Warpath: Surviving the Zombie Apocalypse (15 page)

“Didn’t see it,” said Duncan. “But I’m
dying
to know
how it ended.”

Excited by the sound of their voices, the nearly
disemboweled rotter leaned in further, bowing the barbed wire, and took a
lunging swipe at Duncan.

Daymon shouldered his shotgun and said, “Not well, I’m
afraid.”

“Give me that,” said Duncan, pointing at Daymon’s blade.

The machete changed hands and, without a word, Duncan
cleaved the monster’s skull nearly in two. Behind the full swing, the machete
traveled clean through its crown and scrambled its brains before sticking fast
against the ethmoid bone. Releasing the nylon handle which was already being
ripped from his grip by the dead weight, Duncan said dryly, “Didn’t want to
chance ending up like the Jarheads.”

Taking the embedded machete along for the ride, the rotter
crashed onto the shoulder and splashed muddied water over all three men.

A tick after the walking cadaver died for the final time,
the two-way radio sounded in Duncan’s pocket. “Turn yours on,” he said to Lev.
“And tell Motor Mouth he was seeing things. No reason to alarm everyone else at
the compound until we know whether this one was an anomaly or not.”

“I’m from the seeing it is believing it camp, so I’m not
sold. But if you aren’t drunk ... and really saw what you say you did. Then I
think they all deserve to be told about it,” argued Daymon.

Holding up one finger, the universal signal saying he needed
a moment to think, Duncan removed his aviator glasses and rubbed his temples
one at a time. He replaced the bifocals and said, “Make a deal with you. If we
see anything else like we just did, then I’ll shout about it from the
mountaintop.”

After a few seconds’ consideration, Daymon nodded and said,
“OK.”

Duncan shifted his gaze to Lev, who was holding the radio
near his mouth, thumb hovering expectantly near the call button. “Lev?” To
which the Iraq War veteran replied, “That’s fair. The scientific method it is.”

“The hell does that mean?” Daymon shot back.

“Natural science 101,” said Lev. “Seek out
empirical
evidence
that either proves or disproves our theory. It’s all we got since
Old Man here went and offed Bub.”

“Eleven-Bravo my ass,” said Duncan. “You were some kind of egghead
scientist looking for WMDs over there, weren’t you?”

“No sir,” replied Lev. “I learned how to listen to my high
school teachers by following Logan’s lead.”

Duncan made a face and said, “Lie to the man.”

Lev depressed the button. Said blandly, “You were seeing
things, Phil.”

“You sure?” asked Phil in a skeptic’s voice, much
higher-pitched than normal.

Feeling a remote tinge of guilt, Lev said, “Positive, Phil.
We’re heading out now. Back in a couple of hours. Maximum.”

“Copy that,” said Phil. Then the two-way went silent and Lev
said to Duncan, “That wasn’t cool.”

Leaving Daymon to tend the gate, Lev and Duncan walked back
in silence to the waiting truck and clambered inside.

Putting the truck into Drive, Duncan glanced at Lev. “Lying
to Phillip couldn’t be helped. It just is what it is,” he said, letting the
idling power plant pull them forward. “Let’s put it behind us and get a move
on.” Watching Daymon haul the gate open, he tromped the gas and felt the motor
pulling against all that unnecessary added weight. He thought:
Leather,
wood, and stainless steel. Navigation systems and Bluetooth and stereos you can
hear from Mars. Who needs ‘em.

From his post on the hillside, Phil trained his binoculars
on the trees to the west.
Clear.
He swept them all the way to where
Route 39 crested a rise and disappeared on a downslope heading towards the
quarry. Five minutes later, the rotter had been deposited in the ditch and the
Land Cruiser was nosed east with the gate closed and locked up tight. Then he
watched Daymon climb aboard and it pulled away. steadily picking up speed.
Heard the gears cycle through as Duncan wheeled east, two wheels on either side
of the dotted yellow line. Then the exhaust note dissipated as it motored down
the slight grade and the burble got louder as it crawled up the other. After
cresting the hill’s apex the tires disappeared, then the tail lights, and
finally the SUV’s rear end and white roof slipped completely from view on the
lee side and then silence, thick and brooding, was Phillip’s only company.

