Here We Stand (Book 2): Divided (Surviving The Evacuation) (5 page)

“If you can’t hold on to it,” the man said, taking another bite, “then it belongs to anyone who can take it. Nice tents. Nice cars. I think we’ll call them ours.”

“That’s enough!” A grey-haired woman stepped down from the RV. She held a long carving knife in her hands. “This is America. We’ll not have thieving and brigandry here.” People hurried out of her way, leaving a path clear between her and the three men. “If you ask,” she said, storming along the path, “people might share. If you try to take, people will refuse. We’ll fight back. We’ll stand our ground against bullies and thieves. We might be scared of those monsters, but we’re not scared of the likes of you.”

Tom saw the biker pull the sawed-off shotgun from under his jacket, but couldn’t move in time. The man fired. The grey-haired woman crumpled into a silent, bleeding heap.

Tom had unslung the rifle, but had it only half raised when there were two shots in quick succession. The biker with the shotgun fell. The bearded man collapsed. Tom spun the rifle to point at the second biker. His hands were empty.

“Up! Put them up!” he snapped, gesturing with the barrel. The biker raised his hands.

He glanced at the ground. The biker was dead. The bearded man was clutching his thigh.

“What now?” Helena asked, coming to stand by him. There was a tremor in her voice, but the pistol was raised in a steady hand.

It was a good question. Tom looked around for the other shooter. It was one of the teenagers. She stood over the boy with the bloody nose, a monstrous revolver clutched in both hands. She was slight enough that the recoil should have knocked her back a dozen feet, yet the barrel was pointing unwaveringly at the bearded man.

“Take him and go,” Tom said to the uninjured biker.

The man took one look at his injured comrade, shook his head, and started backing off into the woods. Tom said nothing. A disastrous situation had turned into a calamity, but there was a chance for order to be restored before a riot broke out. After a dozen paces, the biker turned and ran.

Tom checked that both Helena and the young woman had their weapons aimed at the bearded man before he stepped forward and picked up the shotgun by the barrel. Keeping out of the line of fire, he walked over to the boy with the bloody nose and handed him the weapon.

“You’ll want to search his pockets for shells,” Tom said. He looked at the young woman with the revolver. If she hadn’t been in charge before, she certainly was now. “Take your cars and drive,” he said quietly. “I don’t know what safety looks like anymore, but it won’t be found in a place like this.”

“What about him?” she asked, gesturing at the man on the ground.

“We should kill him,” the boy said.

“Then do it,” Tom said. “You have the shotgun. No one will stop you. No police will come. There’s no ambulance to take him to the hospital. No doctors to set his leg. No one here will care. But you will. Killing someone changes you. It begins a journey from which you can never turn back.” He met the young woman’s eyes. “The person who reaches the destination isn’t always a bad one. Death is a part of life, and self-defense an unpleasant reality.” He turned back to the boy. “Whether killing him is self-defense or murder is something you’ll have to wrestle with the rest of your life, because it’s your decision, here and now.”

The boy raised the shotgun. The young woman gave an almost inaudible sigh.

“No,” she whispered. “Don’t.”

The boy lowered the weapon and stalked toward the cars.

“What about the RV?” a voice called from the crowd. The words broke the spell that blood had woven. There was a mumbling and shuffling as nearly a hundred covetous eyes turned toward the unclaimed vehicle.

“Was the driver alone?” Tom asked the young woman.

“Yes.”

The mumbling became a murmur that was on the verge of becoming a mob when Helena fired her gun into the air. Everything went quiet, but more dangerously so than before. Those with weapons had already drawn them.

“You,” Helena said, grabbing the arm of the woman who’d been ahead of them in line for the water pipe. “You know how to drive an RV? You’ll learn. There’s room for the children.” She looked around the campsite. “All the children. Quickly now.”

There were only six children, all told. Helena hustled them, and the adults accompanying them, into the RV.

