Fade to Grey (Book 2): Darkness Ascending (10 page)

The rectangle of silage that Eric sat on was one the
baler must have chosen not to wrap tight enough. Every slight movement he made
resulted in an abrupt shift to the left or right as the layers of straw slid
past one another. In just a few minutes his rectangle had become a rhombus
leaning to the right. No, wait, that wasn’t correct. It had started off as a
rectangle, not a square, so it was a . . . parallelogram? He couldn’t remember.
A quick scan clockwise around the circle showed nine other people—Michelle,
Walter, Sam, Crowbar Mike, Doc, Callie, Preacher Dave, and two people that he
didn’t know. There was a short, chubby man sporting bright dimples and wearing a
furry hat with ear flaps, and the young black man in the desert camouflage.

Eric glanced back towards Sam. They had briefly talked
at some point last night, but he couldn’t remember exactly when. It had been
out on the porch while he had sat and waited for news about Uncle Andy. At
first he had hardly recognized Sam, and then he couldn’t quite comprehend how,
or why Sam was there. Sam had sat down and expressed his condolences. He’d then
given Eric a short rundown about what had happened to him. As tired and
distracted as Eric had been, he couldn’t recall most of what Sam had passed on.

Callie had donated her headlight for the impromptu
‘campfire,’ and the steady, muted ruby light gave enough illumination to see by
as introductions were made all around. Desert camouflage, Eric learned, was
Private Jason Thompson. Eric scrunched his eyes in recollection. Wasn’t there
another Jason somewhere that he had recently met or heard about? Maybe at the
campground? He wasn’t sure. Before he could dedicate any more brain cells to
the task, the chubby man with ear flaps stood up.

“Hello, my name is Leonard . . . Leonard Osloson. Or
just Lenny . . . or Ozzy, whatever works for you.” He smiled, dimples flaring
even more as he met each of their eyes around the circle. “My wife Glenda and I
were staying at the campground when everything happened. I just want to say
that I’m grateful for your hospitality, and if there is anything that Glenda or
I can do to help out even more, just let us know.”

Walter cleared his throat, placed his hands on top of
his knees and partially stood up before pausing in mid-rise. “Oh hell, I think
I’m just gonna stay seated.” He sank back down with an audible
slap
of
denim on hay. Another delay as he took a deep breath followed. Finally, he
looked around the circle and said, “Anybody want to go first?”

Eric flipped his hand up. “How much time do we have
right now?”

“Not too much.” Walter looked at his watch and said,
“Its 6:14 PM, and I told Amy that we’d be down at the store no later than 7:00
PM.”

“Well then, what are our priorities, at least right
now?” Michelle asked.

“We need to figure out . . . oh crap, there’s just not
enough time . . .,” Walter trailed off as he shook his head.

Sam stood up and held out his hand toward Walter. “Can
I borrow the radio for a second?”

Walter handed it to him.

“
Amy, this is Sam, do you copy
?”

“
Loud and clear
.” Several voices arguing in the
background came through as well.

“
Amy, we have vehicle problems right now, and we
think it’s going to take another hour or so to get fixed. Can you handle things
down there until then
?”

Eric looked questioningly at Michelle and mouthed,
“Vehicle problems?”

Michelle shook her head and shrugged.

“
10-4, we’ll make it happen . . . keep me posted.
Amy out
.”

Sam handed the radio back to Walter and sat down.
“Since Amy and I have been trying to coordinate a couple things, we came up
with a little code to use over the radio if we were going to be late, or needed
a personal ‘time out.’”

Walter merely nodded.

Another moment of silence passed, and then Mike’s
gruff voice broke the stillness. “Are we going back to the campground?”

Several glances were exchanged as the question floated
above them like a vulture searching for carrion.

“We need to,” Preacher Dave spoke as he scratched the
side of his head and yawned, “it would be the right thing to do.”

“But at what cost?” Doc Collins stated bluntly.

Dave started to reply, but Eric stood, stopping him
with a raised hand as he interjected, “OK wait . . . we’re not going to get
anywhere—or go anywhere—until we get a couple of things straight. I don’t know
what happened here when I was gone, and most of you are probably unaware of
some other things that went on . . . elsewhere. So let me ask a couple questions
first, OK?”

Several heads bobbed.

“First thing . . . are we safe right now? Do we have
guards? Do we need guards?”

“I’ll take that one,” Walter said, “the short answer
is that—right now—we have Dave and Rebecca’s son Scott up in what we’re calling
the ‘crow’s nest.’”

