Surviving the Zombie Apocalypse (Book 9): Frayed (32 page)

“Stop sign,” Cade said, pointing west.

Duncan lowered the rifle and found the sign with his naked
eye. He raised the rifle and looked through the scope. Everything in the
foreground snapped into sharp detail. He tracked right and saw the red of the
sign fill up the reticle and then the word STOP, big and blocky and white, was
framed by the crosshairs.

“Down,” Cade said.

“Holy shit,” Duncan replied. Below the letter P was a smiley
face. Not the perfectly round yellow thing made popular in the sixties. This
one-dimensional face was rendered by bullets impacting the sign in a tight
little grouping. Nine precisely punched-out holes made up the circle. There
were two identical holes for eyes, closely spaced. Below was a tiny puckered
dot representing a nose. The mouth was more of the same, three holes below the
nose shot into the sign in a small upturned arc. Speaking to the power of the
sniper rifle, they were all through and throughs. Fifteen total. And they stood
out starkly on the sign’s darkened face thanks to the ambient light reflecting
off the reservoir in the background.

“Blue Ford compact. Half a block north of the sign. About
your one o’clock,” Cade said, exhibiting all the emotion of a fast food worker
sick of his job.

Duncan shifted his aim by a few degrees right, the bipod
feet flaking orange paint off the porch rail in the process. Whistled. “Kid is
good.”

“That’s a peace sign if I ever saw one,” Cade said. “And to
punch that tight of a group at three, maybe four hundred yards … on a down
angle with a slight right to left tail wind ...” He nodded and made a clucking
sound.

Duncan looked up briefly. “You’re leaving out one thing,
Delta. Nobody was shooting at him.”

“That was coming and he knew it. Still, he acted instead of
ran,” Cade replied, his voice hushed. “Bravery is one of those intangible
things that can’t be taught.”

“Nor true discretion,” said Duncan. He looked over his
shoulder, past Cade, and saw that Oliver hadn’t moved. So he looked to the fore
and aimed the rifle a little left and focused on the beach and boat ramp beyond
the cemetery. In the gathering dark, he could just make out the legions of
inert dead gathered there. Though less than half the numbers of the horde still
clogging Trapper’s Loop Road a few hundred yards due south of there, they would
still have to be dealt with while the conditions still favored the living.

Cade strode inside.

Oliver looked up. His eyes were red, but dry. “I’ll pull it
together,” he said, sitting up straight. “I’ve been stuffing these emotions for
going on … what seems like forever.”

“It’s been a crazy couple of months, that’s for sure,” Cade
conceded. “It’s gonna get far worse before it gets better, I’m afraid.”

The sound of the SUVs pulling up out front filtered in
through the open doors. Then, near simultaneously, the engines went quiet. Duncan
closed the French doors against the cold and the sounds of doors opening and
closing. He propped the rifle in the corner beside a lamp with a stained-glass-style
shade. On a table next to it were a dozen differently colored candles. Rising
vertically from a hardened lake of wax, each burned down to a different height,
they resembled a metropolis’s jagged skyline.

There was a knock on the back door.

Duncan crossed the room, but paused in front of Oliver. They
locked eyes. “That was some good shooting. Your dad would’ve been proud of how
you handled the situation.” For the first time in a long time, Oliver smiled.
For one, he was happy a reunion with his mom was in the near future. Secondly,
he was kind of proud of himself for checking his fire the way he had. Like the
butterfly effect, had he not, he probably never would have heard those three
words:
She’s safe, though
.

Such sweet words, indeed.

Amazingly, Daymon was no longer heated when he got to
Glenda’s house and finished battling the driveway’s slick surface. And during
the long slow walk from the Land Cruiser to the back door, Lev was explaining
to Daymon why his buttons were pushed. The realization that the shooter was
merely trying to run them off helped to cool him down. Then the disclosure of
the shooter’s identity washed away any residual anger. However, before joining
the others upstairs, the two conspired to prank Wilson, who was the conduit
between Cade’s order and the disparaging words that led to one hell of a
brilliant diversion.

Using the low murmur of conversation as a beacon, Lev and
Daymon transited the kitchen and found the staircase leading up. Stifling a
laugh, Lev pointed to Daymon and said, “He’s already upstairs. Mean mug
activate.”

Instantly Daymon’s face made a complete one-eighty, going
from his usual placid affect to the mask of rage it was the second Wilson had
called him an adopted dumpster baby.

“Perfect,” said Lev. “Now ball up your fists.”

Daymon stuffed his stocking cap in a pocket and shook out
his dreadlocks. “I have a better idea.” He started up the stairs, slowly,
stomping his lug soled boots on each tread. He paused mid-run and out came
Kindness. “Where’s that ginger-haired skinny-ass good for nothing waste of skin!”
he bellowed. He continued muttering about perceived slights and then paused on
the fourth stair from the top. With the flickering light from the candles
adding a rather sinister effect to his scowling face, he looked over his
shoulder and shot Lev a conspiratorial wink.

Upstairs, Wilson was sitting on the chair by the vanity with
Taryn taking up space on the floor between his legs. Duncan, Oliver, and Jamie
were sitting on the floor nearby, facing one another, and engaged in
conversation.

