“Julian?” Mike asked.
“I always intended to go, I just didn’t want to steer the decision, and it had to be made voluntarily.”
Mike was growing to respect this man more and more every day.
Julian went on. “Now that we’ve come to an agreement, let’s get down to business. We’ll be headed past the airport we flew into on the way to a dealership where Eric thinks we can grab some respectable wheels. It should be easy to spot if it’s still there.”
After some additional discussion they went back to Eric’s quarters to look over the information Marlee and Eric had gathered on the local area. They would leave at first light, giving everyone at least one additional night of uninterrupted rest. It would be the last for quite some time.
Julian led them out through another tunnel hidden in the lowest area of the bunker next to the railway. Mike was glad they were not going to use the rail. It looked dark and unpredictable. Julian said it was meticulously maintained, but he didn’t actually have firsthand knowledge of this. After walking for maybe ten minutes, they arrived at yet another huge steel door.
Someone must had made a pretty penny back in the day when they received the order for all the doors in this place
, Mike thought.
That thought triggered another and he was suddenly awash in memories of his prior life. Their burgeoning business selling survival and outdoor gear was gone. It had just started to take off and now all the hard work he and Eric had put in was for naught. The ironic thing was he didn’t have access to a lifetime of supplies and gear that could have made a big difference in their current situation. He was sure the warehouse had been ransacked by now, and his prized F250 was probably gone as well. There was no chance they could go back to check on any of it now, because Tampa was probably about as accessible as the Moon.
After fumbling with a panel near the door for a few minutes, Julian must have finally entered the correct code because that familiar audible click of the lock disengaging brought Mike out of the funk he had started to fall into.
“Well, here goes nothing,” Eric muttered in the understatement of the century as he helped Julian and Shrader push the door open enough to peek outside.
They found themselves in a deeply wooded area on the side of a small hill, but, most importantly, the Changed were nowhere to be seen. The plan was simple: they would head northwest toward Interstate 64 and the Ford dealership. As soon as they came across the Interstate, about a mile from where they were standing according to the map, and if luck was on their side, they would try to find a couple of vehicles to travel the nine miles between the bunker and the dealership; otherwise it would end up being a long and dangerous walk.
Shrader took point and the group fell in behind him, with Davis bringing up the rear. Everyone was in a state of high alert as the protective walls of the bunker fell further behind with each step.
“Mike … Mike,” came Marlee’s whisper from just behind him.
“What is it?” Mike whispered back.
“It feels different now. Can you feel it or is it just me?” she asked.
“It feels different, it sounds different, and I think it will only get worse as time passes. We need to stay alert every second of the day and night now. Can you sense or feel anything out of the ordinary?” Mike asked, referring to her newly acquired talents.
“No, I think when I suppress the Change in me it mutes ‘those’ senses. It’s a blessing and a curse. If I suppress it, I can’t ‘feel’ their presence, but they can’t sense me so it’s a wash. I worry though if playing around with my Change can draw them to me. Not good.”
Mike thought about what Marlee had said and decided it was best not to mess around with something so unpredictable. “Keep your eyes peeled for anything that looks dangerous, dead or not. Let’s not forget there are wild animals in these parts as well.”
Looking small and helpless for a second, Marlee squeaked back, “Oh great, what else wants to kill us.”
Shrader put his hand in the air with his fist in a ball and went into a crouched position. The rest of the group stopped and followed his lead. They didn’t know what had alerted him, but they trusted his instincts.
“The Interstate’s just ahead,” Eric said so low Mike wasn’t even sure he really heard him. Mike shifted positions and was now able to make out the highway along with a small group of Changed wandering aimlessly down the center of the southbound lane.
After taking a long, careful look at them, Mike said, “They look to be original.”
“Original?” Eric asked, his face scrunching up with a look of perplexity.
“It’s a term Marlee heard on the news for people that changed without being attacked or bitten to affect their zombification, so to speak. You know how the media loves to have catchy phrases or names for things. Anyway, that group doesn’t have any obvious wounds to their bodies. Just bloody faces and fingers from ripping apart their ill-fated victims. I think they’re the most dangerous because they’re intact, unless one of their victims gave it the good fight.”
They all considered what Mike said as they watched the small group of Changed slowly meander past. No one really cared what they were called as long as they were headed in the opposite direction or were re-killed permanently.
