Fade to Grey (Book 1): Fade to Grey (51 page)

“So what now?” Sam asked.

“I’m kind of wondering that myself,” Thompson replied.

Michelle rolled her neck and looked at Andy, who was pinching
the bridge of his nose between two fingers. Stress maybe, possibly fatigue,
lost in thought  . . . it was hard to tell. In any event he didn’t immediately
volunteer an answer to Thompson’s question, so Michelle took a deep breath and
stood up.

“Thompson . . . Sam . . . I don’t know what to tell you. For
that matter, I don’t know what to tell me either. What I can say is this—although
I hope Andy doesn’t shoot me for spilling what little bag of beans we have . .
.”

Without looking up Andy interjected a quick, “I know what
you’re about to say, and it’s OK. As the commercials go, ‘I approve this
message’.”

Michelle smiled her pearly whites as she nodded. “All right
then.” She turned back towards Thompson and Sam and said, “Guys, none of us
know the extent of what’s really happening. But there are a few of us, and Sam,
you’ve met some of the others already, who are trying to, I don’t know, ‘do
whatever it takes to stay alive’ would be one way to put it I’d guess. It’s not
like this is some grand plan that I’ve been on board with for twenty years. As
a matter of fact I’ve just been welcomed into the fold myself a few days ago. I
have known some of the other people involved for quite a while though. The
point is, the only reason we came over here was to get some radios from my
office. Through that SNAFU, we met Thompson. Because we met Thompson we learned
about Sam’s predicament. Through the good graces of God above we’ve all managed
to stay alive so far. But we’ve got to get back. We’re already way overdue, and
there are people—friends and family alike—who are counting on us to come back. I
don’t really know either of you two very well, and you could say the same about
us. However, I’m a pretty good judge of character. What I’m trying to say is
that both of you are welcome to come back with us. I can’t promise anything
other than we’ll all do our best to do whatever it takes to stay alive. If you
choose a different path, then tomorrow morning . . . we are leaving tomorrow
morning, right Andy?”

“Yep.”

“If you choose a different path,” she repeated, “then
tomorrow morning we’d be happy to loan each of you a truck filled with gas and
a gun filled with ammo, and you can go wherever you want. Or you could stay
here, just remember to turn off the lights when you leave,” she teased.

Thompson and Sam looked at each other for a moment, then at
Michelle and Andy. Sam was the first to speak. “I can’t speak for the young man
over there, but I already owe you . . . ALL of you . . . my life. And at this
particular stage of that life I am finding myself with very few options on
where to go. So if you’ll have me, I’ll tag along, if for no other reason than
to add some racial diversity.”

Thompson choked down a gurgle at Sam’s remark. “Racial
diversity?  Look around you chief, I’m a dark-skinned brother . . . IN NORTH
DAKOTA!  You know, the land of snow and polar bears thirteen months of the year.
Talk about sticking out like a sore thumb??  If anyone is going to play the
race card around here it’ll be me,” he hooted, slapping his knee for emphasis. When
the four of them had settled down again Thompson continued, “Ever since this
bullshit started, I’ve been wondering if I'll ever see my family again. I got a
mom and sister in Orlando, Florida. Last I heard my dad was in Chicago. My
granny, she was who I was staying with in Bismarck. You two," he indicated
Michelle and Andy, "probably saved my bacon more than a few times in the
short time I've been with you. Although if you think about it, the first time
you white folks meet a brother, you make him carry all your heavy shit out to
the truck." Thompson tried to keep a straight face but soon burst out in
laughter, waving his hand and saying, "I'm just messing with you."

"Anybody want a refill of water or tea?” Michelle asked,
still giggling over Thompson's remark. Nobody did.

Thompson stood up and paced a few laps, following the same
path he had worn into the floor earlier. Stopping, he announced,
"Seriously, you've all been straight up with me so far. And just from what
I've seen, I have no desire to be anywhere without some backup. So you can
count me in as part of your little organization. All I ask is that if things
settle down, you'll do whatever you can to help me get back to my
granny's."

"Deal," Andy and Michelle said.

