Taking It Back (29 page)

“Did you elect him?” Charlie asked from the pilot’s seat.

I laughed, understanding his reference. “No, but I nominated him real good.”

We continued to head south, passing through familiar territory. We had been this way earlier this year and I had to shake my head at the memories. I was still amazed Charlie and I made it out of Coal City alive.
Too lucky
, I thought.

The sun was fast approaching its zenith when we moved around the bend where we had stopped to go to State Center Bravo. I wondered how Trevor was doing since he and his men had gone in search of answers at the other state center. Charlie swung the boat around to the dock we had spent the night at before and we quickly reconnoitered some additional gasoline for the boat. Our buddy from the machine shop was still there, although he looked to have been chewed a bit by local fauna.

After the brief stop, we moved on to unfamiliar waters. I was sure of where we were according to the map I had, but I had no clue as to what lay ahead regarding the towns that were on the river or what else we might encounter. The first town we were supposed to come in contact with was Morris, but since it had a major highway running through it, I did not think it would have escaped the infection. But I have been wrong before and this might be one of those times.

As we pulled under the bridge to Morris, it was immediately apparent the infection had indeed struck this town. I could see shadowy shapes flitting from building to building and the omnipresent white flags were everywhere. The town seemed abandoned, but I knew there were still occupants, although likely none living.

I shook my head at Charlie as he slowed down and we sped up again, leaving Morris in our wake. We moved down a long stretch of river with untended farms on both sides. We could see the silos of farms in the distance, but had no desire to investigate. I had to assume that since Morris had been hit, that the outlying farms and small towns were hit as well when the ghouls ran out of food in the main communities they headed out to the country. No single family home could withstand a siege from hundreds of hungry, determined zombies. I had seen too many homes with the windows smashed in, the doors broken, and bloodstains marking the walls and floors.

The next town we were supposed to come close to was Seneca, which was a small, older community on the river. If I remembered correctly, there was a row of homes on an upper portion of the town, almost on cliffs. If they could have made a coordinated stand and blocked the entrance to the subdivision, there might be survivors.

We slowed to an easy drift as we approached the town, passing several barges abandoned at the side of the river. I couldn’t see the town, but I could see the long dock on the south side of the river with many boats still moored. I took that as a positive sign. My confidence was further bolstered when we spotted a lone man standing on the bridge, a scoped hunting rifle balanced on his hip. He was waving to us and I shrugged my shoulders at Charlie and, standing on the roof of the cabin, I tossed a mooring line up to him.

The man caught it with his free hand and looped it around a bridge support, holding on to it tightly. Charlie cut the engine and the boat slowly swung around under the bridge, until we came out facing the other way and facing the man on the bridge. He was about fifty years old, dressed simply, with graying black hair peeking out from beneath a worn camouflage cap. I could see an additional revolver on his belt and the bridge had been blocked at one end with a chain link gate.

“Howdy!” the man called down to us. “Nice to see another live soul ‘round these parts. Name’s Josh Courtner. Where y’all from?”

I smiled at the man’s southern accent although we were still in what many considered northern Illinois. “We’re from Leport. I’m John Talon and my partner at the tiller is Charlie James. How’s your town?”

The gentleman considered the question for a minute, then replied, “We’re gettin’ by. The kids are complainin’ they’re bored, but that’s ‘bout the worst of it. Did you pass Morris?”

“Yes,” I said. “We didn’t go in, but I got the impression it was empty, nothing living.”

“We’ve thought so for months, but never got around to checking it out. We’re too busy tryin’ to make a livin’ in a world gone dead.” Josh seemed amused by his statement, but I didn’t press him further.  I had seen enough to know that unless he went in there with some decent firepower and cool shooters, someone was going to die.

“What brings y'all down the river?” Josh asked. “Not that I mind, it's great there's another town that's alive out there, we thought we were a little alone, here.”

“I'm looking for my brother,” I said.  “His name is Mike Talon, he would have been traveling with his family.  He's about my size, dark hair, and blue eyes.  I'm not sure when he might have passed this way.”

Josh thought for a minute.  “Would this brother of yours been carrying a 9mm Beretta, by any chance?” he asked.

I brightened, suddenly hopeful.  “Yeah, he would.  Did you see him?”

Josh nodded.  “I reckon so.  He showed up along the river late last year, right before the snows became serious.  He and his family looked like they had been traveling a while and some of our local boys thought to have a little sport.  You brother asked for some supplies and our town idiot thought it would be a good idea to make your brother sing for it.  Your brother sang, although from what I heard, he looked like he was gonna kill somebody.  When the song was over, the idiot stiffed your brother, laughing and drinking a beer. Your brother waited until the dumbass was about fifty yards away then shot the bottle out of his hand.  After that he got his supplies.  No one wanted to mess with someone who could shoot like that.”

I grinned.  Mike was hell on wheels with a handgun.  

Charlie nudged me.  “You have any other family out there?  Any more of you and we'll whip the whole damn zombie horde single-handed.”

I shook my head.  “Mike's great with a handgun, but can't shoot for shit with a long gun.”

“Anyway,” Josh continued, “he was welcome to stay, but he said he needed to get downriver and wait for his brother.  Said something about a fort, although I don't know what the hell he was talkin' about. I lived here my whole life and there ain’t never been no fort anywhere near here.”

“This was before winter?” I asked.

“Yep.”

“Thanks.  We'll see you when we are heading back,” I promised.

