Six Feet From Hell: Crisis (14 page)

CHAPTER 19

Curtis thoroughly believed he had died. He couldn’t outright explain why he could still hear and see, or why he was in so much pain, but he was certain that he’d passed on. He tried to contemplate why heaven would leave a person in agony. Perhaps he hadn’t gone on to heaven, but he was now in hell instead. Hell would be a more apt description of how he felt. His ribs, arms, legs, head, and pretty much every other part of him was throbbing. His thought processes finally started cutting through the haze of painkillers and the fog of sleep. He realized that he was in fact, not dead, just severely injured.

He moved his head around, hearing the unnatural crunching and popping of his aching neck as he did so. He lifted his arms up to make sure that he could still move them. Evidently, he could, as there was an IV attached to his left arm connected to a bag of fluid. His memory suddenly came flooding back as he regained consciousness fully. Wagner’s betrayal, Mike dead, the chase and subsequent crash that led him to his current predicament snapped to in his mind. He shot up in bed and immediately wished he hadn’t. Pain flooded every fiber of his being as he did. Curtis flopped back down instantly and curled into a fetal position.

“Holy Mother of God. I really wish I had a beer right now,” he croaked in a dry voice.

“Well, we don’t have any beer, but there might be some ‘shine left,” a male voice from the corner of the room answered Curtis.

“What the fuck, man! Who are you? Where the hell am I?” Curtis looked around, and then down to his feet. He had kicked the covers off him, revealing that he was not wearing anything other than his boxers. “And where the fuck are my pants?”

“Calm down, buddy. You're among friends. Just don’t try to do anything stupid and we won’t have any issues.” The male voice spoke reassuringly, convincing Curtis that if they wanted to do him harm, they would have just left him to die in the wreck, or just let Wagner shoot him.

Curtis slowly settled his nerves and enjoyed the comfortable bed that he'd been so graciously given. He pulled the covers back around his arms and sat up, leaning against the head of the bed, and surveyed his companions. There were two men in the room. One of them sat in the corner off to his left, a shotgun in his lap. The other was situated in front of Curtis off to his right. The one in the corner appeared as if he was missing his left hand, cut off at the wrist. The one-handed man held a Mossberg 590 shotgun in his lap, complete with a battle-worn bayonet. The gun had several shells on a sidesaddle on the collapsible stock. The one-handed man looked to be quite tall, even in a seated position, and appeared to be around two hundred-fifty pounds.

The other man looked to be in his mid-thirties. He sported a bald head, full beard, and was dressed in
Realtree camouflage. A hunting rifle lay across his lap and a 9mm in a drop-leg holster completed his getup. He sat relaxed in the chair, clearly not concerned with Curtis or any ill intentions that he might have.

“To answer your questions: you are in Tazewell, Virginia, my name is Aaron, but most folks call me Cornbread. We had to take your pants off to make sure that you didn't break your legs or have any other bleeding, seeing as how you were covered in blood when we found you. You were pretty banged up when we brought you in. You’ve been out for the better part of twelve hours,” Cornbread said, moving his chair closer to Curtis. Cornbread was the one-armed man, but the other man at the foot of the bed continued his silence.

“What’s your name, stranger?” Cornbread asked.

Curtis looked him in the eye. “Lowe, Curtis Lowe. I'm originally from ‘Bama, but recently relocated to West Virginia. I was part of a ZBRA team stationed at Camp Dawson, just outside Kingwood, West Virginia. I was sent here on orders from our highest-ranking man. I didn't realize that there’d be people here.”

“Well, there are not only people here – we have a community. If you're feeling up to it later, we’ll introduce you. Now, you mind tellin’ me why that other fella was trying to kill you? I'm guessing that wasn’t part of your plan,” the other man finally spoke up.

Curtis shifted uncomfortably at the mention of Wagner. Talking about it was both a literal and metaphorical sore spot. “He was a mole, a spy if you will, for a man that we’ve had some run-ins with before. I'm guessing he spared Wagner’s life in exchange for spying on our group. I also think that he might be responsible for the rest of my team going missing.”

“Missing? Where?”

“I sent them on a run to Lexington, Kentucky. Normally they would have been back in a couple hours, three at the most. They never did come back. Fortunately, we had a plan in case something like that should occur. My team leader came up with it. And that plan was to come back here and regroup. Actually, it was to head towards the closest ZBRA post, but they were taken out a few days ago as well by the same man. It was in Beckley, West Virginia.”

“Yeah, we’ve been around them a couple times, but never needed much from ‘em. They seemed like good people though. I guess every bunch has a bad apple. I know we got a few here that would like to see me leave,” the unknown man said, looking away.