Tom kept his eyes on the crowd. “Get in the cars,” he said quietly to the young woman. “Leave the tents. Leave everything. Get in the cars, go downhill, get away from here fast.”

There was room for him and Helena in the cars, but he knew if either of them made a move to get in, the vehicles would be rushed. There was enough civility left for the children to be given this prospect of escape, and nothing more.

“Where do we go?” the woman asked.

“Away from people,” Tom said. “More than that, I don’t know. Good luck.”

She ran to the car. It started moving before the door was even closed. The other car followed, with the RV only a hair’s breadth behind. The noise of the engines receded, until the only sound in the campsite was a general sighing of disappointment, and the moaning of the bearded man.

Tom walked to the front of the line and filled his canteen with water. Everyone in the campsite was now on their feet. It didn’t look as if anyone was planning to stay. A few of the quicker ones were moving toward the abandoned tents. Tom shook his head. The collapse had truly begun.

They headed downhill. When Helena spotted a track cutting off toward the east, he gladly followed her. Once again, safety lay in solitude, and they found that as the sun reached the horizon. They weren’t the first people to have discovered the hunting lodge. Though it was unoccupied, it had been thoroughly looted.

“We have to stay somewhere,” Helena said, picking up a frying pan from dirt-covered planks almost too crudely cut to be called floorboards.

“How far are we from the campsite? Eight miles? Less?” he asked.

“No one’s followed us,” Helena said. She sat down on a warped plastic chair and sighed in a way that suggested she had no intention of standing up again soon.

Tom walked back outside. Built in a clearing, there was no road leading to the lodge, nor was there electricity or water. He walked the perimeter. There was no well or even an outhouse. It was just a one-room cabin with cracked windows and a roof that was losing the battle to the combined forces of moss and lichen. Helena was right, they had to sleep somewhere, and the only alternative was the open woods. He went back inside and pushed the door closed.

Against the rear wall was an open fire and chimney. To the right were cupboards, a wooden table, and a few chairs. To the left were a trio of bunk beds, each against a wall, one set of which almost covered one of the windows. The sun was lost behind the trees so there wasn’t much light for it to block.

He sat down in a chair next to Helena and stretched out his legs. The feeling was marvelous. “All right, I agree,” he said. “We’ll stay here tonight.”

“And find a car tomorrow.” With a grunt of effort, she leaned forward and opened her bag. “We’ll have to. I say we eat the food rather than carrying it any further. Do you like beans?”

“Not especially.”

“Sorry,” she said, taking out two cans. “It’s beans with sausage or beans without, unless you’d prefer the crackers without either. Do you think zombies can see?”

“What? Probably. I guess they must. I’ve not really thought about it.”

“I meant, if we light a fire, are they more likely to come?” she asked.

“Ah.” He looked at the can, and then at the door swinging open in the slight breeze. “I’m not eating them cold.”

Standing was a real effort. Dragging the nearest set of bunk beds to block the door was almost beyond him. Helena used the last of her energy to break a chair into kindling.

It was in his search for accelerant that he found the newspaper. “Dated ten years ago,” he said passing it to Helena for her to use to start the fire. “I guess that’s the last time someone came here.”

“Probably.”

“No road either,” he said, collapsing back into the chair. “Or maybe there’s one nearby.”

“Maybe. Or the owners parked in the lot by that campsite and hiked here.” Her attention was almost entirely on the flames she coaxed around a broken chair leg. Satisfied the fire had taken, she sat up. “No water to wash those pans. Cook it in the can?”

It was hot, but each mouthful only reminded him of the meals he’d once eaten, the restaurants he’d visited, and the five-star meals he’d left unfinished.

“Those bikers,” Helena said. “The two at the campsite, they were part of the group who passed us on the road, weren’t they?”

“I think so. Or part of the same outfit.”

“So we’ve traveled a lot of distance, all to get not very far. We did the right thing, didn’t we? I mean, it was the only thing we could do.”

