Fade to Grey (Book 2): Darkness Ascending (5 page)

Estes and
Keene briefly exchanged glances before shaking their heads.

“Not a lot . .
. and what we do know primarily comes from looking through the ACOG on the M4,”
Estes replied.

Major
Sullivan’s tired eyes blinked slowly as he answered. “My area of expertise is Neuroimmunology,
which basically means that I specialize in infectious disorders of the central
nervous system.
Multiple sclerosis, transverse
myelitis, Guillian-Barre syndrome, chronic demyelinating polyneuropathy,
myasthenia gravis and other immune mediated disorders of the peripheral nervous
system. That’s what I did. That’s why I was called in.”

“Are you saying that these people are getting multiple
sclerosis?”

With a scoff and shake of his head, Major Sullivan
replied, “Not hardly. There are other highly advanced pathogens at work here.
The main culprit being . . .”

“Southwest tower to base command, do you copy?”

Estes pulled the radio off his belt and keyed it.
“Base
command, go.”

“We’ve got movement, possibly substantial movement
about half a click away where the highway off-ramp dumps into downtown. NVG’s
are acting up and giving us a grainy image, can you confirm with thermal?”

“Southwest tower, clarify. Movement, motorized or
not?”

“Negative on motorized. We think it’s foot traffic,
but it’s tough to tell. It might just be something in our goggles screwing up.”

“Base command to southeast and northeast towers. Can
either of you get a line of sight on what the southwest tower is reporting?”

Estes listened as both other fire teams replied in the
negative. No line of sight.

“Perkins, it’s Estes, do you have a radio?”

A brief pause of silence was interrupted by the sound
of an aggravated voice held too far away from the microphone.

“Yeah boss, I heard. I’m working on it. Give me five
minutes more to cool it down, and then I should be able to flip it on for a
least a few minutes before it overheats and crashes again.”

Estes acknowledged Perkins, and then caught the wave
of Sergeant Keene’s hand.

“You might want to consider sending the night vision
goggles from the northeast fire team down to the southwest until the thermal
comes back on.”

Estes nodded and gave a quick thumbs up to Keene as he
relayed that directive. No sooner had his orders been acknowledged when an
unfamiliar voice came across the radio.

“Delta Green Halo, Delta Green Halo, this is Scorpion
Flight Two inbound, ETA four minutes, can you confirm accessibility to LZ?”

Scorpion Flight Two was the call sign of Major
Larrabee’s helicopter. It was about time, Estes thought. He nodded toward
Keene, who keyed his own radio in response.

“Scorpion Flight Two, this is Delta Green Halo,
affirmative on the LZ. It will be a tight squeeze and you’ll need your own
landing lights, but you can make it once we give you clearance. Recommend you
hold above station upon arrival until we confirm or contain a potentially
hostile situation.”

“Roger that, Scorpion Flight Two inbound, ETA two
minutes, we’ll hold above LZ and wait for final clearance.”

“I think this conversation is going to have to take a
backseat for now,” Estes said. Major Sullivan, Sergeant Keene and Corporal
Henry all nodded in agreement as they stood. “Let’s see what’s happening
outside, and then go welcome Major Larra . . .”

Estes’s words were cut off in midsentence by a frantic
call over the radio.

“Southwest tower to base command, we have movement,
repeat, inbound people. Oh snap . . . there’s a lot of them!”

Estes, Keene, and Henry sprinted out the door as Estes
keyed his radio.
“Perkins, give me that thermal now!”

“If I flip it back on before it’s totally cooled off,
you’ll only have about a minute until it shuts down again.”

“Do it now—we need to know if they’re infected or
not.”

The approaching
thump thump thump
of the
helicopter registered in their ears as the trio ran down the hallway toward the
exit.

“Do we have permission to fire? Base command, this is
southwest tower, we have multiple targets, do we have permission to fire?”

“Hold one, southwest tower.”

