Subject: It’s strange to scavenge through people’s lives. I don’t know if I’ll ever get used to it.
Administrator: Why? Didn’t you do similar things in the CIA?
Subject: I did but they were always the bad guys. When you see a happy family photo staring back at you, it’s hard to clean out the cupboards guilt free.
Malcolm had honoured Craig’s request from yesterday and found them a paved road for the day’s travel. He’d kept the convoy on the secondary highways instead of access roads, finding that here in rural West Virginia they were nearly as remote as the access roads. They’d made great time on the flat roads with little back tracking, crossing over the Big Sandy River and leaving West Virginia for Kentucky. It wasn’t exactly the most direct route to the Lakes but they needed a bridge to get across the Ohio River and this route had one of the smallest towns with a bridge crossing.
It also meant they were forced to take a major highway. He hated the idea of it but they had no choice.
Once they were on the main highway, it hadn’t taken long for them to run into others. His heart had jumped into his throat when he spotted the vehicle moving towards them on the other side of the highway. He’d radioed to the rest of the convoy to be ready and he’d taken his gun out of his holster, ready for anything.
Except the car hadn’t slowed down a tick. It had sped up and blew past them, the driver and passengers obviously more concerned with where they were going than the convoy.
It had been a relief and the next time he saw a vehicle, he’d only hit the radio as a head’s up and kept his gun on his hip. There had been two cars that time but they’d immediately turned off onto a side road, clearly wanting to avoid any trouble.
Still, he wasn’t about to let his guard all the way down. They had a long way to go and they would have to pass through the largest town they’d come across since they’d left Virginia.
Not that Fairview, Kentucky was a metropolis by any means with a population just a little over 20,000, but it was huge in comparison to the tiny villages they had passed. It also had two bridges that spanned the Ohio River and it was their best bet at getting to the other side.
But there would also be survivors there and that’s why he had pulled the convoy off the highway just after midday when they had reached the outskirts of Fairview.
They’d found a fenced lot and small building with a sign marking it as Wholesale Pavers and Stone. Mounds of gravel and loose stones were piled around the lot and towers of paving stones were stacked behind the building. The fence would provide security from any freaks and the large lot had plenty of cover in case any locals or travellers passed by.
Truth was he was more worried about the locals than anything else. That worry was why he had decided to scout the road into Fairview on foot with Alan and Quinton while the rest of the group waited back at the paver’s.
They’d climbed the high ridge that ran parallel to the highway and followed it towards Fairview. The rocky terrain wasn’t exactly the easiest to move through but the thick evergreens that grew abundantly on the ridge kept them hidden from anybody below while giving them the perfect view of the highway in both directions.
“You know, if things were different, I’d be running drills at Gillette right now instead of climbing this hill,” Alan griped. “Just my luck that the world goes to shit after I get drafted.”
“Well, look at the bright side, Wakefield,” Quinton said. “Statistics say you’d be out in five years due to joint injury or concussion so you saved yourself a lifetime of pain.”
“It’s a lifetime of work down the drain,” Alan said. “My dad must be losing his damn mind. He used to get up early every morning since I was eight to make me run drills. He played high school ball but never made it pro.”
Which was something Malcolm didn’t need to be told. It was obvious from what little he’d heard about Wakefield Senior, that the man had been obsessed with his son fulfilling his own childhood dreams of playing professional football. Malcolm had a feeling that if Alan’s parents hadn’t been on vacation in Italy when all flights were grounded, Wakefield Senior would be leading his son through the apocalypse to his training camp, just in case the NFL was still running.
“We should move up higher,” Malcolm told them. “The highway curves east around the ridge and then heads straight into the city. There are some houses up on the ridge that will probably give us a high enough vantage point. We’ll be able to see for a couple miles.”
The steeper incline cut off any further conversation, which Malcolm had hoped would be a perk of their new direction. He’d brought Quinton and Alan, not wanting to leave them back at the paver’s with Jackson, just in case the embers from yesterday’s fight were still hot, but he hadn’t thought far enough ahead to realize that they’d be subjected to Alan’s greatest hits spiel.
He should have known better. It was the reason he did his best to avoid scheduling himself on watch with Alan.
“So…” Alan started up again, “We cross over the river and then how much farther do we have to go?”
“Two more days should get us to the lake,” Malcolm replied, “Then however long it takes to find a boat to get us to the island.”
“Shouldn’t we be looking for boats now then?” Quinton asked. “There’s no guarantee there will be any up north when we get there.”
“I’ve been looking,” Malcolm responded. “Just haven’t spotted any.”
He thought fondly of the Christine, the boat he’d sailed into Portsmouth to discover the world had ended while he’d been at sea. She would have gotten all of them across the lake without incident. Though, even if all they could find was an inflatable raft, he’d get it to the island no matter what.
Above the treeline, Malcolm spotted a satellite dish perched on the peak of a roof and through their trunks he saw a rusted chain link fence barely recognizable under the ivy that covered most of it. The waist high fence was flimsy, used more to make sure someone didn’t accidentally overstep and slide down the ridge rather than to keep anybody out.
