Fade to Grey (Book 1): Fade to Grey (16 page)

“DO YOU SEE THIS?” he shouted at the crowd. “Take a good
look, because yesterday he was just like us; he had a family, a wife and three
kids. But he became infected somehow, so did his wife . . . so did his kids. They’re
all dead now . . . all of his family . . . DEAD!  And whatever happened to him
made him . . . different somehow. Two nights ago this man was probably tucking
in his little girls, reading a story to his son, telling his wife he loved her.
Last night he was tearing the flesh off of his children’s dead bodies and
eating it.”

Several people in the audience puked, holding onto their
stomachs and heaving for all they were worth. Other than that the crowd was
silent, attention rapt on my uncle as he mercilessly gave them the unvarnished
truth. “But that wasn’t enough. Several of you were witness to the atrocity at
site fifty-nine when this guy, this . . . ‘thing’ tore the throat out of
another resident of the campground.” The crowd was staring at my uncle, eyes
wide, mouth open, shock and horror painted on their faces. Uncle Andy shook his
head, his face still red with anger as he laid into them one more time. “I
don’t live here. By all rights I shouldn’t give a rat’s ass what you people do,
neither should they,” he indicated Doc and Sally, Michelle and I, “but we do. So
you got some decisions to make. The first decision is whether you can abide by
the rules to stay here, which includes a medical check. If you can’t, pack your
shit and go. The second decision, if you decide to stay, is whether you’re
going to pitch in one hundred percent to make this a community effort to stay
alive and healthy. If you can’t commit to that, don’t let the door hit you on
the way out. And the third thing is that we’re gonna need some volunteers,
people whose very lives may be at risk, because before anybody, and I mean
anybody goes back to their tent or RV, we’re going to need several teams to
search each and every campsite, tent, Winnebago, and sleeping bag. Because
there might be more of these . . .” he tilted the bloody, axe hewn head of Mr.
Hardison higher . . . “down there.” The silence of the crowd was punctuated by
the meaty “
slap
” of the corpse’s head hitting the tarp as my uncle stood
up.

I’ve got to say that my uncle has a way with words. However
he did it, it worked. We ended up getting enough volunteers to make three
teams, each team led by either Michelle, myself, or Uncle Andy. All the teams
had between five and seven volunteers, and at least one other person besides
the team leader had some type of firearm. Our first task however, using the
campsite tally paperwork that Sally had come up with, was to go down to the
different loops and retrieve anybody that we knew was not at the meeting. Michelle
and I took the golf cart to do that; it took about thirty minutes and brought
the soccer field population up by about twenty-five people. The second thing we
did was to have Doc organize a medical team. Amongst the crowd we located a
registered nurse, two dental hygienists and a medical lab technician. I made a
general announcement at that point. In a nutshell I said that if anybody knew
right then and there that they would not be staying in the campground, now was
the time to go, and if they went it was a one way trip; Ravenwood campground
would not be taking any new applications. My reasoning is that there was no
sense in searching, and potentially putting ourselves at risk for people who
would not be staying. Once again, Michelle and I pulled security detail just in
case. I was surprised at the amount of people who left—fifty-four families
exactly. To be honest, I was pretty sure that for a lot of them, this campground
was not their intended destination to start with. We lost our lab technician
and one of our dental hygienists that way. Four of the people on the security
sweep teams as well. Many of the families wished us well as they were leaving,
but others made it clear that there were hard feelings involved. We were called
a lot of names. Sticks and stones. The fifty-four family exodus took almost three
hours, and when it was done it was almost 4:00 PM. Uncle Andy had the foresight
to bring along the FRS radios from Walter, and we used those to keep contact
between the security teams, the medical team, and the remaining campers up at
the soccer field. Each security team had been briefed on the “Ironfeather
rule,” central nervous system—head or neck. My team had a Golden Eagle loop. Michelle
had Blue Heron, Uncle Andy had the group camp field. Several “be careful’s ”
later, we were off.

