But they didn't tire. They didn't stop. Would never stop.
When Christopher shrieked at the group, yelled at them to run, they did. Quickly outdistanced the creatures.
Made the mistake of stopping.
And in less time than he could believe, there was that crack again. That sound of too many things pushing through nonexistent trails in the forest.
Coming for them.
They ran again. Making little headway in their stuttering, stop-and-go race. Never able to run fast enough to make real headway before one or the other of them had to pause, if only for a moment. To gasp in ash and heat and what little bits of oxygen made their way into the forest. To pass Lizzy and Hope from one to the other.
Christopher felt himself wondering what it would be like to run without the girls. Then cast out the thought as fast as he could. It was one step from wishing the girls weren't there. And that wishing would quickly turn to a hope that something would happen. That he would have an excuse to leave them behind.
That couldn't happen. These girls were the only hope for answers, for salvation. Even if they didn't know what they were going to do with Lizzy and Hope, the survivors all knew that to give them up would be suicide. Genocide, for by that action the human race would be doomed.
And beyond that... it would just be wrong.
He remembered talking with Dorcas in tunnels below Boise. Waiting for Ken –
(Ken, where are you buddy, are you still alive because we could really use you now)
– to resume consciousness after a series of injuries left him nearly dead.
"Funny how we all ended up here," he had said.
She shook her head. "Not funny. Just the right thing to do. We saw someone who needed help, we helped." And she added again, "Just the right thing to do."
The right thing to do. A joke, really. What could be right about anything in this world?
But he knew that was a lie. Everything done by the survivors had been impelled not merely by a hope for survival, but by a hope that they could help each other. Could make a difference.
Could do right by people who had nothing more in common than a desire to help each other live.
The right thing to do was to hold these girls. To keep them close, and to pass them back and forth. When one of them tired, the others picked up the slack.
Buck stumbled again. Aaron caught him, pushed him forward and gave him support until the big man could regain his feet.
They ran.
The creatures sounded close in the forest.
They ran.
The forest started to thin, and Christopher wondered what would happen next. Would they end up in a farm? In some field that was scattered with the burnt remains of some dead man or woman's work? Would they stumble into a town?
He guessed wrong on all counts.
90
CHRISTOPHER HAD SEEN these places before. Everyone in the Treasure Valley had seen them. Idaho's nickname was The Gem State; most people thought that referred only to the fact that nearly every precious stone in the United States could be found in Idaho's ground. That was only part of it. In reality, it meant that Idaho had abundant natural resources, many of which could be plucked from the state's earth.
And two of them, oddly enough, were sand and gravel. Again, something few people thought of as important, but they were ubiquitous in their use. They were needed to make concrete, for road construction, and to make things like concrete blocks and pipes. They could be used to make roofing shingles, for recreational grounds – even for water filtration.
Typically, sand and gravel were mined by digging a pit to the gravel deposit. But sometimes they were located so close to the surface – particularly the sand – that all they needed was a clear space for the mining. That was the case here.
Christopher hadn't just seen these places from afar, either. He had actually been to a sand and gravel mine site once. Not during work hours – he and a friend had gotten ragingly drunk and ended up parked in the middle of the mine site for no particular reason. He didn't remember much of the night, but he did remember getting a sense of power from the machinery at the mine. It mostly consisted of long, treadmill-like conveyors still covered with a layer of large rocks from the day's work. To one side of the conveyors was the mine pit itself, with a bulldozer and an earth mover parked beside some kind of huge hopper that could funnel loads of dirt and rock onto the conveyor.
At the other end of the conveyor belts – several of them, placed end to end to create the length to get the materials from the pit to where they would be processed – were a series of machines. He climbed up the last treadmill – an angle steep enough that he barely made it to the top, given his inebriated state – and looked into the mouths of the various machines. They had held sifters and rock crushers inside them: spinning drums with huge teeth on the side that he guessed would take in the large rocks on the conveyor and leave only small pebbles or sand behind.
When looking into the mouth of the crusher, he almost fell in. Which wouldn't have killed him, he guessed – it was only a few feet down to the series of rotating gears and teeth that would eat rocks and chew them into pebbles – but the idea of falling into it was scary enough he backed down and went home.
His father had been waiting to dress him down about drunk driving and "acting in no way like the son of the state's most powerful man."
Like that night that seemed so long ago, the machinery now sat silent. Long conveyors with the crushers and sifters at their mouth.
And at the other side....
"Go right!" screamed Buck.
Everyone angled that way. Because that was where the dump truck was. If they could get it started....
For a moment, hope bloomed.
Please, let the keys be inside.
They ran. The conveyor belt was between them and the vehicle. The belt itself was at the worst possible height for passing: high enough that climbing up would be a pain – especially with Hope and Lizzy – but low enough that crawling through the crossbars that held the thing up would be equally difficult.
Surprisingly, Buck clambered up the bars and onto the belt with the ease of a gymnast.
Contractor. He's been around this stuff before.
He'll never let me hear the end of this: his moment of Superman-ness.