“OK then, here’s what I suggest,” Michelle announced to no
one in particular. “Even though we’re way out here, I still think we need to
post a watch. I’d recommend two shifts of four hours each with two people on
each shift. That will cover the rest of the night and still allow us to get
some shut eye. In the morning we’ll cook all of the remaining food we’ve got,
which really isn’t much, and then get the vehicles prepped and ready. I’m
thinking that we shouldn’t take the black SUV. It’s too noticeable, and I don’t
want to take the chance that somebody will recognize it. So we’ve got Andy’s
truck and my Explorer, both of which are four wheel drive. We’ll head back the
same way that Andy and I came here. If we have car trouble then we can just all
hop in one truck. Once we get close to the marina, assuming we still have two
vehicles at that point, Andy and I will head up to his cabin and pick up
Samantha and Garrett. Sam, you and Thompson can head over to Walter’s house or
the campground and wait for us there. Eric will probably be at one of those
places by the time we make it back.”

“Let’s just plan on them waiting at Walters,” Andy said.

“Why, do you think something’s happened at the campground?”

“Well ‘Chelle, do you want me to base my answer on our track
record or our luck?” Andy replied dryly.

After a brief moment of thought, Michelle turned toward Thompson
and said, “Good point, Andy . . . guys, let’s plan on you waiting at Walter’s. Any
questions?”

“Yeah,” Thompson said, “who’s cooking breakfast?”

The night passed uneventfully. Thompson and Michelle took the
first watch and were relieved by Andy and Sam around 3:30 AM. A little before
8:00 AM, Michelle was awakened by the squeaking of the staircase. She heard the
footsteps continue and get louder, finally pausing outside her door. Her hand
closed on the heavily textured grip of her Glock pistol underneath her pillow. There
was a soft rapping, followed by a hushed “Meeeeee-shellllllll . . . . Ohhhhh
Meeeeeeee-shelllllllllll . . .”

“I’m awake Andy,” Michelle groaned sleepily.

“How do you know I’m not a zombie?” Andy mocked in a falsely
deep voice.

“Well I can shoot through the door and find out,” Michelle
answered.

“Ahhhh, that won’t be necessary dear, although when you find
out what’s for breakfast, you may wish that the zombies got you.”

“Great,” Michelle mumbled.

“What was that?”

“Nothing. I’ll be down in a minute.”

Dressed in the same clothes as yesterday, Michelle made it
downstairs ten minutes later. The smell of burnt spaghetti sauce filling the
kitchen and living room made her nose crinkle and brought Andy’s warning back
to mind. Andy and Thompson were playing cards on the living room floor and Sam
was in the kitchen shuffling several different pots into seemingly random
patterns on the stove. Thompson looked up as she approached, nodded his head in
greeting before laying down his cards and proclaiming, “Gin.” Andy muttered
something underneath his breath that Michelle didn’t catch before he scooped up
the cards and started to shuffle. Michelle stood and watched the two of them
play another hand, which Thompson also won. Andy’s muttering was louder this
time, and she caught the words “No-good-cheating-card-shark” as he poked his
finger toward Thompson’s smiling face. Before the war could begin a third
round, Sam boldly proclaimed, “Come and regret it.”

A trip to the kitchen found that all remaining food had been
prepared, possibly even with some regard to the directions on the box or can. A
big pot of macaroni and cheese with the mixed vegetables added to it sat on the
front left burner. The right burner held her large aluminum wok, another gift
from her disastrous wedding that she hadn’t seen since it had been stuffed in
the cabinet on moving day. The heavy pan held rice and tuna mixed with the
contents of the large can of tomato soup. A crisp “sizzle” accompanied by
several streamers of acrid smoke gave it away as the source of the burnt
spaghetti sauce odor. Sam was sprinkling approximately two thirds of the entire
jar of Italian seasoning on top of it, humming to himself as he stirred.

“Where did we get the rice from?” Michelle asked.

Andy answered, “I found it at the bottom of one of the bags
that Bernice sent. And speaking of Bernice, we need to make sure that we wash
out the coolers she sent with us before we return them. Let me tell you from
personal experience that nothing will ruin your day like returning one of her
coolers dirty.” The knowing smirk that accompanied his statement told Michelle
all she needed to know.

“Was there anything else left over?” Michelle asked.

“There was something like egg salad in a Tupperware
container, but the lid had come off and it got all contaminated with the water
from the melting ice cubes. It stank pretty bad. Of course, knowing Walter’s
taste, maybe that’s the way it smelled right after she made it.” Michelle
smiled and shook her head as he continued. “And speaking of things that stink,
there’s still about two cups of battery acid left in the thermos from Bucky. You
want I should throw that away?”