“The children got away,” he said. “We did what we could, and that was more than most. We should take it in turns to sleep. I’ll take the first watch. I’ve some thinking to do.”

She didn’t argue. Huddled in the mildewed, mud-splattered jacket, he let the flames burn low. He wasn’t so much lost in his thoughts as trying to prod them to life in his empty mind. It was slowly dawning how much of the world was lost, and how little of it he’d ever appreciated.

He thought it was nearing midnight when he heard the noise outside. He stood, grabbing the rifle. The sound came again. Footsteps? Possibly. Getting nearer?

“Hey. Who’s that?” he called softly.

The feet stopped. He waited. The footsteps came again, this time receding back into the forest. He went back to the chair, more awake than before.

Chapter 3 - Unwelcome in Providence

February 28
th
, Centre County, Pennsylvania

Tom shivered awake to a dark and freezing cabin. Helena was wrapped in her coat, staring disconsolately at the cold fire.

“The lighter’s broken and I’ve used up the matches,” she said. “And the tablet’s out of power. I needed the light. There was a sound outside.”

“You should have woken me,” he said, pulling himself to his feet.

“I wasn’t exactly being quiet,” she said. “Whatever was out there went away. I don’t think it was zombies. Maybe a bear or something.”

He opened the door. Shadows stretched in the pre-dawn light. He attempted to distinguish between the sounds of the forest and those of anything more sinister. Everything sounded sinister. A little way from the cabin was a footprint that was neither his nor Helena’s, but was very human. It was the only trace of their nocturnal visitors. He pulled his coat up tight around his neck, and they walked away from the cabin.

Insects chirruped. Birds called. The sky brightened, and he began to relax.

“You’re smiling,” Helena said.

“I didn’t mean to be,” he said.

“Why? What’s funny?”

“Nothing. It was more of a realization. Zombies don’t set ambushes. They won’t stalk us through the woods. I’m re-evaluating our chances of staying alive.”

“You were right. That’s not funny.” Helena took a sudden detour up the slope that lay to their left. “Look,” she said, gesturing toward the horizon.”

“What?”

“The dawn. Look at the dawn. It was the best thing about living on a boat. Well,” she added, “the best thing after the low rent. I used to wake up every morning to see the sun rise over New York. It was magical, a light show to which I was the only spectator. It’s the little things like that we have to enjoy now. These brief moments stolen from time. The ones we can remember when there’s nothing but darkness.” She walked down the slope. “I think there’s a road,” she added. “About two miles that way and downhill, there’s a line in the tree canopy.”

It was a two-lane road with recently repaired potholes, and a complete absence of people. After a mile, they came to an abandoned car. On the verge were the remains of a small fire. As Helena checked the car’s fuel tank, Tom bent down to touch the ashes. They were cold.

“Empty,” she said. “They drove this far and ran out of fuel.”

“So they would have stayed the night here and lit the fire for company, or perhaps to dissuade company,” he said. “In the morning, they started walking. The question is whether that was this morning or some other.” There was no way of knowing.

After another mile, they came to the field. Razor wire stretched across it, gleaming in the early morning light. Sometimes it was on the very edge of the road; in other places it looped back and forth across the fields. It was another two miles before they saw the town. From the decaying smokestacks, it had once been a place of industry. Now it was a fortress. His first thought was of Powell, but on the side of a shipping container, dumped across an access road, was a painted sign. “Water and food, this way.” Underneath was an arrow. Following it, after half a mile, they came to another, wider road. It was similarly blocked by containers. On the roof, two people sat in folding chairs. In front of the container was a table. Littering the ground around it was a carpet of discarded cups, plates, and other travelers’ discarded detritus. On the container itself was the message:
Refugee Centre. Providence. Five Miles.

“Don’t think I can recall a place called Providence in this part of Pennsylvania,” he said. The two sentries on the roof of the container had stood up.

“They must have been giving food and water to the refugees. That’s good,” Helena said.

“Probably. Wave so they know we’re not zombies.”