“We’re coming up on the houses,” Malcolm told them, his voice low. The men were quick to put on their game faces, falling silent as they stilled behind him. “Ground slopes easier on the east side. We stay behind the trees, follow the fence up to the top and see what the situation is. We’re on observation, not offense, so fingers off the trigger until we see what's up there.”
The men nodded and fell in single file behind him as he led them up, following the east side of the fence. It didn’t take long before a two storey American Craftsman that was perched on top of the ridge came into view. The central gable perched on the roof was high enough that it cleared the trees on the ridge. It would offer them a perfect view of the surrounding area at least a mile or two in every direction.
“We need to get on top of that house,” Malcolm told them, coming to a stop behind some trees so they could survey the house without being seen.
“You think there’s anybody in there?” Quinton asked.
“Not sure,” he replied. “Curtains are pulled over all the windows so I can’t see in.”
“Last thing we want to do is go trying to climb their eaves trough while they’re hiding in there,” Quinton said. “They’re bound to think we’re looters trying to find our way inside.”
“There might not be anybody inside,” Alan said. “They might have evac’d or gone to be with relatives.”
“Possible but we don’t want to get into a firefight with a couple of innocent people just defending the property.”
“So what do we do? Just walk up to the door and knock?” Alan said.
“Why not?” Quinton replied with a shrug and a grin. He propped his shotgun against the fence before vaulting it and heading towards the back porch.
“Quinton, wait!” Malcolm called out but the man ignored him as he jogged up the porch steps and knocked on the door.
“My name is Dr. Quinton Alpert,” he called through the door
. “I’m not looking to cause any trouble or hurt anybody. I just need to ask a favour.”
Malcolm looked at the windows but he saw no sign of movement behind any of the curtains.
“My friends and I were just passing through the area and wanted to get a look at what lies ahead,” Quinton continued. “We were hoping that you’d let us climb up on your roof to take a look around and then we’ll be on our way. You don’t have to come out or even talk to us, okay? Just move the curtain covering one of the windows back here if you want us to leave and we’ll go without any argument.”
The house remained silent and there wasn’t so much as a slight flutter to any of the curtains.
“Anything?” Quinton called back to them.
“Nothing.”
Malcolm figured that it was likely that the house was empty. Even if the occupants doubted they would leave without issue, it cost them nothing to move a curtain to see if it would work. And if the occupants were just interested in killing people, they would have shot Quinton as he crossed the lawn.
“Come on,” he said to Alan and vaulted the fence, though he grabbed Quinton’s shotgun and kept his own gun at the ready as he walked to the house. “We should check for a ladder in the garage. Save ourselves the strain of trying to actually climb the drain spout.”
“No need,” Quinton replied and pushed open the back door. “It wasn’t locked.”
“Who doesn’t lock their door when the world is ending?” Alan said.
“If you leave in a hurry, you don’t,” Quinton said before turning back to Malcolm. “It’ll be a lot easier to get on the roof if we climb out one of the second floor windows.”
Quinton was right. By all signs, the house was empty.
“Okay, I’m on point, Quinton on our six,” Malcolm said, handing Quinton back the shotgun before taking up the front position. “We clear the main floor then work our way up.”
They nodded and fell into position as he led the way into the house. The main floor of the house had been renovated to be open concept, the back door opening into the large eat-in kitchen that led into a family room with French doors that opened into the main foyer. They swept through the rooms quickly, crossing from the family room to the main foyer with the large staircase that Malcolm covered while Alan and Quinton went into the living room and formal dining room and cleared them.
“There were a bunch of family photos in the living room,” Quinton said when they joined him back at the stairs. “Looks like Grandma and Grandpa live here. Two sons, married with kids of their own. By the look of it, one of the sons lives out in California. Grandpa and Grandma might have gone to be with the other son.”
“Or he came and got them,” Alan suggested.
Though they were likely correct, Malcolm wasn’t ready to let his guard down. They’d done that in Marysville and look where that had got them. Craig shot, which led to Travis dying and Jose getting infected and killing Ana.
One momentary lapse and the domino effect had destroyed too many lives. Never again.
Malcolm put his finger to his lips and indicated for them to cover him as he went up the stairs. The hallway was in midday shadows and the doors that lined it were shut, cutting off any outside light that might have filtered in through the windows.
Up here the odor of decomposition scented the air and he knew what they were likely to find. Malcolm indicated with a wave of his hand which doors he wanted the other men to cover. Together they opened the doors, each of them stepping in to clear their chosen room.
The room Malcolm walked into obviously belonged to Grandma, though judging by the blue paint and the baseball themed wallpaper border near the ceiling, it had been her son’s bedroom once upon a time. Now there was a sewing machine in one corner, a half-made quilt sitting next to it and a dress mannequin standing by the table. An overstuffed chair with a knitting bag overflowing with yarn next to it was in front of the window that overlooked the backyard and the ridge.
“Shit!”
Malcolm shot back into the hallway to find Alan, stumbling back from his door, coughing.