“Don’t you dare, old man,” she shot back immediately. “I
claim that in its entirety for the queen!”

Another round of grins passed between them all as the story
of the cowboy coffee and its presumed effects were shared over breakfast. Despite
the prodigious amount of food prepared, nothing was left after the four of them
had finished. They had about three gallons of water still available in various pots
scattered on the countertop, and it was redistributed equally into containers
more suited for traveling. After looking around the kitchen one more time,
Michelle said, “I’m going to go over to the Glass’s one more time. I want to
say goodbye to them and let them know a little about what we think is going on.
Plus, I want to fill up a couple five gallon buckets of water that we can use
to flush the toilet and clean up the dishes, just in case I ever come back. Anybody
want to come along?” Everybody’s hand went up.

Five minutes later they had all piled in Michelle’s Explorer
and driven across the road. A quick round of goodbyes and water gathering took
place, and the white-haired Mrs. Glass refused to let them leave without a
baker’s dozen of canned food. It was a rather odd assortment of jams, vegetables
and pickled creations, with three Mason jars of canned venison thrown in as
well. Back at the house the men took over KP duty as Michelle packed.

Three large duffel bags, five kitchen sized garbage bags, and
two suitcases later her clothes were ready to go. Another duffel crammed full
of personal items and memories soon joined the pile, followed by a large
plastic tub loaded to capacity containing miscellaneous items that she rarely
used but thought she might need if she were away for any substantial length of
time. The final items she added were her grandfather’s old Winchester pre-64
model 70 rifle chambered for 30-06, and all of her archery equipment. All three
of the guys suppressed their amusement at the amassed pile when they saw the
look on Michelle’s face. It very clearly indicated she wasn’t in the mood for
any of their comments. Michelle reheated Bucky’s cowboy coffee in a pan on the
stovetop while the boys loaded her luggage. By 10:15 AM, both of the trucks
were gassed up, checked over and ready to travel. Directions were given in case
they had to split up, and each vehicle had a walkie talkie with fresh batteries.
Michelle made a final walkthrough before locking up. Andy was in the driver’s
seat of his big pickup, and the interior was nicely warmed by the time Michelle
slid in. Andy put the truck in gear and had just started to pull out when
Michelle said, “WAIT.” A questioning look from Andy provided no answer, and
Michelle opened the door and trotted back in the house, emerging a few minutes
later. A return to her position as copilot was met with another curious look,
followed by the inquiry, “Everything OK?”

Michelle smiled and nodded, her left hip pocket barely
showing the telltale bulge of its contents—a pair of lime green, Scooby Doo
bikini underwear and matching lace bra.

Their small convoy traveled the same roads they had taken on
the way in. At the site of the school bus wreck, no bodies were seen—dead,
alive, or otherwise. The body of the feral they had shot was still laying in
the center of the road when they crested the small hill, and they carefully
steered around it. Traveling further brought them to the Zeigler farm, although
a quick glance through binoculars from a nearby rise in the road showed nothing
left of the house or sawmill except burned out frames. The pile of railroad
ties on the narrow bridge had been pushed off to the side, and the tractor was
parked haphazardly nearby. Slowing down as they crossed over the drainage
ditch, Andy said, “Should we stop?”

“No. Keep going,” Michelle answered.

Rubbernecking for all they were worth provided no additional
clues, and the farm was soon left behind. They traveled the remaining few miles
on Smyrna Chapel Road before arriving at the cable blocking the cut-through. Their
crossing was not quite as easy on the return trip due to the storm that had
come through. It took almost two hours of spinning tires and winching,
punctuated by more than a few colorful words before they came to the far side
at Crossbow Lakes. There was no sign of Bucky or Fred.

“Do you think they’re OK?” Michelle asked.

“Probably. They seemed like a pretty resourceful couple. Maybe
they packed up and are already at Ravenwood. In any event we don’t have time to
worry about it.”

The mud road gradually turned back into gravel as they made
their way out to the highway. A brief chat on the walkie talkie reaffirmed
their plans, and both of the muck covered vehicles turned left onto the
pavement. It was 2:00 PM.