Buck held out his hand. "Give me Hope!" he shouted.
Christopher passed her up. Buck lay her on the belt, after kicking aside a few rocks to make room for her. Then he gestured to Amulek, who had been holding Lizzy. Amulek passed up the toddler, and Buck lay her down at her sister's feet.
He gestured for Christopher to take his hand. Christopher was pulled up to the conveyor belt, then Buck held a hand to Maggie. Christopher pulled up Amulek, and at the same time Aaron climbed – not as well as Buck, but still ridiculously fast – to the top of the belt. Helped Theresa up.
Then they reversed the process, climbing down to the other side, passing the girls down.
Buck was still on top of the machine when they heard the growl.
The first zombies hove into sight. All twenty or so, moving toward the machinery.
Toward them.
91
AGAIN, FLIGHT.
I'll never run again if I get out of this.
A ridiculous thought. Of course he would run. That was all life was now. Running, running; the only possible blessing would be if you got a bit of a break between mad sprints for survival.
Christopher was holding Lizzy in his arms this time. Aaron had Hope, and they were being propelled along by Amulek and Theresa. Running full-bore for the dump truck, which seemed to recede two feet for every one he ran.
The growl was louder. He didn't look back. Afraid that if he looked, they'd be even closer than they sounded. Would be at his feet, teeth biting at air and fingers reaching for him.
They reached the dump truck. It wasn't as big as some he had seen, but still large enough to convey the sense that this thing had survived the
end of the world with ease, and would likely be around for any further apocalypses that might occur. Six wheels, grayed from years of use and a layer of sand that had faded and pitted the once-yellow metal of the truck itself. The front of the truck bore the word "DEERE" next to a model number, 250D.
Christopher didn't know if that was a good kind of dump truck or a bad one, a cheap model or a top of the line unit – but if it ran, it would have room for three of the group in the cab, with the rest able to pile in the dump bed with ease. That was as close to perfect as they came.
Amulek ran ahead for the last few feet, sprinting to the side of the truck and throwing himself at the door so hard Christopher expected him to bounce off with broken bones. But the teen landed gracefully. Caught hold of the side of the truck. Yanked open the door – the passenger side – and was inside in a moment. He disappeared for long seconds, then poked his head out. Shook his head and shrugged – No keys, the motion said clearly.
"Dammit," whispered Aaron.
Christopher swiveled to look at him. "Whaddya mean, 'dammit'? Can't you just use your super soldier skills to hotwire the thing?"
Aaron grimaced. "It's not like it is in the movies. Best case, it takes a few minutes, and this isn't best ca –"
He turned at the last word, doing what Christopher hadn't had the nerve to do: check on their pursuers. And when he cut off suddenly, Christopher knew it was going to be bad.
Maggie had turned as well. She raised a hand to her lips. Gasped. And suddenly Christopher realized something.
Something's missing. Someone.
"Where's Buck?" he said.
He turned as well.
And screamed.
92
BUCK HADN'T FOLLOWED them. Instead, he had jumped down on the other side of the conveyor belt – the side closest to the zombies that were now wending their way toward him. It may have been Christopher's imagination, but the things seemed faster than before, as well.
No. Not my imagination.
The zombies were covered with a slick, waxy substance. The yellow ooze both supported and healed.
They were healing. Moving faster than before.
Buck didn't even seem to notice. He ran to the far end of the conveyor belt, and Christopher could see him doing something there.
The belt rumbled to life. Rocks started cruising down the conveyor, dropping off the end and onto the next belt in the line. A small pile of rocks quickly accumulated there.
Buck moved again, and the second belt rumbled to life.
"What's he doing?" said Maggie.
Christopher knew. Knew, but wished he didn't. Wished he could be done, just done, with all this.
Please, not another friend. Not Buck. Not Buck!
The things were close to Buck now. Maybe twenty feet away. Focused on him, which was a good thing for the rest of the survivors, whom they didn't even seem to see.
But it was very bad for Buck.
At the last second, the big man clambered to the top of the conveyor belt. Began running in the same direction it was moving. The speed it gave him moved him quickly out of the range of the zombies. They milled for a moment, seeming confused by their quarry's sudden disappearance.
Then the first one of them leaped onto the conveyor belt as well. A moment later, the others followed. Picking their way over the rocks and up the length of the belt almost casually as they followed Buck.
"Run, you idiots! Get out of here!" Buck screamed the words without looking back. The conveyor motors almost drowned him out. But Christopher heard. And, hearing, knew that his friend didn't intend to escape.
Not Buck. Not you!
Buck jumped onto the final conveyor, the one tilted at a forty-five-degree angle that led up to the machinery that crushed the rocks and separated them into their various sizes. He had to leap over a pile of rubble that had gathered at the base of the conveyor to do so. He misgauged the jump. Fell to his knees.
Christopher screamed. He knew he should help, should do something. It was his friend, it was Buck, it was the right thing to do.
But he couldn't move. And then he couldn't even scream, because Aaron clapped a hand over his mouth.