“Where’s that?”

“He’s on the roof of the store. From the front corner
he’s got a good field of fire down the highway both ways, and he can also see the
top edge of the lake, including the boat launch area.”

Eric looked around the room, his eyes registering
something they had skipped right over until now. Almost everybody was armed.

Walter continued, “We have another guy sitting in the
duck blind that Mike put up. It’s down at the gate you drove through last
night. He’s supposed to watch the area right at the gate. What was the name of
that guy who switched out with you, Mike?”

“Alton.”

“Yeah, that was it. And then finally I’ve got an older
gentleman and his wife taking turns down at the house. They’re staying on the bottom
floor and making sure the stove stays fed with wood as well. I’ve declared the
upper floor of my house as ‘invitation only,’ and right now Bernice is up
there, hopefully getting some sleep.”

Leonard chimed in, “Glenda is also at the house
watching over the sickroom.”

“Rebecca is supposed to be at the house as well,” Dave
added with a note of concern in his voice.

“She is, I just forgot about her,” Walter said, “I
think she’s downstairs in the den.” Eric watched as Walter gently patted the
pump shotgun in his grasp. “So the answer is ‘yes’ we have guards. Are we safe?
Probably not, but until we can come up with an effective, coordinated plan,
it’s what we’ve got.”

Eric looked at Michelle, and then back around the
room, stopping again at Walter. “What happened here?”

With a tilt of his head towards Mike, Walter said,
“You were there, you tell ‘em.”

Mike looked at Dave, and then over towards Doc before
beginning. “Well the last time I saw you two,” he indicated Eric and Michelle, “was
the day we cleared out the campground loops. After you left, things were pretty
hosed—people kind of floating between the extremes, I guess. Some of ‘em were
celebrating like they just won the lottery, others were acting like they just
came from their aunts funeral.” He looked again at Doc and Dave, “Feel free to
jump in here at any time, guys.” Both of them nodded, but remained silent.

“So anyway,” Mike continued,” Amy got a bunch of
volunteers for different jobs. I was on the guard team—daytime.”

“Glenda and I volunteered for the firewood teams that
were supposed to start the next morning. Our shift was supposed to be from 8:00
AM until 2:00 PM. We were called the ‘comfort’ team, although I can’t say I was
very comfortable pushing the wheelbarrow. My wife grew up on a farm though, and
I think she kind of enjoyed it,” Leonard added.

Dave cracked his knuckles and rolled his neck as he
spoke, “After you left, Rebecca was still helping with the medical team, so I
told Amy that I’d lend a hand anywhere she needed. I was put on the daytime
guard team, but before I went to bed I ended up doing a midnight church service
at the soccer field.”

“And I,” Doc chimed in, “finally made it back to my RV
about 2:00 AM—but I still couldn’t sleep—I was worrying about Emily.” Doc looked
over at Eric and nodded in appreciation. “Thank you again for getting her.”

“As far as I know,” Dave looked around, searching for
confirmation, “the rest of the night was uneventful, with the exception of the
guy that tried to bully his way into the campground, but VW took care of him.”

Eric’s questioning stare produced a more detailed
explanation about the incident from Dave, and then Mike began to relay the
events from their morning patrol, up to the point where they had seen the walkers
coming out of the forest near the bike riding children.

“What time was that?” Michelle asked pointedly,
continuing before he had a chance to answer, “Because Andy and I were at the
campground around 9:30 AM. Heck, we were in Doc’s RV for at least an hour . . .
probably closer to two. And then we spent another fifteen minutes or so getting
. . .” Michelle trailed off as Samantha’s name, and the violent fate she met
with welled up in her memory.

“Getting what?” Callie asked.

Michelle closed her eyes and steadied herself, feeling
every molecule of the cool barn air as it passed her lips. After a moment, she
heard Eric stand up and step over. She felt his hand settle on her shoulder as
he sat down and scrunched himself tight against her. He didn’t say a word. He
didn’t need to. The calmness and silent inner strength that radiated from him
like a blast furnace was the lifeline that she needed to continue.

“There was a . . . young couple . . . at the
campground. Samantha and Garret. She was supposed to be good with computers, so
we took them to Andy’s cabin. They were going to try and find information about
what’s going on . . . tapping into satellite feeds or something like that.”
Michelle paused again as the memory of the first time she had seen
Samantha—sitting at a picnic table in the campground playing computer games
against Garrett in the frosty, late morning air—flashed in her mind. It was
shortly after that that she and Andy had told Samantha that the cabin they were
heading to was one of the safest places on earth to be. They were so wrong.

