Rotter World (13 page)

Chapter Twenty

Tracking Billy proved easier than expected. The teenager was so scared he barreled his way through the woods, making enough noise to wake the dead. Or to attract the living dead, if any were around. Thompson followed him at a discreet distance. After running amongst the trees for almost a mile, Billy finally turned toward the road, rested a few minutes to catch his breath, and then set off again. Damn kid was so frightened he never once looked back, and so had no idea Thompson followed not too far behind.

After another mile or so, Parade Road merged onto a small highway. Billy veered off the asphalt and into a clearing. Thompson cut across to the other side and climbed a hillock just before the point where Billy turned off. Carefully broaching the summit, he could easily see the crossroads where Parade Road intersected Route 28, and directly beneath him the facility Billy entered.

Thompson radioed his position to the others and waited. Thirty minutes later, Robson, O’Bannon, and Natalie joined him on the hillock. They had brought the armored car if they had to make a speedy getaway, leaving it parked a quarter of a mile away and guarded by three of the Angels. Now the four of them stared down at the compound. As O’Bannon and Natalie kept a lookout for foot patrols, Thompson and Robson used binoculars to survey the area.

Beneath them sat an old self-storage facility that the new occupants had converted into a fortified compound. Twelve Harley Davidson motorcycles, four of them with sidecars, and three military-style Humvees sat parked along the front wall nearest the entry gate. Thompson did a quick calculation. If each of the vehicles were filled to capacity, there were approximately thirty people on the compound, minus the five who died back at the campsite. If the disposition of the assailants they had encountered offered any indication, these guys were all thugs and gang members.

From their vantage point, it looked as though the storage cubicles had been converted into living quarters. A few people milled around the compound, mostly men who even at this distance did not look very friendly. Each one carried a sidearm or a larger weapon strapped to their shoulders. A few women were visible, but most of them appeared beaten down and submissive. Thompson assumed they probably were being used as sex slaves.

No guards were posted anywhere that could be observed. Not that any were necessary. A chain-link fence topped with barbed wire had been erected thirty feet outside the facility, running parallel to the original stone wall and completing enclosing the compound. At forty-foot intervals between the fence and wall sat men and women chained to stakes hammered into the ground. Each had a worn blanket tightly wrapped around them, their only protection against the elements.

“Can I see?” asked Natalie.

“Sure.” Thompson handed over his binoculars. “But you probably don’t want to.”

Natalie raised them to her face and examined the compound. “Why are those people staked to the ground?”

“An early warning system,” said Thompson, unable to conceal the disgust in his voice. “If any rotters break through the outer fence, the screams of the people being eaten would alert those inside to the danger. That’s probably what they referred to as ‘the zone’.”

Natalie lowered the binoculars and handed them back to Thompson. “That’s inhuman.”

Robson agreed. “That would have been us if you hadn’t suckered those assholes into the Ryder.”

Natalie’s expression became very determined. “So, how do we get those people out of there?”

“We don’t,” said Thompson.

“We can’t just leave them.”

“Our mission’s too important to risk it on a humanitarian raid.”

Natalie turned to Robson. “Mike?”

“He’s right.” Robson lowered his binoculars. “There’s no way we can rescue them without getting into a firefight, especially now that they know we’re here. And they have the defenders’ advantage. We’d lose too many people.”

“You can’t be serious?”

“I am.”

Natalie leaned forward to look at O’Bannon. “Help me out here.”

“I agree with Mike and the colonel on this one,” said O’Bannon. “It’s too risky.”

“Even if we did get them out, what then?” added Thompson. “There’s at least twenty of them in the zone, plus the women inside the compound. They’re too weak to take with us, and we can’t afford to split our resources to take them back to camp.”

Natalie huffed and stared at the ground.

“Shit,” broke in Robson. “We’ve got movement.”

As they watched, about twenty heavily-armed men exited the main building and spread out across the compound, each heading for makeshift guard towers set up inside the stone wall.

“Are they going after the convoy?” asked O’Bannon.

“I don’t think so,” said Thompson as he watched the men climb into the guard towers. “It looks like they’re preparing for an attack. They’re probably too scared to leave.”

“I don’t want to take any chances.” Robson grabbed his radio and keyed the microphone. “Daytona, do you copy?”

“Loud and clear, boss.”

“Load up the convoy and head back to Barnston. Wait for us at the junction with Route 28, and be prepared to move in a hurry. If anyone other than us approaches, get out of there in a hurry. Understood?”

“Is there trouble?” asked Daytona.

“Just do as I tell you.”

“Roger that.”

Thompson nodded his approval. “Good call.”

“Thanks.” Robson keyed the microphone again. “Ari, do you read me?”

“Yeah. I heard your conversation with Daytona. Do you need backup?”

“Negative on that. Just get the Angels in the armored car and be ready to haul ass the minute we get back.”

“We’ll be waiting.”

Robson put the radio back in his pocket. “Let’s get out of here.”

Chapter Twenty-one

Avoiding the gang’s compound took just over an hour. After meeting up with the others, Robson and the drivers quickly consulted their maps, going over all the nearby roads. They eventually settled on a route that would take them north to the town of Alton and then west toward Gilmanton. Daytona led the way, this time followed by Mad Dog in the Ryder and Whitehouse in the school bus. Robson followed a minute later in the armored car, hanging back just long enough for the quiet to settle back in so he could listen for the tell-tale noise of approaching motorcycles or Humvees.

As the convoy wound its way north along the tree-lined road, Robson noticed that Thompson stood by the back window the entire time, keeping a close watch to the rear.

“Do you see anything?”

“Thank God, no.” Thompson moved away from the window and took his seat behind Compton.

Compton shifted in his seat to face the colonel. His voice betrayed his concern. “Are you expecting them to follow us?”

