Decisions
Me and a dozen or so other people spent a few days running back and forth to Alexis collecting supplies. We stripped the place bare, and wound up with so much stuff that we ran out of space in the warehouse to store it. Bill had to assign a team to start clearing the factory floor. Ethan organized a task group of seven people to inventory everything we brought in. When we finally sorted and counted everything, the compound had enough food put by to last at least an entire year. They also had a large inventory of weapons, and more than five-hundred thousand rounds of ammunition.
A few days after our first raid, Bill caught up with me during breakfast. I was sitting at a picnic table with Stacy, Ethan, and Andrea. Bill made small talk during the meal, and when everyone got up to go about the day’s work, the old surgeon asked if he could have a word with me in private. I agreed and followed him to the roof of the warehouse. Bill told the people on watch to take a break, and after they had gone back inside, Bill walked over to the eastern side of the roof. The air already smelled of burning flesh from the furnace in the factory. Work teams were still incinerating the remains of the four hundred or so infected that attacked the compound a little over a week ago.
“So how are things going between you and Stacy?” he asked.
I frowned, and looked down at the tarred roof between my feet. “I was wondering when you were going to get around to this.”
Bill half turned to look at me. “She is my daughter, after all. She’s the only family I have left. I don’t think I’m stepping out of line by asking what your intentions are.”
I thought about it for a moment, and finally shook my head. “I don’t know, Bill. She’s beautiful, intelligent, kind, and she has a great sense of humor. Stacy is everything a man can ask for in a woman.”
“But…” Bill said.
“I had plans before I came here,” I replied.
“Your friend, Gabriel.”
I nodded. “I promised him I would find him once things settled down.”
“And you still feel the need to satisfy that promise?”
“I do. Then again, I can’t help but see that we have a good thing going here. We have plenty of supplies, and its safe here. Well, as safe as any place can be, I guess.”
“I understand that you are in a difficult position. Just do me one favor, Eric.” Bill stepped close to me and laid a hand on my shoulder. “Be good to my Stacy. She’s suffered a lot. Don’t hurt her any more than she’s already been hurt.”
I looked him in his watery blue eyes for a moment before responding. “I promise to try. You never know how these things will turn out.”
Bill smiled and patted my shoulder. “Fair enough.”
He turned and walked back to the edge of the roof. The sun was cresting over the green hills in the distance. There was a slight chill in the air, and a low fog lingered over the treetops. It was early October, but the weather stays warm in North Carolina well into the fall.
“I want you to know how grateful I am for everything that you’ve done for us,” he said, gazing off into the distance.
“I’m just glad I could help,” I replied.
“You’re a good man, Eric. You did a good thing for all of us here. Come what may, don’t ever forget that.”
I nodded, and smiled. “Thanks, Bill. I appreciate that.”
The dark cloud hanging over Steve since the death of his brother seemed to lift in the weeks after the raid. Steve and I were not exactly friends, but we had a decent working relationship. We respected each other, and Steve began stepping up his efforts to train the other survivors. He set up some targets and instructed everyone, including the children old enough to handle a rifle, in the proper way to shoot. He insisted that everyone learn using iron sights, and issued optics to those who proved themselves the most proficient. I volunteered to pitch in on the training where I could. My marksmanship was good, but Steve’s was superior. I told Steve about my years of martial arts training, and he and I sparred a few rounds to see what I could do. Steve was good, but I managed to impress him by getting the better of him in most bouts. He had me teach classes to the other survivors twice a day.
Bill assigned Justin a full time job as the compound’s armorer. There was so much ordnance to keep track of that Bill felt it necessary to put someone in charge of it all. Justin turned out to be a great choice for the job. He was smart, mature beyond his years, and he had a good eye for detail. Justin got some more good news a couple of weeks later.
Emily was pregnant.
