Plague of the Dead (31 page)

    Sawyer grinned widely.

    “
Got you
.”

PART NINE: CINDERS

Oregon Coast

January 22, 2007

0830 hrs_

    THERE WERE FORTY-FOUR survivors who had elected to join Sherman on the trek inland. They’d been on the move for almost two full days, rarely stopping except to eat or catch short, fitful naps. Sherman had them sticking to the side roads, walking in the tall grass on either side of the pavement. Every time a car or truck came rumbling by, the group would hit the dirt. Better to be safe than sorry.

    Out in the forested wilds of the west coast of North America there were few carriers, if any. They’d seen a half dozen uninfected persons driving by, but no victims of the Morningstar Strain. Sherman had spent his last several hours on the
Ramage
studying maps and finally decided their destination would be a small town inland where they might be able to find themselves some transportation.

    Of the forty-four, only twenty or so were armed. These men and women spread themselves out along the line of travelers, eyes scanning the underbrush and road for any sign of attack. The group had been undetected so far.

    As the sun rose on the morning of their second day, they came upon the village Sherman had been aiming them towards.

    Brewster, Denton, and Thomas crouched at the edge of a thicket, peering out across an open field towards a group of buildings in the distance. Thomas held a pair of binoculars to his eyes, studying the hamlet. The smaller towns were holding out well, it seemed. The lower windows of the buildings were boarded up in a ramshackle fashion and wrecked cars had been moved to blockade the streets that led in.

    “Looks deserted,” Denton commented, scratching his chin.

    “They’re in there,” Thomas grunted, handing the binoculars to Denton. “Got themselves buttoned up tight. Don’t think we should go walking up to ‘em.”

    “Why not?” Brewster asked, shifting his weight, eager to do something besides march. “We’re friendly and we’re armed. They should welcome us.”

    “They don’t know that,” Thomas replied. “Besides, read that sign they’ve got nailed up.”

    “Where?” Denton asked, peering through the binoculars.

    Thomas pointed and Denton swiveled his focus. There was a wire mesh board set up with a nicely printed sign:

    Below that hung a sheet of plywood on which thick red paint had been smeared, spelling out a warning:

    “
Damn
,” Denton sighed. “What now?”

    “Next town’s more than twenty miles away,” Thomas said. “We can try to make contact or start walking.”

    “Fuck that, let’s show ‘em a white flag,” Brewster suggested.

    Thomas half-turned to glance at the private, quirking an eyebrow.

    “That’s a first,” he grunted.

    “What is?” Denton asked.

    “The Private just made a halfway decent suggestion,” Thomas said. “Maybe we can get close enough to parley. They look holed up. Doubt they want to go anywhere. Maybe they’ll be able to get us some vehicles.”

    “If there’s anyone left,” Denton noted, still peering through the binoculars. “I still haven’t seen a single person.”

    “Let’s go,” said Thomas, standing and shouldering his MP-5. “We’ll let the General make the call.”

    The three pulled back from the edge of the thicket, crouch-jogging through the underbrush to where the remainder of their group was quietly waiting.

    “How’s it look?” asked Sherman as they approached.

    “Town’s there,” Thomas answered. “But they don’t look like they want visitors.”

    Sherman said, “Well, we’ve only got enough food for a few more days, and we can’t keep walking around in the open like this. We’ve got to try to get some transport and supplies.”

    “If they’re in there, let’s send out a couple guys to try and make contact with them,” Brewster suggested.

    “The white flag idea,” Thomas added.

    “Think maybe they’ll be willing to deal?” Sherman asked, scratching at a couple days’ worth of beard stubble.

    “Don’t know,” Thomas stated.

    Denton shrugged, and Brewster coughed.

    Sherman glanced at the three, then nodded his head once. “Alright, it’s settled. Private…
Brewster
, isn’t it? Pick two men and see if you can get the locals to come out of their houses.”

    Brewster sat up sharply, looking left and right.

    “Who,
me
? Shouldn’t an officer do that, or something?”

    “Shit rolls downhill, private,” Thomas said. “Besides, it’s your idea.”

    “Yeah, but we’re not exactly in the Army anymore, Sarge,” Brewster tossed back, earning a cold stare from the Sergeant Major.

    “Call it a favor, then,” Sherman cut in before Thomas could rip into Brewster. “We’ll be right behind you. First sign of trouble and we’ll come in shooting.”

    Brewster frowned, scratching a pattern in the dirt at his feet as he mulled it over.

    “Alright,” he said slowly. “I want Krueger and Denton.”

    “You want
me
?” Denton muttered. “Oh, hell.”

    “Good choices. Denton, you’re a smooth talker. Krueger’s a great shot with his pistol,” Sherman said, nodding in approval. The soldier had already done more than his fair share, walking point in two twelve-hour shifts on their trek inland.

    “Now all we need’s our white flag,” Brewster said.

