by Lundy, W. J.
Soon, the thwack! of the tomahawk, the moan of the Primals, and the firing of his rifle filled the air.
Chapter Fourteen
Day of Infection, Plus Nineteen
East of Paris, Virginia
Luke squinted, looking into the darkness, unable to see the other end of the weapon. He froze then slowly raised his hand from the knob. He knew the others would pick up on his reactions and respond. If they hadn’t already, a man would be taking position to fire rounds through the wall in the direction Luke was looking. They would kill anyone there before they allowed harm to come to him. He let his eyes shift and saw Weaver already aiming his rifle, taking slow steps to the left. Luke raised his arms higher and said, “Wait, it’s okay!”
He took a short step back, catching Weaver’s attention before the soldier lost his nerve and fired a salvo of green tip .223 rounds through the wall and into the man on the other side.
“It’s okay, we aren’t here to take anything,” Luke said, his voice calm and steady. He kept his hands in the air and continued to step away from the door. As he made distance on the door, he watched the shotgun barrel level and follow him onto the porch. Soon, an elderly, heavyset man in denim overalls moved behind it. The man had a thick white beard and a tight-fitting Farmall cap. “Da’ hell ya’all doing out here?” he said.
The man’s tired eyes searched the terrain behind Luke and stopped on the lined-up soldiers as he found them. The farmer could see that the soldiers had him out numbered and out gunned. Quickly, he took a short step back and raised a free hand, showing his palm while keeping the shotgun’s barrel on Luke. “Now, I ain’t asked for no trouble. You all’s knocked on my door, not the other way around.”
The man’s head darted left and right, scanning the yard. He looked hard at the black-painted MRAP and then at Luke with his black tactical police vest, then again at the soldiers before stopping again on Luke. “What exactly is you all, anyhow? Soldiers or police?”
Luke smirked. “Bit of both, but I can tell you we mean you no harm. You can lower your weapon.”
The man nudged his head toward the soldiers holding rifles at the low ready and said, “No harm, you say. That’s not really how it’s looking to me. I see a lot of men with guns in my front yard. I might seem simple to you all, but in these parts, that’s not considered a friendly visit.”
Looking back at Weaver, Luke put his arm out straight and waved his palm to the ground. The soldiers followed the command and let the rifles relax, dropping to the front, hanging on their slings, out of their hands but where they could be brought back into a fight in seconds. When his eyes moved back to the old man, his shotgun barrel was being slowly lowered and was soon hanging limp in his right arm. Luke nodded his appreciation at the action and extended his right hand. “I apologize for the way we came up on you. We were just expecting infected. Name’s Luke. I was a deputy in a city west of here by the name of Vines.”
“Vines, you say, huh?” The old man looked up toward the porch ceiling in deep thought, then returned the handshake. “I think I heard of Vines. My name’s Earl. And you can relax—we ain’t got any infected here. I heard plenty about them on the news but haven’t seen one on this road, and certainly ain’t had one on this farm.”
“None?” Luke said. “Just ten miles from here, we’ve seen massive groups. The areas around the highway are swarming with them.”
Earl nodded and grinned. “Yeah, I heard something about that too.” He squinted, then looked back at Luke as if an idea just popped into his head. “You know, as a matter of fact, there used to be some federal police that stopped by here every day. Guess they’d drive east down the road, check out some roadblock the state police had setup, then come on back. Feds said no infected bothered that roadblock, not a single one. They said it had something to do with the mountain; you know, the uphill and all. Apparently, the sick people—you know, the ones out walking around—well, they prefer to move downhill rather than up mountains. Guess they’re lazy or something.”
“I wouldn’t put much faith in that,” Weaver said, stepping closer. “I’ve seen them do some crazy things when they’re chasing someone. Give them time, and they’ll find this place.”
