Season of Rot (25 page)

“Jenkins didn’t mean to, sir,” Matt said,
sensing Warren’s anger. “I was relieving them from their watch and
somehow one of the dead slipped—”

Warren started marching towards the two men
in the field, and Matt fell in behind him without another word.

“Mornin’, boss,” Jenkins said, grinning.
Scott stood at his side, looking like a child who knew he was about
to be dragged to the principal’s office for a spanking. “You sleep
well?”

Warren punched him, and Jenkins staggered
backwards, spitting out a bloody tooth. He recovered quickly, but
not fast enough to dodge the butt of Warren’s rifle; it hammered
his stomach, and he collapsed to his knees.

Warren shoved the barrel of his M-16 into
Jenkins’s face. “I’m only going to ask you once. What the fuck
happened?”

Before Jenkins could reply, Scott said, “One
of the dead was headed into camp. We didn’t see it until it was
long past us. Jenkins took it out, but he missed with his first
shot. It took two to hit it.”

Warren gritted his teeth. He had lost count
of how many times he’d given this same talk to the sentries.
“Didn’t I teach you that if it was only one or two or a handful,
you reposition yourself between them and the convoy before you
start shooting? The things are too damn slow to be a threat in
small numbers.”

Scott and Matt nodded, but Jenkins spit
another mouthful of blood onto the ground and looked up at Warren
as if ready to tear out the man’s throat with his bare hands. “I
got the fucker, didn’t I? Isn’t that what counts?”

“And you nearly got me in the process. If
your shot had been a bit lower, we would not be having this
conservation and the convoy would be another man down. There are so
few of us left already, do you really want to see somebody else die
from you being stupid? I, for one, have seen enough death to last
me a lifetime.”

Jenkins didn’t answer. He got to his feet and
wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

“You’ll be more careful next time,” Warren
informed him, then glanced at Matt. “You sure that corpse is the
only one?”

“Pretty sure. The gunfire will draw any more
in the area to us, but I don’t think we’re in any danger. This area
was mostly deserted even before the rats.”

“Jenkins, stay with him. You’re going to be
pulling double duty today. Scott, go and get some rest. If any of
you need me, I’ll be trying to find some damn breakfast before the
next round of shit hits the fan.” Warren turned to look toward
camp.

Almost fifty vehicles, ranging from a beat-up
Dodge Shadow to a tank and two APCs, formed the defensive circle
around what could be the last of the human race. There were less
than one hundred and fifty people in the convoy, but right now that
small number seemed like a whole city to him. Every one of them had
their own tales of loss and grief. No one had escaped the horror
that had swept over the world like wildfire, and yet they continued
on. Just like him, he guessed, they were too stubborn to die. Maybe
it was just the survival instinct, or maybe it was some last spark
of hope that kept them going.

Warren had lost everything he’d ever cared
about, and he would never find a new life for himself—he accepted
that. He had been a solider before Hell rose up and spilled out
over the earth, and he was still a soldier now. He had a job to do,
and he was damn well determined to keep these folks alive for a
shot at the future.

Inside the camp, families were eating
breakfast together. People were trading goods and services. Gerald
and his crew were working on one of the older trucks in an attempt
to keep it viable. Not a single person appeared to have been
bothered by Jenkins’s shots.
And why would they be?
Warren
wondered. The roaming dead were as much a part of everyday life as
living on the run. It was simply safer to be on the road and
moving. The convoy had the arms and manpower to handle any number
of the dead or rats short of a massive wave, and that was an
unlikely thing to encounter here in the middle of nowhere. The rats
were the real danger, and because of them, putting down roots was
like signing your own death warrant. The rodents had a tendency to
show up on your doorstep, and they always found a way to get
inside. They liked enclosed places where their prey had nowhere to
run.

“Boss?” Scott asked.

Warren tore himself from his thoughts.
“What?”

“Are we moving out today?”

Warren forced a smile, trying to make a joke
of his answer. “Don’t know. I would guess so. We’ve been here too
long already. We stay much longer and the rats may try to make a go
for it.”