Shrader, who was in full stealth mode, came shuffling back toward them and somehow managed not to make any noise and stay low at the same time. He briefly let them know he would be scouting the Interstate with Aggeles for a couple of vehicles.
While they headed out, the rest of the group took up positions to keep an eye on the underbrush. They didn’t need any unexpected surprises now that they were traveling without the benefit of the MRAP. Losing that vehicle was like losing your security blanket when you were a kid. Everyone was on edge.
About twenty tense minutes later Aggeles came running back up to their place of concealment and whispered intensely, “Holy fucking shit, they got Shrader. Those fucks ambushed us! What the fuck, maybe some of these fuckers are smart or something. We need to get the fuck out of here right now before they get down here.”
“Ambushed you?” Julian asked, concern etched into his voice.
“No time to bullshit right now, Julian, sorry, but we need to find a vehicle fast and move the fuck outta here. The woods are crawling with those fucktards.” Aggeles was visibly upset by what he has seen and his urgency was frightening.
“Maybe we should head back to the bunker?” Reid pleaded, obviously scared shitless.
“No fucking way, they’re crawling all over the place now. LET’S GET THE FUCK MOVING NOW!” Aggeles shouted, done trying to be quiet. That was all the motivation they needed.
Spilling out onto the Interstate, they spotted the small group of Changed they had seen earlier. They were now turned and headed in their direction, their hisses and moans rising in pitch and volume now that fresh meat had been discovered. Just as Aggeles had described, the Changed were pouring out of the tree line and onto the eastbound lanes of the Interstate. The only luck they had going for them now was the fact their destination took them west and toward the smaller group of monsters. They could see a pack of Zs in the distance swarming over something on the ground. Each person standing there knew with certainty they were looking upon Shrader’s final resting place.
With each passing day their group was getting smaller. Everyone silently hoped they weren’t the next to suffer that same fate. Garcia’s eyes lingered on the form of their fallen comrade longer than the rest. He must have been silently thanking Shrader for his sacrifice.
“Go for head shots and conserve your ammo; wait until you’re almost upon them to fire. Once they’re down, keep moving until we can find a ride. I think we can outpace them,” Mike yelled back to the group as he grabbed Marlee’s arm and pulled her along with him.
Now within twenty feet of the smaller group of Changed, Mike shouted, “Five tangos, double tap these freaks and keep moving.”
Before Eric could even raise his rifle to follow Mike’s instruction, Daniels ran forward with a machete he must have lifted from the bunker and went to work on the Changed. He took the lead Z with a precise jab straight into its left eye. Pus and eye juice exploded from the now empty eye socket and he expertly used the Z’s weight to slide the blade from its skull and was on to his next victim.
The rest of the group could only stand back and watch in horror as Daniels took his surprising attack to the next Z. This time he dropped low and took the right leg off just below its knee. The creature toppled immediately but Daniels had no time to stop for a deathblow because the third and fourth Z were on him now, the last one closing in fast.
Once again, before anyone could even attempt to intervene and save this brash young man he had removed another leg and the head clean off the Zs closest to him. They were amazed at the sheer speed and violence of his attack. Within seconds, Daniels finished the fifth and final Z with a vicious hack directly to the forehead, cleaving the thing’s head almost in half. This time the machete wasn’t coming loose so easily and remained impaled in the Z’s skull, a macabre reminder of just how twisted the world had become.
Before anything that was supposed to be dead got back up Eric put a bullet into the skulls of the gimped Zs and the freewheeling head that was still glaring at them with those sunken red eyes and gnashing teeth that continued to hunger for living flesh even detached from its owner.
“What the fuck is wrong with you, son?” Julian demanded of Daniels even as he was looking over his shoulder at the larger and more menacing crowd fast approaching.
“I’m sick of these things killing my friends,” Daniels snapped back. “I decided it was time to kill some of them medieval-style.”
Julian
was quiet for a second and must not have had any sage advice or admonishments for the young man, because he just nodded and patted Daniels on the shoulder.
“That was some fast work, but let’s see if we can find a vehicle just as quickly before we have more to deal with than even Daniels here can handle,” Mike implored of the group.
As they jogged down the Interstate, keeping their eyes going in every direction possible, they could make out a small group of vehicles about a thousand yards ahead. Even in the desperate straits they found themselves in the natural beauty of the area wasn’t lost on Mike; the gently curving tree-lined highway was a vacationer’s dream drive and stood in stark contrast to the death that marched just behind them. He wondered if it would always be like this from now on.
