Nurse Alissa vs. the Zombies | Book 4 | Hunters

by Baker, Scott M.

  Alissa raised her head and wiped her eyes. “I don’t hate you. It was an accident.”

  Little Stevie ran over and hugged his aunt. Connie joined them. Alissa cried again.

  Miriam stepped up to Alissa. “He’ll be back. We had an outdoor cat once that—”

  “Archer has never been an outdoor cat,” Alissa snapped, channeling her grief into anger. “He doesn’t know how to survive out there.”

  Miriam moved away.

  “Sorry,” said Alissa. “I didn’t mean to yell at you.”

  “It’s okay. I understand.”

  As suddenly as it had struck her, she tamped down the heartbreak over losing Archer, repressing the pain into the deep recesses of her psyche as she had done with every other negative emotion since this fucking nightmare had begun. Grief morphed into determination. She had faced crises such as this for months and would not let this one get the better of her.

  “How long ago did Archer get out?”

  “Two, maybe three hours ago.” Diana looked to Little Stevie and Connie, who nodded in agreement.

  Alissa stood and headed back to the Land Rover, returning a minute later with the Mossberg.

  “What are you doing?” asked Nathan.

  “I’m going to look for Archer.”

  “It’s getting late. The sun will be down soon.”

  “Don’t you dare try and stop me.” The anger in her eyes forced Nathan to back down.

  “I’ll go with you,” said Miriam.

  “Me, too,” added Kiera.

  “I’m game,” Rebecca joined in.

  “Let me get my gun,” said Chris.

  Alissa forced a smile. “Thanks, but you don’t have to do this.”

  “We’re in this together.” Miriam placed her hand on Alissa’s shoulder.

  Chris pretended to pull a sword from his belt. “All for one and one for all.”

  Shithead barked.

  “What about the supplies?” asked Nathan.

  Miriam waved him off. “No one is going to steal them. We can unload them tonight or in the morning.”

  Nathan sighed and gave in. “All right. Let’s split into three groups of two. It’ll give us a better chance of finding him.”

  Alissa and the others set off into the woods to find Archer.

  Chapter Eleven

  Sheri came downstairs and dropped into the recliner in front of the TV.

  “How’s he doing?” asked Tina.

  “Not good. He’s taking John’s death pretty hard. He says he doesn’t want to go on anymore.”

  “Do you think he’s serious?”

  Sheri nodded. “If he had a gun, I think he might end it all.”

  “Shit,” Tina mumbled. “Why don’t we stay here another day and give him a chance to work through his grief?”

  “Here” referred to an old farm and stable not far from the main road they had come across yesterday after the tragedy at the golf course. No deaders were around and the house seemed in good shape. Sheri and Tina had checked it and, once certain no threat existed, brought Brad inside and set him up in the master bedroom. Tina put the horses in the stable and gave them hay and water. Brad had fallen asleep the moment his head hit the pillow, the trauma over losing John in such a violent manner draining him mentally and emotionally. He had slept through the night and well into the morning. When Sheri had tried to wake him so they could head out, he told her to go on ahead and leave him behind, a request she had refused despite his pleading and arguing. He eventually gave in and went back to sleep while Sheri stayed in his room, keeping a watchful eye on him. With Brad overwhelmed by grief, somehow Sheri had become the de facto head of the group.

  “It’ll take Brad much more than a day to get over John,” said Sheri. “But I agree with you. We should stay here at least one more night. All of us could use the rest. It’s not like we’re in any danger.”

  “I checked the kitchen earlier. The water works and there’s canned food in the cupboards.”

  Sheri thought for a moment. She wanted to get as far north as quickly as possible to get out of deader territory, though not at the expense of leaving Brad behind. “We’ll spend the night here. I think one of us should stay awake at all times just in case.”

  “Agreed,” said Tina.

  “Then it’s settled. We’ll leave at sunrise.” Sheri changed subjects. “I’m hungry. What do we have to eat?