Estes burst through the door that led into the fenced
parking lot they were using as a combination vehicle and supply storage area,
and helipad. Rotating left, he dashed toward the Hummer that contained PFC
Perkins, and hopefully, a working thermal sight. Five seconds later he entered
the vehicle in question, just in time to hear the high pitched, whining hum of
the thermal view screen coming on. Estes had used thermal equipment enough to
realize that the bright white figures glowing in the phosphorescent video image
were abnormally hot. Infected! Estes could see a long, bulbous line stretching
from the highway all the way into town. And the line was moving in surges his
way.

The rotor wash of the helicopter overhead made Estes
look up as he keyed the radio. “
Scorpion Flight Two, this is Delta Green
Halo. Negative on landing, repeat, negative on landing. Hostiles inbound. Base
command to all fire teams, I want a fighting retreat to northwest wing.
Conserve your ammo and prepare to evacuate.”

The electronic crackle of the thermal sight clicking
off coincided with the chatter of gunfire erupting from the roof of the school.
Estes slid out of the Hummer’s front seat, immediately followed by Perkins. A
brilliant searchlight emanating from the hovering helicopter lit up the
roadway, revealing an undulating chain of gray-skinned walkers almost upon
them. Flitting on the fringes of the line, fast moving shapes disappeared into
the shadows.

Estes keyed his radio again
. “All support teams,
gather up the civilians and get to the transports immediately, repeat, all
support teams, gather up all personnel, civilians and military, and report to
the trucks immediately.”

From above, luminous tracers accompanied the roar of
the twin miniguns as the Black Hawk tore into the line of infected. Estes,
Keene, Perkins and Henry shifted to the left and crouched near the open door of
the parked M113 as a wave of ashen figures poured against the chain link fence
surrounding the supply area. Raising the radio to his lips, Estes was about
reissue the order to evacuate when his eyes caught the glimmer of headlights
cresting the low hill behind the school. Confusion quickly turned to alarm as
the heavy, rapid-fire
THRACK THRACK THRACK THRACK
of the 25 millimeter
cannons from the missing Bradleys poured their fire into the hovering Black
Hawk. At that range they couldn’t miss, and the helicopter blazed like a meteor
for a brief second before dropping like a rock toward the school.

Michelle followed Andy down the hall and into the
kitchen where Bernice was hefting a large stainless steel pot off of the
burner. The steam escaping from two more equally large pots puffed and spurted,
filling the kitchen with the aromas of cooking meat and simmering vegetables.
Michelle’s stomach gave an involuntary rumble.

“Hey Bern, I’m taking the young lady down to the marina
for a minute. I want to show her that . . . thing. Are you good to go here?”

“I imagine the world will keep turning without your
direct involvement Wally, and that includes me. Supper will be in about an
hour. Don’t be early, don’t be late, and don’t complain about it either.”

“Why Bernice, you know I always speak kindly ‘bout
your cookin’. That is, with the possible exception of the time you tried to
poison me with your grandmother’s meatloaf recipe.” Walter shot a sideways grin
at Michelle.

“I should have listened to my mammy when she warned me
about you. Maybe then I wouldn’t be stuck cooking three meals a day for almost
fifty people. Keep them numbers in mind before you figure on loading up your
plate.”

“Awww now honey, you know we all appreciate it, and
ain’t no one a better cook then you,” Walter said as he snuck over and lifted
the lid on one of the steaming pots, earning him a lightning fast smack on the
wrist with a wooden spoon.

“Get your hairy mitts off of my kettle,” Bernice
bellowed. Walter scooted away with a double tap of raised eyebrows and a smile
that would make the Cheshire cat proud.

With a motion toward the sliding door, Walter tilted
his head and bowed like a jester. “Your ladyship, the chariot awaits.”

Michelle and Walter walked onto the wraparound porch,
stopping briefly to slide the door shut behind them. The lightly stained,
pressure treated deck boards in front of the entrance still showed a residual
tinge of darker color where the blond stripper had bled out.

Weaving their way through a scattering of patio
furniture brought them to the top of the wooden stairs. Twenty-one steps and
they were on the ground at the edge of Walter’s driveway. They angled further
right toward the split level garage entrance, passing by two men and a lady who
were standing in a tight circle next to an idling Mitsubishi sedan. Just on the
other side of the small group was their target, Walter’s Mule ATV. As they took
a seat in the small vehicle, the three chatters came over. The lady was the
first one to speak.