“Found Grandpa and Grandma,” Alan choked out, the stench of rotting flesh almost overpowering now.
Malcolm walked down to what they now knew was the master bedroom and looked inside. A king sized bed took up most of the space and laying on the bed, arms around each other, were the remains of the owners of the house.
Decomposition had not been kind to the couple that lay in the bed. Rolling masses of maggots feasted on their flesh while flies buzzed about.
Several empty prescription bottles sat on the bedside table next to an empty bottle of gin. Quinton went over to check out the bottles while Malcolm went to the end of the bed where a quilt was neatly folded. He shook out the quilt and pulled it up over the bodies, giving them some dignity in death.
“Check this out,” Alan said, standing at the woman’s vanity and holding up a piece of cream coloured stationery.
Dearest Eli,
We’re not sure if you will ever read this. We tried calling but we couldn’t get through and the last we saw on the news, San Diego was evacuating people on the battleships. We hope you, Mary and the kids made it on one of them. We talked to Bart in Louisville and he said Sarah and little Elliot were sick in the hospital. We haven’t heard anything since. Your father went into town for errands and he was attacked by one of the sick people. He isn’t going to make it and we decided what we needed to do. We love you very much and we’re sorry but this is the way it had to be. Take care of each other.
Love,
Mom and Dad
“Looks like they took everything in their medicine cabinet,” Quinton said. “Wash it down with gin, you go to sleep and never wake up again.”
“If only we could all go that way,” Malcolm said dryly. They didn’t have time to mourn for people they didn’t even know. “Come on, we can climb out the window in the sewing room and get up to the gable.”
They were quick to follow as he left the master bedroom, no one wanting to spend more time than necessary in that room.
In the sewing room, he pushed the armchair out of the way and one by one they climbed out the window onto the roof.
The peak was high enough to see over the trees on the ridge and give them a view of the valley below. Quinton kept watch on the ground as Malcolm and Alan used their binoculars to study the curve of the highway as it snaked towards Fairview.
Malcolm could see the glimmering strip of the Ohio River in the distance and the town that had been built around the bridge that crossed it. They were too far away to see anything more than the general outlines of the largest buildings in Fairview but they did have an unobstructed view of the highway.
The four lanes were empty as far as he could see, free of any obstructions that might prevent their convoy from reaching the bridge.
Though it was good that their preferred route was clear, he did notice that the closer the highway got to Fairview, the more buildings lined the highway. All he could see were places for people and freaks to hide.
But there was nothing that could be done for it. The other bridges that crossed the river were in even larger cities.
No matter what, they were going to be out in the open as they crossed the bridge. He was just going to have to get used to it. Once they were on the other side of the river, they could lose themselves in the rural side roads again.
“There’s a car dealership just off the highway,” Alan said, lowering his binoculars and pointing. “About two miles up, east side. It’s got the red flags out front.”
Malcolm followed his directions and spotted the line of red flags rustling in the breeze. Behind them stood a large glass walled building surrounded by cars of all different makes and models. A large garage was attached to it, the sign above its large roll-up doors marking it as a service centre.
“Those cars in the lot are going to have gas in the tanks and there’s a refuelling tank on site.”
“You sure ab
out that?”
“See the eastern corner of the service centre, that white cylinder behind it is a gas tank. They would have used it to fuel the fleet.”
“Good eye,” Malcolm said, impressed with him.
“My dad owned a dealership,” Alan replied with a shrug of his shoulders. “I know how it works. As long as other people haven’t been through there, the tank should have more than enough. If it doesn’t, we can siphon the tanks of the pre-owned inventory down there. There’s no possible way for all those tanks to have been emptied. At the very least, we can trade up on the station wagon. It’s shit on gas.”
Malcolm could see Alan was confident in this. For the first time since they met, he didn’t sense that underlying wave of disdain coming off of Alan.
Malcolm shot a glance over to Quinton who nodded his agreement.
“Alright, let’s go back and get some volunteers.”
Subject File # 756
Subject: At the start I was willing to sacrifice all of them to save my sisters. I know that’s bad but it’s the truth.
Administrator: And now?
Subject: After everything we’ve gone through I’d burn the world to the ground to save any one of them.
On the walk back to the paver’s lot the men had discussed their strategy for returning to the dealership. They would head in on foot and, depending on the number of volunteers, they would split into three groups. One for getting gas and raiding anything useful from the service centre, one for finding better vehicles and one for watching their backs.
Quinton was intent on joining even if they had plenty of volunteers. It wasn’t about earning his place or owing anybody anything. He and his sisters had to rely on the others for transportation since they’d been forced to leave their parent’s Explorer behind in Marysville. There were plenty of cars at that dealership and he was going to get one for his family.
He didn’t want to rely on the other’s to keep his family safe. There was no guarantee that they were going to make it to the fabled government island. At any moment they could run into any infinite number of problems that would cause the group to scatter to the wind, each of them left to fend for themselves. He was determined to ensure that when--not if--it happened, he and his sisters would be safe.
Sanctuary Page 6