Since my team had the largest area to cover, the plan was
that we would be joined by Michelle and Uncle Andy’s teams when they finished
their sweeps. Uncle Andy still had my Mossberg twelve gauge pump in addition to
his 380. The shotgun was a much better first contact choice. The second armed
person on his team was Jason Lambert, and he brought along a lever action 30-30
Winchester. Michelle led the Blue Heron team with her Glock 40 caliber, backed
up by Victor Wayne Chapman, who cradled a fancy Beretta over/under trap and skeet
twelve gauge, as well as his axe. My backup for the Golden Eagle sweeps was a
lady named Brenda Thompson, early forties with prematurely gray hair cut short.
She was a little on the husky side, and that combined with her faded jeans and
flannel shirt gave the impression, at least to me, that she might prefer, um .
. . well, not guys. But she knew how to handle the Remington 11-87 shotgun she
carried. It was a little 410, perfect for squirrels and equally deadly at close
range against other targets. All of the sweep teams had a quick meeting to go
over the procedures. Each site, whether occupied by tents, vehicles, pop-up
campers, RV’S, or a combination of those would be hailed from a distance of at
least ten yards. If nobody answered, a quick search by the team leader would
follow. If nothing was immediately visible during the quick search, the site
would then be thoroughly searched, tents opened, cars examined, RV’S
entered-everything. Any contact with the living would be treated as a
potentially hostile situation, and if cooperation was not established, well
then, the safety of the sweep team took precedence. Any contact with the dead
was also to be treated as a potentially hostile situation until a closer
inspection confirmed that they were, in fact, dead. I reminded everybody that
what we were about to do was necessary to secure the area. No one was to fire
unless the team leader fired first. I made sure that everybody on the team that
did not have some type of gun had another weapon they could potentially use. Baseball
bats, hatchets, a guy on Uncle Andy’s team had a hockey stick, somebody on Michelle’s
had a tennis racket, there was a crowbar on mine. A lot of the team members were
nervous, so was I. Not only for what we had the potential to run into, but more
so because I was not used to working with the members on my team, they were all
unknowns and I was putting my life in their hands. Before we left, I asked if
any of the people who were staying on Golden Eagle loop had locked their RV. We
collected keys from several people, and then I pointed at my master key—the
crowbar—which would be used on any locked RV that we didn’t have keys for. Almost
everybody handed us their keys “just in case.” Sally’s friend Amy—her last name
turned out to be Salvucci, but she pronounced it “sal-vu-key” not “sal-vu-chi”—had
asked for and received the keys to the set of snack vending machines outside
the camp office. She completely emptied them into several pillow cases that she
scavenged from somewhere. Amy had drafted several other ladies and they were
organizing a makeshift food line for the soccer field gathering. She also
stopped at our sweep team meeting and offered everybody their choice. Very few
people accepted, I think their stomachs were nervous enough. Uncle Andy of
course, didn’t seem to be bothered and swiped a huge bear claw cinnamon roll. I
also noticed that VW appeared nonchalant as he scarfed up a pack of nacho
cheese crackers. Nobody on my team ate. Our three teams split up and walked to
our starting points.

The “four-fold” paperwork had been divided out by Amy and
Sally into three piles, one for each of the teams’ assigned area. First up for
my team was Doc and Sally’s RV. I was almost positive that this was going to be
safe, since Doc and Sally had been in and out of it multiple times all morning.
Which made it a perfect icebreaker to practice on. Each team was to report
their findings over the radio, and Amy had assembled a small squad of ladies to
keep up with the sweep teams’ clearing as we went. They were sharing the radio
that was being used by the medical team and kept up with the progress by
marking on a large, plastic coated camp map. After a few last minute words from
me about safety and fields of fire, we headed over to site number one.

The way that both Golden Eagle and Blue Heron loop are set up
is a misrepresentation of their name. They are in fact loops, being that the
single road you enter on at the upper end is also the same road you will leave
on. However, once you actually get down into the loops there are several one-way
“sub-loops.” Each of the sub-loops wind and twist into various shapes like a
partial ovals, rounded triangles and several amoeba-inspired geometric patterns.
After the exodus, my team was down to five members. The youngest was a college
kid named Scott Fischer. His dad, David, was also on my team. Scott was a first
year business major at some college down in Texas and played on his college’s
baseball team. I gave him a bat. He was also in charge of our paperwork,
announcing any details about the next occupied site before we got there. His
dad, Dave, was a Baptist preacher, mom Rebecca was the RN we found. Dave
carried our radio and a stout walking stick. The third member was a guy named
Mike—he didn’t say his last name. He was a stocky guy with a lot of tattoos, a perpetual
frown, and a scruffy goatee. He carried the crowbar. As a matter of fact he
brought the crowbar. My impression of him was that he had probably used it for
situations other than removing stuck nails. Go team. The final member was
Brenda, I’ve already mentioned her.