“Mr. Sheldon . . .”

“Ma’am, that was my dad, please call me Walter.”

She replied with a nervous smile, “Walter, then.”

Michelle watched her exchange an uneasy glance with
one of the men before she turned again towards Walter, leaning down slightly to
be more at his seated eye level. “Walter, my husband and I are very grateful
for all that you have done for us, and for everybody. Now I know that you
suggested that we stay down by the shop. . .”

Walter’s curt reply was unvarnished, “It wasn’t a
suggestion.”

The lady froze momentarily, but then quickly regained
her composure.  “Well, I felt that what I—what we—had to say was important. And
I’m sorry to have to put you on the spot like this, but we know that you have a
whole room full of food. We’ve seen it. And we know you have gasoline,” she
tilted her head in the vague direction of the two men, “my brother watched you
fill your generator.”

“And guns, we know that you have guns too,” one of the
men added briskly.

Michelle sat quietly as the ATV idled roughly. Walter,
still looking at the lady, hadn’t made a sound. A few more moments of silence
passed as the utility vehicle’s engine finally warmed up and evened out.

Finally, Walter tipped his hat slightly downward and
said, “And . . .”

The lady, with a growing spark of irritation on her
face, straightened up and crossed her arms. “And . . . we’ve been talking with
some of the others. Most everybody thinks that you should divide up all of the
food equally, and make sure that everybody has a way to defend themselves
against those horrible monsters.”

“I see. So you and,” Walter nosed towards the two men,
“a couple others think that’s the way to go, huh?”

One of the men stepped forward, resting his hand on
the lady’s stiff shoulder. “It’s not just us. We’ve talked to a lot of the
other people here. Most of them feel the same.”

Ignoring the man, Walter looked up at the lady and
said, “I’ll tell you what . . .,” he paused for a moment, tapping his finger in
the air toward her, “tell me your name again.”

“Diane.”

“That’s right . . . Diane. I remember now. We’ve got
Diane, and husband . . . William?”

Before she could nod in the affirmative Walter
continued. “Yes, I remember now, your husband’s name is William and your
brother is Colton.”

The trio bobbed their heads in unison as Walter
depressed the brake pedal and shifted the ATV into gear. “That is a very
interesting idea you have. And you say others share it as well, huh? Well how
about we do this . . . once we get a few more things taken care of, we’re going
to try and have a nice little ‘sit down and chat’ session with everybody.
Probably gonna happen tonight or tomorrow morning. Make sure you bring that up,
as well as any other ideas you can think of, and we’ll see what we can work
out. In the meantime, there’s about two cords of firewood out there past the
chicken coop that need splitting, so if you’re looking for something to do, it
would be mighty appreciated.” Walter’s sugarcoated words trailed off behind him
as he accelerated the Mule down the driveway.

Thick layers of crush and run gravel crunched
underneath the aggressive tread of the ATV’s off-road tires as Walter piloted
the vehicle through the switchback. Another quick series of braking and weaving
brought them to the long flat stretch that paralleled the lakeside. Ahead of
them they both noticed a figure walking slowly toward the shop.

“Do you recognize the clothing?” Michelle asked.

Walter shrugged and shook his head as he replied, “No,
and that’s part of the problem. We’ve just been so chaotic the last few days
that I can’t keep track of nothin’. Heck, I don’t even remember what I wore
yesterday. ”

“Do you mean that you haven’t memorized the jackets
that fifty refugees brought with them when they crashed your gate and demanded
that you put them up, feed them, and protect them from homicidal monsters?”

Michelle looked away so Walter wouldn’t see her grin
as he replied, “No, I can’t say that I have. Smart ass.”

“Well,” Michelle said as she thumbed the release of
her holster, “let’s go see who it is.”

Closing the gap took only a few seconds, and the
figure, apparently hearing the sound of the approaching vehicle, turned to face
them. It was Amy. Walter coasted to a stop about twenty feet away, but kept the
ATV in gear as Michelle slid off the seat and stood, her hand still glued to
her belt line.

“Amy, is everything all right?” From this distance
Michelle easily noted the hastily wiped tracks of tears on Amy’s face.

