Dark Rhodes: Book 1 of the Ashleigh Rhodes Chronicles

by Michael Canon

  The milling zombies didn’t realize Melody was there until her hammer slammed into the back of the first one’s head with a loud crack. Before the first zombie hit the ground, she spun to the left, taking the legs out from under another one, just as I taught her. A quick overhand swing to the forehead shut it down for good. Melody used her new skills her very effectively, as well as those of her parents, to quickly adapt to her enemies.

  The Georges acted the same way with Melody as they did me. They moved in to attack, backing off as they took in her scent. This was my plan from the beginning. The situation was dangerous, without Melody being in any true danger. I thought of it as Zombie-Killing 101 as the last of the undead fell to her assault. The change in her confidence and demeanor was immediately apparent. She was heaving a zombie into the bed of my truck as I joined her.

  I commended her, “Nice work, I’m very impressed with you.” as I helped her clean up the yard.

  She smiled, “Thanks, I feel better. I mean I don’t want to kill for the heck of it, but it’s nice to know I can protect my family.”

  I was itching to get back on the road, but the weather had other plans. 20 inches of spring snow had us locked in until it warmed up again. We used the time to train and to increase the defenses around the cabin. It was cold, wet work, but after two separate groups of undead, it was necessary. Later that night, we sat around the fire to thaw out and talk.

  “You’ll be moving on as soon as the weather permits?” asked Mike.

  I nodded, “Yeah, Tucson isn’t getting any closer. I miss my family. It’s painful not knowing…”

  He waved me off, “You don’t have to tell me. Carol and I were beside ourselves once we realized the world went ass-up. We thought we’d never see another family member again. I don’t know how to describe how I felt when I saw the kids come around the truck.”

  Jace came over and climbed up on my lap, his eyes filling with giant tears.

  “You leavin’ Ashwee? You can stay here, you can have my room!”

  Hugging him tight to my chest, he buried his face in my hair.

  “Oh, you sweet, sweet boy! I love you, little man. I would love to stay, but I need to try to find my brother. He’s all alone out there.”

  I purposely avoiding my parents since his were gone. He sat back, still crying, but with a serious look on his little face.

  He patted my hand, “Then you better go save him from the monsters like Melody did us. It’s your turn to be the super hero.”

  All four of us broke out in tear-filled laughter that only comes from the innocence of a child’s viewpoint of the world.

  Five days later we all stood out in the driveway, next to my loaded truck. I put Crowley in his usual place on the passenger’s seat, but he jumped out and went to Melody. She picked him up and put him back, but he jumped out again. I picked him up, scrubbing and loving on him one last time. My heart fluttered, and it was my turn to cry.

  “Okay buddy, you stay here and take care of the kids for me.”

  He chirped and nuzzled my neck, returning to Melody’s side after I put him down.

  Mike and Carol each stepped forward and hugged me tightly.

  He said, “We can’t thank you enough for bringing the kids here.”

  I replied, “It was my pleasure.”

  I scooped up Jace and set him in his spot on my hip.

  “I love you Ashwee. You comin’ back after you save your brother? Maybe we can play with my Legos?”

  I smiled and said, “I’d like that very much little man, and I know Brian would, too. You be extra good until then, okay?”

  I motioned Melody under my other arm, pulling her tight to my side.

  “You’re going to be just fine. I’m so proud of you, Mel.”

  She buried her face in my flannel shirt and cried. After a minute, she composed herself and said, “Thank you for everything, we wouldn’t have made it without you.”

  I headed back to John and Judy’s to spend a night or two and to let them know the kids found their aunt and uncle. The compound was a bustle of activity.

  John explained, “We’ve got three other groups that want to work with us to clean out the undead, the assholes, and restore order.”

  He pointed to green push pins on a large wall map of Massachusetts, and continued, “The group near Ottis is almost as large as us, the others near Becket and Great Barrington are smaller, but well organized.”

  Gary burst into the meeting room and wrapped me up in an off-the-floor hug.

  Laughing, I said, “It’s good to see you, too,” as he set me down.

  I showed them both where Mike’s place was on the map, and John added a green pin.

