Surviving the Zombie Apocalypse (Book 9): Frayed (29 page)

Cade’s first indication they were taking fire was the
crackle-hiss
of the rounds cutting the air, validated a millisecond later by the two
puckered gray ovals appearing back-to-back and just inches apart on the nearby STOP
sign. Blasting flakes of red from the sign’s surface, two more hurtling bullets
punched through the thin metal just inches from the others. Reacting instantly
to the impacts and their following reports, he pushed off of the car he’d been
leaning against and, with a handful of Taryn’s parka, crashed to the ground, dragging
her along with him. Their fall was cushioned partially by snow, but mostly by
the quartet of corpses Daymon had just been examining.

The final two reports rolled over the leveled town like twin
thunderclaps.

“Get down,” Cade hollered at Wilson, who was rooted in
place, totally exposed and panning his head dumbly left-to-right.

The barked order was enough to get the redhead moving;
however, instead of making headway towards the vehicles, the young man did a
clumsy shuffle on the snow, fell to his knees, and scooted off on all fours like
a dog, quickly covering the fifteen feet to the 4Runner’s rear bumper where Duncan
and Lev were crouching.

On the passenger side of the car Cade and Taryn were using
for cover, Daymon raised his head up off the snow and whistled softly a couple
of times. Once he had Cade’s eye, he hissed, “I told you we were being
watched.”

Cade said, “Where’s Jamie?”

“I’m behind you,” she said from afar.

Cade craned around. Below the stop sign that had just taken
the hits was a bright orange fire hydrant. There were four gloved fingers
waggling at him from behind its base and he could just make out the woman’s
slender frame stretched out long and pressed tight to the ground.
Everyone
accounted for.

“What are you gonna do, boss?” Daymon whispered.

His adrenaline now flowing furiously, Cade sensed the action
slow as he snapped into an all too familiar state of hyper-awareness. Just as
he was about to answer Daymon’s question, the sonic signature of two more
closely spaced shots crackled the air just yards over their heads, but struck
nothing.

Same pattern and coming at them seconds after the first shots
fired, a fourth volley struck the stop sign, the bullets punching through equidistant
and an inch below the others. He peered through the corner of his eye and saw
that the final three shots to hit the sign had created a sort of arced horizontal
line below the other points of entry.
Six shots to the sign and two just to
keep our heads down,
thought Cade as he dug the Motorola from his pocket and
keyed the
Talk
button. Staring across the half-dozen yards of open
ground between the burnt shell of a car and the east-facing SUVs, he said, “On
three, one of you throw half a dozen rounds at Glenda’s house. Aim for the
circular windows above the upstairs porch.”

“That’s where the shooter is?” Taryn whispered, her face a
foot from his, her breath hot and sour-smelling.

Cade nodded an affirmative. He thought,
Not exactly
. In
his side vision he saw Lev flash a thumbs up, and when the count in his head hit
three, two important things happened. First, brandishing his carbine off-handed,
Lev leaned to his left around back of the SUV and squeezed off three quick shots
along its flank. Then, following Wilson’s tracks in the snow, his boots kicking
up tiny white rooster tails, Cade crossed the open ground between the burned-out
car and 4Runner without catching a bullet. In fact, even after Lev checked his
fire and the glass had ceased raining down on the upstairs porch two country blocks
distant, the anticipated fusillade of bullets didn’t come.

Cade was breathing hard from the combination of pain
radiating upward from his left ankle and the new surge of adrenaline introduced
into his system. “Good work,” he said, clapping Lev’s shoulder. He looked at
Duncan. “Are you good to go?”

“Me?” Duncan said, his head jerking to face Cade.

“Gotta have Lev’s eyes down here. I want you on my six.”
Cade nodded and locked eyes with the older man. “Speak now or forever hold your
peace.”

In a rare display of humor, Lev turned his head and said,
“You don’t want me to tell Glenda you pussed out, do ya?”

Duncan made no reply. He pulled the Land Cruiser’s fob from
his pocket and triggered the automatic tailgate feature. Staying low, he
disappeared around the 4Runner’s passenger side.

Duncan was gone less than two seconds when a pair of shots
rang out and the familiar metallic sounding
tang-tang
issued forth as
the speeding lead passed through the stop sign, showering Daymon and Taryn with
jagged white and red shards.

“I got a muzzle flash.”

“Middle house ... Glenda’s?” said Cade.

Lev nodded. “Second floor alcove. I’m guessing it’s a
covered veranda.”

