Ragnarok Rising: The Crossing (The Ragnarok Rising Saga) (50 page)

"Pick your targets and fire at will," I said, taking aim at one of the lead creatures.

They were
less than a hundred yards away and moving slowly. In seconds, our group had reduced them to a pile of corpses. The work crews would either toss them in the river or burn them, later. We waited a few moments to see if any others would emerge from the trees, moving on when nothing appeared.

A few minutes later, we arrived at the edge of the river where the boat
s were moored. Due to the recent rains, the river was up higher than the last time I had seen it. If we didn't do something about the floodgates on the dam, it would soon start flooding into parts of the park. We needed to blow them before we lost part of our community.

Sanders, Snake, McDonald and I put our weight against the boat
we were taking and shoved it off the bank. It slid gently back into the water. Then we began transferring all of our gear onto the boat. It was a large pontoon boat, called a party barge, and wouldn't have any trouble accommodating all of us. While they were securing the gear, I checked the fuel gauge. The tank was full. I knew that Winston and Webber had been here to top off the fuel and leave us a couple of care packages. It was several cases of bottled water, a couple cases of MREs and some baked goods. Mostly cookies. They also tossed in a few cases of ammo and a box of grenades.

"Looks like Winston and Webber wanted us to be well prepared," I said, gesturing at the boxes piled next to the control console.

"Nice," said Spec-4. "Did they think of anything besides MREs?"

In response, I just tossed her a bag of chocolate chip cookies. She snagged them out of the air and started handing them out. Gunny and First Sergeant Gregory took a cookie, but continued to watch our flanks. McDonald was
carefully cleaning the optics on his M-21. Everyone else was busy securing gear bags to the boat so they wouldn't accidentally go overboard.

I fired up the twin outboard motors and let them idle. As soon as everyone was aboard, I nodded at Sanders. He gave one last shove and we started to drift away from the bank. Sanders quickly jumped aboard and gave me a toothy grin. We hadn't drifted more than six feet from shore when the current caught us and started to sweep us downstream. I had to go to half-throttle to back us into the channel and turn us the right direction before the force of the swollen river pushed us into something.

Bringing the bow around, I throttled back to an idle. There was no sense in wasting the fuel. The river was carrying us downstream with plenty of speed. I would only use the engines to turn, to avoid obstacles or to get us through areas where the water was moving slower. We truly had crossed the Rubicon. Or in this case, the Niangua.

The heavy flow of the river made narrow areas
nearly turn into rapids and concealed obstacles in the murky water. Overturned trees, rocks and anything else the river had managed to wash downstream could cause us damage or even capsize us. In this current, going into the water was almost certain death. The fact that Elliott had survived his trip down the river was amazing. I'd say it was luck, but I'm sure that the Gods had a hand in it. Whatever the reason, I was thankful that I hadn't lost my son.

As we approached the bridge, I could see movement on the road above us. I just nodded
to McDonald. He popped the lens covers off of his scope and started sweeping the area. I was reaching for my backpack to retrieve my own binoculars when I heard him speak.

"Four
Shamblers
," he said, his voice even. "Zero contact. They are moving away from our area."

"Have they seen us?" asked Snake.

"Negative," responded McDonald. "Do I engage?"

I thought about it a moment before answering. They weren't a threat to us, but that didn't mean they could
n't wander into our camp and kill one of our people. It was better to not take any chances.

"Go ahead," I said, nodding. "Take them out, quietly."

The range was less than forty meters, so I knew McDonald could make the shots easily, even from a moving boat. It was spooky how good he was with a rifle. Four suppressed pops and the targets were all down. He kept the rifle to his shoulder, searching for more targets. When none appeared, he lowered his weapon and clicked the safety back on.

"Targets neutralized," he said, already beginning to put the covers back on his scope.

McDonald was one cool customer. I was definitely glad he was on our side. Once he had secured the scope, he sat cross-legged in the middle of the deck and began to meticulously clean his weapon. While the rest of us were nervous, or at least looked the part, McDonald was about as calm as he could be. It was just another day at the office to him. It was a little creepy.

We continued downstream without incident, with Snake sitting at the very front of the boat watching for submerged obstacles. Considering the number of fallen trees, large rocks and even a car that we passed, a lookout on the front of the boat was a good idea. I stayed on the controls, just in case I had to go to full power and maneuver around something.

I knew from my youth that it was a two day float from Bennett Springs to Lake of the Ozarks, but that was by canoe. I knew we would make better time than a canoe, but experience also told me that we should be watching for a defensible place to hold up for the night. It would be nice if we could find one before sundown and could be secure before night came. We didn't want to be out in the open when the
Stalkers
came out. We learned that lesson on our last trip down this river.

By midday, we
were making good progress. I was recognizing terrain features, despite the fact the river didn't look the same with the water so high above the banks. We were passing the ravaged ruin that had once been a campground. I knew it well, since I'd been there many times. Although it was deserted, I could see hastily abandoned tents, campers and vehicles. The main building looked like it had been ripped apart. I'd seen that kind of damage done to a structure before. The place had been hit by
Stalkers.

"Must have been survivors in there," said Snake, gesturing at the building. "Only reason I can think of why the fucking dead would bother breaking in."

"Want to check it for supplies?" asked Spec-4, glancing at me.

"What the hell," I said, shrugging. "We're making good time."

Angling the bow of the boat, I used the force of the current to run us right into shallow water and onto the bank. Part of the campground was under water, but the upper end was clear. When we came to a stop, Sanders and Snake jumped ashore and tied us off to a large walnut tree. We were in a small inlet formed by the floodwater. The boat wouldn't be pulled back out into the current without our help.