Amy nodded briskly, wiping her mitten-covered hands
across her cheeks as she answered. “I’m fine. I just thought that I would get
some fresh air and walk to the shop. Sam’s up there, and we’re still trying to
work out some things, schedule wise.”

“You really shouldn’t be walking alone, you know.”
Walter indicated with a quick glance up and down the road.

“I know . . . I know, I just needed a little time to
myself. Besides,” she said as she patted the left side of her puffy jacket, “I
still have this contraption you’re making me carry.”

“Don’t leave home without it.”

“I won’t . . . I promise.”

Michelle inclined her head toward the second bench
seat on the Mule. “We’d be happy to give you a ride.”

Amy shook her head slowly, deliberately . . . and then
turned her gaze across the reflective surface of the lake. The setting sun was
painting fiery ribbons of orange on the choppy water, and barely visible in the
fading light was the faint curve of the peninsula where Ravenwood campground
sat.

“OK, but don’t be too long, it’s going to get dark
soon. We’ll make sure that we give you a ride back though . . . OK?”

Still gazing out over the countless white-tipped
swells that decorated the lake’s sunset, Amy replied, “I won’t be long, and a
ride back would definitely be appreciated.”

Michelle scooted back into copilot position, and
Walter accelerated down the gravel. The headlights on the ATV were just
beginning to brighten the road in front of them as they pulled up to the
improvised barrier made from an old cattle gate and a set of homemade ‘steel
pipe and cement-filled tire’ volleyball net posts. On both the left and right
side of the gate, RV’s sat idling.

“Why are they running?” Michelle asked with raised
eyebrows.

Walter frowned as answered, “Not supposed to be. Dang
it, I told them people not to waste gas . . . that there wouldn’t be any way to
replace it.”

“That’s what I said too.” A voice from the left
startled Walter and Michelle. Standing up from a reclining position in a
camouflaged tangle of dried cattails and reeds, Crowbar Mike approached the
vehicle. “But they basically told me to mind my own business, and besides, it
ain’t my gas they’re burning trying to stay warm.”

“What the hey,” Walter mumbled as he fished a
flashlight out of the glove box recess. Shining the light into the edge of
shadows where Mike had come from revealed a well cloaked oblong object.

“That’s a damn good idea, Mike. Warm?”

“Too warm, especially with these coveralls.”

Michelle stood and followed the beam of Walter’s
light. Concealed a few steps off of the driveway in the winter-browned and
dried remains of high weeds was a waterfowl ground blind. Essentially an
insulated coffin-like cloth box, the roof could be quickly popped open to allow
a duck hunter to sit up and fire.

The door on one of the RV’s creaked open, and two men
stepped out. One of them, a middle aged man with a head full of prematurely
gray hair, elegantly styled and moussed to the point where it looked plastic,
walked straight over to Walter and thumped his hand on the hood of the Mule.

“Just the man I was looking for,” he said with a curt
nod.

“Simpson, right?” Walter said.

“Thomas Simpson, yes . . . and that’s Mr. Lancaster .
. . Howard,” he indicated with a toss of his head toward the second man who
stood by the RV. A rather large-ish band aid was plastered across his nose.

Michelle moved around the ATV and stood next to
Walter, positioning herself as the ‘monkey in the middle’ of the line that
stretched between Walter and Mike.

“Tom, what can I do . . .”

“Thomas please,” the man interrupted and corrected
Walter.

Walter stood silently for a moment, and Michelle could
sense his rising impatience. Hers was beginning to reach its limit as well.

Ignoring the request, Walter replied, “What can I do
for you?”

“Several things actually. Why don’t you come in to the
Northstar where it’s warmer and we can talk about it in a more civilized
environment.”

“Nah, I’m good right here, but I also got to tell you
that I ain’t got a lot of time right now, so make it fast. Please.” Walter had
paused for the space of two heartbeats before he added the ‘please,’ an obvious
assessment of where he felt the priority of this conversation stood. The
gesture wasn’t lost on anybody.

“Fine then, right here and right now. Howard and I,
and several others have been discussing certain options that may have been
overlooked since we evacuated the campground. Our assessment is that the
security . . . policy . . . that is being implemented is severely lacking.”