Turk slid to the passenger door and inched up so he could peer through the car’s windows. No one walked along the litter-coated sidewalks on the opposite side of the road. The area was deserted. He studied the Victorian’s windows. Most had been smashed out. A fire had burned inside, he presumed. Someone had been in there when it happened, and had broken the windows for ventilation.
Or someone outside had done it. For what reason, Turk wasn’t sure. Anger. Frustration. Despair. All at not being able to get inside.
A flash from the second floor caught his attention. It was gone by the time he adjusted his sight line. Turk held steady, waiting for it to reappear. Was it possible a survivor had tried to signal him for help?
Forget about them. There’s no time.
Adding Sarah had already taxed him more than he imagined it would. Watching out for three others while on the move was not ideal. One more soul to protect might result in all of them dying due to Turk losing focus.
After several minutes of no activity from the house, Turk continued on. He cast a backward glance every few steps. The noise didn’t return. The windows remained darkened. And it felt as though something watched him. A sensation he’d had many times before. One that had never failed him. It was all the more reason to push for the gate.
Turk jogged the remaining distance. He kept both hands on his H&K MP7. The barrel aimed ahead. No point in wasting time adjusting from the street to a target. Anyone, anything, that appeared had to be considered hostile.
He closed the distance in less than a minute. A quick investigation of the guardhouse revealed it to be as empty as it had looked from blocks away. Dried blood covered the floor, but nobody was present. Outside, whatever evidence had been on the walkway surrounding the small structure had been washed away by the rain. An M4 rifle rested in the corner. Turk grabbed it, as well as a box of snack cakes set atop a filing cabinet. Not what he’d normally eat, but food was food at this point.
He exited and continued onto base. Without security, anyone could be there. A scared Coastie or two that had managed to survive the outbreak and initial onslaught of afflicted. Local residents might have gathered at the base with false hope they’d be protected. Worse case, the base provided a bottleneck enemies would have to pass through. There might be survivors. And a chance always existed that there’d be afflicted present.
Turk prepared himself to deal with any possible situation.
He passed the first two buildings, one on either side, with optimism. The water was near. He could see it. Four more buildings stood between him and a possible boat. Hell, at the very least there could be a raft he could take. With that, they could navigate through the snaking estuaries and along the coast. Maybe all the boats here had been taken or damaged, but somewhere he’d find one. And if it came to it, an inflatable could get him past the southern tip of Florida if he remained close enough to shore should something go wrong.
Hope built.
And with every sound, paranoia did as well.
And then he heard the worst sound possible.
Thunk-thunk.
A rifle. Followed by a voice.
“The hell you doing here, son?”
Chapter 4
Phil took a long pull from his canteen. Water trickled through the hair on his chin. He couldn’t tell if it was the water he was smelling, or cow shit. His parched mouth and throat didn’t care. He poured a splash in his palm and used it to wipe the sweat from his face. The temperature had already soared higher than the previous day and it was still mid-morning. The heat wasn’t noticeable while moving through the woods on the ATV. Stopped in the clearing with not a trace of wind was a different story.
He watched as Derrick headed toward the woods, muttering something about taking a shit. Phil hoped the moron didn’t wipe his ass with poison ivy. Again.
Ralph remained seated inside the ATV, hovering over the GPS. “Still in the same place, Phil.”
Before leaving camp, they had used the device to locate the GPS unit associated with the ATV Sean had left on. It had honed in on a location between Danville and South Boston. Phil had expected that Sean would keep moving, leaving him with roughly the same amount of distance, maybe more, to cover.
“What do you suppose is there?” Ralph asked.
Phil eased into the vehicle, leaving one foot on the soft ground. He stared at the display while creating a visual in his mind of the area they were en route to. Rolling hills and lots of wide open space, best he could recall.
“Could be anything,” Phil said. “Maybe a friend, or another bunker. Could even be that they got in an accident or had a run-in with those things that attacked us last night.”
Ralph nodded as though he’d considered those possibilities.
“This guy has a background,” Phil said. “He spent a dozen years in the special forces community. And he knew this was coming, even before we did. I’d say there is a good chance he already had a network established. The people he knew might not have made it, but I’m willing to bet their preparations held up.”
“What you propose we do if he’s got others there? I mean, if he’s former spec ops, I imagine the people he kept in touch with were, too. How do we handle them?”
Looking down at dirt permanently etched in his weathered hands, Phil shrugged. “Kill them?”
Ralph looked back, past Phil, and jutted his chin toward the woods. “What about the idiot?”
Phil had pondered that question several times that morning. Even now, he considered driving off, leaving Derrick behind. It would make things easier for everyone, including Derrick. Nature would take its course. With him along, they were all at risk. That didn’t sit easy with Phil.
“We keep him along,” Phil said. “For now.”
Ralph stepped off the ATV and grabbed his AR-15. The ATV carried four M4 rifles, but that wasn’t enough. Before leaving, the two men grabbed five or six additional weapons each.
“He’s gonna get us killed,” Ralph said as he headed toward the trees off to the right, away from Derrick.
A breeze blew past. It chilled the sweat on Phil’s brow. He almost didn’t notice the smell it carried over his own body odor. Wood smoke. He sat up and looked to the west where farmland spread through the valley and across the hills. There was no sign of a fire. It had to have come through the trees.
Phil reached for his rifle and aimed it in the direction Ralph had walked. Visibility was reduced to nothing after the first ten feet or so. The dense woods were impenetrable by the sun, its light being filtered and reducing visibility from the clearing. A lack of sleep and a heavy dose of paranoia left Phil seeing things in the shadows. Figures raced through the trees. They stopped and stared in his direction. Teeth were bared. No one stepped out into the open.
