Books of the Dead (Book 1): Sanctuary From The Dead (14 page)

CHAPTER 20

Interloper

It was like being released from a life sentence or being exonerated from a crime that I hadn’t committed.  The true believers embraced me again.  The warriors were split, but Greg must have turned the corner with Pastor Steven’s sermon because my name appeared on the duty roster again.  The poseurs put me back at
arm’s length since there was nothing to be gained from me.  The lost still kept their distance.  What mattered, at least to me, was that I was back in the good graces of the true believers.  Kara even started speaking to me again.  Not that it went any further than talk.

I fell into a routine of foraging and search and destroy missions again with each day flowing into the next, usually ending with me falling into my sleeping bag each night exhausted.  Sleep was the only escape from our living nightmare
, and I relished every minute I could get.  That’s why I resented the distant popping noise that woke me up that morning.

The sound of shooting carried our way on the cool morning air, breaking me out of a semi-conscious state.  Shaking off the cobwebs of sleep, I jumped out of my sleeping bag, pulled on my boots, and started for the stairs.  Several other people shuffled into the hallway sleepily, and I dodged around them.

By the time I got to the first floor, a half dozen of the warriors were in the hallway including Chuck, Logan, and Mike.  Almost before I could react, Logan shoved a rifle into my hands.

“What’s up?” I asked.

“Not sure,” Logan said.  “All we know is there’s some shooting off to the west.  Most likely from downtown.  Greg and Jerry are on the roof trying to see if they can spot anything.

As if on cue, the walkie-talkie in Mike’s hand came to life, “Mike, Logan, come in.”  It was Greg.

Mike
said, “Mike here.  What is it?”

“We’ve got shooting downtown from one or two people,” Greg said.

“Is it the people from the hill?” Mike asked.

We knew
we weren’t alone in town.  The school bus we saw earlier proved that, but we also thought there was a group hunkered down on a hill on the north edge of the city.  They didn’t seem to be a threat, and we had kept out of each other’s business.  Maybe that had changed?

A volley of gunshots echoed our way from the distance.  Each of the men’s faces
was etched with tension and concern.  Adrenaline surged through my veins bringing me to full wakefulness. 

“No, I don’t think it’s any of them,” Greg said.  “We think it’s one guy.  He seems well armed and a good shot, but there’s nearly two dozen zombies closing in on him and he’s already put down about that same amount.  Hold on.”  Static came from the walkie-talkie for about six seconds and Greg resumed, “He just disappeared inside one of the buildings and the zombies are following him in.”

“What do we do?” Mike asked.

“Hold tight for now,” Greg responded.

“But he’s on his own,” Mike said.  “Shouldn’t we do something?”

“We don’t know who he is,” a voice sounded behind us and most of us turned to see who it was.

It was Steve Hampton and he was barely dressed, wearing only a half-buttoned shirt and pants.  “We don’t need anyone else’s problems.  We have enough of our own.”

“I seem to remember you were our problem once and we saved your sorry ass,” I said.  That shut him up. 

Pastor Stevens came around a corner looking fresher than any of the rest of us and said, “Now Joel, you don’t have to be so harsh.”  

I felt my cheeks go flush, but I don’t think Pastor Stevens really felt all that much differently than me.

Greg chimed in over the radio, “We hold tight and absolutely make sure there’s not more people down there and then we’ll decide.” 

At this point, there was no clear winner in the debate, but things would change quickly.   Greg kept us informed every few minutes of what was going
on downtown and it seemed like the guy was holding his own, moving from building to building, staying just ahead of the gathering horde.  After about twenty minutes, he handed the spotter duties over to Jerry and headed down to us.

He didn’t look all too happy when he walked into our midst.  “We may have a problem.  He’s heading our way.  If he gets too close that means we’ll be risking having a horde coming down on us.”

“So, we’re going out to help him?”  Mike asked.

“It looks that way,” Greg said.  “Let’s get two teams ready.  One will head south and the other will head north in case he veers this way.  First priority, is to make sure the zombies do not congregate anywhere near the church.  Second is to find out if this guy is worth saving.  Chuck and Joel, come with me.  We’re heading south.  Mike, Logan, and Willy, you guys head north.  We take vehicles and then get out on foot to see what this guy’s up to.  If the horde is getting too close, we use the vehicles to draw them away.  Everybody good with this?”

Steve Hampton started to raise his hand.

“Everybody but you,” I said.

“But --,” Hampton tried to get out, but Greg cut him off.

“There’s no debate here.  You’re not going, so you’re not at risk.”

“I’m talking about the good of everyone,” Hampton said, trying to get a foot in the door.

“This is for everyone’s good.  We don’t need another long siege of zombies outside for days.  Now, please, drop it,” Greg said
with some heat in his tone.  Hampton did.

We stayed in constant contact with each other as Jerry gave us “eye in the sky” reports every few minutes from his perch on the roof.  The man running from the zombies moved off the main street and alternated between running and then turning back to shoot.  The reports of his shots echoed through the streets and drew more and more of the undead.  The whole mass of them wasn’t as large as the horde that had come down on the church a few weeks ago, but it was still larger at than any of us wanted to face.

“I can’t tell what he’s doing,” Greg said as
he navigated in an arc around the downtown, working his way back up to where the man was.  “This doesn’t make a lot of sense.  A lone person shouldn’t engage a group like this.  He should keep his head down and run for it.  And why is he on foot?”  The argument seemed to be more rhetorical than anything else so Chuck and I just listened.  Chuck was a man of few words, anyway. 

“Where is he now?”  Greg asked into the walkie-talkie.