Chapter 22

A throaty roar resonated inside the garage the second Taryn
started the Raptor. Then a smile, the first Cade had seen in days, formed on
the teenager’s face as she rattled the transmission into drive. She pressed the
accelerator and chirped the tires as it bumped over the splayed-out lift arms
and then shot out of the garage, leaving undead Kirk bathed in the bright
rectangle of sunlight shining in through the open roller door.

“Let’s go. I want us all loaded up and oscar mike in five,”
Cade said, his words nearly drowned out by the Raptor’s throbbing engine as it
rolled past him. Her smile never-ending, Taryn responded with a thumb up and
edged the white Raptor up close to the black F-650.
Yin and Yang
,
thought Cade as the brunette hinged her door open, vaulted to the ground, and
began transferring gear from the other truck. He shifted his gaze up and
regarded the frayed rope dangling twenty feet overhead. Then, after deciding
that closing the roller door without a very tall ladder was too much of an
undertaking he instead directed Wilson to help Taryn and Sasha transfer their
gear and some of the food and bottled waters into the newly liberated truck.

Noticing that Brook had already taken the initiative and was
hunched over and shouldering the rolling gate open, he limped over to the F-650
and let Max into the cab. He climbed in behind the wheel, stuck the keys in the
ignition, and powered the passenger window down and called Wilson over. Once
the redhead was standing on the running board and peering in, Cade handed him a
two-way radio and said, “Power it on and think of a number that you won’t
forget and set it to that channel.”

There was a burst of white noise and Wilson tapped
repeatedly on the rubber buttons. “OK. Now what?”

“We test them. What number did you choose?”

“Seventeen dash one.”

Cade switched his radio on and cycled through the channels
up from 10-1 that it had been set to and locked it in on channel 17-1. He
looked up, made a face and asked, “Why seventeen?”

“Todd Helton.”

“Todd who?”

“My favorite player. He plays ... played for the Colorado
Rockies. I have a bat personally autographed by him.” Realizing that he was
obviously trying to maintain a tenuous grasp on his old life, Wilson flashed a
pained smile and looked towards the gate to where Brook was waiting for him to
help her. Noticing the kid’s moist eyes, Cade pretended to care about the
long-dead baseball player. “Helluva slugger, that Helton.”

Blinking away tears, Wilson made no reply.

Changing the subject back to matters pertaining to their
survival, Cade added, “Lock the channel and leave the radio on and the volume
up. Make sure someone who isn’t easily distracted monitors it at all times.”

“I won’t let Sasha near it.”

“For the best,” Cade agreed with a smile. “The range on
these older models under perfect conditions is four or five miles—but I’d bank
on no more than half of that. That being said, there should never be more than
fifty yards separation between our vehicles.” Then he nodded and looked past Wilson
and into the Raptor’s cab at Taryn, who had just finished loading her gear and
had reclaimed her spot in the driver’s seat. Following Cade’s gaze, Wilson
peered over the shorter man’s shoulder.

Cade reached into the side pocket and wrapped his fingers
around the knurled grip of the pistol he’d stashed there. Turning, he asked
Wilson in a low voice, “Think she’s ever going to give up the wheel?”

“Who knows what Taryn’s going to do from one minute to the
next. Hell, one second to the next for that matter,” Wilson conceded.

Arching a brow, Cade shot him a look that said
Welcome to
the club
. He glanced quickly at Brook and Raven and added, in a near
whisper, “Better get used to it.”

Nodding, Wilson said, “Thanks for the advice ... I think.”
Shoulders drooping, he stepped down from the running board and turned towards
the Raptor.

Cade nearly let him get away but changed his mind and called
him back.

“Yeah?” asked Wilson, stepping up again and poking his head
into the open window.

“Take this,” Cade said, passing a black nine-millimeter
Beretta to the redhead. “And these.” He pulled four magazines, each containing
nine rounds, from the center console. He looked over at Brook, who was standing
near the gate both arms up thrust at an angle—like a ‘Y’—a signal he took to
mean
Hurry the hell up
. Then, inexplicably, an old Village People tune
began playing in his head and he wished he was back in Portland attending a
Trail Blazers’ game at the Rose Garden with Raven and Brook beside him and not
a single dead thing in attendance. Still smiling at the absurdity of the
thought, and going against his better judgment, he reached back into the
console and handed Wilson a second identical Beretta. “For Taryn,” he said. “Be
very careful with those.”

