Refuge From The Dead (Book 1): Lockdown (17 page)

CHAPTER 27

Travis loaded cases of ammunition into the back of the Bronco. While he didn’t grab everything he had, there was more than enough to go round once they got to Black Mountain. He wanted to keep another cache of ammo at home, just in case. The drive to the prison wasn’t a long one, around seven or eight miles, so getting back to the house wouldn’t be too much of an issue. Since there was an abundant amount of firearms available at the prison, he didn’t concern himself with getting any more rifles aside from his HK416 and Michael’s SCAR-L. Most of the rifles he owned were M4 variants of some sort. There were a dozen more in the wall safes, again, just in case.

Michael grabbed a box of MREs from Travis’ prepper stash. What surprised him about the last twenty-four hours was his clarity. Never before had he been so clearly been able to make decisions. Second-guessing himself had been in his nature for as far back as he could remember. Now it seemed like he could free up some of his brainpower. He didn’t have to worry about paying the power bill, trying to get gas money for work, or any other doldrums of day-to-day living. When an issue had come up, he’d tackled it with relative ease. That wasn’t to say there wouldn’t be bigger problems down the road, but they seemed like they still wouldn’t come close to the terrors of the “American dream.” Working forty-plus hours a week, and for what? Just to able to keep that meager “dream” alive. Whatever thought Michael had about trying to retire had passed years ago. He was convinced he would work until the day he died. That was one of the few beliefs still holding true now that the dead had risen.

Manual labor was making a comeback, however.

“How much do we realistically need to take with us, Travis? The prison has plenty enough food. Mostly non-perishable stuff, too,” Michael said, handing another box to load. Travis had opted to take his own vehicle as opposed to leaving it. He said that it was more likely that his truck would get stolen than his guns.

“You think I been savin’ this shit up for no reason? Half this stuff I bought on a whim. Didn’t figure I’d ever get any use out of it. I plan on getting
plenty
of use now,” Travis replied, putting a case of bottled water into his truck. “Plus, there’s no guarantee of us making it to Black Mountain. If we get stranded – or worse – I want to able to keep us alive.”

“Black Mountain will be fine, Travis,” Michael said. He watched as Betty and Lindsey put Anna in the Bronco, strapping her into her car seat. “Breaks my heart about Anna, though.”

“What, growing up around this? Better that she grow up around it and get used to it than be like us. We’ve lived our entire lives thinking something like this is science fiction. We always thought something like this was just the stuff or horror movies. She will grow up not being surprised of anything. If the world returns to normal, then we might have a problem. The way I see it though, we’ve taken a big step away from ‘normal’ for quite a while.”

“Is it bad that I function better around this?”

Travis grinned. “No more power bill, no more rent, no more worrying about making a car payment. You know what that is? It’s survival instinct. Take away all the modern bullshit that people get used to and let them see what they can do. You’ve got the ability to compartmentalize. That shit will come in handy nowadays.”

“Yeah, I suppose. When decision time comes, it won’t be up to me. I have plenty of help at Black Mountain.”

“Yeah, I’ve been meaning to ask. How many people ya’ll got left?”

Michael closed the hatch on the Bronco. “Last count was thirteen officers including myself and Helton. Add in Trent and that should put us at fourteen total. I doubt all of them have stayed, though.”

Travis frowned. “Why do you say that?”

“Well it seemed like there was a little dissention when we left. I can name at least one officer that probably has left, probably more.”

Suddenly, something rustled in the woods behind them. Michael instinctively turned to the sound, bringing up his rifle. Travis did the same. Michael glanced to Travis, and he motioned for him to move forward. Travis stepped forward, moving the HK416 back and forth, scanning for targets. It didn’t take him long to find some. The undead weren’t the stealthiest creatures, rustling through the underbrush and snapping twigs and branches. Travis waited for a moment, waiting for the undead to clear the tree line. Such as it was, he couldn’t get a clean shot on any of them. The silhouettes of man-sized targets were appearing against the sun as it crested the ridge in front of them.

“Ladies, let’s step it up. We got company,” Michael said.

Ryan came around the passenger’s side of the Bronco, raising the 870 as he did. All three men moved forward as Trent helped Betty and Lindsey load the last of the supplies into Travis’ Silverado.

“Come on, ladies. We need to get you in the…” Trent started. As he ushered Betty into the passenger’s seat of the Silverado, he noticed more noise coming from the woods in front of the vehicles. “Caine! Helton! We got company over here, too!”

“Cover him, Ryan,” Michael said. He swung his SCAR over his head and stalked in the opposite direction, moving towards Trent. What Trent heard now appeared in the middle of the road. Two deer sprang onto the gravel, and disappeared just as quickly. Michael lowered his SCAR.

“Shit. You scared the shit out of me Trent,” Michael said.

Trent turned to him and shrugged. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“If you two are done playing with Bambi, we got plenty to do over here,” Helton said. No sooner had the words escaped his mouth, the first shot was fired.