She confided in Andrea not long after I arrived that she had missed her period. She and Justin were not particularly careful about things, and she had a strong suspicion that she was carrying a baby. One of the businesses in Alexis that we raided was a pharmacy, and Andrea quietly procured a couple of home pregnancy tests. Emily used them on separate days, and Bill confirmed that she was most likely six weeks along. At first, she was mortified. She broke down in tears and told Bill about how she got drunk on wine and tequila the first night I was here. The old doctor reassured her that one bout of drinking was not likely to do any permanent damage, especially considering how young she was. He told her to take care of herself, avoid caffeine and alcohol, and let him know if she had any problems.
Justin took the news pretty well. He became much more attentive and concerned for Emily once Bill confirmed that she was carrying his child. I have to admit to being worried for her as well. Modern medicine was a thing of the past. Having a doctor and a nurse around improved her chances, but bearing a child is a risky proposition under the best of circumstances. I suggested to Bill that he choose a few bright prospects to pass on some of his medical knowledge to. For all we knew, he could be the last living medical doctor on the face of the Earth. He took my advice and started classes with a few students the following week.
I wish I could say that my relationship with Stacy deepened, but it didn’t. I kept busy most days between combat training, scouting for supplies, and guard duty. I still came to her bed most nights, but our lovemaking no longer had the hot, heady rush one feels in a new relationship. It was just an emotional release for the two of us. We both put on a brave face for the other survivors, but deep down inside, we were hurting. We spoke less and less to one another as the weeks went by. I noticed that she spent more and more time with Noah Salinger, and I decided that I was okay with that. Noah was a nice guy.
I also decided that it would be time for me to go soon. I was waiting for something, but I was not quite sure what it was. My last two weeks at the compound were what cinched it for me. The housing development that Justin and Rick discovered became our focus after we stripped Alexis of anything that might be remotely useful. It took a lot of effort to clear out all the corpses in the development, but we managed to get it done. Greg and a few others started working on ways that they could better secure the neighborhood’s perimeter and start moving some of the families into homes there. Ethan and Andrea were thrilled with the idea of having an actual house to live in, and not just a shack on the warehouse floor. Aiden was starting to walk, and I imagined him toddling around in a well-tended yard. It was a nice thought.
Unfortunately, we were not the only ones who had eyes on the neighborhood.
Steve spotted the trouble first. One day while he and I were doing an assessment of the security fence around the development, we noticed signs of other people having been there recently. Steve found footprints, broken twigs, and other indications that I never would have spotted on my own. It was obvious that it was not the kind of clumsy, aimless trail that the undead leave behind. Steve and I carefully followed the tracks as silently as we could, weapons at the ready. We found the ashes of several small campfires, discarded cans, empty water bottles, and human excrement a few hundred yards beyond the fence line. Steve carefully examined each camp that we found. He estimated that at least nine people had been there less than three days ago.
“Well that begs an obvious question,” I said. “Where did they come from?”
“And how long have they been watching this place?” Steve added.
We were silent for a long moment in the shadow of the tall pines, maybe hoping that the ashes and garbage might produce some answers. We told Bill about what we found and suggested that he call a meeting. Bill agreed, and the next day we detailed everything we saw to the other survivors. There was a lot of back and forth, and conflicting opinions about how we should handle it. Bill suggested that Steve, Cody, and Stan conduct an investigation and see what they could find out. I volunteered to go with them. That seemed to make everyone happy. We were to track the other survivors and attempt to make contact with them, then find out if they were interested in joining the community. At least that is what we told everyone.
Our real purpose was to assess the threat that this new group posed to us. The campsites we found gave the people using them a good vantage point from which to watch the housing development. They had clearly been there long enough to notice us working among the houses below, clearing out dead bodies. We figured that if they were friendly, they most likely would have tried to make contact by now. Steve guessed that they probably were trying to determine our strength. Maybe they wanted the development for themselves. That didn’t make much sense to me, considering that there was ample room for hundreds of people to live there, but I never underestimate the human capacity for stupidity.
We outfitted ourselves with camouflage battle fatigues, and Steve showed us how to use face paint to conceal our exposed skin. He gave us some pointers on moving quietly through dense foliage, and we spent a few hours practicing out in the woods. We were not skilled woodsmen by any stretch of the imagination, but we didn’t sound like bull elephants either. The trick was to use the natural sounds of the forest to mask your movements, move slowly, watch where you step, and not walk at a steady pace. Easier said than done.