  “Canned chili, Spam, and canned beans.”

  Sheri laughed. “You start cooking. I’ll open the windows.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Chris stood on the porch of his cabin, enjoying the morning sun while eating a plate of scrambled eggs and sausage. Beside him, Shithead wolfed down the plate of eggs and sausage Chris had prepared for him, doing so with considerably more slurping. He reached down and scratched the dog’s back.

  “You’re a good boy.”

  Shithead ignored him, switching his attention from eating to licking the plate clean. Let him enjoy himself, thought Chris. They had a special project planned for today.

  The search for Archer yesterday afternoon had been a bust. They had scoured the woods for hours and found no signs of him. Alissa was devastated. When he left the cabin last night, she had gone upstairs to cry herself to sleep. Chris radioed in that morning to check on her. Miriam said Alissa had cried most of the night until she finally dozed off around one in the morning. She had not woken up yet. Miriam added that Archer hadn’t returned yet. The group planned on setting up the gate across the access road this morning. Chris told her he had a few things to do but would swing by later to help.

  Finishing breakfast, Chris placed his plate on the deck, which Shithead dutifully proceeded to lick clean. While the dog enjoyed his breakfast bounty, Chris took his coffee with him. First, he wanted to check out the Humvee, especially the weapon Kiera had found in back – the Browning .50 caliber machine gun, which had been designed to fit into the ring mount on the Humvee’s roof. Even more awesome, included with the Browning were five cases containing twelve hundred rounds each. Chris had no idea why someone would leave such a treasure behind, but he wasn’t complaining. After bringing the weapon and ammunition inside and securing them, he and Shithead would set out on their other task.

  To find Archer.

  Chris gathered up the dirty dishes and placed them in the sink with the others from their last few meals, finished his coffee, and found a place among the pile for the mug. After checking his AK-47 and locking the cabin, he and Shithead headed off into the woods.

  Truth be told, Chris wasn’t surprised that they didn’t find Archer last night. Six people traipsing through the woods making so much noise would have scared him off rather than attract him. If Archer got spooked and ran, it made sense he lost his bearings and couldn’t find his way home. Since no one had seen anything dangerous in the area, like wolves or coyotes, the chances were good nothing had attacked him. Chris figured if he and Shithead searched the area by themselves, they had a fair chance of finding Archer, assuming he was still alive and hadn’t wandered too far away from the cabin.

  The plan was so simple even Nathan could have thought of it. He and Shithead would run a line search pattern from their cabin to a mile or so past Alissa’s and back again, with spacing intervals of five hundred feet. They would walk slow, calling Archer’s name every few minutes, and pausing for a reply. With luck, they would stumble across him in the woods, lost and afraid, and bring him back. Alissa would be happy, he would be a hero in her eyes, and… well, who knows.

  Chris’ plans of being the knight in shining armor dimmed with each hour. He found no signs of Archer. The more he searched, the more tired and frustrated he became. At one point, he had stopped calling the cat’s name as frequently as in the beginning. They had covered an area at least three miles from the cabin without luck. Even Shithead flopped on his side on a pile of moist leaves and stubbornly refused to move.

  “I don’t blame you boy.” Chris crouched against a nearby tree,
removed his canteen, drank a few mouthfuls, and then poured some into Shithead’s mouth.

  Today had been a waste of time. He began to think that maybe Archer was lost for good, which sucked. That would devastate Alissa. She loved that cat more than anything. Maybe they should continue farther into the woods or extend the search pattern on either side of the cabins. He checked his watch. It already neared one o’clock. His best bet would be to go back and help the others then try again in the morning.

  Chris stood. Shithead did the same.

  “What do you say, boy? Should we search for Archer tomorrow?”

  Shithead barked his response.

  That’s when he heard a frightened meow echo through the forest. Shithead’s ears went up.

  “Archer, is that you?”

  The frightened meow repeated.

  “Go find him, boy.”

