Pitman hesitated, and then agreed. “Okay, but Christian stays with DJ.”
My face went flush with anger. “Since when did I stop getting a say?”
“Since we found out you’re immune,” Campbell replied. “DJ, they’re at the crossroads, right?”
DJ nodded. “Yes sir. At least, that was the last known location of the hunting party.”
Daniel came running up to us with Karina at his side.
“Captain,” he said, breathing heavy, “Rich doesn’t think Jada was bit. She may be okay.”
Campbell seemed only partially relieved. “Pitman, meet me at my trailer. DJ, get this camp secure.”
“Aye, aye, sir,” DJ returned. “Christian, go get your gear and meet me at the main hall. If we do have more infected in the camp, I’ll need you armed. Most of our shooters are out with the rescue party.”
DJ turned and started barking orders to a few other people that showed up. One man grabbed a hammer and started to drag the dead man that Private Manns had killed off to dispose of him more discretely.
I didn’t think Pitman and Campbell had a snowball’s chance in hell of finding Fish and the rest of the search team before something bad happened to them. It was stupid of them not to bring me and Boomer.
A plan started to form, and I pulled Karina to the side.
“Come with me,” I told her, and before she could say anything, I dragged her by the arm toward my shack. Boomer trotted behind us.
“What’s going on?” Karina asked as I slammed the door behind her.
“I need you to do something for me,” I said as I gathered up my gear. I saw my Glock 9mm on Fish’s bed and took it.
Karina plopped down on my bed. “What do you need me to do?”
I grabbed a black permanent marker and some paper. “I need you to cause a distraction. One that will let me get to the docks before Campbell and Pitman leave.”
She eyed me curiously. “Why? Where are they going?”
“To warn Fish about Cecil,” I said, grabbing a glow stick out of my survival pack. “But the chances of finding them in the marshlands are pretty damn slim. But I can find them with Boomer.”
“They should take you with them, then,” she noted.
“Yeah, I asked. They think I’m too important now.” I grabbed my AR-15 and latched it to the single point sling on my chest.
“Maybe you are…” she trailed off.
I took Boomer’s harness out. “Boomer, come here.” He obliged and I began to strap it around his neck and front legs. “Cecil is killing these people because of what I did. I can’t let that happen. Immune or not.”
“So… what should I do to distract the Captain?” she asked, standing up.
I stopped what I was doing and looked at her. “I don’t know. But you’re a smart girl, Karina. I’m sure you can think of something.”
She grinned. “Hmmm, there is a lot that I can do, I guess.”
“Think about it on your way. I need to get going,” I said as I reached into Fish’s dirty laundry and grabbed a smelly shirt.
She nodded and opened the door. She paused and glanced back at me. “Christian, please be careful.”
“Aren’t I always?” I said, coming up behind her.
“No,” she said and then bolted out the door.
I watched her leave and had to smile, despite the desperate situation. Karina was a loyal friend to me. I reminded myself to thank her… if I made it back alive.
I waited while I watched Karina jog through the doors leading to the motor pool. A few seconds later, I heard Karina let out a terrifying wail.
At first, I thought she was under attack, until she started yelling “Dead-head!”
That was her distraction… and it worked. Not only did the main hall clear out of armed men and women, but I saw Campbell and Pitman jogging over to her from his trailer.
“Come on, boy!” I said, hustling Boomer out the door.
We ran around the south end of the camp and headed for the docks. Everyone was on the north side near where Karina was yelling. She was still going at it, so I figured she hid somewhere and they were looking for her.
I made it to the boat ramps and saw that there was only one person on guard duty. It was a woman named Shelly who we had rescued from the post office.
I almost ducked so she didn’t see me, and then realized she wouldn’t know any better. I was completely geared up and with a zombie loose in the camp, I’m sure she wouldn’t suspect anything. Besides, I was a Runner. I left the camp all the time. It wasn’t like I needed printed orders to go anywhere.
“Hey Shelly,” I said, breathing heavily from my run.
“Hey Christian,” she replied with stress in her voice. “What’s going on? I heard there was a zombie attack and now someone is screaming.”
“There was,” I said as I pushed Boomer into one of the two remaining boats. “They are getting it under control now.”
“Where are you going?” she asked, though she didn’t make an attempt to stop me.
“After the search party. They radioed back and said they wanted Boomer there,” I lied. “Mind opening the gate and closing it?”
She nodded and moved to the winch that retracted the gate in the river.
I smiled and jumped in the boat. I was worried that starting the boat engine would attract people in the camp, especially since Karina’s screaming had ceased, but dared it anyway. Rowing would have been too slow and I didn’t know how long it was going to take for Campbell and Pitman to show up to the docks. Once I was gone, though, they would be well behind me. Pitman alone weighed as much as Boomer and I put together. Their boat would be slower.
I started the engine and gave Shelly a half-hearted smile as she opened the gate.
In seconds, I was heading south on the St. Johns River at full speed. It wasn’t long before the docks to the camp were out of view, so I didn’t know if anyone was following me.
DJ said that Fish was headed to the crossroads, one of our regularly used navigation points when we were out hunting. It was about three miles south on the river and only a few hundred yards from the shore. They weren’t roads, but paths in the foliage that had been created by four-wheelers that intersected. Near them was a small camp that we would use to clean our kills.
The boat cruised along, and I steered as well as I could with my left elbow. My right hand was scribbling a barely legible message on the paper I had grabbed. The thick magic marker bled through it easily.
Boomer was sitting at the front of the boat, enjoying the wind blowing in his face. His tongue was out with slobber dripping and whipping back into my face.