Michael swung his rifle back around to the rear of the vehicles, watching Travis squeeze off well-placed rounds. One after another, infected began to pour out of the woods. At first, two or three undead randomly wandered through the brush, followed by a half-dozen more. Travis fired one shot after another, the HK416 barely making a loud snap. The suppressor was doing an excellent job at keeping the sound down on the rifle.

Michael’s SCAR was not suppressed, however.

The rifle’s report startled Ryan as well as the girls. Even though Michael couldn’t hear well from the unsuppressed SCAR’s violent blast, he could still make out the cry of his infant daughter. Something broke inside him, and it damn near made him cry. Throughout all that Anna had endured in her short life, she never cried in fear. She belted out now that cry. The sound of uncertainty, the sound of needing her father; it was heartbreaking for Michael. Since Anna had been born, Lindsey had told him that he was just a big teddy bear now. He’d never been particularly emotional, but now those emotions were bubbling to the surface, threatening to escape. One emotion finally burst forth.

Anger.

Michael gritted his teeth to the point of breaking them. His hands gripped the rifle as if it were trying to leap out of his hands. Looking through the ACOG, he lined up the first headshot, a man in RealTree camouflage. Hunters were common in the area, just not this time of year.
Damn poachers. Doesn’t deserve to die but, oh fucking well,
Michael thought. He squeezed the trigger and the hunter’s head popped, the shot going through just above his right eye. Before the undead poacher could hit the ground, Michael lined up another shot. He squeezed the trigger, the rifle roaring another 5.56mm round towards a dirty, coverall-wearing zombie. As his shot went through the creature’s head, Travis’ went through its chin, simultaneously blowing off its jaw and a sizeable portion of its head.

Smoke lingered for a few seconds, as did the noise, echoing through the valley. Michael loosened his grip on the rifle and lowered it down. It took a few moments to realize the threats were gone, at least for the moment. Anna’s cries were the only thing he could hear for a minute. Whatever force her fear had on him wasn’t letting go. He needed to get her safe. The shrill cry was sure to attract more zombies. Travis lowered his rifle and turned to Michael.

“That’s our cue, Mike.”

Michael nodded. “Damn straight.”

Travis lowered his rifle and brought his eyes to the sky. The crimson and orange trails of clouds looked as if the world was on fire. Travis couldn’t help but smirk a little as he gazed skyward. Michael noticed his father-in-law fixated on the heavens.

“What is it?” Michael asked.

Travis didn’t take his eyes off the sky. “Red sky in the morning…”

CHAPTER 28

When dealing with the undead, sometimes it’s best to do what is necessary, even if the idea is somewhat crazy. For example, the remaining officers at Black Mountain had decided to load up as many guns that they could and take the undead horde head-on. The sound was going to draw more out of the woodwork, but they planned on turning a good portion of the prison’s ammo supply into smoke and noise. There were thousands of rounds available, so taking out a hundred or so zombies wasn’t going to put a large dent in their supply.

An army it was not. After losing Captain Winston and Officer Henderson, they were down to a select few. Four, to be exact. Putnam, Lane, Grant, and Nate Freeman were it. Freeman was the last to show up in the Master Control room. After scouring the other buildings for any other officers, he’d come up short. What few officers were left had abandoned post, leaving without so much as a ‘goodbye.’ Lane tossed a Glock holster at Freeman as he entered the control room. Freeman caught it and gave her a puzzled look.

“What’s this for? I’ve already got a holster and a Glock, Lane.”

“That’s a left-handed holster, Freeman. Might as well carry two. Twice the guns, twice the firepower,” Lane answered.

“Why can’t I just carry extra mags?” Freeman asked.

Lane rolled her eyes. “Jesus, Freeman. Just take the damn gun. We’ve got plenty of them to go ‘round.” Lane handed Freeman a second Glock. Grant and Putnam came into the control room, both carrying AR-15s.

“So what’s the plan?” Freeman asked.

“Putnam and I will take out as many as we can from the towers. Hopefully, the sound will draw them away from the front doors. Once they do, you and Lane can get out there and start taking shots on the closest ones. Remember, you have to shoot ‘em in the head. Anything other than that will just piss ‘em off,” Grant said.

“All right. What are we waiting for?” Freeman asked.

Grant and Putnam exchanged a look and shrugged. Without a word, they both left the control room and headed towards their respective towers.

Lane racked her Glock and put it in her holster. She took a deep breath.
I don’t like this,
she thought. She didn’t have a lot of practice at working with others. Being stuck in Master Control didn’t give her a lot of time with the other officers. Most of her interactions were over the phone, answering incoming calls and transferring them to other offices in the institution. Matter of fact, she could hear the phone ringing most nights in her sleep.

It rang.

It rang, but not in her sleep. The damn phone was ringing! Lane darted over to the phone, haphazardly grabbing it up and bringing it to her ear. The line crackled, like it had a bad connection. For a moment, all she could hear was static.

“Hello? Hello? Can you hear me?” Lane asked, her heart thundering.

“…Shannon…there?”