“I know. I know. Your wife’s been hammering us on the rules
every chance she gets.”

Still smiling at the prospect of Brook following her ‘Y’ up
with an ‘M,’ a ‘C’ and an ‘A,’ Cade said, “And?”

“Why are you smiling?”

Erasing the grin from his face, Cade answered, “You wouldn’t
believe me if I told you." Intentionally changing the subject, he went on,
“Quick, tell me the fundamentals of gun safety.”

“Always keep the muzzle pointed in a safe direction.”

“Good ... optimally at the Zs,” said Cade.

“Always keep my finger off the trigger until I’m ready to
shoot.”

“Good. And?”

To help with his concentration, Wilson crushed his boonie
hat down tighter over his head. Screwed his face up trying to remember if Brook
had covered another point. Shrugged his shoulders and said, “You tell me,
Mister Delta Force.”

“Former,” said Cade. “Always assume the weapon is loaded and
don’t chamber a round until you are ready to shoot. But if she told you that
... forget the last part. We’re playing by different rules now. Locked and
loaded is the new gold standard. One in the pipe. Safety on ... at all times.”
He pointed to the ambidextrous thumb-thrown safety.

“Copy that,” replied Wilson.

“Now get on over there and help my wife with the gate or
she’ll stare enough daggers this way to kill the both of us,” said Cade. He
started the engine and was struck by another thought. He reeled Wilson back to
the window for the second time in as many minutes and added over the throaty
roar of the engine, “You better move enough of those dead Zs to give us a clear
path out of here. Last thing we need is to have a femur go through a sidewall
and have to swap tires with Captain Kirk supervising.”

 Applying his mom’s sage advice, Wilson said nothing.
Instead, he nodded, jumped down from the running board, and steeled himself against
the gruesome task ahead.

Chapter 23

As soon as they had crested the first ridge, the rotters
Phillip had described could be seen doddering along the centerline, a small
knot of pint-sized creatures in the lead with another eight or ten forming an
undead Congo line a few yards behind. And in the ten-minute interim since
Phillip’s sit-rep, the dead had only covered a quarter mile—give-or-take.

Treating the dead like little more than an annoying swarm of
gnats, an anomaly of nature that he’d only recently learned to tolerate, Duncan
changed the Cruiser’s forward motion by a scant few degrees and blew by them on
their left, spinning a few around and sending more crashing to the asphalt,
arms and legs batting the air in the process. And as the fast-moving SUV
screamed past the undead kids, Daymon was the unfortunate soul who saw their
ashen faces turning at once and the lifeless eyes meeting his, then the sharp
crack as the passenger mirror brained one of them real good.

“One down ... seven billion to go,” said Duncan grimly as he
swerved back to the right and lined the center of the hood up with the oncoming
yellow dashes.

Daymon couldn’t resist. “Have ‘em mopped up by Christmas. No
problem.”

Duncan looked from Daymon to Lev. “Keep your eyes peeled for
the quarry sign or some kind of unmarked access road which will be shooting off
to the left and climbing the bluff to the quarry.”

Lev asked, “How many miles ahead do you figure that will
be?”

“Not close enough for the rotters to catch up to us — if
that’s what you’re getting at.” Duncan glanced down and noted the current
odometer reading, then, from memory, pulled up a mental map of the area based
on what he remembered seeing from the air the day before which, considering his
deteriorating mental state at the time, was very little. Because he had been so
saddled with worry and guilt after allowing his little brother to go out
without him, even the pertinent details of the initial search were muddled and
ethereal. In fact, as soon as the first shred of discovery had been made,
everything after seemed unreal, like viewed from out-of-body through a thin
veil of gauze. He could see the patrol Tahoe in his mind, lonely on the gravel,
its doors ajar, nobody present—living or dead.. He shook his head, trying to recall
the flight from the quarry to deliver the bodies back to the compound, but that
too was mostly blurred. Rage had prevailed then, and now the byproduct of that
anger—the experienced bout of tunnel vision—was coming back to bite him in the
ass.