Since stealth was our goal, we only took weapons with suppressors. We found a few M4 rifles that were equipped with them from when we raided Alan’s gun shop. Cody and Steve each took one, and I gave Stan my other H&K carbine. I brought my Kel-Tec and loaned Steve the sniper rifle. Cody took the Sig Mosquito. We did not have any other pistols with silencers, so Stan and Steve brought .45 caliber handguns with them. They promised not to use them unless they had no other choice. Steve fitted some good quality optics to the M4s, and I gave Stan my other red-dot sight. After a few rounds of discussion, we decided that Steve would function as both point man and, if necessary, as sniper. Cody would be our designated hitter if we encountered any undead. The Sig was the quietest gun we had, and if possible we would use it exclusively to kill any infected we came across. Stan and I were riflemen, and we would open fire only if Cody and Steve ran into something they couldn’t handle on their own.
The radios we used had headsets that plugged directly into the handset, and a toggle switch that connected to an earpiece. They allowed us to communicate quietly and effectively, even when out of sight of one another. The four of us brought assault packs with food, extra ammo, first aid kits, water, and spare batteries for the radios. We each loaded ten thirty-round magazines, one in our rifles, and the other nine on our tactical vests. I still preferred my load-bearing harness, but the MOLLE gear let me carry more ammo. Steve had a pair of military issue night vision goggles that he brought along. I thought about asking him where he got them, but decided against it. What difference did it make?
The night before we left, we spent a couple of hours studying maps of the housing development and discussing the terrain around it. We wanted to make sure that everyone knew the lay of the land, and established a couple of different rally points in case we got separated. Our first rally point was the water tower that Justin and Rick discovered. If that was a no-go, then we would meet at an abandoned gas station a half mile north of the development. If all else failed, we agreed to retreat back to the compound. Steve and I got together with Bill, and discussed beefing up security around the compound. After he agreed to do so, we called it a night.
We set out well before dawn the next day. Steve used his night vision goggles and his radio to guide us through the dense forest. We could talk to each other by simply pressing a button on the cord connecting the earpiece to the handset. Push to talk, release to listen. Easy. We reached the housing development under cover of darkness, and Steve set each of us up near the security fence where we had a wide field of view. He took a little time to help us conceal ourselves into the landscape before moving on. When all three of us were in position, he set out to do a little reconnaissance.
“Everybody stay alert, and stay quiet. Make sure your rifles have a round chambered and safeties off. Keep your eyes open, and report anything unusual. Cody, be ready to move if anyone spots a creep. Radio check at five minute intervals. Any questions?” Steve asked.
No one responded.
“Okay. If I run into a situation where I can’t send a radio check, I’ll just key the mike three times, so keep your ears open.”
Everything Steve said were things we had gone over the day before, but it made him feel better to say it. I spent the next couple of hours trying not to move around too much or let my mind wander off. I tried not to think about my rapidly filling bladder, or the bugs that buzzed and crawled around my face. I marked time on my wristwatch, and checked in every five minutes. The only movement I saw was tree squirrels, birds, and a small herd of deer that wandered by about a hundred yards to the south. Steve had positioned my post so that my back was facing east. I felt the sun warming my back as it rose above the horizon. Sunlight filtered through the pine and oak boughs above me, dappling the forest floor with scattered patches of golden light. I was just about to initiate another radio check when I heard my earpiece click three times. I clicked once in response, just like we had planned. There was a ten-second delay, and another click. That one was Cody. Another ten seconds, and another click from Stan.
From here on out, we would check in by keying the talk button on the handset until Steve gave the all clear. I hoped the batteries would hold up. Another hour went by before we heard from Steve. My bladder was a burning ball of pain in my mid-section, and my stomach was growling for food when he finally checked in.
“This is Steve,” he said in a low, hushed voice. “Proceed to second rally point. Move slow and quiet. Maintain comms with each other, but do it quietly. We have company. I think they are well away from you, but don’t take any chances. If I’m not at the rally point in an hour, bug out and head back for the compound.”
