DEAD: Reclamation: Book 10 of the DEAD series (15 page)

“Five…four…three…two…one.” Chad reached down and picked up the triggering device that was here as well. There was a loud “whump” and then a muffled explosion. Screams followed, and Chad popped up and scurried down the hill.

He could already smell the burning flesh through the acrid and bitter scent of burning wood. As he rounded the corner, he pulled up short. For just a moment, he felt a sense of horror and revulsion at what he had done. A single example of his handiwork was just a few yards away as if to pierce his conscience just a bit more.

A man was on his back, staring up at the clear blue sky. A piece of metal was jutting from his chest and his body was charred black and smoldering. He was missing most of the left arm.

Drawing his sword, Chad hurried over and drove the tip through the man’s lidless left eye socket. Knowing there was at least one other group, he knew he would have to act fast. He wove through the blast zone, until he found the main parts of the other four intruders. Main parts was the key since none of them had survived the blast without losing a limb or two.

Obviously the woman had been closest, because her body had been blown in half. Her upper torso was a good ten feet from her pelvis and left leg. The right leg was another several feet from the main part of the lower half.

A few years ago, Chad had come across a military convoy that had been what looked like victims of a roadblock ambush. It was impossible to tell what had happened, and perhaps the only reason they had found anything still useful was the fact that it was so far from anyplace, that looters had apparently just never stumbled across it.

There had been two metal cases. Inside had been twenty Claymore mines each. Chad had always kept them deployed whenever he and Ronni stayed someplace for any length of time.

When they had decided to call this new place home, he had made setting up perimeter traps his top priority, even over building their home. Besides acting as a nasty surprise should they have to deal with the living, they could also be used to distract or re-route a herd of zombies.

Chad had been thrilled to discover an intact propane tank. Unfortunately, he had no way to tap its resources for home use, but it had been a great place to attach a single Claymore. This had been his most elaborate trap. Inside the ruins of the cabin where the propane tank was located, he had nailed a sheet of tin on the floor a few inches off the ground. The twine he cut had allowed a bundle of river rocks to fall on the piece of tin. When the noise prompted whoever or whatever to check it out, he triggered the Claymore.

He had no idea how big the explosion would be—or if it would even work—but it seemed to have done the trick. He finished off running his sword through the head of each corpse just to be certain. He had just finished the last one when he heard shouts coming from back up the hill.

***

Jody crawled on his belly. Thankfully, clouds had come in overnight and completely blocked any ambient light from the moon. It had the added benefit of keeping it gloomy even as dawn was about to break.

The turrets were all set up the same. The ground was scorched earth for a good fifty yards all the way around. There was a deep trench in close that served as a moat, mostly for defense against zombies, and a metal fence with razor wire coils on top that circled around on both the inside and outside of the moat.

Some had said it was overkill, but those who chose to make these turrets their residence certainly appreciated the added layers of security when herds made their appearance. Living beings were also supposed to be easy to defend against. And that was the main reason for the scorched earth idea.

Reaching the edge of the overgrowth, Jody halted and scanned the area. Whoever these people were that had taken over the turret, they were not even using torches. The place was completely dark. He could still smell the stink of the bonfire that had been used to burn the bodies, but even that had gone to ash and was not even giving off the slightest curl of smoke.

There was a dark silhouette where the cage still hung suspended. Jody could not tell if there was anybody in it or not. He had to remind himself to take things one step at a time.

He rose to a crouch and then gave a low hooting noise to signal that he was ready and in position. One by one, he heard others do the same. When he heard the eleventh and final one, he started forward in a crouch-run. Out of his peripheral vision, he could see the others moving with him.

They reached the outer wall that surrounded the moat. George pressed in and produced a set of heavy-duty bolt cutters. Like a hot knife through butter, the man sheared the chain that kept the door shut.

“Everybody ready?” Pitts whispered.

Jody glanced over to the left. They were closer now and he thought he could just make out a dark figure in the cage. There was no movement, but he was pretty sure that he could see what had to be a body.

Person
, he reprimanded himself
. Danny is fine. Maybe a little worse for the wear, but he will be alive and well
.

They pulled the gate open slowly, every creak of the metal sounding like the roar of a jet engine to their hyper-sensitive hearing that each of them possessed at the moment as adrenaline course through them like currents of electricity.

That had been just one more feature. While minor, they had ensured that every door open out instead of in. That allowed them to reinforce the jamb just that much more to keep it from being forced in by the press of a swarm of undead.

As the team slipped in, Jody could feel some of those old familiar senses of his trying to come online. Having been a soldier, he had trained for things just such as this. He had never thought he would be putting these skills to use on American soil.

Lowering down into the moat would be easy. It was the eleven foot walls that came at a reverse angle that would be the hard part and take a few moments to navigate. However, within just a few ticks, all twelve members of the team were up and on the other side.

Jody glanced up, but the turret obscured the cage at this point. Jody cursed himself for not taking just a few seconds while he was in that moat to try and get a better look. The murky dawn was upon them. They could actually make out each other’s faces at this point.

The second gate was handled the same as the first, and then they were at the main door to the turret. This is where things might get dicey. If the massive oak door was locked, they would have to risk trying to use grappling hooks to enter through the windows. That would be noisy and almost assure them of taking casualties if not losing the entire team outright.

