The Reckoning - 02 (7 page)

             
Gunny loaded up, too.
He slung his shotgun barrel down on the side of his pack.
Then he slung the AR-15 across his back, just like mine.
He had one of the .45 pistols in a thigh holster and the other two stuck in his waistband.
He held the M-1 with the scope in his hands.
He had an old boonie hat on his head and looked like a Marine recruiting poster with all that gear on.

             
I wished that I had another interceptor vest to give to him, but I only had the one.
I’ve been shot too many times in the last few days to give it up.
We’d be keeping our eyes peeled for any kind of armor we could find, though.
If we were going to make it back, we’d need all the help we could get.

             
I loaded both of my cargo pockets with ammo for the AR and the shotgun.
I put extra rounds for the Henry and the Colt in the side pouch on my rucksack.
It wouldn’t be easy to get to it, but it was there.
The Henry and the Colt reloaded too slowly to make effective combat weapons, but they were good for the first wave.
I’d just have to be careful with the ammo and shot placement.
Fortunately, I’d had lots of practice lately and my marksmanship had improved greatly.
Funny how having a target that will eat you if it gets a chance will improve your aim.

             
All told, we were pretty heavy.
We each had weapons aplenty, a full rucksack and a large duffle bag full of ammo and food.
I was probably carrying eighty pounds of gear and weapons.
We needed to find a vehicle fast.
I really didn’t want to carry this crap on my back all the way to Springfield.
It also made running pretty much impossible.
If we ran into a crowd of zombies, our only hope was fight it out or drop the gear and haul ass.

             
With Odin safely in the raft, I took one last look around.
I was really going to miss this old boat.
I’d put my heart and soul into rebuilding her, now I was saying goodbye.
I was grateful to her for keeping my family safe for me.
Caitríona
was more than a boat to me.
Reluctantly, I turned away and climbed into the raft.

             
“Let’s get moving,” I whispered.
“Remember to keep your voice to a whisper, too.
Sound travels farther on the water.”

             
“Here,” said Gunny, handing me my hammer.
“I couldn’t sleep, so I fixed it up for you.”

             
I took the hammer and examined it.
He’d drilled a few holes into the wooden handle and threaded several pieces of 550 cord through the holes.
Then he braided the handle and made a loop to go around my wrist.
It was perfect.

             
“Thanks, Guns,” I said, smiling.

             
Gunny just nodded by way of reply and handed me an oar.
We set to rowing back towards the bridge, going slow to minimize the noise.
Just as we were about to go around the point that would take us away from
Caitríona
for the last time, the full moon came out from behind the clouds.
I saw her there, illuminated on the water.
Yeah, I was going to miss her.
Gunny squeezed my shoulder once and nodded.

             
“We did good work on that boat,” he whispered.

             
I just nodded and went back to the oars.
As we passed Cape Fair in the darkness, I could hear the distant moans of the undead that were prowling the darkened streets of that once picturesque little town.
There were no lights on.
All the power was out.
If there was anyone alive left in there, they were trapped.
I whispered a silent prayer, just in case.

             
Ahead in the darkness, I could see the looming shape of the bridge.
Between the moon’s reflection from the water and the glint of metal from the guard rails, the bridge had an almost otherworldly look to it. The light mist from the water and the moonlight bathed it in a faint halo of color. It was strangely beautiful.

             
“Bifrost,” I whispered. “The Rainbow Bridge.”

             
“Yeah, but that ain’t Asgard on the other side,” added Gunny. “It’s more like the realm of Hel.”

             
“End of Days, Armageddon, Ragnarok,” I said. “Whatever you want to call it, this is certainly the Twilight of the Gods.”

             
“I’ve never been one for religion of any stripe,” said Gunny. “But if there’s a Hell, I imagine it can’t be much worse than this.”

             
Gunny and I had discussed religion, politics, life, marriage, and even philosophy during our time working on the boat together.
He knew my views and didn’t bat an eye when I told him.
Although, I think every Marine yearns for something like
Valhalla
, if the truth were to be told. I can't say that I blame him, either.

             
We continued on until we were directly beneath the bridge.
It was well past midnight when we decided to take a rest.
It had taken us hours to go what would have taken fifteen minutes by power boat.
The important thing was that we’d made it without alerting every zombie in the area.
We could breathe easy knowing that we wouldn’t have to fight our way onto the shore like it was an invasion.

             
We rowed over to one of the cement support pylons and stopped.
There was still a full moon out above us, so we could see for quite a distance.
The shore beneath the bridge was clear, but the woods beyond were dark and foreboding.
I didn’t like the look of the darkened forest.
Visibility would be low in there, even with the moon.
We could walk right up onto a dozen zombies and not see them until it was too late.

             
“Think we should sit here until morning?” I asked, looking at the shoreline.

