Extinction Survival Series (Book 3): Cost of Survival

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Extinction Survival Series (Book 3): Cost of Survival Page 22

by Browning, Walt


  “You,” Carver said. “He isn’t any ordinary guy, you know. He’s on a mission to win you over, and you just gave an ex-SEAL an opening in your defenses. I hope you’re up to the task. He can be very overwhelming.”

  Chloe sat down and sighed. “I know. God, how did that happen so fast?”

  “It’s just who we are, doc. He’s unrelenting. On the good side, he is trainable.”

  Chloe stared at Carver for a moment before bursting out with laughter. “I’m such an idiot. But then again, he might be worth the effort.”

  “Chloe. That is one thing I can vouch for. He is definitely worth it. I have never been disappointed.”

  “Well, Chief Carver. Mission accepted.”

  “Good luck, doc. You’re going to need it.”

  Carver stood. He gathered his gear, called Shrek to his side, and walked out the door just as Shader was coming up the sidewalk.

  “Thanks, buddy,” Shader said.

  “No problem, brother. Just don’t piss her off. I don’t want any bad blood between her and the rest of us.”

  Shader smiled. Not his normal snide or forced grin that looked more sinister, than friendly. He was genuinely happy. His face lit up, and Carver even caught some flushing in his cheeks.

  “If there ends up being a problem, I promise, it won’t be because of me,” Shader said confidently.

  Carver gave Shader a bro hug and clapped him on the shoulder. “See you later.”

  “I’ll have my radio on,” Shader added. “I’ll be there in a flash if you need me.”

  “I know, my friend. I know.”

  — 24 —

  Middle Ranch Road

  Catalina Island

  Love’s not Time’s fool, though rosy lips and cheeks

  Within his bending sickle’s compass come:

  Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,

  But bears it out even to the edge of doom.

  — William Shakespeare

  Sonnet 116

  “The map says there’s a lake ahead,” Gavin Gringleman said.

  “Copy that,” Carver replied as he steered his pickup around several potholes in the hardpacked dirt road.

  The young man, now seventeen, had been selected to be on Carver’s Red Team. His tactical development over the last six months did not go unnoticed. He was as tight of a soldier as any FNG (“Freaking” New Guy) Carver had run across before the viral infection. His brother Gary was back at the camp and wasn’t far behind his brother’s growth.

  Even though they’d taken some of Lost Valley’s men for this operation, Carver had left a substantial group behind. He’d learned his lesson early that past summer when they’d been attacked by a nest of creatures that had a lair at the nearby Satan’s Gate. Never would he assume the Variants were gone. Hope was carrying his child. He was darned sure to keep her and the baby safe while he was away.

  The other three members of his team sat in the bed of the pickup, where they could engage any enemy that might appear. There was little chance of that, with the morning light beating down on them. Those godless creatures shunned the sun’s warmth.

  Their mood was good, and Carver could hear a few laughs as they rolled over the mountain road.

  “We’re coming up to some buildings,” Gavin said.

  Carver could see a few structures to his left where a nursery had once grown landscaping plants. Several vehicles and a commercial fuel tank and pump were staged next to a metal building.

  With the rear window slid open, Carver called out to the men in the bed. “There’s a nursery coming up on our left. We’re going to take a look. Watch your fire discipline; there’s a fuel tank by the warehouse.”

  Carver swung the reinforced pickup truck into the company’s driveway and pulled up to the main office. They sat, idling in front of the building for several minutes before he shut down the motor. Nothing had appeared.

  Other than a few stray plastic bags that littered the manicured property, the facility seemed eerily unaffected by the last seven months. There was definitely a pre-virus vibe about the place. He half expected some office staff or yard worker to open the unbroken, smoked glass door and greet them.

  They dismounted and gathered at the back of the truck.

  “Place seems empty,” one of the team said.

  “Don’t get complacent,” Carver replied. “We clear it like normal.”