A gentle, but firm squeeze from Eric brought her back.
Again.

Michelle looked around the room, briefly locking her
eyes with the silent faces that waited patiently. Another reassuring nudge of
support from Eric’s hand brought forth the story about her and Andy’s trip to
Fort Hammer, as well as the events that had transpired upon their return to the
cabin.

“. . . and so, if it hadn’t been for Eric and Emily .
. . and Max, I would have shared Samantha’s fate.”

“Or worse,” Sam confirmed, anger rising in his voice.
“It’s bad enough that this sickness, or whatever it is . . . is changing people
into animals. And yet the human trash element is still rearing its ugly head.”

“I don’t think they have a vaccine for evil, yet,” Doc
stated bluntly.

“Yeah they do, read your bible,” Preacher Dave
countered with a practiced, but honest smile.

The next ten minutes brought forth Sam’s story of his
captivity, and subsequent rescue at the school. Eric followed with an
abbreviated version of his trip to find Emily. When he was finished, he realized
that his arm was still wrapped around Michelle’s waist. He kept it there.

“OK, so now we’re caught up with Michelle, Sam, and
me,” Eric said, “but I want to hear the rest of the story about what happened
at the campground. Mike . . . ?”

Mike shook his head and stared at the faint red light
. . . remembering . . .

Mike and Brenda watched Scott speed off in search of
reinforcements. Anything would help, Mike thought as he trotted toward the
small group of distant bikers who were apparently still oblivious of the
approaching threat. Brenda was right behind him, huffing and gasping, but
unwilling to quit. Less than one hundred yards away, Mike could clearly see the
gray-skinned walkers closing in on the little pack riding in figure-eights
where the grass met the gravel and dirt. 
“LOOK OUT!!!” Mike shouted as he increased his pace. 
The little girl on the pink bike looked up in his direction, gave a halfhearted
wave and went back to peddling. 
Brenda was starting to fall behind as Mike shouted again. “LOOK OUT BEHIND YOU
. . . RUN . . . GET AWAY . . . GO HOME NOW!” 
The last shout seem to sink in, and the children stopped peddling and looked in
his direction. He was seventy yards in front of them—the walkers were twenty-five
yards behind them. 
Mike ran. It wasn’t fast and it wasn’t pretty, but he ran. Huffing and wheezing
with the exertion, he sounded decidedly like an old freight train as he closed
the distance. The girls on the bikes were looking at each other, trading
curious glances at his approach, still blissfully unaware of the danger behind
them. There were three infected in the lead, another one about fifteen yards
behind those, and two more a little bit further back. 
“GET OUT OF HERE!” Mike managed to scream between gasps as he charged straight
through the kids and swung the crowbar with all of his considerable bulk behind
it. The heavy metal bar smashed through the forehead of the lead walker with a
sickening thud—dropping the creature in its tracks. The other two ashen zombies
immediately turned their attention from the children to him. Mike yanked the crowbar
above his head and spun on his left foot, accelerating the stiff metal rod into
an overhead chop that caved in the entire skull of the one armed walker,
embedding it there. He could hear Brenda ordering the children to ride away as
he pulled the gore covered tool free just in time to block the lunge of the
third walker. Pasty gray hands latched onto the crowbar and twisted with
incredible strength, almost tearing it from Mike’s grip. 
BLAM . . .the explosion of a gunshot echoed across the field as Brenda fired at
the fourth walker, the little 410 peppering the face and neck of a woman in her
mid-forties wearing a blood stained, terry cloth robe. As if brought into a
higher state of awareness from the splattering of pellets into her flesh, the
woman locked her red eyes on Brenda and increased her pace, a low gurgling
growl emanating from her throat as she advanced. Brenda worked the action of
the pump shotgun, chambering another round and firing again—this time knocking
the robed woman down. 
Brenda’s second gunshot had exploded beside him as Mike pushed the reeking
walker five feet backwards, jerking the crowbar from the infected teenager’s
hands. Without skipping a beat, the boy lunged again. Mike dodged to the left
and brought the crowbar around for a haymaker swing. It was a low, but solid
smash into the hip, shattering the bone and knocking the walker down. It also
jarred the crowbar loose from Mike’s grip and sent it flying about thirty feet
away into the weeds, narrowly missing Brenda in the process. 
“Shoot the one on the ground,” Mike yelled as he jumped back and raced for his