One of the two figures climbed down. The other stayed on the container. He held a hunting rifle so the barrel wasn’t quite pointing at them, but at the same time wasn’t quite pointing away.

“Morning,” Helena called out.

“Morning,” the woman who’d climbed down from the container replied. Her tone was civil though not friendly. “Where are you from?”

“New York,” Helena said. “But that was a week and a lifetime ago.”

“Don’t suppose this town has a bus service?” Tom called.

“There’s a refugee center five miles down that road,” the woman said, ignoring his weak joke. “You might find transport there.”

“We’re running low on water,” Tom said. “Can you spare some?”

The woman unclipped the canteen from her belt and placed it on the table. She stepped back a pace. “Take it.”

“Thank you,” Helena said. “I guess a lot of people have come this way?”

“Some,” the woman said.

There was a whistle from above. The sentry on the container was pointing toward the town. The woman nodded. “You two should go. Get ahead of the other refugees.”

“Any chance of a car, or just a few gallons of gasoline?” Tom asked.

“No,” the woman said. “Just water, and we can barely spare that. We can’t offer you shelter. We’re already full. You’ll have to take your chances on the road, and those odds will be better if you get moving.”

“What about a military base?” Helena asked. “Is there one around here?”

“Out here?” The woman shook her head.

Three more figures came out from behind the containers, an older man and woman in hunting gear, and a young boy. The adults were armed, though their weapons were slung. The boy carried a pot of paint and a brush.

“First refugees of the day?” the man said. His tone was affable, but there was a steely resolve in his eyes.

“And not looking to stay,” Tom said.

“Do you know of any military bases around here?” Helena asked.

“Nope,” the man said. “Why do you ask?”

“Because we’re tracking the people responsible for the outbreak,” she said. “We know they’re around here somewhere. It would be a group decked out like soldiers, but small in number. Under a hundred, with light arms.”

Tom frowned, but watched their expressions. No one seemed surprised.

“You can try in Providence. Ask them there,” the older woman said.

That wasn’t the response Tom had expected. “A lot of people have said something similar?” he guessed.

“In the hope of getting a bed,” the older woman said. “We have none left to offer, and no more help we can spare. You should get moving.”

“Five miles, this way?” Tom asked.

The group nodded.

“You didn’t say there is no Providence,” Helena said, when they were out of earshot.

“Nor did you.”

“There didn’t seem like much point.”

When he looked back, he saw the boy painting a sign on the containers:
Warning. Quarantine Zone. Do Not Enter.
That might help keep the town safe. It might not, and it wouldn’t help them.

“Why did you ask them about the cabal?” he asked.

“Because it seemed like the obvious way to find where Powell came from is to ask. A hundred heavily armed people are hard to hide, particularly when everyone would want the military to help protect them.”

“And what if Powell had come from that town?”

“Then we’d have found them, wouldn’t we?” she said.

The razor wire came to a ragged end at the edge of a paddock. Beyond was a burned-out brick building. The windows were sealed with heavy-duty sheet metal. The door was padlocked.

“What is it?” Helena asked, as Tom tried to find a gap through which he could see inside.

“Nothing,” he said, not wanting to speak the thought out loud. They continued walking. After a mile, they came to a car that had been driven into a ditch. There were no occupants, but a little way beyond was a sign:
Providence Four Miles
.

“What’s wrong?” Helena asked, as Tom glanced back toward the now-hidden town. “Tell me.”

“It’s nothing. Just the absence of people. Of zombies. It’s getting to me.”

“You’re bothered by the lack of imminent danger?” She laughed.

He forced a smile, but as they continued, his mind went back to the presidential campaign.