Out of those congregated in the master bedroom, Cade was the
farthest from the top of the stairs, near the French doors and looking out over
the town and reservoir. Upon hearing Daymon’s booming voice, he turned and double-timed
it across the room. The limp was more pronounced now as he picked his way
through the gear and guns strewn about the floor. With all eyes glued to him, he
took up station between Wilson and the top of the stairs. “What did you say to
piss D off?” he whispered.

Wilson cupped a hand near his mouth and beckoned for Cade to
come closer.

Grimacing from shifting his weight to the bad ankle too
quickly, Cade hinged at the waist and lent an ear. He stayed like that for a
handful of seconds as the sound of Daymon’s grousing and footsteps drew nearer.
Then, just when Wilson was finished whispering into his ear, Cade heard the
footfalls stop. Right behind him. He could almost feel Daymon’s breath on the
back of his neck. So he rose up, turned slowly and found Daymon one stair from
the top, which, considering the height difference, put the two men nearly eye-to-eye.
Cade recoiled when he saw the swollen eye up close. He could also smell the
man’s breath and it was no kind of pleasant. And strangely, behind Daymon, in
the gloom of the landing below, Lev was gesticulating with his arms. Cade
squinted hard, focusing on Lev’s mouth moving, and read his lips:
Daymon is
not mad. Practical joke
. Lev mouthed it three times and Cade finally
figured out they were messing with Wilson for something he’d initiated. And he
was fine with that. The less drama, the better.

Cade nodded to Lev. Then he winked at Daymon. Left eye, so
Wilson wouldn’t catch on.

Suppressing smiles, Cade and Daymon stood there, eyes locked
and exchanging put-on and wildly exaggerated angry glares like a couple of
boxers at a weigh in.

Out of the corner of his eye, Cade saw movement. He broke
eye contact with Daymon just long enough to flick his gaze right to see Wilson backing
away from the impending confrontation.

“Move, motherfucker,” Daymon said.

“If you’re going after Wilson … then you’re going through
me,” Cade shot back.

Ten seconds had passed since the stare-down began. Lev was
on the landing below, a huge grin on his face, holding his sides and craning to
see what was going on.

A dozen feet away from the standoff, Duncan was up and already
angling to intervene.

Taryn was also standing now, her hands curled into fists and
coming up defensively. She had a smoldering glare fixed on Daymon.

Oliver remained seated. He had no dog in this fight and
wished he hadn’t been part and parcel to the drama that preceded it. He thought
about slinking around the stairwell rail and going down behind the faceoff. In
fact, at the moment he wanted to be back on the Pacific Crest Trail away from
any and all humans. Surviving was much easier when he only had himself to worry
about. As soon as the initial thought of bolting diminished, he got a sick
feeling in his gut and wondered just how his mom was faring after spending
three weeks with this group of crazies. And just when the tension in the room seemed
to have reached critical mass and he thought all hell was about to break loose,
the bearded guy named Cade, and the dreadlocked guy he’d heard someone refer to
as Daymon, turned toward Wilson and blurted: “
Gotcha!”

Wilson flopped over onto his back like a turtle and lay
there, eyes fixed on the ceiling. “Thought I was a frickin dead man,” he said,
his chest rising and falling rapidly.

Taryn jabbed a finger at Daymon. “
You,
motherfucker, were
almost a dead man,” she said, a little wild-eyed. No sooner had she said the
words than her face broke into a half-smile.

Daymon peered around her. “Dumpster baby? Really?”

A sheepish look fell on Wilson’s face. “They were your own
words.”

“Tell some momma jokes. Make fun of my hair like Old Man
does. Call me Urch.” He wagged his head side-to-side. The dreads kept pace, the
handful of longer ones whipping his neck. “
All
of those things get my
goat. Sometimes they even piss me off … when
I
let them. But don’t bring
up that sore subject ever again? Last guy who did … a ski patrol cat full of
Rumple Minze and attitude. He got a broken nose courtesy of my thick forehead.”

“Cade said we needed a diversion. He told me to piss you
off. I figured …”

Cade nodded. “He speaks the truth.”

“I figure I still owe Cade for all the crazy shit he’s done
for us up to now. I’ll let it slide. You’re both forgiven. Ends to a means and
all that.” Like a switch was flipped, Daymon went quiet. His eyes were fixed on
something across the room. He stepped up and crabbed past Cade. “Who’s this dude?
And what’s that I see on his head … does that say
Powder Mountain
on
there? I’ve always wanted to ski that hill and never got around to it.
Park
City
, yes.
Grand Targhee
, yes.
Solitude
, ditto. All over the
Grand Tetons … resort and backcountry galore.” His eyes were glazing over just
talking about it. He went on, “But never
Pow-Pow Mountain
. We gotta talk,
my man.” He slid Kindness into her sheath and crossed the room eyes, locked on
Oliver as if they were the only two people left on earth.

