highway and resume scanning the landscape for any signs of danger.
“Don’t take this the wrong way, Chase,” Scout says. “But you’re kind of starting to freak me out.”
I glance up to the mirror and see her watching me from the backseat.
“You’re not about to lose it or anything are you?” she asks.
“I’m fine,” I say.
“I mean first you’re pointing guns at people, now you’re getting all paranoid,” she continues.
For a moment, I wonder if she is right.
Am I just being paranoid?
Has the stress of everything started to get to me and distorted my perception?
“Just worry about yourself,” I tell her.
“I am,” she says.
I shift my position in the seat and notice in the mirror that she has the Glock in her hand. She isn’t pointing it at me, but she is ready to use it if she feels like I am a threat.
Maybe I am a threat.
Maybe I’m not stable.
Maybe she isn’t either.
These kind of things aren’t so cut and dry anymore.
We’ve all been out here too long, and it has pushed us to our limits. It could be I am anxious now that we are so close to safety that something is bound happen.
When I was on deployment, Sarge told me that if I was planning on getting killed I should get it over with right away. No one wants to endure all those months in hell just to die so close to getting out. It seems like the same rule applies here and now.
I’ve come too far. I have to keep it together now.
I take a deep breath and try to relax. As we push north into the Rockies, I roll down the window and the cool mountain air calms my nerves a bit. At least until we reach the next small mountain town.
From this distance, I can tell by the number of buildings along the horizon that this community is only slightly larger than Fort Garland. The kind of place we could speed right through without much of a problem, but as we get closer I spot another ominous figure painted on the wall of a hardware store at the edge of town.
I shift my rifle slightly to make sure I can still get to it easily if I need to. Everything is more difficult with seven and a half fingers.
As we enter the town, I see the dead have been slaughtered here as well. I have to wonder if some of them were still alive when the Reapers rolled through here.
Hundreds of bodies line the streets. A handful of corpses still stumble around but most of them are badly maimed. Arms sliced off, legs bashed to hell, a couple of them even had their lower jaws brutally extracted from their faces.
There is a line between what normal people do to survive and what dangerous people do for kicks. The kind of people
that tie a corpse to a stop sign and set it on fire are not just trying to survive.
“Who did this?” Claire wonders.
“The Reapers,” I say.
“The what?” Scout says.
“Didn’t you see that hardware store?” I say.
“The skeleton?” Steven says. “I saw it.”
“There was one in Fort Garland, too,” I say.
“And one in Los Alamos,” Scout says.
“Still think I’m going crazy?” I ask her.
“Shit,” Scout says as she scans the street.
“Turn right, here,” Claire tells me as we reach the center of town.
“There’s no telling how long ago this happened,” Steven says. “Whoever did this is probably long gone.”
I make the turn onto Main Street and head for the edge of town. The gas light flicks on as I steer around a cannibalized sedan in the road with a legless corpse tied to the grill.
“We might have another problem,” I say.
“Gas?” Claire asks.
“How far away are we?” I ask her.
She scans the map again.
“Maybe a hundred miles,” she says.
“We’re not going to make it,” I tell them. “We’re going to have to find fuel somewhere.”
“Something tells me that won’t be easy around here,” Scout says as she looks over at a gas station on the edge of town. “They even took the pumps.”
“Had to take a lot of people to pull something like this off,” Steven says.
We leave the town and find ourselves on a long stretch of highway through empty fields. I turn at another derelict highway and keep driving north as the fuel needle pushes below the red line and the warning light flashes on and off. Just as I think we are about to run out of gas in the middle of nowhere, we spot the steeple of a church above the treetops ahead.
I slow down to maneuver around a blind curve. A corpse shuffles into the road and the truck crashes into the thing before I even have time to react. I slam on the brakes and then I feel a jolt and hear a crunch as Hoff smashes the Corvette into the back of the truck. The corpse groans as it tumbles into the shallow ditch beside the road.
ROTD (Book 3): Rage of the Dead Page 23