  Gary said, “I know the area. I’ll take a group up there tomorrow morning with supplies and a portable HAM radio so they can stay in touch with us.”

  The next morning was a repeat of my previous leaving. It was bittersweet to leave again, but it felt good as I crossed into New York, like I was making progress. The odors of leather and gingersnaps tickled my nose as I prayed I made a positive difference in the lives of the people I’d met and befriended.

  53

  It was early in the morning, I could still see my breath in the cool dawn air. The Arizona girl in me was not used to it being so cold in May, it felt odd.

  I was near Lock Haven, Pennsylvania. I had gone across New York, then down into Pennsylvania to avoid the radiation in New York City. I had probably stayed further north than I needed to, but it felt like the right decision.

  I was walking again. The 220 was packed with abandoned vehicles, making driving impossible. The undead, trapped in their cars, moaned and scratched at their vehicle tombs as I passed by. They seemed okay while the weather remained cool, but I wondered how long they could survive in a car with summer was coming. I hoped time and the elements would help even the odds for humanity.

  Walking along this section of the highway, I saw that many of the abandoned vehicles had been moved on purpose. It was just enough to funnel you to the center of the road, reminding me of what we did to the zombies a few weeks ago. I went on full alert when I realized the upcoming exit ramp had been blocked intentionally. Looking ahead I saw various vehicles had been set up in a barricade in front of the upcoming overpass. Passing a minivan, I saw bullet holes in the driver’s door and the brownish-red stain of dried blood on the rocker panel below. The whole area screamed “Trap!” I could have turned back, but I was close enough it was likely that somebody already had me in their sights.

  I wasn’t even halfway home, and I was already sick of dealing with piece-of-shit human beings. They were becoming more of a nuisance than the undead. The undead were what they were, people had a choice. My anger, coupled with the fact that new and improved Ashleigh was really hard to kill led to my decision keep walking.

  As I approached, I watched two men come out from behind a grimy old pickup truck parked in the dirt before the overpass. The first individual was tall and lanky with greasy hair and very dirty work clothes. He had a beer in one hand, and a shotgun in the other. His partner was in jeans, a black leather jacket, and a New York Yankees ball cap. He had a rifle slung over his shoulder. He was cleaner, but his eyes held nothing but trouble.

  Downing his beer and dumping the can, the dirty one said, “Well, what do we have here? Why is such a pretty, young thing walking down this road all alone?” with a devious smile.

  I watched the Yankees Fan slide the rifle off of his shoulder and point the barrel in my general direction.

  I said, “I’m just passing on through, boys, I don’t want any trouble.”

  The Yankees Fan spoke up “Well Darling, this here’s a toll road, and you’re going have to pay if you want to get through,” as he undressed me with his eyes.

  I felt another individual approach me from behind. I knew they had a weapon on me.

  The newcomer said, “You are way too fine not to hang around with us for a little while.”

  He was a litt
le taller than me, with dirty blonde hair and glasses. He was dressed almost exactly like Yankees Fan, minus the hat. Greasy Hair and the Yankees Fan now had their weapons pointed at me.

  “Take her pack and her weapons, and let’s get her back to the base. Chet is gonna shit bricks when he sees her,” said Greasy Hair to the man behind me.

  Yankees Fan agreed, almost drooling, “She’ll make a great addition to the harem, and we get first dibs on her ass for bringing her in.”

  “Hey Robbie, she’s got a shit-hot rifle, I want it!” said Blondie as I let him take my M4.

  Greasy Hair/Robbie nodded and grunted an acknowledging okay, while continuing to leer at me. Blondie slung my M4 over his shoulder and reached for my backpack. I let him have the full weight of the pack all at once. I was counting on the fact that my pack weighed a hell of a lot more than it normally would for a woman my size.

  “God Damn!” he exclaimed, as he was pitched forward by the pack’s unexpected weight.

  I used his surprise to quickly rotate myself behind him. I grabbed him by the throat, while simultaneously bending his right arm up behind his back until I heard his shoulder joint dislocate with a loud pop. I let go of his useless right arm, but kept a firm grip on his neck, using his body as a shield from the others. I ducked down low behind my captive. I was sure there was at least one more asshole up on the overpass, I could hear them moving around.