    Sherman unslung his pack and dug around inside until he found a clean t-shirt. He handed the garment to Brewster.

    “Thread that on a stick. It’ll do.”

    It took ten minutes to relay the plan to the forty-odd people in the entourage and for Brewster, Denton, and Krueger to get their gear in order. When they were ready, they stepped out of the underbrush on the road that led into town, Brewster holding aloft the t-shirt flag, Denton and Krueger holding their arms out and to the side to show they held no weapons. Behind them, in the foliage, crouched close to twenty armed men and women, keeping well out of sight and watching carefully for any sign of ambush or violence.

    The three emissaries walked forward slowly and steadily until they neared the blockade in the road. There they stopped, casting glances at all the boarded-up windows.

    “Starting to get a creepy feeling here,” commented Krueger. He was a compact little man, but all muscle, and had been with the survivors since Suez. “Shouldn’t we be getting shot at by now?”

    “Was thinking the same thing,” Brewster said back. He cupped his free hand around his mouth and yelled out, “Hello! Is there anyone there? Hello!”

    The three stood silent and unmoving for a full minute, waiting for a response. None was forthcoming. The windows remained buttoned up, and the streets stayed empty.

    “Okay,” Denton mumbled, taking a step back. “Maybe this isn’t a good idea.”

    “No, wait,” Brewster said. “There’s got to be
someone
in there.”

    “There!” Krueger suddenly shouted, pointing up at one of the unboarded second-story windows of a nearby brick warehouse. A lone figure had stood silhouetted in the glass a moment, but as Denton and Brewster looked up, the figure vanished.

    Brewster yelled up at the window, “Hey! Come on! We just want to talk! We’re not infected!”

    Whoever it had been showed no sign of responding. The window stayed dark and empty.

    “Call the others in,” Denton suggested. “If there’s only a couple people left, looks like we’ve got ourselves a free lunch-maybe there’s a car dealership we can hit on our way through.”

    “Right,” Brewster said. “Sign must’ve been a bluff. Looks like most of this town evac’d.”

    Brewster turned around and waved his arms over his head, telling the rest of the group it was safe to approach. They broke cover and began jogging the several hundred yard-run to the three at the town entrance.

    “What’s the score?” Sherman asked as he jogged up.

    “Nada, sir,” Brewster informed him. “There’s someone in that building, but no one else that we can see.”

    Mbutu Ngasy, though one of the unarmed members of the group, ambled over to add his thoughts.

    “I don’t like this place,” he said. “It’s…
cold
. We should go around.”

    “
Nonsense
,” said Sherman, slapping Mbutu on the shoulder. “We should be able to get whatever we need here. Let’s move in, but let’s keep our guard up. Krueger, Brewster, try to get that civilian to open up. Thomas, tactical column on this street. Keep an eye out for automotive dealerships, convenience stores, any place that might have gear we could use.”

    “You got it,” Brewster replied with a nod.

    “Yes, sir,” Thomas said. He turned to bark out orders. “Tactical column! Civilians in the center, soldiers on the flanks! Be on the lookout for any useful storefronts!”

    “Hoo-ah!” came the automatic reply. The group worked its way around the crude blockade and entered the town proper. Total silence greeted them. Here and there a piece of trash drifted about in the morning breeze and a few wisps of fog still clung to the ground as they moved down the road. Brewster and Krueger ran up to the door of the warehouse where they’d seen the figure earlier and pounded on the door.

    “Open up!” Brewster shouted, banging the butt of his pistol against the heavy wooden door.

    “We know you’re in there!” Krueger added. “We just want to help!”

    The banging continued for half a minute before they got their first furtive reply.

    “Go away!” came a voice from the other side of the door. “Stop shouting! They’ll hear you, dammit, they’ll
hear
you!”

    “What?!” Brewster yelled back.

    The column of troops and civilians had moved about a block away, leaving Brewster and Krueger behind, but the pair focused on getting the man inside to open up.

    “You don’t understand!” the man shouted. “There’s no one here to help you! And there’s nothing you can do to help
me
! Just leave me alone!”

    “Come on, buddy! Where is everyone?!” Krueger asked.

    “They’re… still here!” came the frightened reply. “Get out! Get out while you can!”

    Brewster’s eyes widened in comprehension. His gaze met Krueger’s, an equally concerned look on his face.

    “
Oh, shit
,” Brewster whispered.

    Down the street, Sherman nervously looked back and forth at the boarded-up buildings. Something wasn’t adding up. The town seemed clean once one got past the barricades on the outer streets, but here and there was a knocked-in door or shattered window. Riots, perhaps? Or something worse?

    “Used car dealership, sir,” Thomas said, breaking Sherman out of his reverie. Thomas pointed down the block at a small corner lot filled with older model cars and pickup trucks surrounded by a neck-high chain-link fence and a massive banner proclaiming the best quality used cars at the lowest possible interest rates. Sherman nodded.