“Anyway,” Curtis continued. “My team leader was from around here and thought that it’d be a good idea to come back to somewhere familiar to rebuild. I know it sounds like a half-baked plan, but it was all we had to survive by. If they are alive, they should be here within a few days, or at least I hope so.”

“You said you thought that one man had done all that shit to your boys in Kentucky, while at the same time, they took out a unit in Beckley. What is this guy? Is this dude Batman or something?” Cornbread asked.

“I don’t know if he's responsible for Kentucky or even if my boys had a problem. Our plan was to wait twenty-four hours and then leave wherever we were and meet up here. If they
are
alive they would stick to the plan.”

“This asshole got a name? On the other hand, should I just continue calling him Batman? Bruce Wayne, instead, maybe?” Cornbread asked, slightly perturbed.

“His name is Wyatt, Lieutenant Wyatt. He goes by the nickname ‘The Captain’ now. I know for a fact that he was behind the attack on the Beckley ZBRA unit,” Curtis replied, looking towards and addressing Cornbread.

“Well, we will give your boys a couple days, then. Y’all sound like you're on the side of good, so we will give you the benefit of the doubt. That being said, Cornbread here will be guarding you wherever you go. We don’t take any chances with strangers, especially strangers with crazy-ass stories, no offense,” the mysterious man stated.

“As long as you guys are taking care of me, I ain't got a problem with a guard watching me. Give my boys a couple days; if they ain't here then y’all can cut me loose. Just take me back to my truck before you do,” Curtis replied.

“What’s in those trucks? We were in such a hurry to get you back here that we didn't really look.”

Curtis grinned. “I tell you what. If you tell me what your name is I will tell you what is in those trucks. The stuff in there is priceless to an outpost like this.”

“Well, we will send out a team anyway to check it out, so why don’t you just tell me what they’re gonna find.”

Dammit, they do have a point,
Curtis thought, looking down. “It’s full of guns, ammo, food, medicine, explosives, the works. It’s all the stuff from Camp Dawson that was of use and wasn’t nailed down. Now, you mind telling me who you are?”

The bearded, mysterious man stood up and walked over to Curtis’ bed. He extended a calloused, dirty right hand and a smile. “Name’s Larry. Nice to meet ya, Curtis.”

Curtis took the man’s hand and shook it halfheartedly. There was something Joe had said about a man named Larry, though he couldn’t put his finger on it. Maybe it was the painkillers or the grogginess of sleep still clouding his memory. The look of intense thought must have been on his face as Larry watched.

“Somethin’ on your mind, Curtis? You look like you're trying to put the pieces together, but you don’t know what the puzzle looks like,” Larry said, frowning slightly.

“You were Joe’s boss when the shit hit the fan all those years ago! You were one of the guys that came and got him after that fat shit wrecked him and left him for dead! I know exactly who you are now!” Curtis exclaimed gleefully.

Larry’s heart almost literally skipped a beat. “Joe is alive? Is he the one you're waiting on? Was he the one that you said was from around here?”

Despite the soreness and pain, Curtis moved to the edge of the bed. “Yes! Yes it is! He’s with a couple other guys from the team; Jamie, Balboa, Chris, and Rick are with him!”

“Jamie? Like,
our
Jamie? The gun nut?”

“Yeah, said he was from around here, too. He went with Joe over the mountains to get to his family. He was with him when they picked me up in Alabama,” Curtis chuckled. “They are some tough sons a bitches. My money says they’re still alive.”

Larry could barely contain his emotions. A floodgate of anticipation, excitement, and worry smashed together in his mind. He couldn’t believe that Joe was alive after all these years. He could still remember the handshake and wretched goodbyes they had said that last day.

Larry’s original plan had been to bug out to the mountains of Tennessee, but after consulting with a couple friends and cohorts, they had decided to stay in Tazewell, to stay with what was familiar. It had served them well so far. Every person they had set out to save – minus one – was still alive and well. There was a lone soul that Larry had helped escape in the first days of the apocalypse, a person that he had tried to get to come back into the fold in Tazewell, but never could convince. Larry had decided to leave him to his own devices, to seek out his own
agenda, and to let him fend for himself if that’s what he wanted. Aside from that, he was pleased with the way the town turned out after the end of days.

“Should we go look for ‘em?” Larry snapped to, looking to Curtis for an answer.

“I dunno. It’d be hard to tell which way they're coming. If they were in Kentucky, which way would they come to get here?”

Larry pondered the question before answering. “Well, honestly there are several ways of getting from Kentucky to here. The easiest was is probably through Pikeville and on through Grundy and Richlands, but Grundy is a major hotspot.”