Earl reached behind him and leaned his shotgun against the wall. “Funny enough, the Feds said something about that too. They said if I found a need to go down the mountain for anything, to make sure I’m not followed back. Seems the only way they figure on the infected getting this far is if they are chasing something.” The man looked at the MRAP again. “Say, you all weren’t followed, were you?”
Luke shook his head. “No, we broke contact with them far from here. Nothing followed us, but I really want you to understand, these things are unpredictable; they’ll make their way up here soon enough. We just had a horde of them surround our camp. We had to fight our way out.”
Earl rubbed at his thick beard and eyed Luke suspiciously. “What do you mean ‘horde’? Horde of what?”
Before Luke could answer the question, a woman’s voice called from in the house. Then she appeared in the doorway. She was as old as Earl but far shorter and thinner in stature. She looked at Luke, then the other soldiers, then turned to the old man and scowled. “Why haven’t you invited these boys in? Have you completely lost your manners?”
Grinning, Earl put a hand on the woman’s shoulder then stepped aside, holding open the door. “This here is my wife, Esther. She ain’t much of a cook, but she does a decent job with breakfast, if you all would be interested,” he said, waving them in.
“We wouldn’t want to take your food, sir,” Luke said before being pushed aside as the soldiers climbed the porch steps with Tucker leading the way.
“I would love a farm-cooked breakfast!” Weaver said, following the others in, leaving Luke standing alone on the porch.
Earl shrugged and winked at Luke then pointed to the girl left alone on the lawn. “Well, you two may as well join them. And don’t worry about our supplies—we have plenty. This is a real working farm, and our stores are stocked.”
Luke nodded and waved for Kate to enter the farmhouse then followed Earl inside. The man turned and closed the door, but Luke noticed he didn’t lock it. They’d entered a large family room that butted up against a formal dining room. At the back of the wide room with tall ceilings was a long table made of dark wood, where the soldiers had already made themselves comfortable. Luke could hear them hooting and making jokes as they passed dishes.
“Sorry about them, they don’t get out much,” Luke said, pointing to the group of men digging through a large basket of bread as Esther filled glasses with milk.
Laughing, Earl said, “Don’t you worry none about them. Esther is used to feeding the farm hands. Matter of fact, she probably misses the action.” The man rubbed his belly. “I try, but even I can’t eat enough to keep that woman busy.”
Luke looked toward the back of the room. “Farm hands? You have more people here?”
Shaking his head, the old man said, “No, not recently.” He put a hand on Luke’s back and guided him into the dining room as he spoke. “I had a half dozen men but cut them loose when this started. The radio said people should lock up and stay indoors, so I sent them all home to their people.
“The man on the TV said something about we should wait and stay indoors until told otherwise.”
Earl paused a beat and indicated an empty chair, where Luke sat. Then Earl pulled out a chair near the head of the table and sat next to him. The man filled a cup from a coffee pot then placed it back on the table. “The newsman made it sound like it would only be a few days, but as you can see, here we are, still waiting.”
Studying the coffee pot, Luke waited for the go-ahead from Earl then filled his own cup. “These federal police you said stopped by the farm, who are they?” Luke said.
The old man took a sip from the cup and raised an eyebrow. “You serious? The folks at the complex up there… some sort of security, I guess. The Weather Station
or whatever it is they’re calling it these days.”
“Mount Weather?” Luke asked.
Earl laughed again. “Yeah, I’ve heard it called that a time or two. Never been up that way myself, but some of my hands have done work up there for extra money, construction or whatnot.” He sipped the coffee again, holding back his hands as Esther approached and scooped a helping of hash onto his plate.
He looked back at Luke. “Anyhow, day or so after this all started… convoys of trucks moved up the mountain, headed that way. Army trucks, school busses, all of it. Later, we’d heard about all the troubles in Washington on the TV.”
He paused as Esther filled Luke’s plate then continued. “But still, the only folks we saw was all the traffic up the Mountain. Not many of them bothered stopping; most were in an awful hurry. Like I said, the radio and TV were giving people instructions to stay put. But we were hearing things from people on the road, official-type people saying it was wise to pack up and head for the hills.” He laughed again. “Fools. We already are in the hills.”
