After: Whiteout (AFTER post-apocalyptic series, Book 4) (2 page)

“All
that blood makes me think somebody was shooting back.” Campbell surveyed the
forest around them. “But I don’t see any bodies.”

The
mountain slopes were shadowed by the late-afternoon sun, a slight chill in the
air. The moist odor of loam and rotted wood mingled with the acrid smell of
dying leaves. Back in the old days, the Before, November would have been the
perfect time for a nature hike. Now it seemed like an unending trudge through a
steep landscape that was busy dulling the fall colors toward gray and brown.

All
to chase a promise made by her grandfather, who was probably either dead or
changed into…

…the
thing she was becoming.

She
eased the safety forward and aimed the weapon at the figure coming down the
trail. She had practiced very little, but she figured close was good enough if
you fired enough bullets.

“Rachel,”
DeVontay said. “It’s me.”

I
know.

But
as she sighted down the barrel, she made the mistake of looking at his face.
This was the man who sacrificed himself so that she and Stephen could escape
from Zapheads a month ago, and he’d risked his life to save her from a band of
vigilante soldiers in Taylorsville. And he’d kissed her with those soft, full
lips.

The
anger suddenly left her. As Rachel lowered the gun, the anger and emotional
chaos dissolved. She felt empty and foolish. She needed these people.

“Sorry,”
she said. “I’m just a little jumpy.”

“We’re
cool,” DeVontay said, nodding at Stephen but ignoring Campbell.

“We
might be in the middle of a war zone,” Campbell said. “What the hell’s a
military weapon doing out here?”

“Might
be some other survivors around,” DeVontay said. “But we can’t trust anybody.”

“I
thought this hillbilly paradise was supposed to be safe,” Campbell said.
“That’s why we came, isn’t it?”

“Nowhere
is safe anymore,” Rachel said. “But my grandfather was prepared for something
like this. If we can make it to his compound, at least we’ll have a chance.”

“Nobody
could be prepared for something like this. The sun goes ballistic and suddenly
everybody either drops dead or turns into crazy-brained killers. Your grandfather’s
probably dead and gone to rot by now.”

Rachel
didn’t want to think about that. “Either way, his compound will be there. We
don’t have any better options.”

DeVontay
looked up from checking the weapon. “When the first snow hits, we might wish
we’d stayed in the city.”

“Too
many Zapheads there,” Stephen said.

“Well,
we’re not the only ones who know about this compound,” DeVontay said. “Those
soldiers in Taylorsville were headed this way. And if there were any survivors
from Stonewall. That might even be one of their guns.”

“Franklin
Wheeler wasn’t much of a secret,” DeVontay said. “That group down in the valley
knew about it, too.”

“Great.
So everybody’s going to play ‘King of the Hill’ using high-caliber weapons.”

“If
we lay low, we have better odds,” DeVontay said. “Zapheads respond to noise and
react to violence by imitating it. If we stay out of the way, they may forget
all about us.”

“Genius
at work,” Campbell said, throwing his hands in the air. “So we just give them
the world and slink off into a cave somewhere.”

Campbell
had been antagonistic ever since they’d joined up
with DeVontay and Stephen. Rachel was worried that Campbell felt possessive of
her. True, she probably owed him her life. But survival was going to be a group
effort.

The
Zapheads want to survive, too, and there are a lot more of them.

She
didn’t want to think about the intuitive link with the Zapheads she’d
experienced down in the valley. Bad enough her eyes were affected, but she’d
also endured emotional extremes since the Zapheads inflicted the
electromagnetic changes that healed her gangrenous leg. They’d somehow infected
her, but not in any viral sense—the treatment altered her in ways she could
barely recognize, much less understand.

But
she was still in control. Of course she was.

“We
still don’t know what we’re up against,” Rachel said. “The Zapheads are
changing their behavior. Adapting or evolving, becoming more communal. They
have some sort of intuitive link going on. I wouldn’t go so far as to call it
telepathy, but they’re definitely working together in some sort of socialized
pattern.”

