The vision played in Sean’s mind, as it had dozens of times. One of a new world born from the scorched remains of humanity.
But first, they had to get to South Carolina. The journey would not be easy. He was assured of that.
He scanned the tree line. He’d been at it all morning, on watch while the females slept inside. They’d found the place a few hours before daybreak, halfway between Danville and South Boston, Virginia. Two miles from the North Carolina border. The house sat on top of a hill with a clearing in front and woods in the back. Not ideal, but it was good enough to take a break, catch some sleep, and sort things out while he determined the best approach for the rest of their journey.
They had over three hundred miles to cover. A trip that would have taken no more than six hours by car. A straight shot along I-74 and I-95. Things weren’t so simple now. What were the highways like? Clogged with abandoned vehicles? Patrolled by militant survivors? A buffet for the afflicted? Sean didn’t want to risk their safety by attempting to find out.
The safest bet was to remain in close proximity to the interstate, but travel along back roads through the woods as much as possible. Doing so would add considerable time to their journey, but this was a case where getting there fast wasn’t the best option. He’d keep their heading steady, as where they needed to go was almost a straight shot south.
It would work out as long as they encountered no problems. But if one thing could be guaranteed, Sean knew they would.
The deck creaked under the weight of someone’s step.
“Morning, Emma,” Sean said without looking back.
“How’d you know it was me?” she asked.
“When I walk across there, the wood makes a noise like it’s going to snap. Figured for the women, it’d sound half the same. With you, it’s closer to a mouse passing by.”
“I’m more a woman than a mouse, you know.”
Sean rose and turned toward his daughter. It was almost as though he’d realized for the first time she was no longer a girl. He smiled, and reached for her. “Yeah, I suppose you are.”
She smiled weakly and embraced him.
“The others still sleeping?” he asked.
“Yeah.” Her words were muffled against Sean’s chest. “Even the dog.”
“Well we can’t have that, can we? Need to teach him to be a guard dog.”
“He’s too lazy.”
“Like you.”
Emma pulled away and backhanded her father against his stomach. “Name one other kid who helped her father build a barn at the age of ten.”
“Abe Lincoln?” Sean said, laughing. “Maybe? Hell if I know, Em.”
“Yeah, that’s what I thought.”
Amazing
,
he thought, how they could act like the world hadn’t ended and he hadn’t been forced to kill his wife in order to free her from the shackles of the virus. Normalcy came and went, lasting a few moments at a time. The reminders were always around, and had a way of making their presence known. The dread returned. At some point, the reality of their situation would take over as the new normal. Until then, they would only have glimpses in moments such as this one.
“Why don’t you go see if Addison is up?” Sean said. “And ask her to come out here.”
“Why?”
“I need an hour or two of sleep before we get going.”
“What about Barbara? She’s the oldest.”
“And the biggest flake.” He watched his daughter for her reaction. The slight nod and smile indicated Emma was aware that Barbara was a potential problem. A hindrance to their survival. “Addison seemed to have her wits about her when I found her in a bad situation last night. I think you and her would make a good team out here.”
Emma’s smile widened. She bounded toward the door and back inside.
After she disappeared, Sean stepped off the deck. His prosthetic foot sank an inch or two into the soft ground. Of all his concerns, damaging his leg was at the top of the list. Finding a replacement would be impossible. His backup and running prosthetics were left behind at the compound. Important, but not worth everyone dying for. Fortunately, the artificial limb was made from titanium and wouldn’t break easily.
A few minutes passed before Emma returned with Addison. It was the first time Sean had seen her in the light. She was attractive, and younger than him by ten or fifteen years. The sun reflected off her dyed red hair. She greeted Sean with a smile. Her eyes drifted down to the hunk of metal protruding from his jeans.
“Lost my leg while in the service,” he said.
She nodded, flattened her lips, and said nothing.
“Eight years ago. We encountered these things in Africa. One bit me around the knee. Doctor said it was the only thing he could do.”
Addison’s face paled as she soaked in what he’d said. “Why didn’t you warn anyone?”
“Long story.” He glanced at Emma, who had yet to hear all the details. This was not the appropriate time to fill her in. “Let’s just say the government covered it up, and I was convinced that it had never happened.”
“For never happening, this shit seems pretty real to me,” Addison said, shifting her gaze over Sean’s head.
“Yeah, well, I’m still holding out that this is all a bad dream. Just not sure if it’s yours or mine.”
Addison met his stare and smiled. “What’d you need to see me for?”
“I need to get a couple hours of sleep before we get moving. You seem to know how to handle yourself, so I want you to stay out here with Emma and keep watch. She’ll stay in back, you move side to side so you can get a view of out front. Don’t go to the lawn, though.” He walked to the ATV and retrieved one of the M4s. “Ever shot?”
Nodding, Addison extended her arms. “On my grandparents’ farm. I’ve got a thirty-aught-six there, Remington 700.”
“Should be able to handle this no problem then.” Sean demonstrated how to handle the rifle and turned it over. “Don’t shoot anything at a distance. Only aim and fire if something comes out of the woods or is within 30 yards of the front of the house. If you see a car or person approaching, fire a shot into the air. That should be enough to make them pause, and wake me up. Can you handle that?”
Addison held the rifle with both hands, shifting it up and down as she acclimated to the weight. Sean thought she looked like something out of a video game, a slender woman with bright red hair holding one of the most heavily used rifles in the military. She lifted it to her shoulder and stared down the barrel, through the sights.
She said, “Yeah, I got it.”
Sean squeezed Emma’s shoulder as he moved toward the back door.
“Sean?” Addison said.
“Yeah?” he said.