We all gave a quick affirmative, and I started making my way to the backup rally point. I moved low and slow, making as little noise as possible. I found a thick tangle of kudzu that covered a copse of dead pine trees, and hunkered down behind it. It made good cover, and I used the opportunity to take a much-needed piss. With my bladder empty, it was a lot easier to concentrate on controlling my movements. My stomach was growling something fierce, so I dug a protein bar out of my cargo pocket and washed it down with water from my canteen. I could deal with the hunger, but I did not want noise from my groaning stomach to give away my position.
I didn’t run into any trouble on my way to the gas station. I keyed my radio and asked if anyone else was there yet. Cody was hiding behind the tree line a few yards behind the building. Stan was still inbound and estimated it would be fifteen minutes before he got there. I stuck to the woods, and Cody guided me to his position over the radio. I spotted him sitting behind a large fallen oak tree, sweeping the road and the parking lot through the scope on his M4. I gave a low whistle, and he turned toward me. I held my hand down at knee level and waved it a few times. Cody spotted it and motioned me forward.
I low crawled slowly to where he sat, and kept my head down behind the tree. Cody had everything beyond the tree line covered, so I put my back against the massive log and watched our flanks. Stan arrived not long after, and he and I crawled away from Cody’s position to try and get a better view of our surroundings. We made it to the top of a low hill not far away, and used Stan’s binoculars to scan the surrounding forest.
“So what do you think is happening with Steve?” he asked.
“I don’t know, but he definitely found our friends from the neighborhood,” I replied. “There must be some problem with the water tower. We were only supposed to come here if the tower was compromised.”
“I’m thinking our new friends found the tower and are using it for themselves,” Stan said.
“You’re probably right. Not much we can do about it right now, though. I’m going to head over to that hollow to the north,” I said, and pointed. Stan nodded. “Cody has a good spot, and you should be fine up here. If I can get up there, we’ll have a three way crossfire set up for anybody with bad intentions. We can use optics to watch each other’s backs.”
Stan covered me, and I made my way to the hollow. I climbed about halfway up one of the hillsides, and took position behind a massive boulder jutting upward from the ground. I had a good view of Stan’s position, and I could cover anyone stupid enough to skyline themselves over the ridge to my left. Cody could see me and watch out for anyone coming over the hill behind me. Being spread out as we were, even if one of us got blindsided, the other two could back him up. Once we all settled in, it simply became a matter of waiting.
Half an hour went by. It was silent save for the sounds of the forest. I was accustomed to the buzz of cicadas, the chirp of sparrows and marlins, and the rustling of pine branches overhead. I could pick out noises not made by the woods, or the creatures living in it. My hackles went up when I heard a faint, droning hum in the far distance to the northwest. The gas station was directly in front of me, and the noise was approaching from my right, heading southeast. It was definitely a vehicle, and it sounded like it was going to pass by right in front of me. The nearest road to us was over a mile away, and judging by the increasing rumble, the car had not turned down it.
Within a minute, I saw a pickup truck crest the hilltop less than half a mile from where I sat. A painted camouflage motif covered the exterior. It had an array of lights across the roof and thick roll cage bars slanting between the cab and the bed. A brush guard similar to the one on my own truck covered the grill, and the body floated nearly a foot above the wheels on a high lift kit. Huge swamp tires with thick, deep treads beat a rapid staccato thrum across the pavement as it approached. Three men stood in the back hanging on to the roll cage with the barrels of assault rifles protruding over their shoulders. From my vantage, I could make out the outline of the driver, and another person in the passenger seat.
“We have five people inbound,” I said into the radio. “At least three are packing heat, so assume they all are. Stay quiet, stay out of sight. Over.”
Stan and Cody gave short affirmatives, and I watched the truck begin to slow down. The annoying roar from the tires lowered in pitch until individual slaps of rubber on tar echoed into the hills. With all that damned noise, these idiots were ringing a dinner bell for any infected within a half mile radius. As they pulled closer, I noticed a sixth person in the bed of the truck. Someone had bound him hand and foot, and he appeared to be unconscious.