He dropped his other foot to the ground and repositioned himself along the far side of the ATV, using the railing to support his rifle. The wind died down again. The woods fell still. Phil peered through his scope, affording him a deeper view into the woods, past the area where the shadows came to life.
He saw nothing.
“Got a deer?”
Startled, Phil swung around and leveled his rifle at Derrick. The young man dropped his own weapon and hoisted his good arm into the air.
“Jesus Christ, what’d I do?”
Phil lowered his head and pulled in a deep breath. “Just a little on edge, son. That’s all.”
Derrick smiled, though it was obvious the gesture was forced. He reached for his pistol and continued toward the ATV. His nostrils flared and his eyes narrowed.
“That smoke?” he asked.
Phil nodded. “Coming from those woods.”
“Where’s Ralph?”
Phil glanced at his son, arching an eyebrow. “In those woods.”
The men stood still and silent for a few minutes. Phil honed in on the ambient sounds of the forest. Only, he heard no birds or insects.
Why hadn’t Ralph returned? Had he decided to set off on his own? No, he’d have waited until he was alone with the ATV for that. It had food, water, and other supplies. That left misfortune as a possibility. Perhaps he’d uncovered the source of the smoke. Or maybe the source of the smoke had found him.
“What if he’s in trouble?” Derrick asked.
“We’ll give him five minutes,” Phil said.
“Then what?”
Phil looked past his son, toward the stretch of farmland.
“We can’t leave him,” Derrick said.
“We can’t?”
“Not to die.”
“What if he’s already dead?”
“What if he’s hurt and needs our help?”
If it were you, we’d be gone.
“Dad, come on. Let’s go look for him.” Without waiting for Phil to reply, Derrick set off toward the trees.
“God dammit,” Phil muttered. He was fine with losing one of the men, preferably Derrick. But continuing solo was not in the plans. He had to sleep, and having someone there to keep watch was integral to his plan to survive. He reached into the cargo area, grabbed a pistol and tucked it into his waistband. “Wait up, Derrick.”
Together they crossed the threshold into the shaded woods. The air chilled by fifteen degrees as the leaves and branches beat back the sun’s rays. Every step on dead leaves set off an alarm to anyone, or anything, within thirty yards. Phil kept his rifle aimed ahead. Derrick did the same with his pistol.
“Should we call for him?” Derrick whispered.
Phil ignored the question as he scanned the ground, looking to pick up Ralph’s trail. He’d entered the woods at the same spot. There had to be something indicating which way the man traveled. After a few seconds, Phil spotted a broken twig.
“This way,” he said softly, pointing to the right.
Twenty yards in they heard a crash off to their left. Both men spun toward the sound, lifting their rifles to their shoulders. Derrick stared down his iron sights. Phil scanned the area through his scope, looking for anything out of place.
Nothing stirred. No follow up noises ensued.
“Tree limb,” he said through a heavy sigh. “Come on, let’s keep going.”
“Shouldn’t we call for him?” Derrick asked.
“Keep your damn mouth shut, boy.”
Derrick stopped in place.
“Don’t even think about it,” Phil said, feeling his son’s weapon aimed at the back of his head. “You’ll never make it without me. Now quit fucking around and come along.”
He pressed forward with little concern over what had just happened. Derrick wouldn’t do anything. The man knew that he needed his father to survive.
Phil spotted another sign that Ralph had passed. He pointed at a disturbance in the leaves. The spot where Ralph had relieved himself.
“Why didn’t he just come back to the field?” Derrick asked.
Phil didn’t respond. He was working through the same question. Something had to have happened that caused Ralph to continue deeper into the woods. Panic, curiosity, or force. Which one was it?
Standing over the spot where Ralph had squatted, Phil ignored the smell and scanned the area for another sign. A broken limb. More disturbed leaves. Anything.
He saw both.
And Ralph’s rifle.
Ralph, however, was nowhere to be seen.
“Come on,” Phil called out to Derrick. He scooped up the weapon and blazed a trail past the leaves and broken branches. Disregarding his own rules, he called out for the man. Wide-eyed and with his head on a swivel, he headed deeper into the woods, disregarding the signs that were all around.
When Phil looked back, he saw Derrick standing in the same spot. His face was drawn and pale. His mouth stuck open. Phil spun toward his son, but before he could take a step in Derrick’s direction, someone — or something — grabbed hold of his shirt collar. Fingernails wove through his back hair and penetrated the skin on his neck and upper back. In an instant, he was knocked off balance and slammed against a tree trunk, while fingers threaded across his face, pulling to the left, sliding over his mouth. Flashes of green and red streaked in the distance in some strange, frenzied dance.
Chapter 5
Turk waited stock-still for thirty seconds while an unknown person aimed what he presumed to be a rifle at his back. The sun peeked through a hole in the gray clouds and glinted off the broken glass that lined the street. The humid air enveloped him. Sweat slid down the bridge of his nose, his forehead, and his cheeks. His soaked tank top clung to his body. The still air smelled of garbage, human waste, and stagnant water. While moving, Turk had been able to avoid noticing it. Now it overpowered his senses.
Boots stomped the pavement behind him. There were two sets on the move, circling to the right and the left. Was that it? Or were there more? Would they keep their distance? Or was their plan to rush him from either side in an attempt to take him down?
Turk inched his head to the right. The move extended his peripheral vision a good ninety degrees, allowing him to see almost directly behind himself.
“Don’t move, boy!” The thick southern accent sounded as though it might belong to a guy trapped between teenager and adult. It was deep, but lacked power. And here he was calling Turk
boy
.