It seemed like seconds took hours and the hours took days to get to the vehicles they had spotted in the distance, but reality was kinder and it was only minutes before they came upon two upscale sedans and a pick-up that looked to have been involved in a minor fender-bender. There was no sign of the owners anywhere and that was probably a good thing. Davis quickly cleared the cars and started looking for keys.
The only keys he found were in the truck. Mike didn’t like the idea of having people exposed in the bed of the truck, but beggars can’t be choosers so they crammed everyone in. Mike climbed in the bed with Eric, Julian, Davis, and Aggeles. Garcia took the driver’s seat, with Marlee riding shotgun, Reid and Daniels quickly sliding into the backseat. No one really wanted to sit near Daniels now due to the excessive amount of blood and pulverized body parts sticking to and in some cases dripping off of him. Mike made a mental note to find him a shower before he got into the next vehicle they might need to carjack. The Changed were getting closer, causing Eric and Davis to pick-off a few of the ones that moved out ahead of the crowd.
“Get this rig moving now, Garcia,” Julian bellowed, slapping the top of the truck’s cab with the flat of his hand.
The truck’s engine coughed and roared and they held on for dear life as Garcia mashed the gas, lurching the truck forward suddenly, tires screeching in protest. Luck was on their side and they managed to escape the grasp of the clutching hands of the Changed once again. Mike and Eric looked back at their retreating shapes and wondered how many times they could afford to cut it that close.
As they got closer to Lewisburg and its small but concentrated population they saw signs of struggle seemingly everywhere. Quaint county roads snaked out in every direction. The semi-wooded home sites were typical for this part of the country.
Out of place were the bodies of the town’s inhabitants, strewn about like twisted yard gnomes for all to see. The throaty rumble of the truck’s engine broke the eerie silence as they slowly passed through the outskirts of town. Stranger, oddly enough, was the fact that very few were back up and walking again. The occasional Z encountered was no match for the truck’s speed and they were quickly left behind. Just before they started into Lewisburg itself, Julian slapped the roof of the truck, signaling Garcia to pull over and stop. The moment the truck was at a full stop Julian jumped out and signaled for Mike to follow him.
“What’s up?” Mike asked after they had stepped off a few yards.
“I have a suspicion and wanted to confirm it before we get into the town itself. Let us go look at a few of the bodies in the area. Stay close and keep your eyes open for any of our freaky little friends.”
Mike really didn’t need to be told that, but he understood it was second nature for Julian. They ran across a family of three that was baking in the afternoon sun not far from where they had stopped. The smell was wretched; the bodies were in bad shape and starting to decompose. It was obvious they had been exposed to the elements for days. Julian quickly reached down and picked up a shell casing; he then examined the corpses closer, concentrating on their heads.
“All three were shot in the head.”
“Not surprising, Julian, this
is
the country and everyone out here has a gun.”
Julian grunted and said, “Let’s find a few more then get back.”
Julian, with Mike in tow, continued down the tree-lined street and discovered three additional groups of corpses; some appeared to be families and others that might have wandered into the neighborhood looking for victims. Each had a bullet to the brain.
“This explains why we haven’t run across many Zs on our way into town,” Julian said more to himself than to Mike.
“It appears this area was cleaned out,” Mike said, guessing where Julian’s thoughts were headed.
“The question is, by who and why?” Julian asked as he walked up to the front porch of the nearest house, a bungalow-style home and in pristine condition. This close to town generally meant nicer homes and neighborhoods. He stepped onto the covered porch, regarding the sturdy if not fancy furniture that adorned the whitewashed, wood-planked porch. The entranceway door was slightly ajar and the silence coming from within was deafening.
“Let’s take a quick peek inside.”
“Why risk it?”
“I want to see just how far they went during their purge of this area.”
Mike didn’t consider Julian’s plan a wise move, but the man looked determined so he gave him a quick nod of acquiescence.
Julian walked through the door with a slow, deliberate pace into a modern, well-appointed living room. Mike didn’t notice anything that seemed out of place so they moved on to the kitchen, only to find it a different scene altogether. There were perishables spread across the granite countertops, and the stainless steel refrigerator had been rummaged through and left ajar. The high-end cherrywood cabinets were all open and there were no canned goods to be found anywhere.