“Oh shit, please tell me that is not Steve,” I mumbled.
The truck rolled to a halt between the pumps under the gas station awning. I slowly pulled a small pair of binoculars out of my tactical vest and peered at the person in the back of the truck. It wasn’t Steve. His hair was black, matted and filthy. Steve has sandy blond hair almost the same color as my own. My instincts were warning me that something was not right about this, but the reasonable part of my brain was telling me not to jump to conclusions. Anyone possessing an ounce of desire for self-preservation would be carrying a weapon these days, and the men in the truck might have had a good reason for restraining the individual in the back. I tried to get a better look at him, but he had his back to me. Just as I was about to radio Cody and Stan, I heard the mike click.
“This is Steve, how copy? Over.”
About fucking time. I thought.
“Eric here, loud and clear,” I said in a low voice.
Cody and Stan responded by keying the radio three times. The gunmen probably couldn’t hear them from where they were, but the two SWAT officers weren’t taking any chances.
The other two people inside the cab got out with rifles clutched in their fists. The driver had a pistol holstered on his right hip.
“Eric, Stan, I have your positions. Cody, I’m guessing you’re behind the gas station in my blind spot. Give me one click for every ten yards you estimate between you and the pumps. Over.”
My earpiece clicked four times. I approved of his estimate.
“Cody, do you have a visual on all five hostiles? Click once for yes, twice for no. Over.”
I heard two clicks.
There was a pause. Steve probably took a moment to say something four lettered and colorful. In the ensuing silence, the word ‘hostiles’ echoed in my mind. Steve must have known something we didn’t. He had also managed to spot Stan and me, even though we were both well hidden in the thick undergrowth. Impressive.
“Steve, Eric. How do we know they’re hostile? Over.”
“Trust me. I’ll explain later. We need to take these bastards out. Don’t shoot the driver, he’s the one with a pistol on his hip, and the tall guy in jean shorts, hiking boots, and a baseball cap. I’ll take those two personally, I want at least one of them alive. Cody, you take the one with the denim jacket sitting on the yellow barrier. Stan, the fucktard with the ponytail is yours. Eric, you take the one still standing in the back of the truck. Aim high, I don’t want you to hit the hostage. Everyone clear?”
I hesitated for a moment. I was first in line to respond, and I knew nothing would happen until I did. I had never killed a living person before. I knew it was a possibility when I volunteered to come along on this foray, but the concept of shooting a man and actually doing it are two very different things.
“Steve, are you sure about this?” I asked. “If you’re wrong, then we are about to be murderers. Over.”
“I’m sure,” Steve responded immediately. “These assholes are a bunch of sick fucks. We have to help the guy they have tied up. They’re going to torture him and kill him. Eric, we are out of time, these guys won’t be stopped for long.”
The men below were moving boxes and small crates into the back of the truck. It looked like they were using the abandoned gas station as a supply depot. The man Steve told me to cover jumped down out of the back and took a large gas can from one of the others. He turned it upside down and started pouring into the fuel tank. I raised my rifle and drew a bead on his heart. I was only a little over a hundred yards away from him, and I was confident I could make the shot.
“You better be right. I’m ready. Over.”
“Good. Cody, Stan, one click yes, two no. You ready?”
One click for yes. A delay, one click for yes.
“Fire on my mark. Ready…mark.”
I squeezed the trigger. The bullet hit my target in the center of his chest and slightly to the right, straight through the heart. There was a nearly comical look of surprise on his face as he looked down at the bloodstain blossoming from a hole in his chest. The bullet must have missed his spine on the way out because he remained standing. A couple of seconds later, the blood in his brain began to run out of oxygen, and he collapsed to the ground, dropping the gas can as he fell. The silencer did its job. The man I killed never heard the shot that ended his life.
