She was able to see the rest of the group, all being dragged or carried out. They all had their helmets removed, and she was pretty sure Johnny was dead. That amount of blood on him was too much, surely, for anyone to survive losing. The others were bound and gagged, leaving her the only one with their hands free. She wasn't sure if she should be relieved or insulted by that. A moment later one of the men grabbed her head, while she was still hanging upside down, and shoved a stinking filthy rag into her mouth, then bound her hands with layer upon layer of rotting cloth. Each layer would be easy to break through, but all together they might as well have been iron bands.
It seemed like they were walking deeper into the cave for hours, then they found themselves emerging into midafternoon sunlight. Tamra 's eyes burned with the light for a moment, until she adjusted. She was in a dirt clearing. The man who was carrying her dropped her to the hard-packed earth, knocking the wind out of her again. At least she could see her attackers clearly now. In the full light of day, they were worse. There was nothing, not a single detail, that looked like civilization, or even sanity. Every one of them had a wooden cross around their neck, crudely carved and assembled. Some had barbed wire stringing the chains, others used leather chords. Several had barbed wire wound around their limbs, the points digging into flesh. Worse than any of that, some of them had red rimmed eyes and twitching muscles, couple with random bouts of laughter or tears.
There was an overgrown dirt road leading out of the clearing, and an aging pickup truck, the body made more of rust than steel. The truck had a bizarre contraption welded to it, a giant canister with flames periodically shooting out of the side. The men were loading something onto the truck, but it was hard to make out exactly what it was.
One of them bent down next to Tamra and attached a collar to her neck, clicking a padlock closed on it. She heard locks closing on what she assumed were the rest of the team. There were only three, and she saw a couple of men lifting Johnny into the bed of the truck, pitching him casually. He was limp like a sack.
The men lifted Tamra to her feet and attached a chain to her neck. The other end was attached to a ring in the back of the truck. Finally, Tamra was able to see what was in the cargo bed. It was a number of things in sacks, and a bunch of dead bodies - none of them except Johnny fresh.
The rest of the team were attached to the truck as well. The men spoke a language that none of them recognized, although some of the words did seem to be English. They were joking around with each other, and with some of the gestures thrown Tamra 's way it was clear some of the jokes were crude ones at her expense. Finally, one of the men got in the cab of the truck and started driving. The chain around Tamra 's neck suddenly pulled taut, forcing her forward. The truck was moving slowly, a bit more than a fast walk... still making it hard for Tamra and the rest to keep up. They had to hustle, waking faster by far than was comfortable. Within a few minutes she was drenched in sweat, she could only imagine what the others must be feeling. They didn't have their helmets, but they still had the mail outfits, much heavier than her tank top and cargo pants.
The ragged men kept up with the truck, those that weren't riding on the walls of the cargo bed. They seemed to take turns ranging off to the sides, probably scouting. The one thing that Tamra kept in her mind was that Chad wasn't with them. The young soldier seemed competent on a level that most people weren't. He moved so quietly, so well, Tamra couldn't help but think he would find them, might even be following them now. She hoped, prayed that was the case.
Logistics are a Bitch
Most of the teams had checked in. Three were missing though, and no radio contact from them at all. It was within parameters, but many of the teams that had checked in reported numbers of zombies that were way, way, above estimates. Not only that, the zombies seemed to show up in a less than random way. There were very few individual roamers, and the hordes almost seemed coordinated. The map in front of Bennett was busy now, they had spotted at least three hordes, each one with over a thousand zombies in it. One of the teams that had reported in was pinned down in an old mall, surrounded by a horde that seemed to be sitting on the spot. Bennett was trying to come up with a way to move them out, but no luck so far.
The others seemed to be in decent shape, nobody was in immediate danger, and nobody had any results to report so far. One team thought they had seen a human in the city, but it was during the rain storm and they didn't get a clear look, so it could have been a roamer.
How the fuck did this city have more than three thousand zombies wandering around? Twenty years ago, there had been thirty thousand, but the island was very sparsely populated and twenty years of zombies wandering in random directions should have resulted in hundreds left, not thousands. Something was drawing them here, keeping them in the city core. So far there was no living population, which was the usual thing that would keep zombies around. It didn't make any sense.
"Wayde, I need some way to get my people out of the mall. Pretty much open to anything at this point."
"Do we have any safe way to draw them off? What's the terrain like?"
"Same as everywhere else in this fucking place. Ruined buildings and roads that are more grass than pavement. It's a bad spot though, lots of open space around the mall, most of the buildings that are there are long and low - not giving much of a view block. Sound will carry well there too."
"Is that a race track or something?"
"No idea. A big dirt circle, no idea what it might be. Horse racing maybe?"
"Yeah, that's a shitty spot. Enough city left to keep us from using the forest, not enough city left to use it. It's a big fuckin' horde too. Maybe there's something we can do with the lake back there? Set up a boat and pull the horde in, haul ass in a zodiac?"