Site number one went by quick. We stopped out on the road and
announced ourselves, no answer. Brenda covered Dave and Scott while Mike and I
circled the campsite looking for any place that had enough room to hide a body,
dead or alive. We looked in Doc’s car, all around and under the RV. Nothing. Our
plan for opening RV’s was pretty simple. Mike would sneak up to the door with
the keys, checking to see if it was already unlocked. If it wasn’t, he would
quietly unlock it and stand by. I would be about seven yards away, gun out and
ready, waiting. Brenda’s job was to provide backup if something came out and I
couldn’t drop it in time. Scott and Dave were our eyes to make sure we didn’t
get surprised if something came out of another campsite while we were occupied
with this one. After Mike opened the door, he would beat feet to get out of the
line of fire. If nothing came out, then I would have to go in. I went over the
procedure one more time, and then we set up. Even though this was Doc’s trailer,
I think all of us were half expecting a horde of cannibal zombies to spill out
the moment we touched the door latch. It didn’t happen. But we did learn the
first of our valuable lessons that day, and that was the door on most RV’s is
spring loaded so it shuts as soon as you let go of it. Mike was up by the door;
it was unlocked. I was standing about seven yards away ready to fire when Mike
flung the door open and sprinted away. The door crashed against the side of the
RV before slamming shut. We ended up stealing some clothesline from Doc’s
campsite and using it to hold the door open from a distance. Live and learn. Sites
two and three were unoccupied. Four through nine were occupied by RV’S; nothing
jumped out at us though, and a search of the interior revealed nothing out of
the ordinary. Ten and eleven were empty of any vehicles but covered in trash
from the previous occupants. Twelve was our first contact.

Site number twelve had a pop up camper on it. The kind you
pull behind a car or truck using the tow hitch. There wasn’t a vehicle on the
site. Scott checked the records and said that this was supposed to be an empty
site, the family that had been there left after the announcement about medical
exams. Red flag. I reminded everybody to be extra careful and we set up for
entry. It was locked, no keys. We retreated a short way to go over our keyless
entry procedure, which was basically the same as before except Mike would pry
the door open and I would take a slightly closer cover position. We set up
again, Mike moving to the door with the crowbar ready. He inserted the straight
end between the door and frame and got ready to pry while Dave held onto the
clothesline that would hold the door open. A few silent nods at everybody and
we were ready to go. Mike looked at me and Dave, making sure we were set, then
gripped the crowbar and silently mouthed, “One . . . two . . .“ Before he got to
three, a gunshot shattered the silence, then another. A few seconds later, a
third. It had come from the group camp area and Dave was immediately on the
radio saying, “What happened . . . is everybody OK?” Several other voices
asking similar questions stepped over each other on the radio.

“HEY! . . . focus on our task,” I said loudly and with some
aggravation in my voice. “We can’t afford to let anything distract us from
what’s right in front of us, OK?  They’ll report in soon enough . . . everybody
got that?”

There were a few head nods and mumbles.

“DOES EVERYBODY HAVE THAT?” I said again.

This time they nodded with some enthusiasm. We set up again
and Mike busted open the door. Dave pulled on the clothesline, and as the door
swung open I saw movement. An arm flopped out, leaving a streak of putrid brown
on the inside of the door. “CONTACT,” I yelled. My CZ stayed locked on the
doorway, but aside from the arm nothing came out. Lesson number two—in the late
afternoon it’s difficult to see inside the open door of a darkened RV. I took
out my flashlight and clicked it on, illuminating the doorway and area behind. The
arm belonged to a dark haired lady. She was dead. Which brought us to lessen
three, how to check to see if someone is “really” dead. The easiest solution we
came up with, as juvenile and gross as it sounds, was to poke them in the eye
with a stick. She didn’t move. Which brought up lesson four, how to step over a
dead body laying on a narrow staircase in order to search the space beyond. The
answer to that is you can’t, at least not safely. We ended up radioing the
medical team who sent down several pairs of latex gloves. Michelle’s team
echoed our request. Dave volunteered to drag the body outside while I held my
gun and light ready in case anything was beyond it. Nothing came out, so I went
in. There weren’t many areas to search in the small popup, and I was in and out
in less than a minute. We radioed in our find and received an “A
ffirmative.
”
from a female voice who confirmed the site number and that we had one deceased
body, adult female. Dave removed the used latex gloves and left them with the
body. I called a short break for a little rest and some congratulations on a
job well done. A guy came over the radio, someone from Uncle Andy’s team to
give his report. It seemed like everything was going well, until they
discovered two bodies in a medium sized dome tent. They had also developed
their own form of the “stick/eye” test, and were in the process of performing
said test when from out of the tent behind them came a fat, naked man with red
eyes. My uncle turned to shoot, but since they were set up originally facing
the other way, one of his team members was behind him and in the line of fire. Uncle
Andy shifted right to get a clear line just as Jason fired his deer rifle. He
missed. Uncle Andy’s first shot hit the guy in the upper left chest, spinning
him around and dropping him to the ground. He didn’t stay there. The second
shot from the Mossberg took off the top half of his head. He stayed that time.