  “Your team will start with the main building. I want you to take point,” he continued, pointing at Gavin, who suddenly looked unsure of himself. “Just like we trained.”

  The four men stacked up at the building’s glass entrance. Gavin stood in front with two others lined up behind him. The fourth man stood to the side and tested the door, confirming that it was unlocked.

  “Gavin. You’re the number-one man.”

  The young man stood in front of the door, his M4 up at low ready.

  “Why do you have your rifle out?” Carver said, admonishing the scout.

  “Crap,” he muttered before pulling his shotgun from its back-mounted scabbard. He switched it with his battle rifle, then gave Carver a nervous nod.

  “All right, gentlemen. Remember your footwork and sectors of fire. Red Three, it’s all yours.”

  Gavin nodded and brought the shotgun up to eye level. His job was simple. When the door opened, he was prepared to shoot anything that immediately presented itself before leading the team into the office.

  “You own this building,” Carver said, stepping up to the young man. “Speed and violence are your only thought. Impose your will on the enemy, and you’ll do great.”

  The dark, brown-tinted door stared back at the young man. Carver suppressed a grin as the teenager struggled with his first breach.

  Carver reached over and gently pushed a button that was mounted on Gavin’s shotgun trigger guard. The young man had forgotten to push his safety off. “Relax, Gavin. You’ve got this.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Gavin’s hands clenched the firearm, but his front sight remained steady.

  “Number one, ready,” Gavin said.

  “Two, ready,” the next man said.

  “Three, ready.”

  “Four, ready. On your call,” the older man said, his hand on the door’s handle.

  Gavin pressed the flashlight’s button, casting a bright beam forward along his line of aim.

  “Hold,” Carver said, craning his neck.

  Shuffling and scratching noises wafted from inside. He called Shrek forward. The Mal spent a few seconds sniffing and scanning the entrance before sitting down and turning back to his master. There were no Variants, as far as the dog was concerned.

  “Something’s inside,” Carver said. “Be prepared.”

  Sweat appeared on the young man’s lip and forehead. He wiped it away with his shirt sleeve.

  Carver briefly thought of taking Gavin’s place, but Shrek didn’t detect the Variant scent. He decided to let the young scout continue.

  “Clear the building, gentlemen,” he said, nodding to Gavin.

  After a second of nervous silence, Gavin gave the command. “GO!”

  The door was yanked back. It took everyone a moment for their eyes to adjust to the black, rectangular entrance. Sudden movement, directly in front of Gavin, startled the group. A ghostly silhouette swirled in the threshold.

  Gavin yelled and pressed the trigger, just as Carver slapped his shotgun’s barrel to the side. The double aught buckshot blasted the door frame and wall, tearing a three-inch-deep chunk from the building.

  The apparition froze in the shadows as all five men stared back. Its white, pasty skin and torn clothing seemed to hover in the darkness. A low moan started as the white shadow drew back from the door. The sound quickly grew in pitch and intensity before it turned and ran into the blackness.

  Carver and Shrek sprinted forward, leaving the four stunned men behind. The war dog team ran after the wretched creature as it wound through piles of garbage and discarded cl
othing. It darted into an adjoining room.

  Carver slowed down and holstered his M9. The man and dog slowly approached the darkened side office, where the shadow had taken refuge. He took a deep breath, for the first time noticing the stale stench of the building. He adjusted his flashlight to a lower beam intensity and shined it on the floor.

  “Hello,” he said quietly.

  There was no response.

  “My name is John.”

  Carver heard the other four men shuffle into the room, their flashlight beams playing across the walls.

  “Stand down,” Carver harshly whispered to the team. “Lights off.”

  The room immediately went dark, other than the low glow of Carver’s own hand torch.

  Carver brought the light up and snuck a quick peek into the side room, taking a mental snapshot of the space. He pulled back immediately and reviewed what he’d seen.