  “Let my brother go!” screamed the Yankees Fan, forgetting about his rifle.

  To his credit, Robbie remained calm moving back and forth, looking for a shot. I drew my M9, firing from the hip around Blondie, at Robbie. The first round missed, ricocheting off an abandoned car. The second bullet embedded itself deeply in Robbie’s left shoulder, causing him discharge his shotgun harmlessly into the ground. Aiming over my prisoner’s shoulder, I fired again putting two rounds into Robbie’s chest. He was dead before he hit the ground. The Yankees Fan had recovered from his shock and was now pointing his rifle towards us.

  I trained my M9 on the Yankee’s Fan and said, “Tell me where your camp is and how many men are in it, and I’ll let you and your brother walk out of here alive.”

  “I’m not tellin’ you shit.” screamed the Yankees Fan acidly, as he took a step forward, rifle still on me.

  Quickly holstering my 9mm, I said, “Back up and drop your rifle, or maybe I should clip his other wing?”

  Blonde whimpered as I started bending his left arm in the same fashion as the right.

  “Greg, please, just tell this psycho bitch what she wants to know!” he pleaded.

  Greg was just about to respond when a body slammed onto a derelict car behind and to the left of him. The broken body of a medium sized bald man in jeans and a flannel shirt lay face up on the crushed hood and shattered windshield of the vehicle. The individual’s throat had been ripped out, and front of his skull was caved in. Greg was still processing the sight when another individual landed on the ground behind him, but unlike his predecessor, he was alive and landed on his feet. He was over six feet tall with a very muscular build. He appeared young, his early twenties, with brown eyes and long black hair that was held in place by a silver band.

  The stranger moved incredibly fast. Stepping forward, he lifted Greg off the ground by the throat, effortlessly knocking the rifle out of his hands. He looked at me and smiled benignly. His visage hardened as he refocused his attention on Greg.

  “The lady asked you a question, where is your base of operations?”

  Greg made various indiscernible choking and gagging noises.

  “Oh, my bad.” said the stranger with a slight laugh, as he set Greg down and loosened his grip on his abused throat.

  Sucking in huge gasps of air, Greg croaked, “What the fuck are you?”

  “That is not the answer we wanted from you.” chided the stranger.

  Grabbing Greg’s right hand, he crushed it like a Styrofoam cup. Greg screamed in pure agony, his brother’s screams adding to the cacophony.

  “Now, shall we try this again?” said my dark benefactor.

  Greg looked like he was about to pass out, but he said “Top of the overpass head north for about four miles, across the river, they’re in a bunch of old national guard buildings. Look for some hand painted “N”s with arrows, they will lead you right to it. You’re both dead if you head there.”

  Greg growled menacingly, “Chet is an ex-Army - Recon or something. He’s got over forty guys fighting for him. He even has a Bradley.”

  I knew he meant a BFV – Bradley Fighting Vehicle. I could drive it, knew how to load, aim and fire all its guns. Hell, I could even recall the heavy smell of sweat and weapons fire from the last time I was in one, although I’d never seen one in person. The dichotomy of having done something, while simultaneously knowing you’ve never done it, is confusing, to say the least.

  My dark benefactor processed Greg’s rant with a slight nod and said, “By the way, it’s Special Forces, not Recon. Recon are Marines.”

  Greg looked confused but said nothing. My dark benefactor still had Greg by the throat as he turned to me and said with a small smile, “Ashleigh, all the undead have you looking a little gray around the gills, don’t you think it’s time you fed properly?”

  I was stunned, my facial expression and open mouth showed it. “Who are you, how do you know so much about me,” I asked in a quiet, astonished voice.

  My dark benefactor smiled, then turned and ripped out Greg’s throat with one bite. I watched with macabre fascination as he fed on Greg’s blood and flesh. I could smell the warm, red blood and hear the weakening beat of Greg’s heart. With each beat, my own bloodlust increased. Blondie writhed in my grasp, his dislocated arm forgotten as he watched his brother being consumed.