In the end, the pretend fisticuffs, though disconcerting at
first, served to break the emotional dam that had been building within the
group for weeks. Though Cade hadn’t seen this coming anytime soon, it seemed as
if Daymon was slowly returning to his old self—the fella he’d reunited with
back in Jackson Hole before that city finally fell to the dead. The metamorphosis
that Cade was witness to began with the apology following the snowball fight
that actual
did
lead to a couple of landed blows. And now, hours later, Daymon
was acting like an adult—playing nice with others—even after having just been
used as a pawn.

Cade grinned inwardly, recalling the look on Wilson’s face.
Sheer unadulterated terror. He was also amazed the scrawny redhead hadn’t drawn
his pistol to even the odds. It’s what he would have done. No doubt about it.

He was witnessing growing pains every thrown-together group experienced.
A pecking order was being established. Flaws and strengths were being exposed
and cultivated, respectively.

“Time to punch the clock,” said Cade. He tipped his head
back and funneled the crumbled remains of a granola bar into his mouth. Crumpled
the foil wrapper and stowed it away in a pocket for use later, in the garden
Tran had planned to plant come spring.
Keeps the birds away
, the usually
quiet man had said after posing the strange request for anything shiny, foil or
otherwise.

Taryn and Jamie were already zipping their coats and donning
hats. Weapons were passed around. Boots were laced up tight. Flashlights were
checked and spare batteries transferred from backpacks to pockets.

“Hand warmers? Duncan said. Several hands shot up. He passed
a couple of the little squares to each person. “Daymon? Oliver?”

“I’m good,” said Daymon.

“My pack is full of them,” said Oliver. “Raided a ski shop
in Eden. Mostly just the vacation homes burned. A lot of the town close in
survived the fire.”

“The rotters?” asked Duncan.

Shaking his head, Oliver said, “Most of them were burned
beyond recognition. I figure like the ones packed in by the water here, the
burning subdivisions north and east of downtown Eden literally drew the roamers
in like moths to a flame.”

Duncan slung his pump gun over his shoulder and creakily
rose from the floor. “Did you see any breathers?” he asked.

Again Oliver shook his head. “Not a one. Didn’t even feel
any eyes on me … except for the dead’s.”

There was a chorus of boots clomping down the stairs as the
room emptied.

Duncan followed after the others and paused at the top of
the stairs next to Cade. “You coming, Daymon?”

“Go on ahead without me. Oliver was just about to tell me about
all of the dead he culled over in Eden.”

“So that’s a no?”

“I figure I’ll roam around the Huntsville outskirts and let
Kindness eat.”

“Suit yourself,” said Duncan as he started down the stairs.
“Take a radio if you two head out. And don’t forget about the critter in the
Shell
station.”

“I’ll keep my guard up,
Dad
.”

Oliver snickered.

Before descending the stairs, Cade zipped his jacket up and
arranged the collar to accommodate his beard. He shrugged on his pack and
checked the mags in the pouches on his chest. Satisfied he was good to go, he slung
his M4 and shot Daymon a look that the other man could interpret only one way:
Don’t
make us come looking for you.

***

Twenty minutes after leaving Glenda’s house and the deathly
quiet town of Huntsville in the rearview, Duncan slowed the Land Cruiser at the
end of the long and familiar winding drive and let Cade out.

The snow on the ground here felt different under his boots
when he stepped onto the roadway. It no longer had that squeak of powdery
crystals being compacted together under his hundred-and-eighty pounds. It kind
of reminded him of the wet snow that often fell on Mount Hood. Known to the
locals as Cascade Concrete, it had a tendency to grab and pull on the bases of
all but the more recently waxed skis and snowboards.

He could still see his breath coming out white as he walked,
and he noted the air here offered less of a sting to his lungs. The night sky
was inky black and he couldn’t see his hand at arm’s length when the rig’s dome
light snapped off. Working in the cone of light thrown by the SUV’s headlights,
he removed the length of chain and pushed the gate to the UDOT yard aside.
Eschewing the warmth of the truck, he switched on the tactical light affixed to
his M4 and waved Duncan forward, then closed them and the Land Cruiser inside
with the heavy equipment and piles of gravel.

With the bouncing white beam preceding him, he hustled on
foot to the trailer where the keys to the vehicles were kept. He turned the
knob and nudged the door open with the suppressor. Carbine tucked tight to his
shoulder, he swept the room first then found the keys. Thirty seconds after
entering the darkened pre-fab trailer, he was climbing into the SUV’s passenger
seat with not one, but the entire assortment of keys that had been hanging on
pins pressed into the corkboard inside.

Cade had Duncan shuttle him to one of the Mack Granite
trucks already fitted with a plow. Only this plow wasn’t the type that shot the
snow off to the right like the rigs they’d left shoring up the roadblock. This
monster was fitted with a bi-directional plow more than twice the size of the
others. Rising from the ground to just above the top of the hood in an
aggressive upswept arc, both halves dove down and met in the middle, creating a
sharp vertical leading edge. A student of military history, Cade’s first
impression was that the truck had been fitted with a mine-clearing device. However,
this shiny item up front was good for clearing a road of snow in one high-speed
pass—not deadly high explosives at a crawl.