  A blanket had been used to create a tent from the desk to the floor. The makeshift lean-to was surrounded by piles of discarded boxes and cans. A couch was against the far wall with several pillows and blankets piled on its cushions.

  He heard a small yelp, then the sound of whimpering.

  He made a decision and slowly walked into the room. His flashlight quickly found the pitiful sound’s source. It was a small child huddled next to the couch. She was clutching a stuffed giraffe.

  The light blinded the young girl, and she spun away with a cry.

  “I’m sorry,” Carver said, pointing the light onto the ceiling.

  He turned to Shrek and ordered him to sit, then moved next to the couch. He gently knelt, his back complaining slightly as he stooped over. He removed his helmet and shined the muted light on his own face.

  “I won’t hurt you. I’m here to help. My name is John.”

  The girl snuck a peek from behind the orange-and-brown toy. She shook her head and crushed herself against the couch, trying to make herself as small as possible.

  “It’s all right. I know you’re scared. Can you tell me your name?”

  She remained frozen against the leather sofa. Head turned into the wall.

  “Well, this isn’t going anywhere,” he muttered.

  “Sir,” Gavin said from the main room. “What is it?”

  Carver turned back and flashed his light onto the young man. “It’s a little girl. She’s scared to death. Just hold your position and keep watch. With Shrek being so calm and the fact that the little one is alive, I doubt there’s anything to worry about.”

  “Copy that,” Gavin replied.

  Carver turned back to the child. “Would you like to see my dog?” Carver asked.

  That got a response.

  “Shrek. Hier!”

  The dog appeared and stood next to Carver, staring intently at his handler for another command. Carver led the large dog past the detritus and squatted down next to the girl. He gently pulled Shrek to her side and rubbed his head.

  “He likes to be petted,” Carver said.

  The little girl peeked out and watched as Carver stroked the war dog’s forehead and neck. Shrek sat quietly, his tongue lolling out of his mouth, enjoying the attention.

  The girl gingerly reached out and put her hand on the dog’s neck before dropping it down and resuming her catatonic stare.

  Carver commanded the dog to stay and walked back into the main office. “She’s in shock,” he said. He looked at one of the men. “Contact Blue One. Let him know our status. Have him bring Doc Maxwell down here.”

  Twenty minutes later, Shader and Maxwell entered the office. During that time, Gavin and his team had cleared the rest of the building. Afterwards, they removed the contractor garbage bags that had been taped over the windows. The room was now bathed in warm morning light. Only the side office remained dark. Carver didn’t want to overwhelm the little girl with too many changes by removing the light-blocking plastic in her room. By the looks of the building, she’d been living here since the beginning.

  Maxwell entered the room where the child had been sleeping, leaving the rest of the men in the main office.

  “How the hell did she survive by herself?” Shader asked.

  “Someone prepped the place. There’s running water and still plenty of food,” Carver replied.

  “What about the rest of the nursery?” Shader asked.

  “We haven’t left this building. I’ve got the teams cleaning the place up. You should have smelled it when we first got here.”

  A cool cross breeze was flowing from the front door, out through the rear entrance. The four-man team was policing the office, piling discarded trash outside of the back door.

  “Sir? You might want to see this,” Gavin called from the back door.

  Carver and Shader walked to the young man. He handed them a page from the local newspaper dated a few days after the outbreak.

  Both men read the print. Speculation about the aggressive flu virus and the usual government explanations and recommendations filled the column. It was pure drivel, the same official crap that he’d read in the early days of the outbreak.

  “Typical,” Shader said after finishing the article. “They didn’t have a clue.”

  “You need to read the other side,” Gavin said.

  They flipped the Catalina Islander over and read the editor’s column. It warned of the violence and communicability of the virus and recommended that anyone infected needed to be locked up and the authorities contacted. The editor also suggested that everyone find a safe place and have food and water for an extended stay. If someone was infected, they should be restrained before they turned.

  It was signed by the newspaper’s publisher.