  Shithead headed off in the direction of the sound with Chris following, his AK-47 ready to fire if necessary.

  Five minutes later, they emerged into a small clearing. Chris burst out laughing. Someone had set a live trap big enough to capture a raccoon or a rabbit, a cage with a door that closed once the critter had wandered inside. Judging by the spots of rust on the cage’s exterior, it must have been set up before the outbreak occurred. Archer sat crunched up inside the cave, his fur dirty and matted, but none the worse for wear. Archer glared at him as if Chris had caused his predicament.

  “What an asshole.”

  Archer meowed.

  Well, at least Archer was safe and the problem of how to get him home had been solved.

  Shithead strolled over and placed his nose against the cage. Archer hissed and slapped at him, his paw harmlessly hitting the cage. Still, the dog jumped back. Shithead positioned himself parallel with the cage, raised his right rear leg, and urinated on Archer. The cat hissed at him.

  “Serves you right, asshole.”

  Shithead finished his business and raced over to Chris, his tail wagging. Chris bent over and scratched behind his ears.

  “You know better than that.”

  Shithead smiled and gave him one of those I’ve-been-bad looks that only a dog could master.

  Picking up the cage, Chris headed back to the cabin, with Shithead plodding along beside him after a job well done and Archer complaining the entire time.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chris reached Alissa’s cabin half an hour later. No one was around. Judging by the sounds farther down the driveway, everyone must be working on the gate. He would hopefully be excused for not helping them because of his heroic deed. Well, at least Alissa would forgive him, and that mattered most. Thankfully, Archer had stopped complaining after the ten minutes.

  Chris and Shithead entered. “Is anyone here?”

  “Where have you been all day,” Miriam responded from the kitchen. She entered the living area. “Everyone else has been busting their… Oh, my God. Where did you find him?”

  “He got himself trapped in this cage. That’s why he never came home. Where’s Alissa?”

  “She’s upstairs sleeping. She’s been depressed all day. I’ll get her.”

  As Miriam raced upstairs, Chris placed the cage on the dining room table. Archer meowed in protest.

  A minute later, she heard the two women on the second-floor landing.

  “Why won’t you tell me what’s so important?”

  “You’ll find out.”

  Halfway down the stairs, Alissa spotted the cage. “Archer!”

  She raced down the stairs and over to the dining room table. Opening the cage, she reached in and pulled him out, holding him tight.

  “I’m so glad to see you. I was worried sick that I had lost you.”

  “He’s back.” Little Stevie peered over from the top of the landing. He rushed down the stairs, over to Alissa, and petted Archer’s back.

  “Why’s he wet?” Little Stevie leaned closer and sniffed, then grimaced. “He smells like pee. Shithead, did you do that?”

  The dog turned away and glanced casually around the room.

  “It doesn’t matter.” Alissa hugged Archer even tighter. “As long as he’s safe.”

  Chris smiled. He enjoyed seeing her happy again.

  Alissa put down Archer, who immediately bolted upstairs to groom himself. She walked over to Chris.

  “You found him?”

  “Shithead and I did. We’ve been searching the woods—”

  Alissa took his head in her hands and gave him a long, deep kiss.

  “Gross,” aid Kiera as she and the others entered the cabin, each covered in dirt and sweat, a look of confusion on their faces. Except for Nathan, who seemed crestfallen.

  “Get a room,” commented Steve.

  Rebecca smirked. “Is this what was so important you couldn’t help us?”

  Alissa’s face lit up. “He found Archer.”

  “Is he okay?” asked Kiera.

  “He’s fine.” Alissa nearly danced with joy.

  “Where did you find him?”

  “In the woods trapped in a cage.”

  Shithead whined.

  “Okay, we found him.”

  The dog barked his approval.

  Steve wandered over, pulled out a dining room chair, and sat down. “Where is he now?”

  “Upstairs cleaning himself,” answered Alissa. “He’s dirty and frightened after his ordeal, and someone pissed on him.”