“Why’s that?” Curtis asked. He motioned for Cornbread to hand him his pack. He was tired of being without his pants.

“Well the first day, when all the shit went down, Grundy was the source around here. It may not have been the only place where the gas came out, but it was definitely one of the worst areas hit. We try to avoid that area as much as possible. That being said, there are plenty of back roads and other routes that Joe knows around the center of town. I hate to say it but it’s probably in his best interest to avoid it, though.”

Curtis opened his pack and procured a ragged but relatively clean and blood-free pair of MultiCam pants and shirt. “Well, if it was me, I’d like to think that he’d come lookin’ for me, but he knows the area, and so does Jamie. I say we just give ‘em a few days.”

Larry took a deep breath, exhaling quickly. He didn't want to leave Joe and the rest of his crew to their own devices, but under the circumstances, he didn't have much choice. The pros didn't outweigh the cons on a trip towards Grundy. “Fair enough. Now what about this ‘Captain’ asshole that you're talking about?”

“Not to shit on anyone’s breakfast here, but how do you know that Joe is still alive?” Cornbread interrupted.

“Oh, I know he is. I can feel it.” Curtis put his shirt on. “Just have faith, brother.”

CHAPTER 20

Joe had witnessed too many goodbyes in his day, especially recently. He stood outside the entrance to Camp Brown, shaking hands, expressing gratitude, and accepting future offers for assistance from the Camp Brown residents. He wasn’t able to get any of the denizens of the camp to take his offer for sanctuary in Tazewell, and he wasn’t surprised. The heated discussion that followed the truck pulling around front didn't faze him. They were perfectly comfortable staying in the more than capable company of Jim and Maria. They both seemed fit for the duty of taking care of the populace. Joe didn't try to argue that point, only that if they needed their help, that it would be available down the road.

Jim stood outside the roll up door beside the Humvee. “You sure I can’t talk y’all in to staying? We could really use the help around here. It’s not every day that we find outsiders that are worth
hangin’ on to.”

Joe stepped down from the side of the truck. Since no one from the camp had decided to leave with them, they’d concluded that the trailer would just be dead weight. It would be much easier to drop the trailer and take the truck by itself. The rig had ample room for the four men and Kane. The sleeper cab in the truck was still in very good shape, mattress included. The truck itself was in decent mechanical condition. It contained three-quarters of a tank of diesel and only had one flat tire. Fortunately it was an inside rear tire, one they could live without.

“I promise if I didn't have people waiting on me that I would. I gotta get to Tazewell and see if Curtis made it. If for some reason he didn't, we will turn around and come back, but I have to at least try, Jim. I'm sure you can understand.” Joe extended his right hand for a handshake, and Jim graciously accepted. “By the way, you never did say anything about who you were looking for in Lexington. I heard Maria say that ‘she’ wasn’t there, I assume that you were missing someone important to you.”

Jim released his hand from Joe’s and nodded. “Yeah, my wife, Claire. We were married for nearly forty years. Even after the world went all to shit, she stayed by my side. She was one of those women that come along once in a lifetime, and I was lucky enough to be married to her. She went missing the day after we left Lexington. I don’t think she wandered off, but I like to think that she's still alive out there somewhere. We had so many people dying and falling by the
wayside, I thought she was just helping them. I didn't see her for a couple hours one evening, and after that, she was gone,” Jim said forlornly, brushing back a tear. “I miss her so much.”

Joe patted the old man on the back. He felt sorry for the timeworn traveler that had been so accommodating to him. Maybe he would find his wife, maybe not. The odds were most definitely not in his favor; she’d been missing for months now. Joe could understand the workings of a broken heart. He himself had been heartbroken, but was over it. He didn't miss his ex-wife; she was doing her own thing and he was doing his. It had worked out for the better for both of them. In a strange way, Dakota being immune had done Joe a favor. There was no sense in trying to have someone to hold onto in such an unpredictable world. Joe had Rick, and the road in front of him was never ending as far as he was concerned.

“Good luck, Jim. I hope that everyone here understands what a good man you are and how lucky they are to have you as their leader.” And with that, they were ready to leave.

Jim nodded and Joe walked around to the passenger’s side of the truck. He climbed up into the spacious cab of the semi and sat heavily on the comfortable seat. Rick, Balboa, and Kane were in the sleeper of the truck, while Jamie drove. He was the only one of the group that knew how to drive the ten-wheeled monstrosity.

Jamie jammed the gears of the truck, finally getting it into first gear. “Where to, boss?” he grinned as he let the clutch out and the truck lurched forward.