Luke grinned at the remark then, using a fork, took in a heap of the potatoes, peppers, onions, and corned beef mixture. It was delicious. He looked at Earl with wide eyes. “Damn Earl, if this is just decent, then you have a sophisticated palate, my friend.”
The old man smiled. “You get as much of it as you want, or I’ll be eating it for days.”
Luke took another bite then looked back to the front door. “You said there were other travelers on the road?”
Earl dipped his chin. “Yeah, official types, mostly. Not sure who they were, but the traffic didn’t last long. The Feds said there were roadblocks or something the military put up. The government wanted people locked down to prevent the spread of infection. I assume it worked; ain’t seen no infected up this way but haven’t really heard. The radio and TV just shut off one day, and shortly after that, the Fed boys stopped coming by.”
Earl scratched at the side of his head. “Come to think of it, you might be the first to have stopped here in over a week. Was sort of hoping you might have some news on what’s happening down the mountain.”
Luke sighed and took another sip of the coffee. “Well, as I was saying earlier, there are hordes just down the mountain.”
Earl nodded. “You saying hordes; you mean, like herds? Like herds of what? People and such?”
Luke’s face turned hard. “These infected, they’re something else, Earl. If you haven’t seen one, it’s hard to explain exactly what it is.” Luke looked into his coffee cup before sipping. He sighed and looked back at Earl. “Think of a person becoming a rabid wolf. That’s what they are like, crazy violent. They can’t be reasoned with… all they want to do is kill. Then imagine a pack of those wolves, then a hundred packs of them.” Luke paused, he could see that the men around the table had stopped eating and were looking at him. “That, my friend, is what a horde is.”
“You’re serious, ain’t ya?” Earl asked, the old man’s forehead changing from red to a pale white. “So… it’s all true, what the news was saying about the attacks in the cities.”
“I’m afraid so,” Luke said. “I don’t know how you’ve managed to avoid them, but they will find this place. And the things about them not coming up the mountain…” He shook his head. “That might work for a while, but they came after my group, and we were deep in the national forest. We were far off the county road, and they still found us.”
“And the military roadblocks, at least they’re working to hold them all back?” Earl asked.
Luke shook his head again. “Roadblocks, no. Dead, all of them, all dead.” He sighed. “The only military still operating that I know is at a camp just east of here, and when we left, they were in a lot of trouble. And that roadblock your federal buddies were manning down the mountain, I found it abandoned.”
Earl looked at the faces of the men around the table. “So, what about you all? You deserters then? Why ain’t you back at your base with the others?”
Weaver stood, his mood suddenly shifting. “No, sir, we aren’t deserters. We were sent here. We have a mission at Mount Weather, and all of us are hoping there is something up there that can help us with all of this.”
“And what exactly might that be?”
The soldier shook his head. “Not certain, but if the government is still operating up there, we need to find out.” He faced his men. “Wrap it up, boys. These folks have been mighty hospitable, but the sun is breaking the horizon, and we need to get back on the road,” he said before turning to leave the room.
Luke pushed back from his chair and looked at Earl. “Sir, we really do appreciate the meal and the information. If there is something we could do for you in exchange, just ask. Maybe escort you all up to the mountain, to the base?”
Earl laughed. “No, son. We’re just fine right here. Like we said, we ain’t seen any of those infected. I’m sure it will all clear up soon enough, and things can get back to normal.”
Standing, Luke could see that the other men were leaving the dining room, with Kate close behind. Esther was already scrambling to collect dishes. He turned back to the old man. “I really wish you would reconsider. When those things make their way up here, it’ll be like nothing you’ve ever seen before.”