“Copy that,” said Cade, just as Duncan returned with a stubby
shotgun in one hand and the suppressed M4 slung over his shoulder. He went to
one knee, shrugged the M4 off and handed it to Cade, who immediately began
detailing how he wanted to take down the shooter.

Eden Compound

“Bedtime,” Brook hollered. “And turn off the laptop … we
need to conserve the batteries.”

“Can Sasha stay over?” called Raven from the dark recesses
of the Grayson quarters.

Though her fingers ached, Brook continued working the rubber
therapy ball. “I don’t see why not,” she called back over her shoulder. “Question
is ... which one of you is going to freeze your butt off and let Max out to
make his obligatory yellow hole?”

“Or brown stink bomb,” Sasha added, her giggles echoing up
from the rear of the container.

“Or ...
that
,” Brook said, smiling. “Better up there
than in here.”

There was the hollow double thump of the girls jumping down
from Raven’s bunk. Then footsteps on the plywood flooring. Raven rounded the
corner first. Her face reflecting the dull yellow thrown off by the single
hanging bulb, she said, “If he does, maybe we can get a couple of sticks and
play a game of turd hockey with it.”

“Gross,” Brook cried. “Thanks for the visual, Bird.”

“I’ll take him out,” Raven said. She slipped on her boots
and jacket then clapped and called for Max to come.

There was a scrabble of nails on the wood floor as Max
crawled from under Brook’s bunk. He loitered for a second, stub tail going a
mile a minute. In arm’s reach of Brook, he spun a couple of circles and when the
usual scratch between the ears never materialized, was out the door in hot
pursuit of Raven.

Trying to ignore the dull ache deep in her shoulder, Brook started
in on another set of ten, and when Raven’s footfalls were out of earshot she put
the ball on the bed and regarded Sasha. After an awkward silence, she thanked
the teen for about the thousandth time since her near undead experience weeks
ago. Mainly she was trying to show gratitude for Sasha being a positive
influence on Raven. But how she really wanted to word it was:
Thanks for not
continuing to act Raven’s age. And thanks for not being a b-word to Wilson every
waking moment. I’m happy to see you growing up ... let’s keep it that way.
But she didn’t. She had been fourteen once, and though conjuring up positive
memories from those heady times was growing more difficult for her with each
passing day, Brook was certain that when she was their age, the similarities
far outweighed the differences.

“Hang out here for a sec.”

Sasha nodded. Sat on the bunk and snatched up the discarded therapy
ball. It was still warm and damp with sweat.

Brook rose and gave Sasha an affectionate squeeze on the
shoulder. Then she left the Grayson quarters and struck off in the direction of
the security container. The dim corridors seemed to be crushing down on her
until she reached the security pod and Heidi greeted her warmly.

The young woman, whose blonde hair was now maintained in a
short pixie cut, was illuminated by both the overhead bulb and the large
flat-panel monitor to her fore. On the monitor, lit by the final light of day,
was a number of partitions, each displaying a CCTV feed from one of the many
cameras arranged about the compound’s sprawling grounds.

“Raven’s right here,” Heidi said, pointing at the image from
the camera trained on the clearing. “And Max is taking a dump.”

“Mission accomplished,” Brook said.

“And here they come,” Heidi said. “Prepare for the cold draft.”
She grabbed a knit cap and snugged it on.

“How’s 39?”

“Clear.”

“The outer and inner gates?”

“Closed, locked, and clear.” Beating Brook to the punch,
Heidi continued, “Tran topped the generator. Foley filled all of the water
bottles and shoveled snow into the water collection system ... just in case we
wake up to a thaw like Glenda’s been predicting. Oh ... and I also had him move
the RV to the feeder road entrance. Figured since me and Daymon wouldn’t be
sleeping there ... putting it to use as a roadblock wouldn’t hurt. Keys are on
the shelf by the phones.”

Brook shifted her gaze to the shelf and saw the keys. Then
her eye was drawn to the message warning lights still flashing incessantly on
the pair of sat-phones sitting there. “Did we get any new calls?” she asked.

Nodding, Heidi said, “Another one came in about an hour ago.
For the record ... I feel like a turd not answering them.”

“Out of my hands,” Brook said. “Cade will address the
elephant in the room when he’s good and ready to. Hell, if Nash really needed him,
she’d have already dispatched a team to come and pick him up.” The moment the
thought was fully voiced and out in the open, she wished she hadn’t said it.
For the truth of the matter was that it hurt her insides more than any amount
of scar tissue could her outside.