“Yeah,
gathering up all the dead,” Campbell said. “That’s one way to boost the old
community spirit.”

“Remember
what they did at the courthouse in Taylorsville,” Stephen said. “Where the
Zapheads arranged all the bodies around like they were still alive. Like they
were dolls.”

“Jeez,
kid,” Campbell said. “You’re giving me the creeps.”

DeVontay’s
horse whinnied nervously. DeVontay chopped the air with his hand and they all
fell silent, listening to the forest around them. As the soft noises of
nature—a distant, gurgling brook, a breeze through the crisp leaves, the
chattering of crows and verios—emerged around them, Rachel realized how loudly
they’d been talking.

DeVontay
motioned for everyone to remain still and crept up the trail, holding the rifle
up and ready to fire. Campbell’s horse snorted and he gave a tug on the bridle
to hush it. Rachel put a protective arm around Stephen.

“I’d
drop that if I were you,” came a voice from somewhere uphill from them.

On
the granite outcropping crouched a man in a Kevlar vest and khaki cargo pants,
pointing a weapon at DeVontay. He was maybe fifty feet away, his face cold,
eyes hidden by aviator shades. His rifle barrel held steady on his target, as
if he had all the time in the world. DeVontay eased his own weapon to the
carpet of leaves before raising his arms in surrender.

“Anybody
else armed?” the soldier called to the group. “If so, throw it down slow.”

“No,”
Campbell said, sullen and defeated. “All we have is our mouths.”

“Good,”
the soldier said. “Then keep ‘em shut.”

As
the man descended the granite promontory, Rachel’s homicidal rage returned.

CHAPTER
TWO

DeVontay
Jones didn’t like this.

He
didn’t like it at all.

He’d
been captured by a rogue Army platoon in Taylorsville and then imprisoned by a
band of survivors in Stonewall, all while dodging Zapheads along the way. Now,
just as they were approaching the promise of peace and a chance to settle down,
along came another asshole with a gun.

And
Rachel…her eyes…

He
hadn’t wanted any explanations for her odd behavior. Campbell told him how the
Zapheads inflicted a weird hands-on healing of her leg. Despite the strange
glint in her eyes and the echolalia she’d exhibited, repeating phrases over and
over, DeVontay preferred to believe she was in a state of shock. Nothing a
little rest wouldn’t cure.

She
was in no shape to deal with this. And Campbell had been sullen and bitchy ever
since they’d teamed up in the valley. Even Stephen seemed unstable, as if the
trauma and anxiety had piled up on his little shoulders until he was ready to
break.

Once
again, DeVontay would have to be the man.

No
matter how scared and exhausted he was.

The
soldier was close enough that DeVontay could see the single silver bar on his
shoulder. A lieutenant. Someone with experience who might be able to help them.
Or a trigger-happy psycho pushed past the breaking point along with anyone else
still unlucky enough to be breathing.

“What
do you want?” DeVontay asked. They didn’t have much food, and the gun lying on
the ground had been their only weapon. The horses had some value, but in this
rugged mountain terrain they were almost a liability. They didn’t have much to
offer in hope of appeasement.

Of
course, the officer could want Rachel for
recreation
, the same reason
those men in the Stonewall compound had kept their women locked away.

The
sun might have tossed the lid on our coffin, but we’re doing a damned good job of
pounding in the nails. We’re all getting less human by the day.

Rachel
edged closer to the rifle on the ground, her fingers twitching. The lieutenant
noticed and pointed his weapon at her. “Easy,” he said. “I don’t want to
shoot.”

“Because
if you shoot, the Zaps will find you,” Campbell said. “They’re around here
somewhere. I can just
feel
them.”

“We
haven’t seen any for two days,” DeVontay said, wondering why Campbell was
trying to provoke the man.