"Less than ideal... it's a small lake. The bigger one to the northwest though, maybe there's something with that one."
"A hell of a haul for the men... getting all the way over there while drawing the horde. Might be the best way to it. I'll get them to scout it. How long do you think the folks in the mall can hold out?"
"They said they are good for a few days. Still have roof access, enough rations to last them a little bit. The mall itself is probably going to fall, but so long as they can stay on the roof they will be fine. Water might be tight. Many, I wish we had helicopters."
"Yep, or wings... maybe a plane with napalm. We don't. All we've got is my men, not many of those either."
"We'll make it work. Start by getting a zodiac to the big lake. We need to find our missing guys too. There's enough of them that it merits some work... but has to wait until we get the folks off the roof."
They talked logistics for the next little while. There were a million tiny details that needed to be taken care of, supply lines to be managed, construction to shore up, etc. Bennett had managed to convince Naomi to send a few dozen general laborers to help get the compound fixed up, but that meant feeding them as well.
It wasn't like the expedition was a failure, but it was not smooth in any way. The reclamation part was going better than the rescue mission, that was certain. Of course, that was Bennett's real priority, as much as he did want to find the missing salvage crew.
The Eye of the Storm
The cavern was empty, but there were tracks leading deeper in, many of them. Most of the cave floor was rock, but there was enough dirt to leave traces and Chad was good at finding those traces. He followed the signs, including small amounts of blood that had dripped to the ground here and there. The blood looked black in the false green of his night vision.
It took several hours for him to make his way through the cavern. The going was slow, sometimes there was no sign for a long time, and many branches or cross paths. In the end though, he came out into early evening light. He was in a small clearing, empty but full of tracks. There were pools of blood on the ground, and even some tire track. It looked like a large group, most walking along with the truck.
The tracking this time was easy,
but the sun set, and he didn't feel safe continuing into the night. His gear was gone, other than what he had on his body, so he climbed a tree and set himself up in a v between some branches, lashing himself in with some paracord. It was hard to sleep, his head wouldn't let go wondering what had happened to his team, and to Tamra.
The morning dawned early, birds singing, sun rising, another beautiful day. Chad let himself down and started moving. He needed to drink something, and his stomach was complaining about lack of food, but he needed to move more than he needed anything else. The tracks were clear, there was no question that whoever had his party had taken them this way.
Hour after hour he trudged. The tracks were getting fresher, he was catching up. At one point he saw where they had camped for the night, not as much ahead of him as he would have thought. Then the sound of the truck started echoing through the quiet air. He knew he had to be close. He started moving more carefully, he didn't want to just run into them unprepared, and he didn't want them to know he was there. The path he was following was clearly a dirt road, and still relatively well traveled, not nearly as overgrown as any of the other roads he had seen since arriving on the island. He could see the road continuing some ways ahead and uphill, tracked a fair way to the left.
There was a small deer track off to Chad 's left, it looked like there was a chance that he might be able to cut across, getting ahead of the truck. Worth a chance at least. He started down the trail, moving fast. The trees were close, branches whipping the face plate of his helmet, snagging at his armour, trapping his ankles, he didn't slow down, adrenaline flowing now that he could hear the truck, had a goal in sight. He pushed, hard, breath running ragged and heavy. There was a beeping in his helmet, a warning that his heart rate was well above safe levels. He ignored it, pushed even harder. He finally reached the pass, no recent truck tracks in it. He found a bush with a clear view of the pass and lay down. He realized that his vision was starting to go black around the edges, starting to blur, losing the ability to focus. He forced himself to breathe deep, in through his nose, out through his mouth.
After a while Chad 's breathing stabilized and his vision cleared. Around that same moment the truck came into view. It looked for the most part like a standard pickup truck, an older model with a lot of rust damage. There was a monstrous contraption just behind the cab however, belching smoke and fire from time to time. It appeared to connect into the fuel tank. The other strange detail was the line of people chained to the back of the truck, stumbling along. The chains ran around their necks, secured to heavy steel collars. He could see Tamra, Tim, and Michelle but no sign of Johnny. They were surrounded by people that looked like the worst dregs Chad had ever seen. There were zombies that looked more put together than these people. All of them were armed, most with bows, spears, makeshift swords, etc. Only a few of them had guns, and those guns were clearly stolen from the captives they had chained up.
The odds were too high for him to take them out, but the group was moving slowly, Chad was confident he could keep up with them, trail them until he could figure out where they were headed. He figured he had a decent idea what had happened to the scavenging party. Some of the captors had muscle twitches, Chad recognized them as being signs of cannibalism.
He kept them in sight, traveling far enough behind that he wouldn't be seen - at least he hoped he wouldn't. He kept a close eye, looking for any opportunity to free his team.