“No. If they were going to come after us, they would have done so by now. After that little asshole related what happened to his buddies, it’ll be a while before they leave camp again.”

“That suits me just fine.” Robson took his foot off the accelerator, slowing down enough to let a family of deer bolt across the road in front of them. “But I learned a valuable lesson today. No more letting our guard down. It’s too dangerous out here.”

“Don’t be too tough on yourself,” offered Compton. “It’s not easy to imagine what the world has become until you’ve actually been out in it for a while. It caught all of us by surprise when we left Site R. I can’t imagine what cities like New York and Tokyo must be like.”

“I don’t want to try,” said Robson. “This is bad enough.”

“Trust me,” added Thompson, “you haven’t seen anything yet.”

Robson wanted to ask the colonel what he meant, but thought better of it.

The convoy drove along until it arrived in Gilmanton, where it picked up Route 107 and continued west. Here the setting took on a more suburban tone, with strip malls lining either side of the road. Only a few dozen rotters populated the parking lots, with another handful wandering aimlessly down the road. Most of these barely acknowledged the convoy as it raced past.

“I don’t like this,” said Robson. “Something ain’t right.”

“It’s the dead rotters,” responded Thompson.

“They’re all dead.” Robson said it in a matter-of-fact tone.

Thompson leaned forward between the doctor and Robson and gestured toward the side of the road. Only when the colonel pointed it out did Robson realize what he referred to. Scattered along both shoulders were scores of desiccated corpses. From the few that were closest to the convoy as it raced by, it looked as though the back of their heads had been blown off. Piles of charred bones and ashes appeared at regular intervals. The convoy slowed as it passed near the entrance to a Burger King where a stack of rotters had not been torched yet. Strips of decayed flesh and rotted organs dangled from the carcasses, much of the remains already having melted into a pile of ooze that dripped into a nearby sewer grate.

Daytona’s voice blared from the radio, an uncharacteristic tension straining his tone. “Boss, what the fuck is going on here?”

“Yeah,” Natalie chimed in from the school bus. “This is freaking us out back here.”

“May I?” asked Thompson. Robson passed him the radio. “Nothing to worry about. This is an old site. We’re approaching the interchange with Interstate 93. The military cordoned off this area and policed it of rotters to keep it secure, probably to keep the escape route to the highway open.”

“Are you sure?” Natalie did not sound convinced.

“Yes, ma’am. We saw this a lot after leaving Site R.”

“It’s still fucking creepy, if you ask me,” said Daytona.

* * *

A minute later, the convoy passed a large green sign announcing the interchange with Interstate 93. The other three vehicles slowed as they crossed the overpass, and then stopped. Robson watched as everyone climbed out of their vehicles and stepped over to the railing, their attention fixed on something below. Robson pulled in behind the school bus. He, Thompson, and Compton joined the others at the railing.

“What’s up?” asked Robson as he approached.

Natalie looked over to him, her eyes wide in horror. She raised a shaking hand and pointed to the interstate. Robson looked down, drawing in a deep breath at the nightmare that confronted him.

All four lanes of the highway were jammed with vehicles heading north, stretching as far as he could see. Each of the exit ramps were blocked by National Guard two-and-half-ton trucks, forcing the vehicles to stay on the highway. The median and breakdown lanes were strewn with abandoned vehicles. Piles of luggage, much of it opened and ransacked, were scattered across the area. Five hundred yards farther down a tractor trailer lay on its side, having overturned as it tried to navigate down the slope of the median. Those vehicles still on the road either had their doors open or the side windows smashed, with dried blood staining the paint. Corpses littered the area, their bones having been stripped of so much flesh and organs that the bodies never had a chance to reanimate. Scores of rotters wandered aimlessly amongst the carnage, peering into empty vehicles in search of food.

Robson turned to the south. The same sight stretched in that direction all the way to the horizon.

“Jesus Christ,” mumbled Whitehouse. “What happened?”

“Rotters must have overrun them while traffic was stalled.” Thompson motioned back toward the strip malls. “They must have wandered down from back there. These people didn’t have a chance.”

Ari suddenly cried out and ran back to the school bus. She bent over by the front fender and vomited. The others looked down directly beneath them to where Ari had been staring. Jennifer gasped and turned, burying her face against Mad Dog’s shoulder.

Just below the overpass sat a Lexus SUV with the left rear door ajar. The remains of what once had been a woman lay crumpled on the highway. Inside the vehicle, a baby sat in a car seat, the stump of a half-gnawed right arm reaching up towards them. Lifeless eyes stared at the humans. It tried to crawl out of its seat, but the still-buckled restraining straps kept it in place. It pushed against the straps, all the while snapping at the humans with a tiny mouth that had yet to grow teeth. It wailed in frustration, an ungodly cry more wild animal than infant.

The wail attracted the attention of those rotters closest to the Lexus. They turned in the direction of the sound and, upon seeing food standing on the overpass, began stumbling toward them. Moans of anticipation came from scores of decayed throats, melding into a ghastly chorus. Those rotters on the exit ramps moved toward the overpass.

“We need to get moving, people.” Robson stepped back from the railing. Everyone still stared down at the highway. “Now!”

The sharp command snapped them all out of their shock. One by one, the party fell back to their vehicles. Robson waited until the last person boarded before jogging back to the armored car. A rotter reached the top of the exit ramp and stumbled toward him, limping on a right leg hobbled by a compound fracture. As it was no immediate danger, Robson ignored it, and by the time he crawled into the driver’s seat, Daytona and Whitehouse already were pulling away. Mad Dog passed by on the right, falling in behind the school bus. Shifting into drive, Robson brought up the rear, taking one final look down Interstate 93 as he crossed the overpass.