“They’re
around, all right,” the lieutenant said. “But if you stay quiet, they won’t
bother you.”

“That’s
why we aren’t carrying weapons,” DeVontay said. “They get stirred up if you
fight them. But if you ignore them, they chill out.”

“They’re
anything but chill,” the lieutenant said. “Ask a couple of my buddies what they
can do. Just don’t expect an answer, because they don’t have any tongues.”

The
lieutenant scooped up the rifle and checked the magazine. “M16A2. Probably from
my unit.”

“Were
you battling Zapheads around here?” DeVontay asked, relieved that the solder
seemed a little more relaxed and less threatening.

“No,”
the lieutenant said. “Each other.”

“Great,”
Campbell said. “Only a handful of us left, and we still haven’t figured out
who the enemy is.”

“So,”
Rachel said to the officer. “Are you going to shoot us or what?”

DeVontay
didn’t like the way she was looking at the armed intruder. Were her eyes
glittering? It was hard to tell with the sun drifting down through the
quivering leaves. But Stephen drew back from her as if she smelled bad. The boy
had remained silent throughout the standoff, his face pale.

“That
depends,” the lietenant said.

“If
the Zapheads swarm us, you’re going to want another shooter,” DeVontay said.

“I
thought you said we could just close our eyes and they’d go away.”

“Not
if you’re acting like you’re ready for war. I think they can sense aggression,
like a wild animal.”

The
lieutenant scanned the forest around them. “It’s not the Zapheads I’m worried
about.”

The
moment his back was turned, Rachel leapt at him, a high-pitched clicking noise
issuing from her throat. She caught him in the shoulder, knocking him off
balance and sending the confiscated gun tumbling to the ground. DeVontay was
startled, unable to move, but Campbell rushed forward as if he’d been expecting
her to attack.

“Get
the gun,” Campbell grunted at DeVontay, but the soldier had already flung
Rachel away and swung his own automatic rifle in her direction.

“No!”
DeVontay and Stephen yelled in unison.

Rachel
scrambled up from the mud and leaves of the forest floor. Before she could
launch herself at the lieutenant again, DeVontay tackled her, bracing for a
hail of bullets. He wasn’t even sure why he considered Rachel more dangerous
than an armed man, but he hugged her with all his might. She struggled and
kicked in his embrace, and they both tumbled to the ground.

“Don’t
hurt her,” Stephen yelled, jumping on DeVontay’s back. Even though the boy only
weighed about eighty pounds, his knees drove the air from DeVontay’s lungs.

“Stay
down,” DeVontay whispered in Rachel’s ear, hoping to calm her. But she seemed
beyond hearing, thrashing like a wild and wounded animal. DeVontay didn’t know
how long he could restrain her, and he didn’t trust the lieutenant not to
shoot.

He
rolled her so that she was on her belly, hoping his weight would pin her in
place. Stephen climbed on his back, wrapping his thin arms around DeVontay’s
neck and restricting his breath. DeVontay lost his balance, and she turned
beneath him. Needles of pain lanced up his forearm.

Holy
hell, is she BITING me?

He jerked
his arm away from her face, warm blood staining his shirt sleeve. Her eyes were
wide, and golden flecks shimmered there as if a fire was trying to erupt inside
her skull. He didn’t want to hit her, but she clawed at his face and tried to
bite him again.

“Help
me,” he shouted at Campbell, who was frozen in place. “Grab her arm.”

The
lieutenant shifted his rifle back and forth, unsure who was the biggest threat.
DeVontay hoped the man didn’t decide to just kill them all and be done with it.
But he was more worried about Rachel at the moment. She was scary as hell, her
strength almost supernatural, as if she’d been possessed.

“Stephen,
grab her other arm,” DeVontay commanded, shrugging the boy from his shoulders.

“Leave
her
alone
,” the boy wailed, drumming his small fists against DeVontay’s
shoulder blades.