  I couldn’t restrain myself anymore, my vision clouded red, and I gave into my own bloodlust. Grabbing Blondie’s hair, I sank my teeth into his neck. As I fed, the roaring in my ears all but drown out his screams. I was the hunter, he was the prey - nothing else mattered.

  Feeding on the living was different than feeding on the dead. The dead felt cold and dirty, their blood tasted tainted and off. Living blood and flesh was clean, warm and well, alive. My mind swam with elation and ecstasy. I could feel my body coursing with raw power as I fed. I gorged myself with reckless abandon. I was about to crack open my prey’s skull when I felt a pair of strong hands pull me back from my gluttony. I turned to attack, but I was thrown twenty feet across the roadway. I landed hard, slamming into a derelict car. I instantly jumped to my feet ready to attack whoever threw me.

  “Ashleigh, get a hold of yourself, or you’ll burn out!” yelled a tall man with the dark hair.

  “How did he know my name? Why did I know him?” I asked myself.

  It didn’t matter, I was going to kill him for interrupting my meal. I took three steps forward to attack but paused to stare at him more carefully.

  “That’s it, wind down Ashleigh, wind down.” said the man with the dark hair.

  I closed my eyes and focused on my breathing. With each breath I could feel my body returning to normal, gaining me more control of my actions and senses.

  I opened my eyes after the eighth breath, immediately recognizing my dark benefactor. He was standing next to me, his expression one of true concern.

  “Will you please tell me who the hell you are?” I exclaimed.

  I was suddenly dizzy and fell to one knee. He mirrored my movements, getting down on his left knee.

  He said caringly, “The nausea and dizziness will pass soon. You went too long between red feedings.”

  Moaning painfully I went from a knee to lying face down on the roadway, the cool tarmac felt amazing on my cheek and through my clothes. I closed my eyes and moaned softly as I felt the world starting to spin around me.

  54

  I must have passed out because when I awoke with a start, I was no longer on the roadway.

  I sat up quickly, regretting it immediately. My head was pounding so
hard I thought my brain would explode. I covered my eyes with my hands. After a few minutes, the pain started to subside. Removing my palms from my eye sockets, I looked around. I was in the bedroom of a small home. It was clean and neat with a grandmotherly décor.

  My hands were clean of blood and gore, but I was still dressed in my blood-stained t-shirt and jeans. My boots and the rest of my equipment was stacked neatly on the dresser to my left. I saw my dark benefactor leaning against the room’s door jam.

  He said, “Meet me in the living room when you feel up to it,” and walked away.

  Standing up slowly, I grabbed my toiletries and headed to the small bathroom across the hall. I checked the water and was surprised when it worked. I took a quick shower, then headed back into the room to get some clean clothes. I dressed quickly and made my way to the living room, dumping the more ruined clothes in the trash along the way. This life sure was wreaking havoc on my wardrobe. I took a seat on the couch, across from the recliner my dark benefactor was in.

  “How are you feeling? I had to remove your over shirt, it was a mess. I cleaned your boots and jacket, too,” he asked and stated almost apologetically.

  “Like someone hit me with a bus, then backed up to do it again.” I replied.

  He smiled knowingly. “You lost control back there because you went too long between live, or red, feedings. After going without for that long, the urge to feed will make you very vulnerable to attack. Feeding more regularly will help to control the urge. We’re tougher than most, but we’re not completely immortal or invulnerable.”

  As he spoke, I studied him more closely. His long hair was not held in place by one silver band, but two, a large one near the back of his skull and a smaller one at the end of his braided hair. Three or four leather cords had been worked into and around the braided hair between the bands. His whole appearance reminded me of some of my Native American friends back in Tucson. His chiseled face was calm and expressive with dark brown eyes that reminded me of someone, so much so, I already trusted him. I couldn’t shake the feeling that we had met before the 220 overpass. My enhanced sense of smell noted he cleaned up regularly, but there was still a slight presence of the undead mixed in with it. I brushed this off, thinking everyone must have a little zombie stink on them nowadays.