Verge of Extinction (Apex Predator Book 3) (14 page)

SSgt Jackson saluted his new Lieutenant.  “Don’t worry,” Lt Brown told him.  “I’m sure once the world is put back together we’ll both be demoted to our former ranks.  But, until then, you are Second Lieutenant Procell’s Platoon Sergeant.  He’s still too busted up to get out of his precious boat.”

Frank could tell that Sam was unhappy.  The former fire Captain had been relieved of the relatively safe job of getting the plumbing working on the Island, along with the rest of his men.  They had been rolled in with one of the foraging parties.  Lt. Brown had made the rule that no one goes outside the wire, as he put it, without at least ten armed people.

So, here they sat; crammed into a speed boat that was too small for their numbers.  The new Lieutenant had a new plan.  Their part of the plan involved securing several tractor trailer trucks and shipping containers from the civilian port facility located on the far end of the bridge.

Lt. Brown had decided that the firemen would know how to drive large vehicles, and therefore would be perfect for this mission.  Sam had tried to argue, but was vetoed by the Bishop.  It seemed that the Bishop had thrown his lot in with the military and Singing River Island was about to be turned into an armed camp.  That it already was, escaped the firemen.

The driver of the boat, a man called Bamma, told them there was a break in the fence on the east side of the facility.  He would land them there, and then wait off shore in case they needed to be pulled out.  He seemed like a nice enough guy but Frank and the others were mad at the world at the moment.

It wasn’t hard to find the trucks that they were looking for.  They were scattered throughout the port.  Most had no keys or the operators had left in such a hurry that the engines had run until the fuel tanks were dry.  Frank discovered two vehicles with keys in the ignition, but the switch was turned to the run position.  He didn’t guess he could blame them.

The sound of a diesel engine firing up caught everyone’s attention.  The kid with the rock-and-roll tee-shirt on let out a rebel yell when he started the second truck.  Both trucks had shipping containers already strapped to their beds.  No one knew what was in them, nor did they care.

Frank could see the nose of another truck sticking out from between a long line of shipping containers.  The cab of the truck was beautiful candy-apple red with black stripe running down the side.  It too had a container connected.

He turned to look at the others.  Most of them had crowded around the already running trucks.  He saw Sam turn in his direction.  It was obvious he was counting noses.  He wanted to go.  Come on guys, he thought, we can get three and won’t have to make so many damned trips.  He held up a finger and then pointed over his shoulder at the truck in front of him.  “Let’s get one more,” he yelled.

He could hear Sam yelling to him, but the sounds of the other engines, and the distance between the two men drowned out the words.  Frank leapt onto the step that was inset on the truck’s driver’s side fuel tank.

He reached for the handle as he looked over his shoulder at Sam and the rest of the men.  Several of them were running towards him, waving their hands over their heads.  Sam had a look of terror on his face.  The man next to him, Jimmy G, was un-slinging his rifle.  Frank had admired the Remington Model 700 from the minute he’d seen it.  Now, it appeared that he was on the wrong end of the rifle

The scope had just begun to cover the man’s right eye when Frank felt the door handle click.  The door flew open as if something was pushing it from the inside.  Frank turned to the truck.  His brain registered three distinct impressions almost simultaneously.

One was the sound of a 30-06 bullet breaking the sound barrier as it passed mere inches away from his ear.  The second was the report of the rifle that fired that projectile.  Third, and most horrifying, was the sight of a grey faced woman, wearing a red jacket and black baseball cap falling out of the cab of the truck.

His brain couldn’t process so many assaults at one time.  Frank had been an avid hunter and shooter before the dead began walking.  His brain recognized a gunshot as a potential threat about a half of a second before it realized that the zombie falling on him was by far the greater threat.  Frank ducked and rolled off of the truck in an effort to clear the path of the next bullet.