“We'll be here,” Josh said, letting the line go and releasing our boat. We drifted for a bit, then Charlie righted us, and we headed farther down river. I looked at our map and saw we were supposed to clear Marseilles within the hour. The sun was moving into the afternoon and soon we would have to find a place to spend the night. I was hoping that we would have been able to reach Starved Rock and my brother by nightfall, but it was looking like it was going to have to be in the morning. We had a decent ways to go and I didn’t see us reaching him soon.

28

We moved farther down the river and I was once again struck at how quiet it was. I could clearly hear the river moving along its banks, the sudden splash of fish and frogs and the increasing whine of insects. Part of me wondered if this might have been what this area was like back in the day before humans started to settle along it in force.

Marseilles was a lot like Seneca and we had a pleasant conversation with a couple of teenagers who were at the river when we passed. The town looked like most river towns, small homes with a few larger ones back in the hills. The thing that Seneca had separating it from others was the tall earthen mound that seemed to surround the town. When I inquired about it, I was told that since Seneca was a holding place for highway construction equipment, they had no trouble creating a defensive barrier, especially considering what had happened to Ottowa. They didn’t elaborate further, telling me I would see when I got there, in typical teen fashion. They promised to tell their leaders about us and would hopefully see us when we came back since we had “kick-ass” gear.

Charlie and I were left to ponder this information as we moved farther down the river. The sun was sinking lower and if I had to guess, it was roughly three or four o’clock in the afternoon. The sun was starting to become a problem on the water, as it was making it more difficult to see where we were going. When the sun dipped lower, we would be lucky if we didn’t hit something. There was plenty of debris in the river and thus far Charlie had been able to steer clear, but if we hit something and lost the boat, we had a long swim back home.

As we got closer to Ottowa, Charlie spotted a dock sticking out into the river. Not one to ask a gift horse to open wide, I suggested we moor there for the night and head out first thing in the morning. It would give us a chance to stretch our legs and walk on dry land for a bit.

As Charlie steered us close, I jumped off the boat and tied us up at the dock. The dock was a serious structure and I noticed a concrete reinforced pylon which I assumed would have been used to keep the barges from taking out the dock. Interesting, but it still didn’t explain why the dock was there.

Charlie and I walked along the pier and followed a service road until we could see where we were. On our left was a farm and on the right looked like a power plant or manufacturing plant. I didn’t have any desire to figure out what it was and Charlie didn’t either. If no one wanted this place, it would eventually crumble into decay. Most places would be like that, I guessed. We simply did not have the people left to bring things back to exactly the way they were. A lot of places would have to be abandoned. Maybe if we survived another twenty years, humans could make a comeback and use what we left behind. All speculation at this point. We had to survive those years, first.

Charlie pointed towards the plant and I could see movement around the doors. A lone figure was walking out of the building and even at that distance, I could see the telltale shambling walk of a zombie. I shook my head sadly, realizing this area had been hit by the infection as well.

“We’ve come so far, I kind of hoped we would have found an area that the infection didn’t touch.” Charlie said, echoing my thoughts.

“No such luck,” I said, turning back to the dock. “The infection touched everything, one way or the other.” To emphasize my point, four more came strolling out of the building.

We moved back the way we came and rounded a grove of trees, blocking us from the sight of the zombies. With luck, they would lose interest and go wander off and chase a bug or something.

We went back to the boat and untied one of the mooring lines, letting the boat drift along until the second line went taut, keeping us tied, but safe from attack. We were about thirty yards from the pier and safe in deep water.

Charlie and I passed the time cleaning our weapons and arguing which kung-fu movie was best. As the sun dipped below the horizon, we settled in to sleep.

29

In the morning, I got a nasty surprise. I stepped out of the cabin to stretch and I found myself faced with about fifteen zombies. They were standing on the pier and when they saw me they raised a ghoulish chorus that echoed across the water. Much to my dismay, I heard an answering chorus downriver. Charlie came out of the cabin with his gun ready, but I pushed it down. The zombies were just standing on the pier, but they clearly wanted to get to us. I thought it was interesting that they retained enough intelligence to recognize water. I told Charlie to start the motor and when he was ready, I would cut the line.

Charlie started the engine and at the sound, the zombies became more agitated. One fell into the river and drifted dangerously close until he finally sank under the surface. The boat eased forward and when there was slack in the line, I quickly severed it and Charlie slewed the boat around, taking us away from the dock of the undead.

As we approached Ottowa it was easy to see that the city had been hit hard. Given its proximity to the interstate, I really wasn’t that surprised. What did surprise me was the crowds of zombies standing along the edge of the river. There had to be hundreds, if not thousands, and they were standing wherever they could. The bridge spanning the water was packed with zombies as well and they were held in place by a
huge
pile of debris. If it was twenty feet high, it was an inch. As we moved underneath the bridge, I could see movement on the south side of the river. I looked closely and saw living people. I waved a hand in greeting and they tried to wave me over, but I shook my head. “We’ll be back,” I said, the words sounding unnaturally loud over the stillness of the morning. The zombie crowd took up a moaning that rebounded off the cliffs and hills. If there was a zombie within a mile, they heard that undead song.

We sped away and headed downriver and I was getting anxious to reach the state park. Starved Rock got its name from the legend that a group of Indians had become trapped on the top of the formation by enemy Indians and they subsequently starved to death. In later years, the rock formation was home to a French fort, named Fort St. Louis which was placed there to protect French trading interests in the region. The rock was home to a hotel and after that it became a state park. A number of trails wound their way through the hills and limestone cliffs and it was not uncommon to find a waterfall or two feeding the river from forgotten streams. A lodge had been built on the cliff overlooking the river during the CCC days of the Great Depression and a visitor center had been erected in recent years to educate the tourists about the history and wildlife of the area.