“Boomer, come here,” I ordered. He ignored me at first. I called to him a couple more times and he sadly stepped down from the front of the boat and hopped to the back.
I took out some duct tape and attached the now folded piece of paper to the back of Boomer’s harness. After I felt it was secure, I cracked the glow stick and taped it to the top of the paper and secured it to his harness as well.
Minutes passed and I pulled the boat up to the shore near the crossroads. On the bank were the three other boats from the search part. All were empty and they hadn’t left anyone behind to guard them. That wasn’t abnormal. We hadn’t seen another living person out here since we fortified Camp Holly. The concern that someone was going to steal one of our boats was slim.
I hobbled out of the boat and helped Boomer to the sand. My shin hurt. I pulled my pant leg up and saw some blood seeping through the gauze. My run to the docks must have irritated the wound.
It didn’t hurt that bad, though, and I marched up the beach and into the grass.
This part of the swamp was more like marshlands. Sporadic waterways mixed with islands of trees and wet, grassy areas. But there was equal amounts of dry land, too, which made navigating the terrain pretty easy.
Boomer and I followed the path leading to the crossroads.
I wasn’t a true hunter. I saw fresh tracks, but quickly lost them when I hit the four-wheeler intersection. Some of the boot prints disappeared into the grass, while others moved east down the path. I also didn’t know how old the tracks were. They could have been from Gardner’s hunting party that had gone missing.
This is why I had my backup plan if I didn’t think I could find which direction the search party went.
“Come here, Boomer,” I whispered.
He moved closer to me as I took a knee and whipped out Fish’s dirty shirt.
I wasn’t sure how this worked. I knew there were dogs specially trained to follow scents, but I wasn’t sure how much of that was a natural instinct, nor did I know if Boomer would understand what I was trying to do.
He didn’t at first.
“Come on, boy,” I said, shoving the shirt into his snout. He backed away. I didn’t blame him. Fish’s stench was pretty ripe on the garment.
After a few minutes of prodding the confused canine, he started to sniff around the ground. I think it finally clicked in his head what I was trying to do.
“Go find Fish,” I told him. He continued to sniff, blowing dirt up as he exhaled until he made it to the grass.
Boomer glanced back at me and whined.
“Do you have it?” I asked him, approaching the grass.
He came over, sniffed the shirt in my hand again, and then went back to the grass. I wasn’t sure if he truly understood what I wanted, until he sniffed the ground again. He paused and sniffed the air. Boomer then galloped into the tree line.
“Damn it,” I cursed. This was something I had worried about.
“Wait up!” I hissed, not wanting to yell out. Besides the possibility of zombies in the area, I also feared coming across a pack of wild dogs or wild pigs. Both were equally as dangerous.
I darted into the woods after Boomer, but after a few minutes of jogging, I had lost him.
“Shit!” I cursed. I had to think, but I didn’t know what to do.
I could start calling out for Fish. After all, they couldn’t be too far ahead of me. They had left the camp about forty minutes earlier, but the problem with large groups of people was it took time to organize and plan. They may have sat on the bank for twenty minutes trying to figure out what to do.
I crossed that hypothesis off my list. After all, Fish wasn’t much for letting others debate his plans. He probably had them moving the second they hit the beach.
I kept walking, keeping my AR-15 up and at the ready just in case.
Minutes ticked by as I made my way through a group of trees.
“Christian?” a voice said from off to the side.
I spun around, aiming my rifle at the source.
Private Trent was standing about ten feet away. His rifle was up as well, but he quickly lowered it upon recognizing me. Behind him, another man named John approached.
John was one of three people we rescued, including the recently deceased Kyle. He was a pretty good shot and an average huntsman, which put him in Kolin’s Hunter Team. He wore a camouflage hunting cap and he was as gritty as they come.
“What are you doing here?” Trent asked.
I lowered my rifle. “Where is everyone?”
“We split up into groups,” he replied. “I’m with Cecil, John and Rob.”
“Where is Cecil now?” I asked hurriedly.
“He said he heard something. He and Rob went to go check it out,” John answered in a thick country drawl. He walked past Trent and sat down next to a tree, letting out a deep breath. “We ain’t seen no sign of those hunters.”
“Listen to me,” I said quickly, “Cecil is a traitor. He killed Private Manns and others are dead and hurt because of him. We need to make our way to Fish. Do you have a radio?”
“What? Cecil killed people? Manns?” Trent asked, confusion draping over his face.
John started to stand. “Is this some sorta joke?”
“We don’t have radios, Christian,” Trent said. “Cecil has the only one in our group.”
“Shit,” I turned around, scanning the woods. “We need to—”
A popping sound followed by a short grunt stole my attention. I quickly looked back and saw John clutching his chest and sliding back on the tree.
“What the—” Trent began but then something smacked him in the neck. He fell over, hopelessly trying to stop the blood gushing out of the wound.
I started to bring my rifle up when something metallic struck me on the side of the head. I fell to the ground, an explosion of stars filling my view.
I tried to move, but my brain struggled to send the commands to my limbs.
My body was flipped over and then a tremendous weight fell on my neck. I couldn’t breath and my chest felt like an elephant was sitting on it.
I blinked, trying to clear my vision. A pair of jeans was blocking my view. As my mind struggled to make sense, I realized it was a knee that was on my throat.
Lack of oxygen threatened my sight again, as things began to get cloudy. My AR-15 was detached from its sling and tossed over to the side. My Glock 9mm soon followed.
Then, the weight was lifted. I grabbed my throat and took a few deep breaths. The haze started to lift, and Cecil’s face came into view.