"Do you want them to hear you?" Aaron said in a voice that was half whisper, half snarl.
Christopher tore the cowboy's hand from his mouth. "Don't we – we can't just leave him there. What do we do?" He looked at Aaron at the last. The cowboy stared back at him with downcast eyes. Then the older man put Hope in Maggie's arms and climbed into the cab of the dump truck.
Christopher looked back at Buck. His friend was standing on the thin ridge of metal that was the outer frame of the rock crusher. Looking less sure than before. Made sense – Christopher didn't imagine Buck had had much cause to put himself in that position before.
Buck's arms whipped around in great circles as he almost lost his balance. Nearly tumbled into the crusher. Theresa made a noise that was both gasp and yelp.
Buck leaped at the last second. Jumped over the chute and onto a thin metal ledge just beyond. Christopher figured he would jump down. Run.
He didn't.
He turned, and Christopher saw his friend had grabbed a rock the size of two fists somewhere along his run. He raised it toward the zombies who were now making their way up the slanted conveyor.
"Come on, you assholes!" Buck shouted.
The first zombie leaped.
93
BUCK SWUNG THE ROCK perfectly.
It hit the zombie's skull when the creature hit the high point of his leap. The moment when up and down hang in perfect balance and the body can most easily be moved. Christopher saw a spray of black blood, then the thing crumpled in midair. Its movement changed from forward and up to straight down.
The machine that chugged below Buck's feet stuttered. A high-pitched tone sounded for a moment, followed by a wet blat as what was left of the zombie – a few shreds of flesh and slivers of bone – poured out of the chute below the rock crusher.
The second zombie came. It jumped as well, heedless of the fate of its brother. This time, Buck's swing wasn't as flawless. The thing actually got a hand on his arm before Buck bashed it. Not on the head this time, but on the shoulder. The left side of the zombie's body dropped several inches, but it held on. Leaned its face toward Buck.
Buck slammed the rock sideways. The zombie's head split apart at the temple. It fell, too.
The next fell. The next.
On the sixth zombie, Christopher actually started to hope.
Come on, Buck. You can do it. Get back to us, pal, just –
The seventh and eighth zombies leaped. They flew through the air at the same time, jumping over the chute and reaching for Buck with four arms that were so close together they seemed to belong to the same creature.
Buck pummeled one of them into the chute. The other got across. Wrapped its arms around Buck. Leaned in for the bite. Buck managed to get his right arm – hand still holding the rock – across the thing's neck. Holding it back. But the zombie pressed in, closer and closer.
Another zombie jumped across.
Another.
Three at once. Too many, dear God, too many!
The third one reared back to bite. Nothing to stop it.
Buck looked toward the other survivors. Nearly buried beneath the mass of flesh that clung to him, but Christopher saw him. Saw his face.
Buck smiled. A lopsided smile that managed to be both a goodbye and a final good-spirited jab: See you, Christopher. And I'm the big hero, so suck it.
Then Buck tipped himself forward. His arms flew wide, and he dragged all three of the zombies down into the crusher.
94
MAGGIE: "HURRY!"
Theresa: "You got it?"
Aaron: "Shut up!"
Amulek: silent.
Hope and Lizzy: unconscious in the others' arms.
Christopher: watching. Just watching. He barely heard the others, barely registered the dozen or so zombies that had turned toward
the remainder of the group and were now jumping off the conveyor belts.
Buck.
He heard a thin mewling. A sound that morphed into a word: "Nooooooooo...." The sound was coming from him. Not just from his mouth, but from his soul.
Buck.
Dammit, Buck!
He saw the man's look as he fell. Saw the three zombies dragged down, a fourth as well as Buck hooked its leg at the last moment and yanked it forward, toppled it into the chute.
Christopher couldn't look away from the top of the rock crusher. Staring at the spot where his friend had stood. Where his friend had fallen.
He glanced below the machine. Nothing there to show Buck had ever existed. Just a wet mass with a few bits that still twitched even after being pounded to a near-slurry.
There was no way to distinguish between what had been his friend and what had been the things that killed him.
The remaining zombies halved the distance between the crusher and the survivors. The conveyors shuddered along beside them, heedless of what had just happened. Machines unfeeling, unknowing.
Christopher envied them. Envied their lack of understanding, their lack of humanity.
"Anything, Aaron?" screamed Theresa.
Christopher finally turned as he heard the clank of a boot on metal. Aaron climbed out of the truck. His face grim.
He pulled out his knife and moved into the front of the group. "Not gonna happen," he said. Christopher couldn't tell if he was referring to his failure to hotwire the truck, or was voicing a conviction: The zombies won't get past me.
The first was despair. The second a lie.
"Run," said Aaron. "Get away."
No one moved. They all knew what Christopher did: there was no escaping this time. Nowhere to run, and no time to do it.
This was death.
Christopher saw his friend's face again. Saw that defiant last look in Buck's eyes.
The Complete Colony Saga [Books 1-7] Page 88