“Why don’t we stay here for a day so that everyone can rest up?”
He glanced up at the clouds racing past. “We’ve got a long way to go and little time to complete the journey. And we don’t know who, or what, is out there watching us, waiting for an opportune time to make a move. We’re safer traveling than waiting it out, Addie.”
Chapter 3
Charleston, the city that had risen like a phoenix following massive damage due to the Civil War and the Great Fire of 1861, had fallen. Once dubbed “The Holy City,” the charred remains of the proud South Carolina port now bore a resemblance to hell itself. Not even General Sherman himself could manage what the afflicted had. Annihilation of the city and its inhabitants. The hordes of those damned beings cared little about preserving the relics of days past. What hadn't been reduced to smoldering ashes had been torn down to the studs. In some cases, even those had been reduced to dust. Perhaps along with the bodies of those who had succumbed to the sickness. Maybe even a few of the afflicted who hadn’t figured out how to escape their burning tombs.
Or hadn’t cared to.
Turk hoped so. It wouldn’t bother him if there were fewer of those horrid creatures to deal with. He’d reached the point where he didn’t consider them human anymore. Hell, that point had been reached eight years ago while trapped in that facility, watching his men perish at the hands of the first afflicted. He could no longer recall most of the people he’d slain, but the looks on the faces of his own men as he put them to rest was something Turk would never forget.
He’d offered them mercy. A quick death instead of being eaten alive. Torn to shreds. They’d have done the same for him. At times, he wished that had been the case.
In the weeks since the worldwide outbreak, Turk had lost almost everything. His home. His bunker. His brother. Those who had perished of asphyxiation from the fire. All the friends and family who didn’t make it to Charleston in time. But he had his wife, Elana, and his daughter, Layla. He’d thought he lost them, too. When he approached his burned-out bunker with Sarah, the girl he saved in the woods from a group of hyped-up survivalists, he thought for sure Elana and Layla were gone.
And he’d left them behind again.
He had to. The burned-out city was no place for them. Not until he’d had a chance to scout it. One glance was all it took for him to know he wouldn’t bring them here. Not downtown. Not to the outskirts. They were safer in the small house they’d found five miles from the bunker. The fact that it hadn’t been looted and ransacked meant it was far enough off the path any survivors and afflicted had travelled. His family was safe there. The house also had a clear path for escape through the back if necessary.
It won’t be necessary.
No matter how many times he told himself that, Turk knew there was a chance his family would not be at the house when he returned. All the more reason to complete his current mission and get the hell back to them.
Charleston had, among many things, boats. And lots of them. Standing at the end of Bay Street, looking out over the harbor, Turk realized it wouldn’t be as easy to find one as he had thought. The water was littered with the remains of ships.
Survivors had boarded in desperate attempts to flee the onslaught of afflicted. Some of the vessels had been overloaded and sank under the weight. Several were wrecked on the banks. Competition, he figured. People would rather see others suffer the same fate than allow them to escape and live another day. And perhaps that explained why some of the boats had been burned out. Twenty, fifty, a hundred feet from shore, their ashen skeletons smoldered still. Turk envisioned a scene where flaming cocktails were launched from the banks. Or maybe the fires originated onboard. Cases where afflicted had infiltrated. Desperate passengers doing what had to be done.
No matter the reason, terror-filled escapes had been cut short.
No ship appeared salvageable. Without inspection, Turk couldn’t be sure, though. A glance at the slick water told him he’d be better off exhausting all possibilities on shore before diving into the gas- and oil-soaked bay. He had swum through similar conditions in the past. Ten yards might as well be a mile when your eyes, throat, and lungs were burning.
After several minutes studying the watery graveyard, Turk continued to the end of Bay Street. He turned right on Murray Boulevard, then continued toward the Coast Guard station. Judging by the surrounding area leading to the installation, it would be a surprise if it hadn’t been overrun too.
Still, there was a chance a subset of survivors had made it through the initial onslaught of the afflicted. And if fate had shone on them, they’d have banded together. The station was as good a place as any in the city for them to take up.
Chills raced up his spine as he made his way down the road. There was no safe place. If he stuck to one side he could easily be spotted by someone hiding on the other, and he’d have no way of knowing what was ahead, out of sight, waiting for him. So Turk kept to the middle of the road. It went against every bit of training he’d been through. Did the situation warrant new tactics? Was this really any different than anything he’d faced during his time as a SEAL?
Yeah,
he figured,
it did.
This enemy acted irrationally. And not only the afflicted. Survivors, too. People with no training were now armed with rifles and pistols and bats and whatever else they could get their hands on. They wouldn’t follow any particular set of tactics. They’d attack in much the same way a trapped animal would, lashing out at anyone or anything that approached.
The middle of the road was the safest place. At least that’s what he told himself.
The wind rustled through the charred remains of the buildings that lined the street. Turk had adjusted to the pungent smell, but the lingering smoke still stung his eyes.
After rounding a bend, the gate came into sight. It sat off-kilter, leaving a gap an elephant could walk through. No one manned the guardhouse. The road beyond appeared deserted. Turk didn’t care if anyone was on the base. He had one objective in mind.
Get a boat.
As he passed the intact remains of a four-story Victorian, a series of loud bangs erupted to the right. He slid across the hood of a Ford sedan and took cover behind the front fender.
The bangs continued, never growing closer or moving away. Turk breathed a small sigh of relief. It wasn’t gunfire.
The pace slowed over the next few minutes, then the noise stopped. Had it been a survivor attempting to scare him away? Or a starving afflicted trying to draw him in? Maybe someone who was stuck in between the states of life and eternal damnation, trying to get his attention.