Human Extinction Level Loss (Book 3): Liberation (3 page)

Thirty seconds…

Forty seconds…

Fifty seconds…

A minute.

Nothing.

He went in. There were no lights on, but that did not surprise him. With nobody to change the bulbs, they would all have burned out long ago. What did still surprise him to this day was the power hadn’t gone out yet. As he entered the house, a wide hall led back to a kitchen area. To the right of the hall was a stairway leading up to the second floor. He stood in the foyer and looked left and right. On either side were large rooms. The room on the left was a formal dining room. Nothing in there but fine china and silver. Jacob had no use for either, so he went right.

A step down led him into a den. Overstuffed leather recliners and a couch were all oriented around a huge eighty inch flat-screen mounted on the wall. The screen-saver was on and a family portrait bobbed around the black screen. Jacob approached and stared at the family in the photo, his eyes following its meandering path. The woman was beautiful, but not trophy. Three teenagers, two boys and a girl, stood in back of their parents, smiling like they meant it, not like they were put up to it. Jacob became transfixed by the wandering image, of family, of home…

His eyes caught movement behind him reflected in the screen, but it was too late.

The runner came at him fast. It slammed into him, the momentum knocking him to the ground. His pistol was jarred from his hand and skidded across the floor. It was everything he could do to get his hands up and around the thing’s neck. Jacob stared up into its ruined face, could feel the decayed mass pressing him to the floor. The smell, which from a distance he had gotten used to, threatened to overpower him at such close quarters. He could feel his stomach roll and felt like he was going to be sick. Jacob strained to keep its biting mouth at bay. He knew he did not have much time, his strength would begin to fail, but the Undead’s wouldn’t. Inch by precious inch the foul thing would close the gap until it bit him. A line through his own name, then.

Let it…

The words flashed in Jacob Miller’s mind. At first his subconscious railed at the idea, his will to live rejecting it altogether. He stared into the Thing’s milky eyes and recognized the man in the screen-saver photo. Jacob turned his head and looked to the screen, but the family was gone. The vibrations of the attack had awakened the television, only color bars glared back at him. The colors merged and swam in his vision as tears for all that was lost welled in his eyes. His will to live began to weaken. The resolve to let the inevitable take its course strengthened. His arms bent ever so slightly and the chomping mouth got that much closer. The seconds passed and Jacob closed his eyes and began to relax his arms. Sensing that it would soon feast, the Runner gnashed at the air in a frenzy. Somewhere in the back of the house, a cuckoo clock sounded the noon hour. It was then that the television spoke to Jacob Miller.

“This is Nicole Bennett. We are survivors. To anybody that can hear us, and can get here, we offer you refuge…”

Jacob blinked at the sound and he craned his head around to look at the screen. Shock wracked his system at what he saw. A woman’s face, framed with auburn hair filled the screen. Her green eyes stared back at him. Her mouth moved, but he could not make out the words through the hissing and gasping of the Thing on top of him. He began to hyperventilate, but curiosity renewed his strength. With the biter a mere inch from his face, Jacob squeezed with his left hand. He worked his right hand up to the side of the Thing’s head and pushed. Seconds passed as the two were joined in mortal combat. There was a crack and the Runner’s head lolled to the side, its spinal column severed. It went limp and Jacob pushed it off of him. He jumped up and ran to the television. He slowed his breathing and the disorientation passed. Words began to reach his ears.

“
…we’re West of Denver, in the Rocky Mountains. Hit the I-70 and look for the signs. As we get more people to join us, we try to clear the roads as best as we can, but we are asking, if you are able, do what you can to clear a little as you go. It will make the trip for those after you a bit easier…”

Jacob smiled as elation filled him. A light, long dimmed, rose up in his eyes and lingered. He listened as the woman spoke of supplies they had, of things they still might need, but mostly he listened to her talk of other people and surviving. It felt like a dream in which he didn’t know he was asleep, where love could be found, or rediscovered. In this dream, it was safe and warm.

Jacob blinked, his smile faded.