This was exactly the wrong thing to do.  As he landed on his side, a large heavy object, wearing a red jacket and black ball cap, landed on him.  By now his brain had reassessed the situation.  He attempted to roll out from beneath the woman.  He couldn’t.  She was too heavy for him, and her grip was amazingly strong for a woman.

He tried to tuck in his neck as the woman’s icy fingers grasped at him in an attempt to hold him still enough to bite.  The cold of her fingers gave him a surge of strength.  He kicked with his legs and was able to roll to the left, causing the ghoul to tip over.  Her fingers still dug into his neck.

Another gunshot rang out.  Frank was able to get his right hand under the monster’s jaw.  He wasn’t able to hold her jaw closed, but he was able to keep the teeth a few inches from his flesh.  He kicked his legs like as if it would give him more strength.  It did not.  The woman’s face steadily inched closer to his.

Again, he tried to roll.  This time the zombie was able to counter the roll with her strength and ended up straddling the fireman.  He struggled to bring his right knee up between his stomach and the zombie.  A third rifle shot rang out before he did.  Something landed heavily on the back of the woman, driving her gnashing teeth into his face.

“Yes” Sam exclaimed, as he saw the body of the second zombie tumble from the truck.  His excitement was short lived as Frank began screaming.  It took the survivors a moment to realize what had happened.  Jimmy G’s first shot had missed as the zombie tumbled out of the truck and on top of Frank.  His second shot had hit the zombie still in the truck, in the chest.  It had slowed his exit from the truck, but had not killed it.

The third shot had struck the zombie between the eyes, shattering its mirrored sunglasses and spraying pink-black mist all over the inside of the truck.  The zombie had tumbled out of the cab and landed on the back of the woman zombie.  The added weight had been too much for Frank to hold.

His screams told them all they needed to know:  Frank was a goner.  Without a word, Jimmy G shouldered the rifle.  After a moment to steady his aim, and get his breathing under control, he slowly squeezed the trigger.

The rifle slammed into his shoulder.  Frank’s screaming instantly stopped as the 165 grain bullet tore through his skull at about 2700 feet per second.  The resulting overpressure caused the contents of Frank’s skull to partially liquefy as it exited from the three inch hole under his chin.

The zombie didn’t take notice of the fact that her prey had stopped moving.  She continued to tear into his flesh ravenously.  It wasn’t until Jimmy G crushed her skull with the butt of his rifle that her feast finally ended.

While they were out, a gate had been fashioned through the barrier on the bridge.  The three trucks drove through the open gate.  After they were through the gate was closed.  Despite the increased activity, there didn’t seem to be any undead near the barricade.  Sam sure hoped that would continue.

The trucks were taken to the large parking lot area on the southern side of the island.  There, a dozen survivors were tasked with unloading the containers and sorting through the cargo.  Much of the cargo turned out to be pretty useless, the bulk being electronics and fashion items.

There were some diamonds in the rough.  They were able to liberate a large quantity of toilet paper, paper towels, paper plates, and Styrofoam cups.  Another container was almost half full with dry and canned foods.  One of the cooks told Sam that their food supply had just tripled.  She estimated that the current population of the island could now be fed for at least a month.

Lt Procell had pressed Mrs. Arrington and her middle school science club, as well as three experienced welders, into service.  He and Mrs. Arrington had spent the night before exploring ways to modify the 20 foot shipping containers.  They had finally settled on one design.

Once unloaded, the containers were modified while still on the trucks.  Once modified, they would be placed strategically around the island.  Each would act as a strong point in the island’s defenses.  When someone found fifteen cases of spray paint in one of the containers, it was decided that they would receive a fresh camouflage paint job.

The trucks began dropping the metal shipping containers in their assigned places as the sun began to dip below the horizon.  Lt. Brown inspected the first of the bunkers.  He was pleased at what he found.

The double doors which were on the end had been sealed and a six by two foot door cut on one of the long sides.  The three remaining sides were reinforced on the inside with plywood boxes built four feet high and six inches thick along the length of the side.  The boxes were filled with sand.  Above the top of the wooden boxes, the welders had cut eight inch by eighteen inch firing slits into the metal.  This allowed the defenders to fight from within a relatively bulletproof structure.