Someone had collected and removed all of the non-perishable foods; whoever ransacked this kitchen knew exactly what they wanted. Mike realized this was calculated and not a random act by someone simply looking for a meal. The perishable food spoiling on the counters and in the refrigerator was all the proof he needed. The look on Julian’s face told Mike he had reached the same conclusions.
“Let’s get back to the truck,” Julian said suddenly with an urgent undertone to his voice.
Mike looked around the house once last time and noticed a small weather radio on the fireplace mantle in the living room. He hurriedly grabbed it and stuffed it into a pocket on their way out. The rest of the crew was still in the truck waiting for them. Mike, always alert now, scanned the area as they approached and noticed the body of a small boy off a ways with fresh blood pooling from its skull. Apparently, whoever had cleansed the area of the Changed hadn’t gotten them all. For a moment, Mike wondered whose son that may have been and realized he would be witnessing scenes like this for his foreseeable future. This was a tragedy of truly epic proportions.
After they re-mounted the truck, Julian asked Aggeles for his field glass then instructed Garcia to move out but keep the speed down. He also instructed him to approach any cresting hills cautiously. They traveled like this for a couple of miles before they arrived in downtown Lewisburg.
Lewisburg was an older town, established in 1752 according to the banners hanging off the street posts. A typical older rural American town. Lucky in the sense it had survived so long due to a steady flow of affluent visitors vacationing at the Greenbrier Resort. These visitors had allowed Lewisburg to thrive and embrace its historic roots compared to the countless other towns that had simply faded into obscurity as West Virginia’s mining industry slowly lost out to cheaper Chinese imports.
Neat rows of smart-looking Colonial-styled brick buildings lined the main strip that at one time was surely filled with the hustle and bustle of small town activities. The outdoor shops and eateries catering to local families and travelers were empty now. The ravages of the dead and the livings’ struggle had replaced the warmth and charm of this small town.
Mike was astounded at the sheer number of dead littering the street. He could only assume the people of Lewisburg had gathered for protection and a unified defense only to be overrun by the sheer veracity and hunger of the Changed.
As they slowly drove past a three-story Irish pub with the stereotypical green façade, they could see dead faces and red eyes glaring out at them. Apparently, the people cleansing the outskirts of town didn’t have the manpower to put down an entire town of Changed. Mike was unsure if they were looking at the work of a National Guard unit attempting to keep the peace or a rag-tag group of survivors from Lewisburg. Time would tell, he was sure.
Reid slid the rear cab window open from inside the truck. “We spotted a sign for Colonial Ford but there are a shitload of those ambulatory corpses doing their Dawn of the Dead impersonations up ahead. Maybe we can catch up to that group you guys were talking about?”
“Let’s find better transportation without losing anyone else, then look for a place to bunker down for the night. The day is wearing on and we don’t want to be wandering around like a group of Japanese tourists when night falls,” Mike said.
He was happy to see that Reid was coming around; this nightmare had affected his friend more than anyone would have expected. Mike was optimistic the old Reid was returning for good.
Julian pointed through the glass at Garcia and said, “Tell him to stop directly in front of the dealership and we’ll go in and find the key repository. Stay alert in case we need back-up.” Reid nodded and slid the window shut. Mike could see him talking excitedly to Garcia so he knew Julian’s instructions had been communicated.
“Let’s get this done and don’t get sloppy,” Julian urged the men riding in the truck bed with him.
“Julian, the keys are usually locked in a safe,” Eric said with a questioning look.
“I didn’t say this would be easy.”
Eric shook his head and Mike chuckled. A short time later, they spotted the AutoZone that marked their turn, North Rosewood Avenue, and within minutes they found themselves sitting in front of the Ford dealership.
Mike was waiting for it and soon enough Eric delivered. “Mike, do you think it a coincidence there’s an AutoZone right next to the Ford dealer?”
“Makes sense to me, just in case those Chevy guys break down on their way in for a real truck,” Mike retorted.
“Dream on, dork,” Eric threw back at Mike, and the never-ending Ford vs. Chevy argument, decades old, continued on. After each had traded a few more friendly jibes on a debate that was as American as apple pie, they quieted down as the truck rolled to a stop.
Colonial Ford was a clean, well-kept business, but this was a small rural town so inventory amounted to maybe thirty-five cars and trucks total on the lot. The grey brick building sported the familiar iconic blue oval on its triangular peak. The structure itself had a farm-style architecture to it. Running the length of the building was an overhang with bright white Colonial-era columns attempting to add an air of aloofness to the facility.