Scott laughed.

Warren shook his head, wishing he were
joking, then made his way toward camp.

#

Sitting in the command APC, Mike took a sip
of the instant coffee in his cup, essentially swill warmed by one
of the campfires. People these days loved fires. He imagined they
thought the flames might keep the rats away—they just didn’t or
couldn’t understand how intelligent the pests had become.

No one knew how or why it happened. In the
beginning, there were only a few scattered reports of rats
attacking people, lost in the whirlwind of disasters on the nightly
news. It wasn’t until a massive swarm of rats consumed every tenant
living in a large apartment building in New York that people
started to notice. Even then, the changes in the rat species were
far overshadowed by the walking dead. As the corpses swept across
the nation, eating everyone in their path, the authorities told
people either to stay in their homes and wait for help or travel to
one of the safe houses set up by FEMA and their ilk; the general
population followed the advice and unwittingly gift-wrapped
themselves for the rats. Rising up from the cellars and basements,
or in some cases just pouring through windows, the rats devoured
everyone they found. Humanity had lost the war before it ever
began.

It wasn’t at all like the movies. If you were
bitten by a dead person, you didn’t contract some virus or disease
and become one of them. The dead were merely the tools of their
rodent masters, foot soldiers to a greater power. However, if a rat
bit you, you did rise again when you died. The disease gestated
until the death of its host, after which it rewired the host’s
brain to carry out the will of the rats. Scientists suspected it
was some kind of evolutionary glitch, something new the rats
secreted when they bit someone, something that acted like a virus
but wasn’t. It made the dead into cattle for the rats, both a food
supply and a mindless herd. The scientists theorized endlessly on
the cause—at least until the demons showed up.

Mike shuddered as he thought about it and
thanked God the demons were small in number, even now, five months
after the world had crumbled into Hell.

Mike set down his coffee on the APC’s
dashboard and started crunching the numbers in his head again. Any
way he looked at it, they were pretty much screwed if they didn’t
reach the base soon, and they would need to raid another town if
they were going to keep going at all.

Mike turned and gazed out the passenger
window to see Warren staring back at him. “How long have you been
standing there?” Mike asked as he climbed out of the vehicle.

Warren showed him two rows of tobacco-stained
teeth. “Long enough to see from the look on your face things are
worse than I thought.”

“You’re too good at your job, Warren.”

“How’s that?”

“We have too many people and not nearly the
food or fuel we need to keep moving. If it hadn’t been for you and
your men, most of us would be dead by now.”

Warren grunted. “I could go shoot some people
at random if you like.”

Mike chuckled, though a part of him wondered
if Warren was serious. “No, really. We need fuel, Warren. Most of
the vehicles are running on fumes.”

“You sure this place we’re headed to is worth
all the trouble, Mike?”

“I’m sure. With a few modifications, the rats
will never be able to get inside unless we let them in. This place
is solid. I only hope the military isn’t waiting on us there. They
may not be too friendly, but I can tell you, the place should be
stockpiled with enough supplies to keep us alive and safe for
years. It’ll give us time to figure out how to beat the little
bastards once and for all.” After a short pause, he said, “But in
order to get there, we’ll have to make another raid. It’s the only
option.”

“We lost a hell of a lot of good men last
time, boss.”

“I know.” Mike grabbed his map from the APC
and rolled it out on the hood. He pointed out three hand-drawn
circles. “I’ve been giving it a lot of thought during the four days
we’ve been camped, and these, I think, are our safest targets.”

Warren studied the map. “Jericho is out. That
place is overrun, you can bet on it. And Livingston... I wouldn’t
want to take a team that far from the convoy.”

“Well then, I guess Greensburg is the
target,” Mike conceded.

“Yep, but the convoy’s been here too long.
We’ll have to risk moving as we hit it. Divide up what fuel is left
so you guys can get on the road while my team is gone.” Warren
placed a finger on the map. “I say we move the whole convoy here,
somewhere closer to Greensburg but not too close, maybe around the
Jones Creek area. I want to be able to hightail it back to you as
quick as possible if there’s trouble on either end.”

