The Reckoning - 02 (6 page)

“Be happy while you're living, for you're a long time dead.”

-
         
Scottish Proverb

              We unloaded the gear into the main galley of the
Caitríona.
All the while, the crowd of undead continued to grow along the shoreline and on the dock.
A few
Shriekers
let out the occasional
banshee
wail, but the worst was the moaning of that many of them.
It felt as if the gates of Hel were opening behind us.
It was completely unnerving.

             
Once we were unloaded, we went inside the main galley and closed the door.
It shut out the worst of the noise, but you could still hear it.
It was especially noticeable when we weren’t talking.
It was just at the edge of hearing, but you never quite completely toned it out.
It was maddening.

             
“Did you hear old lady Hatcher scream?” said Gunny. “What the fuck was that?”

             
“That’s a
Shrieker
,” I replied. “They’ll call the others down on you.”

             
“I guess it only makes sense,” said Gunny. “If you’re an asshole in life, then why would death change that?”

             
Then I explained about the basic five types of zombies that I had observed, so far.
There were the
Shriekers
, which would bring down the horde on you if you didn’t shut them up.
Then there were your basic
Shamblers
.
They were the most common that I’d seen.
Sprinters
were the most dangerous.
They could be on top of you before you realized it.
It was scary how fast some of them were.
Crawler
s were ones that couldn’t walk.
They were only bad if you were on foot or not paying attention.
You had to be extra careful when walking past cars.

             
The last kind was the
Grabbers
.
They were the poor bastards that turned while locked inside something.
You might find them seat-belted into a car or pinned between objects.
They could still get you, if you weren’t paying attention.
I’d seen a stray dog pulled into a sewer grate when it got too close.
One second it was sniffing around, then bang!
It was gone.
I could hear the poor thing yelping in pain.
It was horrible.

             
“Is that all?” asked Gunny.

             
“I damned sure hope so,” I replied. “That’s plenty, if you ask me.”

             
“But there might be more,” he said, frowning. “There might be ones you haven’t seen before, right?”

             
“I suppose so,” I answered. “You never know what you’ll run into.
It just pays to stay alert, at all times.”

             
“Ooh, Rah! I can do that.”

             
We got into the canned goods and heated up a couple cans of chicken soup with pasta.
I dug out my portable radio with the CD player and put on some music.
Not that either of us were feeling particularly festive, but it did drown out the wailing of the zombies on the shore.
Odin ate his stew and then lay down beside the bowl.
He was asleep before the end of the song.

             
Once we’d eaten, Gunny and I started checking and reloading weapons.
We now had guns and ammo, but we’d be on foot.
The guns were great, but I’d be almost afraid to use them while walking for fear of getting swarmed with nowhere to run.
Our next priority was to find transportation.
I remembered where I’d seen a Humvee, back along the highway.
The problem was it was probably twenty or more miles away.
We’d need to find a vehicle to get us there, but I wanted the Humvee.

             
We talked it over and decided not to try for the bridge, right away.
We wanted to wait until nightfall so the zombies wouldn’t see us slip away in the raft.
It was also quiet enough that they shouldn’t hear us.
At least that was the theory.
If nothing else, it would take them hours to make it to the bridge, much less across it.

             
We did our best to get some rest, but the noise from the zombies on shore made that pretty much impossible.
After a couple hours of fruitless frustration, I finally had enough.
I got up and headed out onto the deck.
Gunny got up and followed me out, curious to see what I was planning.
I snagged a piece of twine from my pack and jumped over onto the pontoon boat.
When Gunny tried to follow me, I stopped him.

             
“Don’t bother, Gunny,” I said. “I won’t be over here long.”

             
He had to grab hold of Odin to keep him from following me.
Once I was aboard the pontoon boat, I fired up the engine and untied the line that connected it to the
Caitríona.
Once that was done, I backed the pontoon boat up, angled out and set a course across the lake.

             
“Get below and stay there,” I called. “I’ll be back over there in a minute.”

             
“What the fuck are you doing?” asked Gunny.

             
“You’ll see,” I replied. “Trust me.”

             
Gunny took Odin below and I tied the steering wheel in place with the twine.
Then I pushed the throttle lever to full and the big Mercury engine roared to life.
While the pontoon boat accelerated, I ran to the back.
Just as we were passing the bow of the
Caitríona,
I jumped across and onto the foredeck.
The boat continued on roaring across the water, locked on a collision course with the far side of the lake.

             
I lay prone on the deck and didn’t move.
I waited and watched, hoping my plan worked.
The loud noise of the engine and the movement of the boat got the attention of every zombie within hearing range.
They seemed to turn as one towards the sound and followed it off along the shore, trying to keep up with the speeding boat.