Waking from this dream was a violation, the present reality, an assault. He felt the dream’s deception split the fissure in his soul a little wider.

“Not real…” he said

Jacob backed away from the flat-screen and turned. Retrieving his pistol from the floor, he left the way he came in.

In the den, Nicole Bennett finished her broadcast.

“…this is not a loop. We are real. We broadcast updates on all channels, everyday at noon and midnight, Mountain time. Stay tuned and get to us if you can. This is Nicole Bennett, signing off.”

Four

Beverly crept along the I-70. The big truck meandered through and around the mechanical remains of a lost world. She fought sleep and needed to stop, but stopping meant not driving, meant time to think. She cut a glance over at Tommy. He sat catatonic in the passenger seat, staring straight ahead.

They came upon a luxury bus sitting at a shallow angle across the West bound lanes, facing East. On its side were emblazoned the words “
The Swinging Dicks - Texas Swing Meets Punk!”
Four names were painted under four grinning hayseed looking figures, all wearing big ten gallon cowboy hats: “Max Dick”, “Chuck Dick”, “Hank Dick”, and “Lenny Dick.”

The four smiling faces only mocked Beverly’s pain. She hit the gas and moved around the bus. Ahead of her, the road opened up. Fatigue pulled at her and her head bobbed as she drove. The truck drifted, coming dangerously close to rolling down the embankment. She jerked awake and brought the truck to a skidding stop in the safety lane. Beverly was so tired it hurt. She reached down and shut off the engine. The seconds ticked by and she sat motionless, mirroring her son’s thousand mile stare.

“We’re gonna stop for the night, Tommy, Okay? Mommy needs to sleep a bit…” she said, her voice flat and monotone.

Feeling herself begin to slip away, some part of her tried to hold on. Beverly looked down at the radio and turned it on. A low hiss of static was all that sounded. She checked her watch and saw that it was only nine-thirty. The next broadcast was at midnight and she wanted desperately to be awake for it. The twice daily messages were a ritual that she needed more now than ever, to tell herself that she had not been left alone with her child, in a dead world. She settled down in her seat and gently pulled Tommy to her, for his comfort and hers. Tommy’s body was rigid as she held him. He did not try to sleep, but only stared out the windshield with unblinking eyes. Beverly closed her eyes and almost prayed she would not dream of Mark. It would just make waking up that much more painful.

Beverly had been asleep for two hours and fifteen minutes when something moved on the road in front of the truck. Tommy blinked and watched the figure stumble forward in a loping gait towards them. He pulled away from his mother. Her arm flopped from his shoulder and hung loosely at her side. His movement was not enough to wake her, tired as she was. Tommy put his hands on the dashboard and eased himself closer to the windshield, almost pressing his nose to the glass. Moving to the passenger door, he eased it open and climbed out.

Beverly jumped at the sound of the passenger door slamming closed. She sat up. Disoriented, she rubbed her eyes. It was seconds before she realized where she was, and where Tommy wasn’t. She looked out the passenger side window, then her head darted to the front as she caught movement. Under the moon’s pale light, she saw Tommy run down the safety lane towards a shambling figure.

“Tommy!” she screamed.

Turning, her hands fumbled for the door handle. She flung it open and was almost out, before she remembered to grab the crow bar tucked behind her seat. Her breath came in gasps as she flung herself from the truck and bolted into a run behind Tommy.

“Tommy, Stop!” she screamed as she chased after him.

Her breath caught in her throat as to her horror, she saw the Walker reach out and grab Tommy in a bear hug embrace. It buried its face in Tommy’s neck.

“Noooooo!” Beverly cried in a blood curdling wale as she ran up on the two. She raised her crowbar high and was about to bring it crashing down on the Thing’s head, when a voice cut through her terror.

“Bev, stop!” Mark cried, holding his right hand in a defensive gesture high in the air and clinging to Tommy with his left.

Beverly froze, the crowbar poised above her head. She stared with open mouth and wide eyes into the shadowed face of her husband. His clothes were ripped and torn and he was covered in gore.

