Fade to Grey (Book 2): Darkness Ascending (35 page)

Eric allowed himself another moment of humorous
recollection before getting back to business.
“OK, do you see where that
tree line comes down to a point on the east side of Blue Heron Loop?”

“Yeah, near the group camp area, right?”

“That’s the one. Be careful, but head toward the shore
at the bottom of that field. That should give you a pretty good view of part of
the road at the bottom of Blue Heron Loop, almost all of the group camp area,
and maybe even a section of Golden Eagle Loop. Remember though; stay at least a
hundred feet offshore. We’ll wait for your report, OK?”

“Got it.”

Eric settled in to wait as another shaft of sunlight
pierced the cloud cover. He watched as the soccer field brightened momentarily
before transforming again as the low hanging stratocumulus layer pushed back.

“OK, we’re here, but we’ve got no movement. There’s a
car with its front wheels in the lake. All of the doors are hanging open and it
doesn’t look like anybody is inside. I can see several more cars at the bottom
of Blue Heron Loop, and it looks like a few of those are wrecked. I’ve got
maybe twenty or thirty tents in the group camp area, but only four of them look
like they’re still standing and in one piece. The rest are squashed or
shredded. That’s about all I can really tell from here.”

“OK Mike, turn your boat so the speakers are facing
the campground. Give us a few lines from your favorite movie to see if your
voice will carry all the way up here.”

“My favorite movie?”
Mike’s gruff voice came back questioningly, and Eric could almost
picture him rubbing his goatee as he chewed over his options.

Ten seconds of silence floated through the campground
before his headset crackled to life again.

“I can’t think of any movie lines.”

Michelle jumped into the conversation.
“Just say
something. Sing us a song—whatever.”

Another moment of stillness settled in the morning air
before the PA sounded. Eric’s partial smile, still left over from the thought
of the chesty skinny-dipper, burst into a full out grin. A duet, mostly Callie,
but with occasional deep notes from Mike, reverberated through the campground.
It was the theme song from the old television show
Green Acres
.

Choking down a laugh, he let them sing the entire
jingle. Sam and Michelle’s amusement could be heard through the headset, but
more importantly, the individual words of the song came through loud enough,
and with sufficient clarity for them to move on to phase two.

“OK, we can hear that, so anybody else in the
campground ought to be able to hear that as well. Callie, keep talking or
singing for another minute. Mike and Sam, stay focused and keep looking.”

Her voice—especially considering the distance and
equipment—sounded surprisingly pleasant, and Callie went through the chorus of
a popular country song before dropping into a youthful rendition of the classic
camp song,
Herman the Worm
. The whole time she sang, nothing moved in
his field of vision.

“Does anybody have any movement?”

All replies came back negative.

“What are the odds,”
Michelle speculated openly,
“that everybody who was at the
campground is already gone. I mean, we had to have taken down about twenty of
the infected last night, and if you add that to the number of people who made
it to the marina . . .”
Her voice trailed off with that thought.

Doc Collins interrupted before Eric could speak.
“I
don’t think so, Michelle. If my ballpark math is correct, even if we assume
that only half the people who made it out of Ravenwood ended up at the marina,
that would still leave somewhere between, oh, I’d imagine about forty or fifty
people unaccounted for.”

“All right people, the good news is that we haven’t
had to fire a shot yet. The bad news is that we still don’t have any answers,
and we’re not going to unless we kick it up a level. Everybody’s already in
position, so Callie, start your announcements.”

Almost immediately, her amplified voice resonated
through the late morning.
“Attention campground residents. If you are able
to make it to the fishing pier at the end of Blue Heron Loop, go there now. If
you are unable to make it on your own, or if you’re trapped or hiding inside
your vehicle, tent, or RV, please find a way to signal the approaching rescue
vehicle. Wave a flag out the window when they come by, and then exit your shelter
and hop in the trailer. Do not attempt to enter the rescue vehicle directly.”

Her speech, written the night before at the meeting,
was repeated several times.

“Sam and Michelle, you’re up. Be careful.”

In the Explorer, Michelle reached a hand forward and
thumped Sam on the shoulder. “Drive safe.

“Shoot straight.”

Michelle spun and craned her neck toward the roof of
the SUV. One of the reasons she had chosen the dark blue Ford was because it
had a huge, powered sunroof. She slid the fabric covered light shield to the
rear, and then toggled the switch. A mechanical
hum
issued as the glass
slid back, leaving a three foot square hole in the roof above the second seat.
A rope with a speed clip was attached to her belt. The other end had already
been fastened to the seat frame. It gave her just enough room to stand through
the opening and maneuver. Any crazy driving or evading that Sam had to carry
out shouldn’t toss her from the vehicle. Shouldn’t . . . she reminded herself. With
her AR-15 leading the way, she stood and braced herself as Sam dropped the
truck in gear and idled forward.

The Explorer crept into Eric’s vision a moment later.
Michelle’s lean body protruded through the sunroof as she searched for targets
through the reflex sight of her rifle. The sight, Eric knew from experience,
looked similar to a miniature, one inch wide, flat screen television, and had
user selectable options for displaying targeting reticles. Michelle kept hers
on the bright red chevron, essentially an upside down letter ‘V.’ It was a
‘fast acquire, fast fire’ sighting system that allowed the shooter to keep both
eyes open as they fired. Eric had a similar system on his competition pistol.
Sadly, that was still back at his house. On top of that, his duty pistol—the
one that he trusted his life to every day on the job—was in the safe at uncle
Andy’s cabin. The Delta at his hip was reassuring though. So was the M2 in his
hands.