Heidi made no reply. She took a bag of Cheetos from the
counter and offered Brook some.

“No thanks,” Brook said with a wan smile.

The cold air preceding Raven and Max came in as a
blast
,
not a draft. As the pair brought the frigid air through the foyer with them,
Brook noticed that her girl had more pep to her step than the dog. She looked
at the wood flooring after the two passed on by and saw wet boot prints left
there by Raven and, overlapping the minuscule bergs of melting snow, a trail of
bloody paw prints. Lest the dog disappear under the bunk and she forgot to
address the issue, she called after Raven, “Sweetie … we need to take a break
from throwing the ball for Max. His paws are taking a beating from chasing the
ball on the snow and ice.”

Finally, against her better judgment, she snatched a Thuraya
off the shelf and thumbed it on. The keys lit up and, with Heidi casting a
watchful gaze her way, she found the heading for the phone Cade had taken and
hit the
Send
button. The phone trilled in her ear, but there was no
answer. Instead of leaving a message that would prove to be as confusing as her
feelings, she ended the call before the voice-mail prompt sounded.

She put the phone on the shelf and attached the power cord.
Before turning to leave, she put her hand on Heidi’s shoulder and squeezed
gently, wincing in pain as a result.

Heidi put her hand on Brook’s. “Don’t worry about me.” She
rattled the pill container in her breast pocket. “I’ve got these ... thanks to
Cade. I’ve got coffee, also thanks to your man. And Seth’s relieving me at
midnight.”

“I’m feeling up to pulling a shift tomorrow. The noon to six
open?”

“It’s all yours.”

“Thanks,” Brook said. She took a big handful of Cheetos.
“For the girls.”

“Sure they are,” replied Heidi, grinning.

Brook said nothing. She turned and followed the crimson paw
prints back to her quarters and along the way a single Cheeto made its way into
her mouth.

With Duncan and Wilson looking on, Cade checked the volume
on his Motorola. He turned it down a notch and tucked it into an inside pocket.
Addressing Lev, he said, “When I break squelch, give us a three-count, and if
you’re not taking fire send another half-dozen rounds into the siding
above
that veranda.”

“I’ve got one question,” Lev said. “Why don’t you want me to
shoot to kill?”

“I’ve got a hunch about this one,” Cade answered. “However,
if you’re receiving direct fire ...
do not
think twice about taking them
out.”

Wilson broke his silence. “Seems like we got Stevie Wonder
taking pot shots at us.”

Duncan said, “Maybe. Maybe not.”

His confidence slowly building due to the short lull in
gunfire, Wilson said, “Can I come?”

In unison, each replying a little differently in inflection
and verbiage, the other three men shot the redhead’s idea down.

“You stay here and spot for Lev. Watch the buildings down
the street. There may still be some slow movers in there.” Cade nodded at the
Beretta holstered on the kid’s hip. “And Wilson, if you have to shoot … I want
you to shoot to kill.”

“Roger that,” was Wilson’s reply. He unholstered the 9mm
semi-auto pistol and went through the motions of checking its operation with practiced
ease. “Good to go.”

“He even sounds like a soldier,” said Duncan with a soft
chuckle.

Cade tapped his Suunto. Looked Lev in the eyes. “Shouldn’t
take but a few minutes for us to get into position.”

Lev nodded. Flicked the Les Baer’s safety off and shouldered
the tricked-out M4. “Go, go, go,” he called softly, swinging the suppressed
rifle’s muzzle up next to the 4Runner’s quarter-panel and opening fire on the
Painted Lady on the hill.

***

From his position on the curb next to the burned-out car,
Daymon watched shell casings arcing from Lev’s rifle, tumbling in front of
Wilson’s face, and settling in the snow behind the Toyotas. He also saw snow
kicked up by Duncan and Cade’s boots as they made a break for the cover of a
low wall and picket of partially burned trees half a block southeast from the
SUVs.

Crouched low to make as little a target of themselves for
the shooter as possible, the two sprinted uphill and against a new blast of
wind coming at them. When they reached the wall, Lev was ducking back behind
the 4Runner and Wilson, happy and smiling about something, was flashing a
thumbs up his way. The smile, however, evaporated like a breath in the cold the
second the shooter resumed the inaccurate, yet seemingly systematically timed
barrage. There were four shots, which strangely all missed the SUVs and instead
shattered the globe of a light standard precisely one block west of Taryn and
Daymon and the car they were still using as cover.