weapon. He felt rather than saw Brenda angle her shotgun at the prone target
still struggling on the ground. 
BLAM . . . BLAM. 
Two shots in rapid succession smashed into the face and neck of the walker with
the shattered hip as Mike frantically searched through the grass and leaves
trying to locate the crowbar. There! It was lying on the ground partially
hidden under some leaf litter. He grabbed it just as Brenda screamed. Spinning
around, he saw the terry cloth robed woman struggling against Brenda on the
ground. Brenda was on the bottom trying to use her shotgun as a barrier between
the snapping teeth of her attacker and her own unprotected throat. She was rapidly
losing the battle as Mike sprinted over and tore the woman off of Brenda with
the curved end of his wrecking bar, gouging out half of her throat as he
flipped her off his struggling teammate. 
Brenda scrambled to her feet, desperately fumbling through her pockets for more
shells while simultaneously using her shirt sleeves to rub the heavy blood
spray and splatter from her face. Her trembling hands dropped all of the shells
she found, and she swore through chattering teeth—the coppery taste of blood registering
on her tongue as she did. 
The two remaining infected were less than twenty yards away and closing as Mike
stepped forward, positioning himself as a human barricade between Brenda and
the approaching peril. His breath was coming in ragged gasps as the adrenaline
surge still coursed through his veins. Fight or flight. For Mike, it had always
been fight. Bars, alleys, school . . . even the three years at club fed. It was
always fight. And lesson number one in a crowbar fight was to have a crowbar. He
lightly smacked the heavy, blood covered metal bar into the palm of his left
hand as he squared off against the two infected. One of them, Mike casually
noticed, looked familiar. Maybe from the meeting last night? He couldn’t
remember. The other was a teenage girl, brown hair and painted fingernails,
bike shorts and a lime green tank top. And burning red eyes. She was about five
feet in front of the other walker and would be his first target. He coiled back
into a crouch and got ready to surge forward. 
rrrrrRRRRRRR . . . THUMP!!! 
The faded blue Chevy Blazer crushed head-on into the infected girl, bouncing
her off the brush guard, hood and windshield on her way up, and over, the fast
moving vehicle. The front left side of the bumper had also clipped the man—pushing
him down and away as the truck gunned it’s engine and threw up rooster tails of
dirt and grass, circling for another run. Mike could see that the driver was
Jason Lambert. Other figures were moving inside the Blazer as well. Preacher
Dave and his son Scott, Mike assumed. The truck accelerated again, this time
crunching both of the infected under its tires before skidding to a halt a
short distance away. Jason leapt out of the driver’s seat, slowly approaching
the two targets he had run down. Despite their mangled bodies, they were both
still struggling to get to their feet, to get to him. Mike watched as Jason
raised his snub nose 38 and put a bullet into each of their heads. 
“What about those four?” Jason indicated the one that Brenda had shot, and the
three infected that Mike had bludgeoned, crushed, or torn the throat out
of. 
Shaking his head to clear his momentary cobwebs, Mike answered. “Down and
hopefully out.” 
Jason nodded, replying, “Where the heck do you think they . . .” 
His question was interrupted by another series of small caliber gun shots from
the group camp area. 
“Saddle up people, we’re not done yet,” Mike said through gritted teeth as he
trotted toward the Blazer. 

Mike paused for a moment, and then looked over at Dave,
“You want to add anything?”

“I was up at the registration gate—the little
‘outhouse’ shaped building—at the campground with Jason,” he looked at
Thompson, “Jason Lambert I mean. It was almost lunchtime when you,” he
indicated Michelle, “pulled through and left. It had to be less than five
minutes later when I heard the ‘popping’ sounds. Or maybe it was more like
distant, sharp ‘cracking’ sounds. In any event, it was nothing like the noise when
you,” he pointed at Eric, “shot that yellow-eyed monster that came charging out
after us. I guess I just stood there. I don’t know why, but it’s just kind of
blank in my memory right now. Anyway, it couldn’t have been that long, maybe a
minute or so, and then I saw Scott sprinting towards us.”

Doc looked over at Eric. “I saw Andy’s truck leave the
campground right about noon, like Dave just said, and then Sally came back in
and told me that she wasn’t feeling well. Tired, she said.” Doc hesitated, and
then looked at Walter—shaking his head in sadness. “I’m so sorry Walt . . . I
should have picked up on it.”