Their opponent in the general election, Clancy Sterling, had gone to college in Pennsylvania. He’d met his wife there. She was a local, and they had long ties to the state. It had made it a real battleground. Where Tom had focused on the media strategy, Claire Maxwell had organized an aggressive ground campaign, breaking the state down into towns, and the towns into streets. In a few instances, she’d even broken the streets down into houses. It was Sterling’s own fault, launching a string of degrading personal attacks on her, their children, and their quality as parents. Winning Pennsylvania had become a mission for Claire. They’d had giant maps covering their war-room, with pins, labels, and great swathes of colored cloth. Now, he was trying to recall those maps, and the section of them that dealt with this part of the state. He was certain there wasn’t a town called Providence.

“Three miles,” Helena said, pointing at the crude sign. In the ground behind it were the uprights for a more official sign, but that had been removed.

“We should have seen people,” Tom said, looking back the way they’d come.

“What do you mean?”

“There’s nowhere around here with two towns so close together. I’m certain of it. There’s no Providence.”

“So it was a scam to get people away from that town,” she said, gesturing down the road.

“Except it’s the kind of trick that’ll work for a few hours, but not any longer. Sure, people will walk for five miles in pursuit of safety, perhaps six or seven. When they found nothing, they’d turn back. Others, following behind, would meet them, and be informed that Providence doesn’t exist. They’d return to the town. So where are they? Where are the people?”

“Ah. What you mean is, where are the bodies?”

They came to the first, just after the sign announcing Providence was two miles ahead. It was a zombie with a split-open skull. Helena drew her pistol. Two hundred yards further, they came to another. It had been shot. He could see another supine figure lying on the road ahead of them, and more after that.

The bodies lay increasingly close together until they reached a spot where they’d fallen in a great ring of twisted, twice-dead limbs. At the center was a uniformed soldier. On his leg was a bandage. Next to his body was a discarded rifle. In his hand was an automatic pistol, and in his brain was a bullet from that gun.

“Looks like he was infected,” Helena said. “So, he… what? He stayed behind the others, holding off the zombies, killing them one by one until they were dead, he was dying, and he had only one bullet left?”

“Looks like it.” Or he could have been on his own, a solitary man trying to escape a hideous death that his injuries wouldn’t allow him to outpace. Tom shifted his grip on the rifle, looking and listening for the undead.

“It doesn’t seem right to leave him,” Helena said.

“There’s no time to bury him, and we don’t have the tools.”

“I didn’t mean that,” Helena said. “I mean that he’ll lie here, forgotten.”

“Are you going to forget the scene?” he asked.

“I might,” Helena said, continuing down the road. “After all I’ve seen, and all I’m going to see, I might.”

They saw Providence long before they reached it.

“You were right,” Helena said. “It isn’t a town.”

It was a military camp, built on the highway. Or it had been. Walking sticks, bicycles, bags, and other litter formed an obstacle course as they climbed the on-ramp. The road to their left was clear. To their right were a cluster of vehicles. Not all were military. A few police cruisers and motorbikes were parked next to a very civilian tanker-truck. Beyond the off-ramp, on the far side of the highway, were tents. Monstrous things, twenty feet across, with their flaps down. Some were marked with red crosses, others decorated in a variety of camouflage patterns. What was missing were people.

“We’re too late,” Helena whispered.

Tom understood her disappointment. He could almost see the helicopters that had used the highway as a helipad. Where the refugees had gone, he’d never know, but they could only have missed them by a few hours.

“Maybe they left fuel,” Tom said, walking toward the tanker. They had. The gauge read empty, but next to it were dozens of fuel cans. A few had spilled over, giving a filling station smell to the morning air. He picked up one that gave a pleasing slosh and made it halfway toward the police vehicles before being overcome by a wave of exhausted depression. He sat down on a stack of crates.

“The airfield lies fifty miles that way,” he said gesturing down the road. “Not in a straight line, of course, but where is, these days.” The fuel can gonged as he gave it a kick. “That should get one of the bikes there.” He took out the sat-phone. It had enough battery left to make a call. He dialed Julio’s number. “No answer,” he said, putting it away. “Figures.”

“What are you thinking?” she asked, sitting down next to him.