The old man smiled softly and rubbed his beard. “I think we’ll be just fine. But I tell ya what—first sign of trouble, and I’ll put the woman in my old Ford truck and head up that way.” He reached out and slapped Luke’s shoulder. “Now go on, it looks like your friends are in a hurry.”
Chapter Fifteen
Day of Infection, Plus Nineteen
North of Hayslette, Virginia
Gyles adjusted his point of aim; with two quick trigger pulls, muzzle flashes lit the alley like lightning strikes. He heard screaming then saw a body fall, and he fired again, faster this time. Blinking his eyes rapidly, he tried to focus through the rifle smoke and strobing lights. He heard himself yelling, taunting the crazies as he fell into his own personal killing zone. But this wasn’t a blocking action—he couldn’t get too deeply engaged or he would be lost here. No, he needed to shoot and move. His brain was stalling when it needed to speed up.
He cursed himself, feeling the combat’s trance fall over him like a warm blanket. He knew exactly what it was but still couldn’t fight it. It was a mental state that had killed men better than him. A place you parked your senses, firing, working your weapon like a finely tuned instrument, the battle a concert, and he was leading an M4 carbine solo.
Forgetting to take cover, forgetting to fall back or move ahead, not changing positions, suddenly the enemy fixed on you, and you were dead. His mind continued to bounce… shifting aim, killing the enemy, reloading. He was comfortable here, but he knew he needed to focus on the fight ahead.
“Sergeant, what the fuck are you doing?” he heard Mega scream.
He was back. He stood and fired off another volley, this time hitting a large man twice in the center of the chest. It was not enough to kill it, but the second shot destroyed the Primal’s spinal column, sending it crashing to the street. No time to see what he’d done, the soldier was already searching for another target, finding a sprinter closing in on them from the left.
He shifted his point of aim and fired, working the trigger rapidly, feeling the buffer spring work with every shot, watching brass cartwheel from the ejection port. This time the third shot clipped the top of the Primal’s head. He spun back to see Mega fumbling with the hawk and the door’s lock.
“Just kick in the damn door! We need to get off this street now!” he shouted.
Mega looked back. His face was pale, his eyes wide with fear. He had the shank of his hawk pressed into the doorframe, prying with all his weight. The wood protested with creaks and moans but wouldn’t give. He turned to Gyles. “Sergeant, if I break the door down, we won’t be able to close it behind us. Those things will just follow us in.”
“Mega, I swear to everything holy, kick in the damn
door, or we are going to die on this street!”
Gyles snapped back to the front and fired the last rounds in his magazine then pressed the release, letting the box magazine clang on the street. He reached for his hip and pulled a frag grenade. After yanking the pin, he tossed it as far down the alley as he could before snatching a reload from his chest and slapping the magazine home. He was back up, firing again before the grenade exploded somewhere to his front. A dumpster exploded, bursting into flames and dumping its contents across the alley. Not bothering to take cover, he heard the buzz of frag zipping over his head. He pushed left against Mega, completely out of patience. “Kick in the damn door, or get out of the way.”
Mega backed off, roared, and ran at the building. The door seemed to explode under the big man’s weight, bursting inward. Gyles backstepped into the entrance, still firing into the now smoke-filled alley before throwing a second frag grenade into the void. He looked behind him to find Mega sprawled out on the floor. He reached down and pulled the man to his feet, and with his face inches from the soldier, he ordered, “Stairs! Find the stairs now!”
Mega’s eyes swiveled in his head. He’d obviously taken a hard blow from the collision with the door. He wavered then pointed at a sign at the end of the room. At one time, it was probably illuminated, but even in the low light, both men could read the stairs symbol. “Go, go, go!” Gyles shouted.
He peeled off the doorway and shoved the big soldier toward the sign. Gyles rushed back to the entry and kicked a receptionist desk over, blocking the doorway, then threw a filing cabinet on top for good measure. The dumpster fire was now lighting the alley. He could hear the closing Primals screaming outside. He looked back and watched Mega stagger toward the stairwell door.