“Talk to me, Michelle.”

“I’ve got nothing so far.”

The light trailer squeaked over the double speed bumps
by the check in kiosk, and then quieted as Sam guided the SUV onto the smooth
pavement towards Blue Heron Loop.

“There are a few tents that are still standing.
There’s also several cars.”
Her voice
was even and methodical as she spoke.
“We’re veering to the left and heading
down the one way loop. Still nothing.”

Several moments ticked by in silence before she
broadcast again.
“We have a body. It’s pretty torn up . . . looks to be an
adult male. The body is lying half inside a small dome tent. The skin color
looks normal. Human, I mean. We’re passing it by right now. There’s a lot of
debris and garbage scattered everywhere.”
Her voice stopped for a few
seconds, then picked back up.
“OK, we’re at the bottom of the loop.”

“We can see you from the boat,”
Callie answered.

“We’ve got eyes on you as well.”
Michelle paused, and then Sam came over.
“Hey Eric,
do you want us to take a quick drive through the group camp field while we’re
down here?”

“No. Stay with the plan.”

“10-4.”

“OK, we’re heading back up the loop. There’s a tangle
of vehicles—four of them—near a cluster of pine trees. It looks like . . . um .
. . like somebody played bumper cars. Wait . . ., hold up a minute, Sam,”
her voice cut off momentarily.
“Yuck. We have a .
. . partial . . . body on the ground at the upper side of this tangle. The
torso is separate from the legs. It looks like something—maybe an animal—has
been chewing on the body. One of the arms is almost torn off near the shoulder.
I can’t tell if it’s from the wreck . . . or something else. Go ahead, Sam.”

Citrine eyes glared from underneath the wreckage as
the noisy moving box pulled away. Distant visions bubbled beneath the surface
of its memories. It had been inside one of those boxes. Long ago when it was
soft. Long ago when its skin didn’t burn. Long ago when the hunger didn’t tear
at its insides. The box moved up the hill, toward the others . . . the
mindless. Perhaps they would feed. It saw the food rising from the top of the
box. Swaying, enticing, offering. There would be time. Time for the hunt. Soon.
Soon, but not yet. Right now it would wait. It had to wait. It could hear the
distant call. Every fiber of its body vibrated in anticipation. She was coming
. . . the master was coming.

Across the narrow road, perched thirty feet above the
ground in a lightning scarred elm tree, the keen eyes of a red bellied
woodpecker stared downward. The dark blue noisy creature with round legs
crawled up the hill, leaving its hot breath to float in the wind. This tree was
a favorite, and the beautiful black and gray striped bird had often climbed its
surface searching for insects. The wide, scarlet swath that ran from its beak
to the nape of its neck jerked and bobbled as the woodpecker studied its
surroundings. This land by the water was often filled with two legs, but the
forest here had an abundance of food. Only now it felt different. Unsafe.
Movement on the ground caught its attention, and the ten inch long bird froze
in position. From underneath the pile of round legs, an iron gray hand reached
out. It grasped at the dead two legs and pulled. The slapping, springing
twang
as tendons and muscles ripped and tore sent another warning spike of danger
into the bird. Plentiful food or not, there were better, safer places to hunt,
and with a series of quick wing flips, the woodpecker sped away.

“OK, we’re coming up out of the loop.”

“I got you. Circle around the kiosk and hold position.
Once you’re there and watching, I’ll head to location three.”

“Roger.”

Location three for Eric would be on top of the
campground office. Doc had assured him that the corrugated metal roof would
hold, and that the fifteen foot aluminum extension ladder was still in place
behind the building. Once he made it up there, the increase in elevation would
allow him visual access to a large part of Golden Eagle Loop. Cranking the
magnification to full, he confirmed that the ladder was indeed resting in the
grass at the back of the wooden, lap sided structure.

The unloaded utility trailer’s stiff springs rattled
as Sam guided the Explorer around the kiosk, crossing both sets of double speed
bumps in the process.

“Callie, give us another set of announcements.”
A moment later her voice began to repeat the message
about heading towards the fishing pier or waving a flag.

When she finished, Sam called over the radio
.
“We’re in position, but I imagine you can probably see that. We can’t see you,
though.”

“Camouflage. Look it up next time you’re around a
dictionary.”

“Smart ass.”

Eric pushed himself to a crouched position and gave a
slow wave of his hand
. “Do you see me now?”

“Yep, we got you.”

“OK, keep a sharp eye out, I’m getting ready to move.”

“10-4.”

He stood up partway, feeling his muscles stretch and
unwind from their enforced stillness. The wind was picking up slightly, and the
spent heads of rye grass that had survived the North Dakota winter began to
drift over as the gusts quartered away from him. After a final look around, he
trotted forward. The campground office was almost 200 yards away, but he wasn’t
heading straight there. Shifting his angle of approach somewhat to the right
put the breeze directly at his back, and put him on a vector toward the
playground at the edge of the soccer field. It wasn’t much concealment,
especially with its design geared towards small children, but it was the only
structure that was remotely on his course toward location three. His ankle,
wrapped again by Callie this morning, still felt solid as he jogged the
remaining distance.