Cursing himself for leaving his rifle in back of the Land
Cruiser, Daymon went for the pistol on his hip. He flicked the retaining strap
off with his thumb and heard Taryn behind him whispering, “Don’t do it.”

He craned over a shoulder and shot her a glare hot enough to
melt snow. In the next beat he thumbed the snap closed and flinched as Lev began
firing uphill again. The gunfire ceased about the time Cade and Duncan skirted
the front of the low wall and came to a skidding and slipping halt behind a
wildly misshapen garden shed that looked to be constructed of some type of
flimsy metal.
You win
, Daymon thought to himself, content for now to just
watch Delta Boy, Fly Boy and the always silent Lev do their thing.

Thagon Farm

At first Cleo thought he was seeing things. The apparition
coming at him was cloaked in white and its face was blurred by a shroud of fog
that seemed to be following it. He wasn’t drunk nor drinking now, and hadn’t
had a nip since breakfast. The fact that he was a firm nonbeliever in the
occult or ghosts or things that go bump in the night led the rational part of
his brain to initially dismiss the form as a byproduct of the combination of failing
light and his old eyes playing tricks on him. That thought was barely fomented
when the crunch of footfalls on the crusty snow reached his ears. He hadn’t
believed the dead could walk until they did. Now, what he was seeing
approaching his hide was beginning to open his mind to the likelihood that specters
and apparitions might be real.

With a cold chill tracing his spine and feeling like one of
those soon-to-die guards in an old black and white World War Two film, in a booming
voice he said, “Halt. Who goes there?”

“The password is sausage and hash,
Cleo
.”

Momentarily confused, Cleo stammered, “What?” then leveled
his rifle at the hooded being.

“I know you’re cold,” came the familiar voice. Then the form
stopped a dozen feet away, reached up with one hand and folded the hood back,
revealing a face he recognized. “I figure you’re hungry as well,” Helen added,
tilting the plate forward to show off the tepid meal.

Cleo lowered the carbine. “Helen, what are you doing out
here?”

“I was going to ask you the same thing. But now that the
watcher in the field’s identity has been confirmed ... the
what
and
why
component is crystal clear. And furthermore ... you can tell Dregan he just
lost a measure of my respect for sending you out to spy on me and Ray.”

“This is nothing personal, Helen. I’m just trying to get
ahead like everyone else. It’s not like I was sent to kill you two.”

“Good for you,” Helen said with a wolfish grin. “You’d have
ended up like the others who tried and failed and are currently buried behind
the barn.”

Cleo’s Adam’s apple bobbed up and down. The emergency blanket
crinkled as he reached for the plate.

“You
are
hungry.”

He nodded.

“Come on in where it’s warm then. I’ll reheat this food and
we can sip some brandy and you can tell us about Colorado Springs. Sure sounds
promising what the
woman
president is doing there. Never thought I’d
live to see the day ...”

Like someone else had control of his limbs, Cleo shed the
sleeping bag and emergency blanket. Going through the motions without putting
much thought to it, he grabbed his rifle and pack and started following Helen
down the gentle slope towards the farmhouse and its inviting candlelit and no
doubt toasty warm interior. Suddenly yanked back to reality, he halted dead in
his tracks ten paces west of the brambles. His face screwed up for a tick. Then
he was digging out the CB radio. Wearing a sheepish grin, he turned his back to
Helen and called and checked in with Dregan. The information he relayed was all
general and contained no mention of sausage and hash or an invitation to enjoy
it in the house he was watching with the very people he was supposed to be
spying on. Finished lying, he kept the radio to his ear and nodded a couple of
times while offering up short one- and two-word answers to whatever Dregan’s
inquiries may have been. Finally, less than a minute from making the call, he
ended it and stuffed the bulky CB in his pocket.

“Mum’s the word?” said Helen, who had also stopped and
waited while the act of subterfuge was being committed. She pantomimed zipping
her lip by dragging a gloved finger horizontally across her mouth. Then for
good measure she pretended to lock an invisible lock hanging there near the
corner of her mouth, held up the invisible skeleton key, and tossed it away.

Satisfied that Cleo was in her pocket, Helen about-faced and
resumed the slog toward the house, where in the upper window she could just
make out Ray silhouetted by the diffuse light filtering in from the doorway at
his back.

Seeing Helen’s reaction to the spate of white lies, and
knowing both her and Ray’s character to be rock solid from trading with them in
the past, Cleo kept up with the elderly woman and the aromatic plate of food, fully
confident that this harmless little deviation would never be shared with
Dregan.