  Shithead avoided eye contact with the humans.

  “This calls for a celebration,” said Miriam. “I’ll make porkchops for dinner, and our furry hero gets his own.”

  Shithead’s tail wagged.

  Chapter Fourteen

  The group had set out on their journey to Nova Scotia, but not at dawn as originally planned. Brad had refused to go and demanded they leave him behind. Sheri had spent hours trying to persuade him to come along. Only when she reminded him that John would want him to live and continue did Brad finally relent. He asked for a little time to get his emotions together, which took longer than expected. They did not hit the road until shortly after noon.

  Brad rode his horse up to Sheri, who had taken point. “Do you know where we’re going?”

  “We follow this for a few miles to North Conway then pick up a small back road that heads north into Maine. From there, it’s clear sailing to Nova Scotia.”

  “How do you know all this?”

  Sheri reached into her jacket and pulled out a folded map which she held up. “Tina found this last night while going through a desk looking for anything we could use.”

  “Looks like I left the group in capable hands.”

  “Thanks, but I’m no leader. I’ll gladly pass it back to you when you’re ready.”

  They proceeded without incident until the group came upon a sign that indicated the Mount Deception Camping Area lay off to the right. Five deaders meandered along Route 302 with another thirty or so sauntering through the woods. Upon hearing the horses, they turned to the group, snarled, and staggered toward them.

  “Shit,” Tina called from the back. “What do we do now?”

  Sheri didn’t reply. Instead, she spurred her horse forward, running along the right side of the road to avoid the closest ones.

  Brad brandished his baseball bat in his left hand and set off after Sheri. Tina followed.

  They easily avoided the few deaders on the road, weaving their way around them. One went after Brad. He bashed it in the head with the bat, not hard enough to kill it, only disorient it long enough for them to rush by. Running at full gallop, they passed by the danger. The deaders merged into a pack and stumbled after them.

  Turning a bend in the road, they came to a small bridge one hundred feet long crossing the Ammonoosuc River. Halfway across, Sheri brought her horse to a halt. A horde of several hundred deaders blocked their path, many wearing National Guard and police uniforms. The closest ones spotted the group and moaned. As one, the horde surged onto the bridge.

  “Fuck,” said Tina.
“We must have stumbled across a detention center.”

  Brad checked behind him. The deaders they had passed closed in, blocking the road and cutting off their escape.

  “We’re screwed,” said Sheri.

  “Not yet.” Brad refused to let his friends be eaten alive. Spinning his horse around, he raced back across the bridge. “Follow me.”

  At the end of the bridge, Brad maneuvered his horse to the left, around the wing wall, and down the bank into the river, pausing to check on the others. Sheri made it down the slope.

  Tina was not as lucky. As the deaders drew closer, her horse became spooked and refused to move, neighing frantically and turning in a circle. Tina released the reins and held the crowbar in both hands, ready to defend herself. The first deader lunged, driving its teeth into the horse’s neck. The animal bucked, throwing Tina from the saddle. She fell to the ground with a loud thud, screaming in pain from a broken left leg. Eleven more deaders surged around the horse, knocking it over. Dropping to their knees, they tore into their meal. The rest turned their attention to Tina. She crawled toward her friends.

  Brad went to help.

  Sheri grabbed its bridle and stopped them. “It’s too late for her.”

  A deader, naked from the waist up and with half its abdomen eaten away, hovered over Tina. Tina lifted her right leg and drove the heel into its left kneecap, shattering the bone. As the deader tumbled to one side, Tina rolled in the opposite direction, crying out from pain. Using a large stone by the path leading to the river, she pulled herself into a standing position and hopped away. A deader in a New Hampshire State Police uniform tackled her, knocking them both to the ground. It went after her face. She screamed for help and held it off. Three more dropped to the ground beside Tina and bit her legs.

  By now, the horde had reached the end of the bridge. A few of them went after the easy prey. The rest stumbled down the embankment toward Brad and Sheri.