Off to my left, the man who drove the truck into the gas station screamed when his right elbow disintegrated. For about a second and a half, the man standing beside him gaped at his wounded companion as he clutched his arm before Steve fired again and took his scrawny arm off at the shoulder. He stood frozen, a look of shock and disbelief etched on his face as he looked at the blood pumping rhythmically from the stump where his arm used to be. A second later his left leg gave out as his knee exploded and he collapsed like a rag doll, screaming in agony.
The man sitting on the yellow traffic barrier slumped to the ground when most of the top half of his cranium exploded courtesy of Cody’s marksmanship. Stan’s target jerked twice and fell down dead as two 5.56mm rounds ripped through his chest. It was all over in less than three seconds.
“Converge now. Move!” Steve ordered over the radio.
We emerged from our hiding places and sprinted toward the gas station. Steve emerged from the woods on the other side of the road from me, only about fifty yards away. I was watching that direction, and I never saw him moving into position. I was suddenly very glad that the former Green Beret was on our side.
I reached the fallen men a few seconds behind Cody and Steve. Stan was farther away, and it was another ten seconds or so before he arrived. Three of the men in front of me lay in dark, expanding pools of blood. Two of them were still, but the one I shot twitched spasmodically in his death throes. One of the two men that Steve shot, the one with a missing arm and a raw, bloody tangle where his knee used to be, was screaming like a banshee and begging for help. The other one had slumped down against the side of the camouflage truck. His face was pale from blood loss, and his lower left arm was hanging on by a strip of flesh and a prayer. He had taken off his belt and tied it around his bicep as a makeshift tourniquet. I had to give the guy credit, even though he was severely wounded and surrounded by enemies, he was still thinking.
Cody and Stan wore grim expressions. Killing people outright went against everything they had once stood for as police officers. It was obvious that they were not happy with this situation. Neither was I, for that matter. I hoped for Steve’s sake that he had a very good reason for asking us to shoot these men, otherwise there was going to be hell to pay.
Steve slid the sniper rifle around to his back as he knelt down in front of the man leaning against the truck.
“Where are the others?” He asked.
The man looked up at Steve with raw hatred. He looked to be in his mid-forties, bald, with a heavy gut protruding over his legs.
“Go fuck yourself,” he said with a thick, drawling accent.
Steve stood up and stepped forward, delivering a swift kick to the wreckage of the man’s arm. He cried out and clutched his tourniquet, spewing a stream of curses at Steve.
“Wrong answer,” Steve said, his voice flat. “I can do this all day buddy. I’m not even warmed up yet. Let’s try this again. Where…are…the…others?”
Steve punctuated each word of his last sentence with a little kick to the man’s ruined elbow. He flinched and hissed at each one.
“I ain’t tellin’ you shit. Just fucking shoot me and get it over with, you cocksuckin’ faggot.”
Steve responded by unsheathing his combat knife, grabbing one of the man’s legs, and casually severing his Achilles tendon. The wounded man let forth a high-pitched squeal of agony. He fell over onto his side sobbing from the pain. Steve kneeled down and grabbed the man’s other ankle. His blade bit into his skin just barely enough to draw blood.
“You’re going to die. Nothing can save you from that. The only thing you can control right now is whether you die quickly, or slowly. Personally, I hope you pick slow. It’s no less than you deserve.”
Steve’s yellowish eyes were empty and cold, like a hungry reptile. His face was completely devoid of any hint of expression. This man could kill and torture someone with as much effort as it took me to tie my shoes. I looked at Cody and Stan, and they were both edging away nervously. Steve ignored us and focused on the poor dumb bastard in front of him. I realized that the other wounded man had stopped screaming and looked over at him. He was unconscious. I couldn’t tell if he was still breathing or not.
“Okay, okay, I’ll tell you, just don’t cut me again, please.”
He laid his head down on the ground against the concrete, crying like a baby. Steve looked almost disappointed. I shivered.
“I’m listening,” Steve said, not taking the knife away from the man’s leg.
“We holed up at an old farm a few miles north of here, just off Randleman Road.”
“How many?”
“There were sixteen of us.”
“Including these assholes?”