"Lock and load," I said, readying my own weapon. "Turn on your headsets and do a quick radio check."

In seconds, we had all powered up our radios and checked in. With everything working, I motioned for us to fan out and cover the area. Gunny and First Sergeant Gregory took the left side while McDonald and Sanders covered the right. Spec-4 and I took the middle with Heather Monroe right on our heels. Ramirez and Snake were going to remain with the boat and guard it, just in case.

Once everyone was in position, we headed off towards the main building. The area was eerily quiet, which in and of itself was unnerving. The area had wide open expanses where campers would come in the summertime and spend their vacation enjoying the river and the woods. I could see the campers and the tents, but there were no people. Not even the mobile dead. The only sound was the wind in the trees and the rusty creaking of a metal hinge on the door that swung in the breeze. The door was ripped partially off of its hinges and hanging by the top one.

"Welcome to the Ho-Humm Campground," I said softly, as I craned my neck to get a good look around.

"
Odd name," commented Spec-4.

"This used to be a great place," I muttered, my eyes still shifting back and forth.

"Well, now it looks like it's been through a fucking war," said Sanders. "Whatever happened here, it was nasty."

Activating the tactical light beneath my weapon, I began scanning the interior of the building through the open door. Inside, everything was in a shambles. There was blood everywhere, in dried puddles and in splashes across the walls. From the amount of blood, there had to have been quite a few survivors barricaded inside when the
Stalkers
forced their way inside.

Sweeping back and forth, I could see no sign of anything living. There were bloody handprints on the walls and floor and smears where something had been dragged through the blood. In my mind, I could see someone on their stomach, being dragged away by the
Stalkers
as they fought to stop them by grabbing for anything they could. It was a disturbing image.

"How many
Stalkers
do you think it took to do this?" asked Heather.

"It depends," I answered, still looking around. "I don't see any bullet holes, so I doubt they were armed. If they weren't armed, it wouldn't have taken more than a few
Stalkers
to do this. From the look of the place, I'd guess a small group."

"Of survivors or of the dead?" asked
Spec-4.

"Both," I said, turning my head.

Something on the floor near the back of the room had caught my attention. It was a lump of cloth or something similar. I moved towards it, as if drawn to it. I had a bad feeling that I knew what it was before I got there. As I crossed the room and stood over it, I could clearly see the pitiful item illuminated in the center of my light. I felt a wave of nausea wash over me. I felt sick and angry at the same time. I felt guilty for not finding this place sooner. Maybe soon enough to have prevented it.

"What is it?" asked Heather, standing silhouetted in the doorway.

Kneeling down over it, I felt tears well up in the corners of my eyes. There, covered in blood, lay a torn and battered teddy bear. On the light colored fur of the stomach was a mark. In dried blood was a perfect handprint of a child. It was impossible to tell if it was a boy or a girl, but they couldn't have been older than five or six.

I didn't answer her question.
I couldn't. I just stood up and wiped my eyes on the back of my hand before turning around. On the wall, next to the door was what looked like writing on the white sheetrock. I passed my light over the writing and began reading. It looked like someone had been counting the days with tick marks from a black marker. It seemed to indicate that they had made it almost three weeks before they were all killed. Beneath the daily count was a warning written in dark, bold letters.

It read like a journal with dates and notes next to it.

04/04 - 21 Survivors

04/05 - No dead today

04/06 -              Small group takes our guns and goes hunting.

04/07 - Group did not return.

04/08 - New type of dead seen last night. They came in the night and left before daylight.

04/09 - They are hunting us. Group still has not returned. There are 16 of us now.

04/10 - They are smarter than the others. We have fortified this building.

04/11 - We are running out of food. We cannot stay here.

04/12 - If we stay quiet, they don't try to get inside.

It skipped a few days before beginning again in a different hand.

04/16 - Small group got caught outside. 11 of us now.

04/18 - Hungry. No food.

04/22 - Found supplies in nearby building. We are ok for now.

04/24 - Light attracts them. They know we're here. They are breaking inside.

There weren't any more entries. They had all been dead for well over a month. Their last entry was while we were still at the Underground. It was a small comfort but did nothing for my guilty feeling for not having saved them. I couldn't explain why it bothered me so badly. We've found where survivors had been wiped out before. Maybe it was the teddy bear that did it. Whatever it was, I didn't want to be here anymore.

"We need to leave," I said, heading out the door.

As we headed back towards the boat, I could see clouds gathering in the distance. There was flashes of lightning in the dark masses and I knew we would be heading into a storm. From the look of it, we would be in for some severe weather. I had no desire to get caught out in the open during a tornado. Although it was still sunny here, it looked like we would be heading right into it. By nightfall, we'd be hitting the leading edge of the storm. That wasn't good news.

We were back on the boat and moving in minutes, leaving the accursed place behind us. Although we were rapidly putting it behind us, I had the distinct feeling that I would be visiting it again in my dreams. I would have nightmares about this place. About the people that we couldn't save and a child that somehow I knew was a small girl
. A tiny blonde who left a bloody handprint on a teddy bear as the
Stalkers
tore her apart.

We rode in silence, watching the scenery pass us by. We passed the campground at Mountain Creek, but the main building was burnt out. There wasn't anything we could fortify left standing.
Instead of searching the area, we kept going down river. Hours passed and we only saw the occasional house. Most of them had already been ravaged by either the living or the dead.