Turning east on 704 put them about thirty miles from the
place where Andy and Michelle would turn off and head to the cabin. Sam and
Thompson would continue on another five or six miles to Walter’s. The first ten
miles passed relatively uneventfully. Several vehicles that they didn’t
remember seeing on their way out were pulled off to the side of the road. A few
sat directly on the road and had to be navigated around. The first one they
came to that needed to be dodged was an older model Chrysler sedan. It was
parked caddy cornered across the westbound lane, but its proximity to another
vehicle, a teal green Honda at the edge of the eastbound lane, left very little
free space between them. The shoulder looked wide enough for them to pass on
the left, but Andy insisted that they stop one hundred yards away to scope the
area with binoculars first.

“Can you see anything moving?”

Michelle zoomed the binoculars to maximum magnification and
scanned both cars. While she was doing so the walkie talkie crackled to life.

“Geronimo Jefferson to old geezer and princess, come in
.” Thompson’s voice came over loud
and clear, as did the background chuckling from Sam.

Andy picked up the little radio and replied. “
That would
be some embarrassing shit for a youngster like yourself to get their ass kicked
by an old geezer
.”

“What’s the holdup?  Do you want to wait here while the A
team goes and checks it out?”
Thompson asked.

Andy was just about to reply some choice words when he
noticed that Sam had piloted the Explorer right next to his truck. Thompson’s
grinning face was looking through the window while his hand made the standard
‘roll it down’ motion.

Andy adjusted the brim of his cap with a single middle finger
as he smiled at Thompson before rolling down his window.

“What do you have . . . did you see something move?” Sam
asked as he leaned forward to look around Thompson.

“We’re just checking it out. Which I think is a smart thing
to do, by the way. It looks like we can drive around to the left, but I still
think we better err on the side of caution,” Andy replied.

Another twenty seconds of glassing the scene shed no clues
about any danger, and Michelle passed that information on.

Andy drummed his fingers on the steering wheel a few times
before asking, “Do you want to go past them fast or slow?  One at a time or
both at the same time?”

Thompson turned and consulted with Sam for a moment before
looking back toward Michelle and Andy. “How about we do it separately. We’ll go
first, maybe twenty-five or thirty miles an hour, and if we make it past
without any trouble we’ll stop maybe fifty yards further down the road and
watch as you drive by.”

“Works for us,” Andy replied after a brief consult with
Michelle.

Sam piloted Michelle’s truck down the road at a steady pace
while Andy and Michelle watched. They saw the Explorer’s brake lights come on
as it shifted onto the road’s shoulder to the left of the Chrysler, but it
didn’t stop. At the agreed upon distance past the vehicles the Explorer stopped
and the walkie talkie sounded again. It was Sam’s voice this time.

“Andy, you copy?”

“I’m a hundred and fifty yards from you . . . I would hope
that these radios carry at least that far.”

“Roger that. Obviously nothing jumped out and tried to mug
us, but there are a couple bodies . . . three or four at least that are leaning
against the Chrysler on this side. They don’t look like they’re moving, but
Thompson couldn’t get a really good look at them when we went by, so proceed
with caution.”

“10-4,
” Andy replied.

Putting the truck in gear, Andy accelerated towards the
Chrysler. Thirty feet away he steered off the pavement and onto the shoulder. Just
as the gravel started crunching underneath his tires the radio burst out with
Thompson’s excited voice.

“MOVEMENT . . . ONE OF THEM IS MOVING!”

A split second later Andy slammed on the brakes, locking up
all six wheels and forcing Michelle to brace herself against the dashboard. The
same abrupt deceleration rolled the walkie talkie and practically everything
else that had been strewn upon the bench seat onto the floor. Thompson’s
shouting was immediately cut off. The scrunch of tires sliding on gravel ended
rapidly as the dual wheeled pickup came to a stop right next to the sedan.

Recovering from the quick stop, Michelle caught movement in
her peripheral vision. A pasty faced man wearing a Reebok windbreaker was
staggering toward them. Shattered glasses in bent wire frames hung crooked off
of his face. A spiderweb of thick black veins crisscrossed his cheeks and
forehead.

“Holy crap!  Andy, that’s the first guy we picked up on our
way out here!” Michelle said.

Andy swore and dropped the truck into reverse, mashing on the
pedal and rocketing them backwards. As they moved away the figure stopped,
mouth gaping and shutting like a fish too long out of the water.

“Wait a minute . . . . hold up,” Michelle said.

Andy stopped the truck a hundred feet away from the slowly
moving figure. “I think you’re right. I think that’s the guy that we first saw
walking down the middle of the road a couple of days ago,” Andy said.