What really caught Mike’s eye was a pair of four-wheel-drive F150 Supercrews, one black and one dark gray, parked under the overhang and right next to the main entrance. He nudged Julian in the ribs and pointed.
“I was thinking the same thing; let’s hope we can find the keys,” Julian said with a grin that matched Mike’s. Eric just rolled his eyes.
“Found On Road Dead has a whole new meaning now, doesn’t it,” Eric said, not able to resist one last jab as they jumped from the truck and quick-stepped it to the front doors.
When they reached the entrance, Mike and Eric posted themselves to the right of the doors, while Julian and Davis took the left. Aggeles hung back, taking cover next to the black F150 and positioning himself with a clear line of sight into the building.
Mike watched as Julian reached for the door handle and applied a small amount of pressure to determine if it was locked or not. Julian shook his head to the negative and pulled his arm slowly back. Mike didn’t want to alert anything hiding inside to their presence before it was absolutely necessary.
“What now?” he whispered over to Davis and Julian, “do we break it or look for another way in?”
“Break it,” Julian replied as he made a quick hand signal to Aggeles. Aggeles fired a short burst of silenced rounds into the glass on the bottom of the door. Davis easily kicked in the weakened glass and promptly disappeared inside.
“Please be empty,” Mike said as he followed Davis through the newly created entrance.
Inside, the dealership smelled of new car and rubber, but nothing rotten or dead, thankfully. Each team of two broke off and made a quick sweep of the sales floor. No surprises were encountered and Mike was glad someone had had the presence of mind to secure the place before they bugged out. He then set out in search of the vending machines while the other team searched for truck keys.
Eric located the customer waiting area and the vending machines down a hallway at the far end of the sales floor. Mike noticed a sign on the wall with an arrow pointing toward the rear of the dealership that simply stated “BODY SHOP.”
“At least we know where the back door is if we need it,” Mike said with a sad smile. “Seems like everything we do now is predicated upon a quick escape.”
“Speaking of escape, what does that look like sitting out back?” Eric asked.
“That looks like a Ford dump body that was being prepped for delivery.” Clearly visible to both men were the detailer’s wash buckets along with a hose and some miscellaneous cleaning supplies.
Too good to be true
, Mike thought and started down the hallway.
He unlatched the lock leading out to the big Ford and slowly pushed it open, looking hard in both directions. The coast seemed clear so Mike nodded back at Eric and they slowly crept out and over to the truck. Mike jumped up on a running board and looked inside. Bingo! Today was their lucky day, because whoever had been detailing the truck had left the keys in the ignition. Mike opened the door and flipped the ignition on. Full tank! It was time to let Julian know about their discovery. The dump truck was high and made of reinforced steel, making a great platform for a shooter. It would also provide a good vantage point to keep eyes on the surrounding area when they needed to stop.
As they started back to the dealership, Mike noticed two Changed making a rather quick approach towards them seemingly from out of nowhere. They had been small boys, maybe ten years old when they Changed, but now the innocence of youth had been smeared off their faces and replaced with feral rage and lust.
Mike’s eye was drawn to the shirts both boys were wearing. Each was wearing a white crew neck with the name of a church imprinted on the front. It was hard to make out the wording with grunge, guts, and grit caked on, but it looked like it said Brattleboro New Rapture Church of Christ. Mike wondered how two boys from a town in Vermont had ended up this far south. Maybe a church trip in one of those vans you see on the highways all the time. Mike was pulled from his contemplations as the silenced discharge of Eric’s rifle went off twice, dropping both boys to the concrete.
“I don’t know if I can get used to shooting kids, Mike.”
“I’m sorry you got stuck with that one. If I was you, I wouldn’t think of them as kids anymore, if it makes you feel any better.”
“It doesn’t, but I get what you’re saying.”
Mike surveyed their surroundings to make sure there were no other surprises and his eyes lingered on the two boys’ bodies for a moment. Printed on the back of the shirts were the words,
He Will Rise Again Tour – Charlotte NC
and in much smaller print it said,
The rapture will soon be upon us and everyone shall suffer for their sins
. There was a picture of a man’s face as well, but it wasn’t the familiar face of Christ; instead, it was a picture of a middle-aged man with dark hair and sunglasses.