“Okay. That’s settled. I’ll make the
announcement and we should be able to make Jones Creek by nightfall
if we hurry... But you should know there’s no room for failure in
Greensburg. If you return without the fuel, it’s over.”

Warren nodded and went off to gather his team
for the job.

#

Michelle sat up, pushing the sleeping bag off
her. She clasped her hands and stretched them high above her head
as her long blond hair spilled over her shoulders.

“Good morning, sleepy head,” Benji said. He
handed her a bowl of oatmeal, which he had just taken off the fire.
“Looks like we’re having your favorite again.”

Michelle made a disgusted face and
reluctantly took the bowl. “It stopped being my favorite a long
time ago. Any chance you have some eggs and bacon?”

“We might if you started sleeping around for
it,” he joked. She was his sister, but he wasn’t blind to the fact
that most men in the convoy would give almost anything to wake up
beside her. Michelle wasn’t thin but she wasn’t chubby either, one
of those biological marvels that filled out perfectly in all the
right places. Her blond hair and blue eyes were an added bonus.

Unfortunately for the men of the convoy and
Benji’s stomach, she was also a tomboy, if that term could be
applied to someone slightly past twenty-five years old; she had
fought more than her fair share of the dead, and had kept her
brother on this side of the grave all by herself until they’d
stumbled upon the convoy. But even then, she wasn’t content to just
sit back. She’d joined Warren’s team of soldiers as fast as she
could and began to train under Warren himself.

“Don’t mess with me this early in the
morning, little brother, or I might have to beat the shit out of
you,” she said.

Benji feigned shock. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“Just because you’re gay doesn’t make you a
lady, Benji, and the glasses aren’t going to save you either if you
keep screwing around with me.” Michelle laughed and plunged a
spoonful of oatmeal into her mouth.

Benji fished a cigarette from his jacket
pocket and lit up.

Michelle waved angrily at the cloud of
secondhand smoke. “I thought you didn’t have any of those
left.”

“So did I,” Benji replied. “I had some luck
last night and won nearly a full pack off that redneck you work
with.”

“Jenkins? How the hell did you end up playing
cards with him?”

“Don’t know. He just decided to join the game
last night at Mike’s. Had a run of bad luck and kept going like he
couldn’t stand to lose to the little queer guy.”

“Don’t fuck around with him, Benji, I mean
it. The guy’s on the edge.”

He waved a hand dismissively. “He’s harmless.
It’s your damn boss that gives me the creeps. That guy not only
redefines the term
bad ass
, but the word
cold
too.”

“Warren’s okay.”

“How would you know, sis?” Benji grinned. “I
haven’t met anyone in this convoy who knows anything about the man
other than he was some kind of elite soldier or something. So is
there something you’d like to share with me, or...?”

Michelle shrugged. “He’s okay, Benji. He’s
the kind of guy you trust. That’s all I know.”

“Better you than me, I guess.” Benji set down
his already empty bowl. “It’s going to be a busy day, sis. They
just finished making the announcement that we’re moving out.”

“Shit.” Michelle laughed. “I was just
beginning to break in the patch of dirt I’ve been sleeping on.”

#

After the announcement that the convoy was
moving out and people began to pack, Mike saw Gerald storming
across the camp towards him. He wished he could avoid the man, but
the camp simply wasn’t that big.

“We’re not ready,” Gerald told him. “I got
one truck half torn apart that we’re still trying to fix, at least
four cars need work on their tires, and there’s—”

Mike cut him off. “Look, Gerald, I’m sorry. I
didn’t ask for all this anymore than you did, but we have to move
and we have to move now. Staying is too great a risk. We’ll leave
the truck if we have to. Just do the best you can.”

“Just give me one more day,” Gerald pleaded.
“We can’t keep leaving vehicles behind. Pretty soon we’re not going
to have room for everyone if we do.”

“What do you want me to do, Gerald? I know
you’re working your ass off—we all are—but if we don’t reach the
base, and soon, we may never make it.”