             
I low crawled along the far side of the boat to the rear deck, and then crawled back into the cabin.
I stayed low so as not to attract the attention of any particularly alert zombies that didn’t fall for my trick.
Thankfully, zombies might be lethal killers but not the smartest of opponents.
They followed like lemmings and wandered off down the shore trying to catch an empty boat.

             
Within fifteen minutes, the shore alongside
Caitríona
was completely clear of the living dead.
I waited a full ten minutes more before making any noise.
Then I turned towards Gunny and grinned. Gunny was looking at me and shaking his head in surprise.

             
“Worked like a charm,” I said, softly.

             
“Yeah,” he replied, “all it cost us was a boat.”

             
“True, but we weren’t going to be using it anyway.”

             
“Fair enough,” he said. “Let’s get some rest, now that the zombie symphony orchestra is gone.”

             
I lay down and was asleep, almost instantly.
I’d set my alarm on my watch for seven that evening, knowing that the sun would be going down close to then.
By the time it was full on dark, we’d be packed and ready to go.
I didn’t like the idea of being out there, on foot and in the dark.
Unfortunately, we didn’t have much choice.
Trying to cross the lake in the daylight would attract attention and almost guarantee us a welcoming committee on the shore.

             
It felt like my head had no more than hit the pillow, when my shrill little watch alarm went off.
I awoke and sat bolt upright in bed, the big Army Colt in my hand.
It took me a second to register that there was no threat.
I shook the cobwebs out of my skull and sat the big Colt on the bed, next to me.
I was just reaching for my watch when I heard Gunny grumble from the next room.

             
“Will you turn off that
gawd-damned
alarm, already?!”

             
“Sorry, Guns,” I replied. “Still a little groggy.”

             
He mumbled something that I couldn’t understand, by way of reply.
I stood up and stretched, working out the kinks.
I dug out my gift box, again.
I took out my hip flask and filled it with the amber goodness.
Then I tucked it into my shirt pocket.
The rest of the decanter went into my pack.
I just hoped it didn’t get broken.
That would be a crying shame, to lose precious Bushmills like that.

             
I started gathering my gear.
It was almost time to leave.
It would probably be the last time I saw the
Caitríona.
I felt a pang of remorse, but went back to my preparations.
In the main galley, Gunny was doing the same thing.
He already had a pot of coffee going. It smelled strong, but different than I was used to. There was something familiar about it that I just couldn't quite place.

             
“Get some coffee in you before we shove off,” said Gunny. “We both need to be alert for what’s to come.”

             
I did as instructed and nearly choked on my first sip.
I thought Cop Coffee was bad.
It didn’t hold a candle to
Crusty Old Marine Coffee
.
This stuff didn’t just march down your throat, like the Booking Sludge.
This stuff double-timed down your esophagus and hit your stomach like a Marine Division storming a beach, singing
From the Halls of Montezuma
all the way down.

             
“Jesus, Guns!” I coughed. “What the fuck is in this?”

             
“You know, the usual,” he replied, grinning, “water, coffee grounds, salt and bourbon.
It just ain’t the same without the bourbon.”

             
It hit my stomach and instantly I felt the kick.
It started my system like jumper cables.
By the time I finished the cup, I almost felt like whistling the Marine’s Hymn.
Brewing the coffee had cooked away the alcohol in the bourbon, leaving behind the taste.
I don’t know if every Marine makes coffee like Gunny, but it explained a lot if they did.

             
By the time we had the raft packed with gear, it was full-on dark.
I could barely see the shoreline in the darkness so I was fairly certain that whatever was on shore couldn’t see us, either.
Gunny came out of the cabin and dumped the coffee grounds and dregs into the water.

             
“Killing fish, now?” I said, smiling.

             
“Nah, just waking up the lake,” he replied. “I’m cleaning out the coffee pot to take with us.
There’s enough coffee in the can to make several pots.
I have salt and bourbon in my bag.
When we camp, I’ll make coffee.”

             
“Sounds good to me,” I agreed. “Let’s get moving.”

We divided up the weapons and ammo into the two packs.
Then we packed as much food as we could carry without overburdening ourselves.
I considered putting a pack on Odin, but thought better of it.
We could take ours off and run, in an emergency.
He couldn’t.
It would weigh him down until one of us took it off of him.
It would be better to let him be able to run, just in case we didn’t make it.

             
I didn’t like thinking like that but in this kind of situation, you had to be pragmatic.
Anything else would get you killed.
I rigged a makeshift holster on the side of my pack for the Keltec shotgun.
It would be right behind my right shoulder, if I needed it.
The AR-15 would be slung barrel down across my back.
I’d keep the Henry repeater in-hand.
I could always drop it and reach for another weapon.