“I’m alright! It’s okay!” he called.

Beverly blinked as the slow realization washed over her. She dropped the crow bar and ran crying into Mark’s embrace.

* * * * *

Jacob made his way back through the woods to his vehicle. He had known where the horde was going to be. What he didn’t like was that to rendezvous with the horde, he had to walk.

The hike had been an arduous one, taking him across land and through woods. The vantage point was somewhere his vehicle could not travel, which meant he had to lug his gear and his rifle with him. The horde would eventually come out again to more accessible vantage points, but Jacob could not wait for that, would not allow himself to miss an opportunity to do what he must. Only this time had been like so many other times, no shot, no line through a name, no aid and service rendered. He was moving through the trees back towards the I-70 and his truck when he heard the sound. The sound to him was a second chance. He guessed it was a Walker, but not more than one. Jacob debated investigating, as doing so would take him off his path. It was not so much the fact of leaving one of those things on his back trail that concerned him. The nagging notion that maybe, just maybe he would recognize it compelled him, that in failing to investigate he would fail to cross a name from his ledger, fail to make the most of his second chance.

He abandoned his original path and began to track the lone Walker.

Jacob had not picked up any sounds from the Walker for several minutes and assumed it had reached the road. He was not concerned that he would lose it. If it turned East or West he would be able to see it on the highway, if not, then he would know it had crossed the median and entered the woods on the other side. He would have to be careful then. It was rare for him to see one alone like this, but he figured it must have gotten away from the main body, which is why he could not risk it getting away from him.

Inside the truck, Beverly and Tommy sat and stared at Mark. Shock and an overwhelming sense of relief still flooded their systems.

“What happened, Mark? We thought you were…”

Tears welled up in Beverly’s eyes. Tommy leaned forward and threw himself into an embrace. Mark put his arm around his son.

“Well, uh… it turned into a running battle… I kept shooting them until I was empty, but there was just so many. I was able to get to an office in the back, but the door didn’t have a lock, ya know? I pushed a desk in front of the door, but… They piled against it, kept pushing. The door started to open, and…”

Mark looked up at Beverly frenzy mixed with joy danced in his eyes.

“I had to run. There was a cage, a supply room. That’s what saved me. I found an old tool chest, a long screwdriver. They surrounded the cage, but couldn’t get at me. Their weight pressed against the door, kept it from opening. I was able to use the screwdriver… one at a time. When they fell, the ones behind would trample them or push them out of the way. I thought it was going to go on forever… but it didn’t,” he said.

Mark rubbed his face and ran his fingers through his hair.

“When it was quiet, I pushed my way out. They were everywhere, piled up, scattered all over the room. I just ran, ran out of there. I cut through the woods. I figured the highway would be jammed and that maybe if I didn’t stop, I could… I came out on the highway and picked a direction.”

Fresh tears welled up in Mark’s eyes as he looked at Beverly and hugged his son.

“When I saw the truck, I knew… I knew…”

Beverly cried as she rushed forward and embraced her family.

Jacob could see the road through the tree line up ahead. Parked by the side of the road was a big electric repair truck. It was dirty and smeared with gore. From the dents and detritus covering it, Jacob figured it had suffered an attack, from which he was confident there would be no survivors. He moved toward it, intending to use it for cover as he scanned up and down the highway. Approaching the embankment, he prepared to climb to the road, but stopped when he heard a sound. Instinctively, he crouched low, lying on his back against the embankment. He strained his ears and tried to listen.

Words!

He froze and his breathing became erratic. He felt like his grasp on reality was loosening.

Familiar Words!

“…a mountain facility with food and water. There is housing in the valley below. We’ve been trying to clear that out as well, but it’s been hard. Some of the houses still have some of their former occupants. One of the things we are asking newcomers to do, if they can, is join a clear team. It’s dangerous work going house to house, but you won’t be alone. If there is anybody out there with small unit tactics training, you have a job as a clear team leader. I won’t lie to you, if you can get here, it won’t be easy… but maybe it will be easier than what you’re going through now…”