The man nodded quickly, teeth bared against the pain in his arm and leg. He was breathing heavily, and his skin was as white as bleached bone. Violent shivers seized him, and he broke out in a cold sweat. He was going into shock.
“Give me directions,” Steve said.
The man did, nearly losing consciousness at the end. Steve put his knife back in its sheath and took a few steps back before raising his rifle and painting the concrete with the man’s brains. I jumped when the rifle emitted a muffled crack. Sunlight glinted off the brass casing as it spun through the air and landed on the ground in a chorus of pings.
“What the fuck, Steve?” I said.
He rounded on me and I took an involuntary step backward. I almost brought my H&K level with him, but managed to stop myself. Steve stood stock still, glaring and gripping his rifle. Stan and Cody edged a few steps closer, looping fingers over their triggers. I let my rifle hang from its sling and held my hands up, palms out.
“Look, man, I just killed a guy on your say so. Maybe that’s not a big deal for you, but it is for me. I just want to know what’s going on,” I said.
The intensity of Steve’s glare lessened, and he seemed to withdraw into himself. The nervous tension in the air abated. Steve turned away from me and looked at the ground. Stan and Cody relaxed and took their hands off the grips of their rifles.
“I promise, I’ll explain everything. Right now we need to check on the guy in the back of the truck,” he said.
I realized that I had forgotten about him in the midst of all the bloodshed. I looked at Stan and Cody, and we rushed to climb into the truck. The hostage was lying on his left side. His face was bruised and bleeding, his hair filthy and matted with blood. I drew my knife and cut the rope binding his feet. Stan stepped around me and did the same for the man’s arms. His hands had gone purple from blood constriction under the tightly knotted bonds. He groaned and began to stir as Stan rolled him onto his back. One of his eyes was swollen shut, but the other began to flutter open.
“Hey, buddy, can you hear me?” Stan asked, placing one hand on the man’s chest and shaking him.
He let out a rasping croak and began to thrash weakly.
“Hey, easy there. Calm down man, we’re not going to hurt you. Settle down, okay? Everything is okay now, we’re here to help.”
His panic faded at the sound of Stan’s calm voice. He stared blearily up through his one good eye. He croaked a couple more times, and finally reached up a shaking hand to point at my canteen. I pulled it from my belt and helped Stan sit the man up. He grimaced and moaned when we got him upright against the back of the truck’s cab. I held the canteen up to his lips and slowly poured the liquid into his mouth. He gulped it thirstily, and beckoned for more. We had to give him a little more than half a quart before he was able to speak.
“Sir, can you talk?” Stan asked, falling into cop mode.
“Yeah, I can,” he rasped.
“Can you tell me what happened to you? How did you end up with these men?” Stan said.
The man’s one working eye widened and he began struggling to stand up.
“Marissa! They still have Marissa. I have to go back and find her,” he shouted.
“Whoa, whoa, buddy. Don’t try to stand up yet, you might have a concussion.” Cody stepped in and pushed the man back down. “Tell us what happened, and we’ll try to help you. Who is Marissa?”
“My sister,” the man said. “Those fuckers took her. They caught us while we were out looking for food. They put her in a different truck and headed out toward the old Greely place.”
“I know where they are,” Steve said, as he stepped next to the truck. “I’m going to go and find them. If your sister is still alive, I’ll bring her back. Do you know anything else about the men that took you?”
The man shook his head. “No. They showed up a few weeks ago, I don’t know where they came from. They holed up at an old farm not far from my sister’s house. We were careful not to let them know we were around, at least until today. I spotted them one morning not long after they got here taking a woman into a barn. She was screaming and fighting, and the sons of bitches were laughing at her. I think there were others in there with her, but I’m not sure. Marissa and I have been hoping that they would go away eventually, so we stayed put. I told her I would protect her if they ever found us.”
He broke off, his voice choked. Anger bloomed in my chest. It was bad enough that the dead were walking, but now people were taking advantage of the lawlessness left in the wake of the outbreak to victimize other survivors. You have to be a pretty fucking low form of life to kidnap and rape when there is nothing but sorrow and destruction around you. My hand tightened on the grip of my rifle. I looked up to Stan and Cody. Judging by their expressions, they felt the same way.