  “This guy,” Shader said, pointing to the man’s name at the end of the article. “He probably saved our little girl’s life.”

  “I wonder how many more survivors are out there?” Carver remarked. “She may not be the only one sheltering in place.”

  “I don’t know how anyone else could have made it,” Shader replied. “This is a unique location. Did you notice the tower out there? That’s how she had running water for the last seven months. I don’t think the municipal water supply has lasted this long.”

  Carver nodded in agreement. “Let’s check and see how doc’s doing. I still want to take a look at Avalon,” he said, checking his watch. They were already over an hour behind schedule.

  They approached the room and could hear Maxwell talking with the little girl. They waited for a few minutes before the veterinarian came out.

  “Her name is Jenny. As you can imagine, she’s not in the best mental shape.”

  “We need to keep going. Will you be all right waiting here with just Shader?”

  “I can call the rest of my team down from the ranch,” Shader said.

  “No need. She’s agreed to come back with us,” Maxwell said. “But she says she wants to visit her mom and dad one more time before she goes.”

  “Say what?”

  “I think they’re buried at the back of the nursery. She says she visits them every day and takes flowers to them.”

  “Jesus, how pitiful,” Carver said, thinking of Hope and his future child.

  Chloe went into the room and came out with both the dog and the small girl. She was dressed in a soiled, white princess dress, clutching her giraffe with one hand and holding Shrek’s collar with her other.

  “Hello,” Carver said. There was no response.

  Chloe just shook her head and let the girl lead them out the back door.

  They walked through a small field of native plants. A wide range of succulents and drought-tolerant bushes still grew between the beaten dirt trails. Weeds and grasses were sprouting in the unused pathways, while several beds of low-water, flowering plants continued their growth.

  The little girl led them to the back of the property.

  Carver strained to find a grave or some other placard that would mark her parents’ location.

  Shrek suddenly paused and stared forward.
His posture and the stiff hair on his neck alerted Carver that something was not right.

  “Stop!” Carver barked.

  The little girl jumped into Chloe’s arms, her gasping sobs of fear muffled by the doctor’s shirt. Chloe spun her head around and gave Carver an irate look. Carver pointed at the war dog. His nape hair stood stiffly, and his teeth were partially bared.

  “Sorry,” she whispered. She lifted the girl’s head from her shirt, making eye contact. “Jenny, where are your parents?”

  Her tiny arm pointed to a large metal building about fifty yards away.

  “Why don’t you take her back to that bench while we check it out,” Carver said, pointing to a spot out of the line of sight of the storage unit.

  “Come on, Jenny. They want to talk to your parents before you say goodbye.”

  “But why?” she asked in a soft, broken voice.

  “I’m sure your mom and dad will want to know that you are going to be in good hands,” Chloe said, leading the little girl away.

  The team approached the windowless building and stopped ten yards back. Carver and Shader cautiously approached its door and checked the doorknob. It had been locked from within. Shrek remained on alert at Carver’s side.

  Carver looked down and saw piles of dead flowers. This was where Jenny had been delivering her parents gifts.

  They scouted around the entire building and returned to its only entrance.

  “Do we even need to open this?” Shader asked.

  “Yes, we do. But it can wait until the girl does her thing.”

  Gavin was sent to retrieve Dr. Maxwell and Jenny. The waif approached the door and sat down on its threshold. The rest moved away, giving the child a last few moments with whomever, or whatever, was inside.

  She finally stood up and leaned over and gave the door a kiss. She walked silently to Chloe and took her hand. She reached out with her other and took Shrek by the collar.

  “Is it all right if we take Shrek back to the ranch with us?” Chloe asked.

  Carver thought for a moment. They wouldn’t need Shrek if everything went according to plan. This was supposed to be a scouting mission, returning to the ranch well before dark. But then again, they’d already used the canine’s nose this morning. In the end, one look at the girl’s face melted away any of Carver’s objections.

 

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