There were also foot holes cut into the back side of the bunker near each end.  This would allow defenders to climb on top of the bunker.  The plan was to place sandbags around the top of the containers; when and if they found some sandbags.  Lt Procell argued having two levels would make them more difficult to put out of action.  An added benefit, he had pointed out, was that the extra eight feet of height would give the crew a better field of view.

After dinner, Kerry didn’t go back to her bed.  Instead, she found some wood scraps and a can of gold spray paint.  She took them to the building she had been eying for a few days. The building was the smallest one on the island.  It was located roughly in the center of the living area, across the road from the cafeteria.

She began hammering two scraps of wood into a rough cross.  It stood about five feet high.  She added two coats of gold paint to the makeshift cross.  After she finished that cross, she began another, smaller, cross.  This one, she made with a wooden base.

She had never been what you would call super religious.  Oh sure, she’d go to church with her parents, and occasionally she would pray.  After the world came to an end, she had stopped praying.  The Adams brothers and the hell they had put her and Simon through, had convinced her that God wasn’t answering prayers these days.

But, then Mike had died.  She could see it in Jen’s eyes. The woman needed something, something more than Kerry could give her.  She needed hope.  She could hear her uncle’s voice asking her if she’d prayed for Jen or Mike.  She had known then that the people of the Island needed something more.  When Mrs. Hebert died, she knew she had to do it.  She didn’t have a choice.

She nailed the larger cross above the door of the small building.  On the steps, just off to one side of the door, she placed the smaller cross.  She placed her uncle’s coin at the base of the cross.  Mike’s name tag earned a place of honor at the center.  Below it, she used a small nail to secure Ms. Hebert’s picture.

She stepped back to inspect the fruits of her labor.  She was overtaken by grief.  She fell to her knees and began to sob for the dead.  She cried and she prayed.  She prayed that they were finally at peace.  She prayed for protection for the living.  And, she prayed for the souls of the undead.

Day 40

The Island

              Kerry woke early for breakfast.  She didn’t know why, but something felt different today.  She wasn’t exactly happy; she just didn’t feel as sad as she had for the past 40 days.  As she descended the steps, she saw a small crowd gathering.  There weren’t many, maybe ten people.  It took her a moment to realize that they were gathering in front of her statue.

She could hear people talking as she got closer.  “Who thought of this?”  “When did they put this up?”  “Is this going to be a church?”

She looked at the wooden statue. It was not the same statue she had left the night before.  She saw the items she had placed there before her prayers.  But, there were others.  Someone had left a baseball card, the kind you’d find in a package with a stale piece of bubble gum.  They had scribbled a name on the card.  The name was Walt.  It had been pinned to the cross right below Mike’s name tag.

There were others.  Someone had placed a small pink teddy bear at the foot of the cross.  Several other pictures had appeared.  As she looked on, and the ever-growing crowd continued speculating, Sam knelt beside the cross.  Tears fell from his cheeks.  He used a thumb tack to fix a dark blue piece of cloth too the cross.  The cloth had been cut from a shirt, and had a name on it.  It read Frank Huddleston.

Kerry stepped forward and placed an arm around the big fireman.  The others could not hear the words she whispered into his ear, but they saw his reaction.  He turned towards her and wept.  His back heaved and convulsed as he sobbed into the younger woman’s shoulder.  She held him close.

A black man with a grey beard knelt beside them.  He put his arm over Sam’s shoulder.  Soon, his body too was convulsing as tears ran down his cheek.

Soon another person joined the huddle.  This woman was in her thirties.  Kerry had seen her on their first day on the Island.  She remembered because the woman had had a pink teddy bear stuffed into the pocket of her red coat; the same bear that was at the foot of the cross.  Kerry wept harder at the thought of the child who had originally held that bear for comfort.