             
“Might not be a bad idea,” he replied. “If we had some NVG’s
[2]
, it might be a different story.”

             
I tied off the raft to the pylon, and settled back into a comfortable position.
Gunny broke out two cans of pork and beans and handed me one.
Then we both proceeded to open them with the old soldier’s friend, our trusty P38 can-openers.
I’ve carried one on my key ring since the late 80’s and Gunny claimed he’d had the same one since the Vietnamese Tet Offensive in 1968.

             
I fished a couple plastic spoons out of my pack and handed one to Gunny.
He stuck his in the beans and then started opening another can. I looked at him somewhat surprised. Then, realization dawned on me exactly what he was doing. I had to say something before he doomed us both to a fate worse than death.

             
“Tell me you’re not giving pork and beans to the dog?” I asked, incredulously.

             
“Why not?”
              “Because,” I replied, “his farts will kill you, under normal circumstances.
That dog has an evil ass.”

             
“Consider it chemical warfare, then,” he replied, grinning. “Maybe it will knock the zombies down for the count.”

             
“It’ll certainly mask our scent,” I said, shaking my head. “You have no idea what kind of forces you’re about to unleash. You're about to unleash Hel on an unsuspecting world.”

             
"A little late for that, isn't it?" he asked, grinning.

             
"Oh yeah," I replied, shrugging.

             
We chuckled softly and started eating.
Odin was busily slurping beans from a metal mess kit pan.
I finished my can and sat it on the concrete ledge of the pylon.
Then I licked my spoon clean and stuck it in my shirt pocket.
Running my hand over my head, I felt the stubble of several days’ growth of hair.
I usually kept my head clean shaven, but that might not be a possibility anymore.
The stubble on my chin felt just as out of place.

             
Reluctantly, I settled back against the side of the raft and tried my best to get comfortable.
I closed my eyes and thought of my family.
They had to think I was dead.
Hel, I don’t see how I survived the explosion.
The thought almost made me cry.
My wife and sons were less than fifty miles away from me, and had no way of knowing that I was alive and coming for them.
I prayed that they were safe and sound, inside the jail.
I knew Southard and Wilder would take good care of them.

12 April

             
I must have drifted off, because the next thing I knew I awoke to a sound in the distance.
The sun was just barely up in the east, and made the lake look like liquid gold.
At first it was just a noise that I barely registered, but it grew in intensity as it got closer.
Gunny was already awake and sitting up.
He’d heard it too.
He looked at me and whispered at the same time that my brain registered what that sound was.

             
“
Chopper!”

             
I frantically dug the binoculars out of my pack and started sweeping the horizon in that direction.
I found it as it appeared over the trees, just a few
klicks
north-east of us.
It was low in the sky and not in any particular hurry.
I recognized it as a Chinook twin rotor chopper.
The kind used for heavy cargo or large troop movement.
Its course would take it southeast of us and across the lake.

             
“Should we try and signal it?” asked Gunny.

             
“I don’t know, Guns,” I replied. “I saw first-hand what the Army’s doing to survivors to prevent the spread of this virus.
They might just blow our asses away.”

             
“Good point,” he said. “How do we know if they’re on our side?”

             
“I’m guessing that if they’re still working for whatever is left of the government, then they ain’t on our side.”

             
I explained about the Colonel and the bodies from the Evacuation Center. I could see that it pissed Gunny off, to hear that they had killed innocent civilians in a futile attempt to contain the unstoppable.

             
“What kind of piece of shit orders the execution of women and children that we took an oath to defend?”

             
“I don’t know, Gunny,” I whispered. “I don’t know.”

             
The Chinook was disappearing over the horizon, continuing on without slowing down.
A few moments later, we couldn’t even hear the rotors anymore.

             
“I wonder where they’re going?” I mused.

             
“Isn’t there an Air Force Base in North-eastern Arkansas?” asked Gunny.

             
“There used to be," I replied. "Blytheville, I think.
Didn’t they close it, years ago?”
              “Maybe,” he said.
“Who the fuck knows, anymore?
I bet they have a staging area or a base off that way.”

             
"There's supposed to be a FEMA Camp down that way," I said. "I read about them before the zombies hit us. Some kind of detention center or something."

             
"They were building them
before
this happened?" asked Gunny, surprised.

             
"Yeah," I answered. "I've been hearing about them for years."

             
"Then I doubt that they were designed with our best interests in mind," said Gunny, frowning.

             
“Then I’m glad we’re going the other direction,” I said, matching the frown.

             
Picking up the binoculars again, I began scanning the shoreline for movement.
I was hoping that the noise of the chopper hadn’t drawn any zombies into our area.
Once I was satisfied that the area was still clear, I put them back in my pack and untied the mooring line.
Gunny didn’t wait for an invitation and started paddling towards the shore.
I joined him, as soon as I closed my pack.