“Mount up. We’re going after them,” Steve said.
We took a minute to drag the bodies behind the gas station, out of sight. If any others came by, we did not want them to see their buddies lying in pools of their own blood. The other man that Steve wounded had no pulse when I checked him. He must have bled out. I considered it a better death than what he deserved. Cody checked our new friend’s wounds, and although he had been badly beaten, there was nothing life threatening.
“What’s your name?” Cody asked him when he finished looking him over.
“Robert. Robert Gorman. Who are you?”
“I’m Cody Starnes. That’s Stan, Eric, and Steve,” he said, pointing at each of us in turn.
“Not to sound ungrateful, but how did you find me? It looks like you ambushed these guys,” Robert asked.
“We can talk about that later,” Steve interjected. He was standing by the driver side door of the truck. “I want to find those fuckers before nightfall. We need to get moving.”
We all nodded in agreement and got in the truck. Stan rode up front with Steve, and I climbed in the back with Cody. I took an SKS rifle from the man that I killed and gave it to Robert, admonishing him not to shoot it unless he had no other choice. I wanted him to be able to defend himself, but I did not want the sound of gunfire giving away our position.
It took us fifteen minutes to drive within a mile of the farmhouse where the others were hiding. Steve hid the truck in a clearing, and we proceeded ahead on foot. Robert moved with the soft, quiet tread of an experienced hunter as he led us to the edge of a tree line that bordered the farm. The place must have been nice, once. A white, two-story colonial sat on the edge of a wide field of grass that swayed gently in the afternoon breeze. It was nestled in a small valley between two large hills. The fields extended for a dozen or so acres around the farmhouse, surrounded by dense forest. There was a dilapidated red barn about a hundred yards away. A thick chain and padlock held the double doors shut.
We stopped halfway up a hill where the fields ended, maybe two hundred yards from the barn. Our position gave us a clear view of the house and everything around it. There was definitely someone home. An SUV and a large pickup truck sat in the driveway, and through my binoculars, I could make out movement through the windows.
“What do you say, Steve? How do you want to do this?” I asked.
He stared intently at the farmhouse for a moment before responding. “We wait for nightfall. Until then, we spread out and stay out of sight. Once the sun goes down, we can use the grass for cover to get close to them. Sooner or later, they’ll go to sleep, and that’s when we hit them.”
I nodded. “Sounds like a plan. Robert, you okay, man?”
He clenched his swollen jaw and practically hummed with tension. “They have my sister down there.” He said.
“Look, I know you want to get her back, but we won’t be doing her any good if we get ourselves killed,” I replied. “They outnumber us, but we have the element of surprise. Steve is a Green Beret, he knows what he is doing.”
Robert looked at me for a moment, then nodded. “Okay. I owe you guys for helping me, so we do this your way.”
“Everybody spread out,” Steve said. “I want twenty yard intervals. Stay low, stay quiet, keep your eyes peeled. Cody, watch our backs for undead. Use the Sig if necessary. Everybody clear?”
We all agreed and fell back into the cover of the forest as we fanned out across the hill. Once I was in a good hiding spot, I dug a protein bar out of a cargo pocket and took my time eating it. I was tired and hungry, and I wanted very badly to be anywhere but where I was. I thought of Stacy’s warm, comfortable bed and sighed. With luck, I could sleep there tomorrow night, instead of hunkered down in the dirt trying not to think about an imminent firefight. My mind turned back to the ambush at the gas station.
I had killed a man.
Granted, the bastard probably deserved to die, but I was the one who had done the job. I understood, then, what Gabriel meant when he talked about what it felt like to pull the trigger on someone. The guilt and the uncertainty. Did shooting that man make me a murderer? I thought about it for a while, and eventually just shook my head. What difference did it make? The entire country was dead. Maybe even the entire world. The only thing left to do was survive, and try to help other people along the way. Even if that meant dealing with people like the evil bastards down in the valley below.
Soon, the sun would go down. Soon, there would be a reckoning.