Lane’s heart skipped a beat. She couldn’t believe her ears.

“Mom?”

The line went dead.

* * *

Harold Poston ran for his life.

Low on ammo and high on adrenaline, he ran like a madman. The undead had spotted him coming quite a while away. He couldn’t do anything about getting around them, so he’d decided to take them head on, going right through the horde. He didn’t have the energy to keep running at his current pace. With his Glock in one hand and a tomahawk in the other, he shot and swung his way through. His right hand jumped from the recoil of the handgun as his left hand kept chopping away like a mad Apache. As the slide locked back on the Glock, he had the presence of mind to shove the pistol into the holster. He wouldn’t last long without the gun. Hell, he might not last long
with
it, for that matter.

There were hundreds of zombies roaming the streets of Bluefield right now, and it seemed like they were converging on him all at once.

“Come on, you motherfuckers!” Poston grunted out, swinging the tomahawk into the skull of another zombie. After having his car stolen at Wal-Mart a couple hours ago, he’d ran back inside the store to get what he could. While there had been plenty of clothes available, the sporting goods section had been cleared out. No ammo, no guns, nothing firearm-related remained. The undead outside prompted him to start looking for something else. That’s when he spotted the SOG tomahawk hanging on the rack. Oddly enough, it was one of the few things not taken by looters. He’d grabbed a black SOG backpack and stuffed it with an extra tomahawk and as many protein bars and Gatorade that he could handle. The extra weight slowed him down, but without some food, he was as good as dead. Eventually his calories would run out, and his energy would go with it. He’d scarfed down two bars and a Gatorade before leaving. As he’d exited the store, the undead were waiting. He never did see who took the car, but it really didn’t matter. He should have never stopped at the store, but he was running low on ammo, not just for the Glock, but also for the 870MCS that he’d left in the car. The shotgun was gone now, as were his options. He had to get moving, and he didn’t have time to try and find another vehicle in the parking lot. Unfortunately, he was going to need some wheels soon, but there was a time and a place for that. The dead weren’t going to wait for him to hotwire something.

Which led him to his current situation.

The tomahawk made a satisfying crunch as the spiked end was driven into another zombie. The creature fell to the ground, sliding off the spike. As soon as the hatchet was clear, Poston was looking for another victim, swinging the hawk’s blade end into another zombie. The impact nearly split the creature’s skull in half. As he pulled the hatchet back, he heard a loud snap, followed by a searing pain in his right arm, just below his shoulder.

“Fuck!” Poston screamed, nearly dropping the tomahawk. He stumbled forward, trying to stay mobile. If he stopped right now, he was as good as dead. Searing pain shot through his arm. For a moment, he couldn’t figure out what the source of the pain was. He quickly looked around, praying that one of the undead hadn’t taken a chunk out of his arm. If you got bit, that was it. You were dead. You might not die right away, but you would die nonetheless. The horde was still suffocating, but their attention was drawn elsewhere. For some reason, they didn’t seem that interested in him, they were focused on something else. As he regained his bearings, he figured out what it was.

A gunshot cracked through the air.

The shot was close enough to take out a shambling walker five feet away. Blood and brains splattered the ground in front of him. Someone was shooting and judging by the sound, it wasn’t far off. Another snap whizzed by his head. Someone was shooting indiscriminately. As far as the shooter knew, Poston was just another zombie shambling through the crowd. He was lucky he hadn’t taken a round to the head yet. As Poston picked up speed, the gunshots frequency picked up. Zombies were falling left and right. As if the stench of death wasn’t bad enough, he had to deal with the miasma of death and brain matter. The smell made him gag, but he kept on, finally clearing the biggest portion of the horde. He didn’t have time to stop and admire his new view, he needed some wheels and how.

Poston rounded the next corner, ducking behind an apartment complex. As he stood panting, the warmth was spreading throughout his torso. As he pulled his shirt down to look, he was surprised how much it was bleeding. The round had torn through a meaty part of his shoulder. A few more inches to the left and he would have a new hole to breathe from. Poston flung the backpack off his back and rooted around until he found the makeshift first aid kit that he’d assembled at Wal-Mart. It wouldn’t be enough to keep him alive if he didn’t get to where he was going, and quickly. Biting the 4x4 gauze pads open, he grabbed and stuffed a handful of them on the wound. He wouldn’t be able to run much further holding the bleeding at bay.

“Shit! Shit! Shit!” Poston hissed.

Gotta find a car.

Poston blew out a long breath, the cool September air fogging in front of him. About a quarter mile ahead, he spotted Cole’s used car lot.

“Hot damn!” he exclaimed. Poston stuffed more gauze pads against the wound, and then pulled his shirt down to hold it in place. It wouldn’t last long, but maybe long enough. He looked over his shoulder and watched as the undead shambled away, still drawn by the sporadic gunfire. He was getting dizzy. God knows how much blood he’d lost already. He bit his lip and forced his legs to carry him onward.

Gotta get outta here.

Gotta get to Black Mountain…