“He’s almost to Gay Street on the south side of the street,” Jerry responded from his roof view.  

“Mike, where are you?” Greg asked.

“We’re just past the post office with a clear view down Gay Street,” Mike responded.  “You want us to move in and pick him up?”

“Negative.  We don’t know if this guy is friend or foe.  Besides, if he continues going the way he is, he’ll be closer to us.  Stand by.”

Greg drove us down an alley between 3rd and 4th Streets, just nudging the SUV’s nose out from behind a one story building on 4th.  The sound of shots drifted our way.  All our eyes were locked on a group of buildings along Gallia that ran from the downtown eastward toward the church and then ultimately into the next town. 

We heard a few more shots and a man dressed in jeans and an army jacket popped out on the backside of the VA clinic.  He was wearing a sizable backpack and was carrying an assault rifle.  He looked back the way he ha
d come and then into the expansive municipal parking lot between us and him.  It must have looked like the Grand Canyon.  Running across that parking lot would leave him without a lot of cover with exception of the few cars still in the lot.  I could see him calculating his chances of making it across the lot or taking his chances of continuing east.  Either way left him exposed for long distances.

“We could be in that lot and to
him in ten seconds,” I said, watching the man back step away from the building while firing into the shadows between the two buildings.  I could only imagine that he was firing on a shambling horde of undead.  Maybe he could stack a few of them up there and then make a dash for it.

“We don’t know who he is and what he wants,” Greg said.

“We’re not finding out sitting here and may never get to if the deaders over run him.” I said.

I could sense a battle raging be
hind Greg’s expression and I could imagine that he didn’t like taking advice from a whelp like me.  After a few seconds he brought the walkie-talkie to his mouth, “We’re moving up to get closer.  If this guy looks friendly at all, we’ll pick him up.”

He took his foot off the brake and edged northward past the building we had been hiding behind
, across 4th street into another parking lot, and positioned the SUV behind a building that was used for campus ministry before the Outbreak. 

Just before we ducked completely out of view Chuck said, “He’s making a run for it.” 

Before we stopped, Greg turned to Chuck and said, “Take the wheel.  Joel, come with me.”

While the safety of the vehicle seeme
d a lot more comforting than being out in the open and exposed, I fought my basic nature. I hopped out to follow Greg to the corner of the building where we would have a good vantage point.

When we got to the corner, I could see
the man chugging across the parking lot.  A few zombies must have broken free of the scrum of ones he had shot because a small group of them were about forty feet behind him moving out of the shadows of the buildings.  He was so intent on getting away, he didn’t even look our way and, frankly, I’d probably be more focused if I had thirty to more zombies hot on my tail, too.

His lead was cut in half when he had to climb over a set of cars that blocked his exit.  He took the moment to turn and fi
re back into the crowd.  He was a lot more controlled than I would ever be as he got headshots more often than not.

Greg waved a hand, hoping to catch his
attention.  If he didn’t see us soon, we’d be chasing him to the college and then over the levee to the river, where he would quickly run out of room.  So, I took the initiative and fired a single round into the air.

Greg, surprised by
my action, wheeled on me in near shock.

“He was going to get past us,” I said, shrugging.

My shot caught the man’s attention and he stopped dead in his tracks, looking at us and then back at his pursuers.  He had to know that his only hope besides trusting us, was to lose the zombies in the campus buildings, but he’d likely encounter more there.

Greg and I waved frantically trying to communicate that he should head in our dire
ction.  Our persuasive salesmanship must have convinced him because he broke from his southward path and veered in our direction.  Of course, that meant his undead friends wanted in on the action so our stealthy maneuvers would soon be for naught.  

“When he gets here, I’m taking his rifle.  You get his backpack and any other weapons you can find and get in the front with Chuck.  I’ll get in the back with him,” Greg said.  “In the meantime, I’ll see what I can do about slow
ing up the zombies.”  Greg dropped to one knee and braced his shoulder against the side of the building.  He brought his rifle up and took quick aim, firing off a half dozen shots.  Six of the undead pursuers fell, bringing down an equal amount behind them in a tangled pile of bodies. This allowed our man to put some more distance between him and the group.

The man didn’t even look back and sped towards us.
I noticed a lone zombie shambling onto the scene from the northeast.  This one must have been the Olympic sprinter of the zombie world because even moving at the zombie shuffle, it was closing ground quickly on an intercept path for the man. 

I shouldered my weapon and took careful aim.  My first shot flew harmle
ssly past the zombie, then I overcorrected, sending a bullet off the asphalt.  I collected myself and remembered some of Mike’s training, took a breath, let it out and pulled the trigger. 

Mr. Zombie Sprinter suddenly lost his livelihood as I blasted off his left knee
cap.  He sprawled face-first across the street, leaving a trail of blood streaming out of the wound.  He was a persistent bugger and tried valiantly to get back up, only to collapse again as the leg gave out.

The man hit the street and was to us in six bounding strides.  He was barely breathing hard.

“Hey, thanks,” he said as he looked back over his shoulder.  “I wasn’t sure how I was going to get away from those suckers.” 

Greg pulled back from his shooting stance and stuck out a hand.  The man took it as an offer to shake hands, but Greg withdrew his hand.

“Give me your weapon,” Greg said in a neutral tone.

“What?”
the man asked, bewildered.

“Give me your weapon or you’re walking,” Greg said.

“But I don’t mean any harm.  You guys just saved my ass.  I owe you.”

“We don’t have time for discussion.  We don’t know you.  You either give us your gun and we let you ride with us or you’re on your own.”

The man took a look over his shoulder, calculated the amount of seconds he would live if we left him on the street and handed over his rifle.