When the door pulled open, Jody let out the breath that he had not been aware that he had been holding. The next inhale was one that brought him welcome relief.

They entered the main entry chamber. It was a huge open room. This would be where the meals were cooked, served, and eaten. There was a set of wooden stairs that went up to the second tier landing. This was typically the arsenal and storage area. The top floor would be more storage as well as the sleeping chambers. Each turret had four bedrooms and two larders. They were only accessible through trapdoor-style ports.

George took the lead once they fanned out to ensure the ground floor was empty. Reaching the top of the stairs, he held up his hand with a clenched fist, bringing the entire team to a sudden halt.

Jody watched the big man draw his knife and then take the last three steps that would put him on the next level. He instantly vanished in the darkness, but a second later, there was a muffled groan and a soft thump.

George returned to the stairs and waved everybody up. Here is where things would get sketchy.

The occupants, while obviously somewhat negligent in their security, had at least displayed the presence of mind to pull up the ladder that led to the top floor sleeping area. Other than hoisting somebody up and jimmying open that trapdoor, making a lot of noise in the process, there was nothing they could do other than wait.

***

Entry Twenty-five
—Oasis reminds me of Mos Eisley from
Star Wars
. It is a crazy place. More than one of the scars I sport came from here. It is not uncommon to see a fight in the streets. In fact, the people here step around them like you might do with a mud puddle.

When the caravan pulled in, I was not surprised that nothing was said about the “cargo” in the last wagon. People actually can sell themselves in Oasis. Seriously.

If you have never been, let me just say that you would do well to stay away from the gambling halls. Unlike the old days in places like Las Vegas where people were known to go into pawn shops and hand over wedding rings and other things in order to return to the tables to “just break even” or any of the other self-deceptive excuses they would use, the currency in Oasis has been known to include one’s person.

Darwin Goodkind’s gang is obviously in to resupply and search for anything “exotic” that they can bring out to the settlements that can be found. Most of the smaller communes that exist these days are typically self-sufficient. They trade with each other for some things. And when trading caravans like this one roll through, they can grab that odd or difficult-to-find item.

Traders are part of the landscape today. Like the snake oil salesmen of old, most of them are seedy and out to dupe the unsuspecting rubes they encounter along the way. They would actually embarrass the used car salesmen of old with not only their tactics, but in the way they strip people of anything valuable for something that seldom lives up to the promises made.

That is also why these traders have such short life expectancies. These days, folks ain’t shy about chasing down a bad trader and having a good old-fashioned lynching. One town had a zombie in a cage hanging right above the entry gates. The zombie was under a sign that read:
The last trader to deal dirty with our town!

Anyway, I have come up with a plan. Now to see if it will work.

Entry Twenty-six—
Perfect.

That is really the best way to describe how things went off for me today. And now there are seven.

I only wish that the caravan was staying a little longer. I would have them handled in a matter of a few days even with the fact that they would probably become suspicious and maybe even a bit concerned.

What I do know from the one that I was actually able to question before I slit his throat is that Darwin Goodkind is really the guy’s name (as far as they know) and that he hires on people through a third party that gives referrals. (That might be my next job once I deal with this piece of trash—find the person who runs a referral service for human trafficking.)

They do ride the normal trade routes, but they do not travel on a schedule. That supposedly prevents them from being tracked and taken down or robbed of their “goods.” There is always a compliment of four mercs on the team. These guys are nothing but muscle and don’t take part in the actual acquisition or trade, but they are granted liberties with any of the “cargo” they choose in addition to being well paid.

I guess Darwin will be looking to hire a new pair of mercs before he leaves Oasis, but that should not be a problem. This place is crawling with mercs, bounty hunters, and traders packing some of the most expensive and hard-to-find goods. I think a better name for this town would be either Sodom or Gomorrah. It is a den of iniquity beyond compare.

I really want to save Darwin for last, but I also know now that I will take him down if the opportunity arises. Sure, somebody else will just pour into that crack and fill it when he is wiped out, but that is why I will never be out of work.

Entry Twenty-seven
—Back out into the wilds.

I was not surprised that the caravan had two new mercs by the end of the same day that their other two no-showed after what was supposed to be just a night out on the town to unwind. This guy runs his show tight.

I am now almost certain that I will never be able to take this bastard down out here. It will have to be when he rolls into a town or commune.

The weather is turning bad, so maybe I will get a chance in the next night or two. Heavy rain started falling early this afternoon. I am under a massive rock overhang just on the other side of a hill from the place where the wagons have stopped for the night. No perimeter barrels tonight; the rain is just coming down too hard. Not even a campfire.

I actually considered making an attempt tonight. I managed to creep within about a hundred feet of the camp when I got my first nasty surprise.

Crybaby zombies.

I would have to guess, but I think they had at least ten chained up at seemingly random intervals around the tightly clustered camp. Bastards almost seem to be able to see in the dark. A lot of people say that zombies are drawn to heat and sound. Some say that a zombie does not so much see in the dark as they sense your heat signature. I know it is just a bunch of guessing, but I do know I never even actually saw the crybaby that sounded the alarm when I got close. I also know that men popped out of those wagons in a big hurry and searched for at least an hour until they gave up.

Entry Twenty-eight—
Well, at least now I know. They keep the crybabies strapped to the underside of the wagons. I guess that is as good of a place as any. It’s not like they have to worry about dinging or damaging the meat sacks.