Joe settled back in the passenger’s seat. It went without saying, but he versed it anyway. There was only one more destination in their immediate future. “Head back home, Jamie. Let’s go home.”

* * *

Joe woke to a strange thumping sound. At first, his heart sank, thinking they had blown a tire. With only one tire on the driver’s side, they couldn’t afford to blow another on that side, or they would be more screwed than when they were bleeding in a downed helicopter. Joe sat up from his lackadaisical position in the passenger’s seat. As if sensing that something was amiss, Kane started a low growl. Joe propped himself up and had a look outside. It was evident that they were not alone.

Zombies lined the road. Zombies pounded on the truck. Zombies fouled up the air around them.

“Holy shit!” Joe blurted out, not realizing that Jamie wore a gruesome smile. Joe turned to him and playfully punched him on the shoulder. “You asshole! That is one shitty-ass alarm clock.”

Jamie laughed at Joe’s misfortune. “Sorry, brother. I just couldn’t resist the chance to fuck with you just a little.”

Joe shifted in his seat to get a better view as Jamie rumbled over a few more zombies. The undead squished and splattered underneath the truck’s massive tires. The truck shook and bounced as it crushed more ghouls beneath it. “Looks like we made it past Grundy. How bad was it?”

“Not as bad as I thought it'd be, actually. The roads weren’t bad, but the creek beds and shit were full of zeds. Grundy’s population was what, around two thousand or so; the whole county may have been around twenty thousand or so. Not many people to turn.”

Joe nodded as he watched the road roll by. “Good deal. Looks like we are almost to Richlands.” Joe turned to his attention back to Jamie. “You nervous? It’s been a long time since we’ve been back here. I'm sure a lot has changed.”

“Yeah, I am. I always thought that if I ever left here, that I’d never miss it. Even growing up here, I didn't ever wanna come back, now I'm nervous about seeing it again. Funny how that works out, ain't it?”

“Yeah, I never thought we’d make it back here. Just puts us back at the beginning, back where we started. Even though it was my idea, I didn't ever think we’d see this place again. When I came up with our ‘Plan B’ I didn't think it’d come to fruition. Now that it has, I wonder what the hell I was thinking.” Joe laughed off his second-guessing; it was far too late for that now.

The semi drove on, the men silent for the ride, each lost in his own thoughts. As they proceeded into Tazewell County, the amount of undead slowed until they didn't see any at all. The county looked nearly zombie free. Joe sat back and watched as the scenery passed by, remembering the first day of the outbreak. It had been so many years ago, and yet was still fresh in his memory. The entire incident was a nightmarish scenario, but had drawn him closer together with his co-workers and friends. Aside from the incident with James, the first couple of hours had been a well-coordinated effort from people that had not been prepared for an incident of that magnitude.

Joe missed the simpler days of life when all he had to worry about was who his partner at work would be for the day. He missed driving the ambulance and answering 911 calls. He missed the genuine excitement of screaming down the road, lights and sirens going strong, busting through red lights and stop signs on the way to help. Life was exponentially easier by comparison. There were good times to be had after work, functions to attend, Facebook statuses to be commented on, any number of tasks to do.

Jamie passed several exit signs that showed what Joe had been waiting for: Tazewell was only two miles away. Joe scooted up a little further in his seat in anticipation, leaning forward and darting his eyes back and forth. The snow-covered mountains and idyllic scenery would have made for an excellent vacation spot, if it were not for the lurking corpses that invaded the serene locale.

“What are the chances that there’s someone still holed up around here?” Rick said, peeking up from the sleeper cab. Kane wandered up as well, curious about something. The canine sat down between Joe and Jamie.

Joe turned to address Rick. “I dunno. Most people around here can hunt, fish, and take care of themselves. It wouldn’t surprise me if there were a few left.”

Jamie slowed the rig considerably and geared down quickly, kicking in the truck’s Jake brake. All the men in the cab pitched forward suddenly and grabbed onto whatever they could grab. Kane lunged ahead as well, nearly ramming his snout into the gearshift.

“Whoa! What the hell, man?” Rick stammered out.

Jamie and Joe stared forward, unflinching. Neither man spoke nor moved. What lay in front of them gave them both reason for hope and apprehension simultaneously. Jamie pulled the parking brake and got out of the truck. Joe grabbed his rifle and did the same.

Rick and Kane exited the truck, followed shortly by Balboa. The four men stood in the middle of the road and gazed upon an unusual sight, one they had seen before, but not one they expected to find outside of Tazewell. Balboa was the first and only person to speak what was on everyone else’s mind.

“What in the
hell
is that?”