“I’m sure it is,” Michelle said, “but I swear that he was
trying to say something back there. Like he was trying to talk as we backed
away.”

They watched with hesitant uncertainty as the figure limped
back towards the sedan and began pounding heavily on the rear passenger window.
Three or four blows and the glass fractured. Another one and it shattered. Hooking
his right arm into the opening, the man half collapsed against the door and
went still.

A horn sounded in the distance.

“Where’s the radio?” Andy asked.

Michelle looked down from the spectacle she’d been staring at
long enough to locate it and her binoculars that had tumbled to the floorboards.
When she grabbed a short stubby antenna, batteries went flying. She set the
walkie talkie up on the seat, followed by the binoculars and a Mason jar of Mrs.
Glass’s pickled beets that she had been contemplating opening. Another trip to
the floor to grab the batteries followed.

“Crap. Hold on a minute,” Michelle said as she fumbled
through the junk trying to locate the last AA battery. She finally found it
recessed in the shifter boot of the four wheel drive lever. When she sat up,
Michelle saw Andy peering through the binoculars.

“What’s he doing?” she asked Andy while installing the
batteries under the back plate of the little radio.

“I don’t know. His back is to us, but he’s still hanging
against the car with his right arm through the window. His left arm looks like
it’s kind of smacking the car door, but I can’t really tell. Maybe he’s caught
there.”

The last battery clicked into place and the walkie talkie
blared to life.
“ . . . me. OK? . . . . . . . . . .. Repeat, flash your
lights or beep your horn and let us know you’re alright. Come on Michelle, talk
to me . . .”

Andy smashed the horn for a two second burst. Michelle keyed
the transmit button and said,
“We’re OK. We just knocked the batteries out
of the radio for a minute. Can you see what’s going on with that guy?  It looks
like he’s stuck on the door or something.”

“
We can see him
,” Sam’s voice came over,
“but
you’ve got the only pair of binoculars. And our angle isn’t too good. Do you
want us to drive closer?”

“No. But can you reach the rifle?”
Michelle replied.

“Can you be a little more specific?  Do you want us to shoot
him?”

“No. I meant can you reach the black plastic rifle case
behind you. It’s got a gun inside it with a 4x12 power scope that you can look
through.”

“Hold on.”

“Be careful when you open the case. There’s a half dozen
cartridges just loose on one end,” she
added.

“Gotcha,”
came the reply.

A few seconds later Michelle saw her truck back up, then pull
forward partially off the road with the driver’s side window facing the
Chrysler. Andy, who was still looking through the binoculars spoke. “It looks
like they found the gun.”

Ten seconds later that speculation was confirmed as Thompson
came over the airwaves.
“OK, Sam’s got the gun and he’s looking through it
now.”
After a brief pause, Thompson’s voice came back hesitantly.
“Um .
. . this is messed up.”

Michelle and Andy glanced at each other, frowning in
confusion. A scant breath before she was about to ask for clarification,
Thompson’s voice broke through again.

“Hey Michelle, Sam wants to know if this gun is sighted in.”

“Of course it is. Why? . . . . . . . . . . DON’T SHOOT!”

A resounding
BOOM
thundered across the distance as the
rifle fired. The man leaning against the old Chrysler snapped his head back and
then crumpled quickly onto the pavement.

Michelle jumped on the radio.
“WHAT THE HELL?  WHY DID YOU
SHOOT HIM?”

Another pause yielded no reply so Michelle repeated her
question.

Patience had never been one of her virtues, and each
additional second of silence flushed her cheeks a deeper shade of aggravated crimson.
Finally Sam’s voice came through.

“Just drive past him slowly.”

Michelle took out her frustration on the transmit key,
squeezing it hard enough that her thumb turned white.

“I asked you not to shoot him. I think he was trying to
communicate with us,” she
hissed in exasperation.

Another brief silence strained the limits of Michelle’s
tolerance before Sam’s even monotone came through.

“He did.”

Michelle grimaced and looked at Andy, who merely shrugged his
shoulders in innocence before moving the truck forward again. Hitting the
shoulder further back than the first time, Andy steered the pickup as far off
the road edge as he could without risking a slide into the drainage ditch. Pulling
even with the old sedan, Andy slowed to a crawl as Michelle’s mouth dropped
open. In coarse, hand-width strokes of blood, the man with the broken glasses
and jogging suit had roughed out two words on the car door. “
Kill me
.”