The truck stopped at nightfall, and the captors set watches. Despite the issues with their appearance they set disciplined watches, sharing around captured helmets from the team. No opportunity overnight. At some point Chad slept for an hour or so, hiding under a thick clump of bushes.
Morning dawned gray and damp. The clouds were close overhead and the winds were high. The rain started around ten in the morning, a driving steady rain blanketing the landscape in water. It got harder to walk, and the truck seemed to be having problems. They set up a tarp over the contraption, which seemed to be running the truck. From time to time they would put wood in either a lower hopper that seemed to be a firebox or an upper hopper that had hoses coming off of it. The issue seemed to be that they needed the fire to last in the lower hopper.
Eventually they reached a spot where they were facing open water. A thick cable ran across, attached to a flat-bottomed barge. The winds were extremely high by this point, and there was thunder booming through the air. Chad watched as they tried to wrestle the truck onto the barge, a task that was made nearly impossible as waves crashed over the ramp. Chad snuck down to the barge in the confusion, slipping briefly into the water. It was cold, shockingly cold. He hated the water, was developing a deep distaste for the ocean. Still, he could lose them in the passage. There was a pile of rope and detritus on one edge of the barge. He snuck between two large coils and buried himself under random crap, hoping and praying that they wouldn't need to move any of it.
Finally, they got the truck loaded onto the barge and cast off. Chad was still secure where he lay, although he was wet and cold, waves bringing frigid salt water over him every few minutes, rain pouring down on the tarp above him, flowing through in dozens of places. He was shivering, missing his waterproof tent and sleeping bag more than he ever imagined he would. The trip across the short straight would have normally taken a few minutes. It took almost an hour. Once the barge docked he slipped off the side, not lifting the tarp, just sliding his way out.
Chad thought he was cold before he hit the water, thought it was as bad as it could get. He was wrong. It was all he could do to keep moving, barely keeping his limbs moving. There was a gap in the vegetation next to the ramp, he slid his body up it, limbs numb and unresponsive. This was bad, he was hypothermic, needed to do something to warm himself up and fast. He looked around, seeing if there was anything he could use, while still only feet away from the people who had captured his team. There was the shell of a building that had an opening near the ground, maybe a shelter. He crawled on his stomach, more slither than anything and made his way to the opening.
Once inside things got marginally better. He was still freezing, but there was no wind and he was mostly out of the path of the rain. The building he was in was about three quarters collapsed, however there was an old wood stove, and a pile of near desiccated firewood next to it. Part of his carried kit was a canister of cotton balls coated in petroleum jelly, and a fire steel, everything needed to start a fire. The risk was high, incredibly high, but he knew he had to take it, it was that or die. His hands were shaking so badly it was almost impossible to get a spark, but eventually he did. The fire bit hungrily into the cotton balls, eager flames consuming the soggy white mass, looking for more sustenance. Chad put one of the desiccated logs on the fire, a small one, propped so it didn't smother the eager flames. After a moment the flame between to lick greedily at the wood. In moments Chad had a larger log on as well, warmth flowing out into the room. He moved as close to the fire as he was able, terrified that the smoke was visible from outside. It was quickly apparent that he needn't have worried. The chimney wasn't working, and the remnants of the room quickly filled with smoke.
There was a gap in the wall, near the ground, the smoke started flowing out of it, leaving Chad able to breathe if he stayed low. It was worth it for the heat. He waited until his body recovered, the shaking a thing of the past. He was tired, through his entire body, limbs lead, eyes trying to drift shut of their own accord, but he couldn't let himself sleep. First, he had no idea what was going on outside. Had they stopped once they crossed or were they still going? Could he catch up? The air was warm enough that now that he was reasonably dry and out of the immediate danger caused by the seawater he should be fine outdoors. Of course, maybe they had seen the smoke emerging from the building and were waiting just outside his bolt-hole, guns at the ready. Nothing for it but to head outside and see, carefully of course.
Crawling out was harder than crawling in had been. It seemed like a million pieces of rubble were digging in
to his skin, trying to hold him back. The armour helped of course, but it wasn't very well padded - a compromise reached to allow the reclaimers to work in the summer heat. Chad managed to push his way through and out into the clean air. The rain was welcome now, still cold but not frigid and it meant relief from the smoke. He suppressed a cough as best he could but lost out to the urgent need his lungs had to purge the carbon. He was racked for a moment, his body trying to double up on itself, a harsh racking cough splitting the air. He was sure that if the captors were still there they would have heard him, were probably coming to get him. That fear was quickly allayed as another rumble of thunder rolled through the landscape. Out here visibility was measured in feet, in fact he could barely see the building he had just left, and the rain was drowning out any sound less than the thunder claps. They were in a full-on summer storm, an epic blow coming from the south. The winds almost knocked him over, and he saw trees lashing the ground, branches pushed down. Given the weather there was no way they had continued on.
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