The Rise of Macon: A Zombie Novel (Macon Saga Book 2) (15 page)

Chapter 15

"Knock, Knock," Patrick called, pulling the
curtain aside and sticking his yellow Mohawk head into the dark of Kyle's room.

"Yes," Kyle answered from where he was reclining
on his wood made bunk bed, his mind lost in grief.

"Hey man, I brought you some breakfast. I got grits
and sausages and an orange, which may be good or not."

Patrick moved into the room, trying not to stare at his
friend. Kyle looked better, but his face still seemed pale, his eyes bloodshot
and hollow looking. James had crashed somewhere else last night, leaving Kyle
to mourn alone.

"Kinda early isn't it?" asked Kyle, throwing
Patrick a bone. He knew what his friend was trying to do and though he just
wanted to grieve alone, he couldn't.

"It's early, but when you don't have electricity and
the world goes dark at five-thirty, you find yourself going to bed early and
waking up with the sun, like the olden days I guess."

"Sounds about right," Kyle said vacantly. He
didn’t know when he'd fallen asleep, but it must have been late. He hadn't
slept well, his heart felt too damaged for that. He'd woken up about thirty
minutes ago and had been brooding in the dark since then. "How's everything?"

"Good man, don't worry about that." Patrick
seemed to hesitate. "How are you?"

Kyle didn't say anything. What could he say? He hadn't
cried in years and last night, well, it seemed like a damn had broken, not
letting up until he had purged his grief to the bricks that lined the fort. He
felt better. His mother always told him that tears were nature's healing. Maybe
so, but his heart still felt crushed, like lead had replaced it. He wondered if
he even could recover from this. It was usually Abe that brought him out of his
funks, but without him…"I'm going to be okay."

"Never doubted it, but thought I might have to take
charge for awhile, get these guys in order. Slackers."

Kyle smiled. He could always count on Patrick to bring a
smile to his face.

"All good, you got your breakfast then?" came a
new voice from the door. Eric irritably pulled the curtain down and threw it on
the floor, mumbling about needing to get a proper door put up. Eric seemed half
beast as the candle Patrick brought threw its light across his bushy face. His
hair, uncombed and unrestrained, appeared frightening in its race for freedom.

Irked, Patrick turned back towards the man. "I told
you I was bringing it, you redneck oaf."

"Ah, he got you good mate," said Edmund following
Eric through the door, holding onto another plate of food.

"Shut it you," snapped Eric. "Morning Kyle,
thought we'd have breakfast with you. Not good to brood alone."

Patrick handed the plastic plate to Kyle, then sat down the
end of the bed, making room for Eric and Edmund on James' bed.

"I appreciate that," Kyle said, amused at his
friends' attempt to make him feel better. He tasted the grits and smiled again.
He loved them and they had salt; even better.

"Never could get the taste for these grits," said
Patrick at his feet. "They just taste like a weird version of oat
meal."

"That's because you're a Yankee boy," wheezed Old
Ben as he marched through the open door, plate in hand and white hair beaming
in the darkness. "This here is proper southern food. Make room for an old
man, Queen's spittle."

"Bloody rude," Edmund said, getting up and
sitting on another bunk. Old Ben took the empty seat and began eating, greeting
no one.

Kyle smiled again as he bit into his sausages and the
ancient room filled with the sound of friends eating breakfast.

A few minutes later the scolding voice of Jasmine rang
through the vaulted room. "You were supposed to just bring him his
breakfast, not have a party."

"I didn't do this," Patrick said defensively as
his wife handed Kyle a bottle of water. Grace and James followed Jasmine into
the room, but both stayed silent. James because it was his natural state, and
Grace because she felt like she was intruding.

Kyle, food forgotten, caught her eye and wanted to talk to
her. Jasmine, missing none of it, came to the rescue. "Grace, come over
here and sit. James you too, don't hover, you look menacing back there. Find
another seat." Jasmine said directing her last to Patrick, who smiled good
naturedly at his wife and went to sit beside Edmund on the far bunk.

Grace moved to Kyle's bunk and sat tentatively on the end.
"You're okay? I mean, I know you're not okay but-"

"I'll get there," Kyle said quietly. Emotions
rolled through him, wanting to break him down again. He had more he wanted to
say to her, but everyone seemed to be staring at them now, most with smirks
across their bruised faces.

"What now professor?" said Old Ben, his voice
almost a scream. His hearing wasn't so good and he couldn't always tell how
loud he talked. He looked up to find everyone looking at him. "What?"

"We can spend today recuperating. You guys look awful,"
Kyle said with a smile. He hesitated, his voice almost cracking. "James,
are things ready?"

James gave a nod.

"Then we'll bury … everyone."

A deep silence followed, no one saying a word. Almost no
one.

"He was too soft for this world," Said Old Ben.

"Ben!"

 "No, No, that's not what I meant." he said,
pushing out his lips. "He was too good, too kind. He was a good boy, but
too kind. He's in a better place."

Kyle wanted to rise up and rage against Old Ben for saying
Abe was too soft, but he knew what the old man meant. Abe
was
too kind
for this world. He tried to picture him in a better place, if there was such a
place, but selfishly, he just wanted him here.

"Yes, thank you for that Ben," snapped Jasmine as
if he were Patrick. "Now, everyone out. Shoo."

The group got up, said their goodbyes and walked out,
leaving Grace alone with Kyle. The two just looked at each other, the silence
feeling more comfortable now. She placed her hand on his. "I'm so sorry
Kyle."

Kyle gave a weak smile. "He would have liked
you."

Kyle held her hand and thought Abe would be proud he hadn't
let his demons pull him down.

***

The burial was a brief, solemn affair, with only a few
words spoken. Cool wind whipped around the fort, the smell of salt stronger
than usual, as Kyle stood at the end of his brother's final resting place. Next
to Kyle stood Rich, his face busted and bruised. He turned to Kyle. "I
liked Abe, he was a nice guy."

"Thanks. And I'm sorry about your father. "Kyle
didn't know what else to say to the guy. He got tired of people telling him
they were sorry, so he didn't want to say anything else about it. "What
are your plans now?

Rich took a look around the fort, at the people moving back
and forth, going about their chores. "If you don't mind, we'd like to stay
here. None of us have anything to go back to and we're not sure we could get
there if we did."

"We're happy to have you."

Rich nodded, turned to leave and stopped when he saw James
approach Kyle.

"One of the bikers says he sees something," said
James, holding a pair of binoculars.

"Let's go take a look then. Care to join us?"
Kyle said to Rich, then turned and headed towards the stairs that led to the
inner wall.

Kyle stepped up on the inner wall to find a slim biker
standing before him. The man was all angles, more bone than anything. He wore a
thin, Asian looking beard and had a lazy eye which looked to the side.
"You're the professor?"

"I am. What's your name?" Kyle asked, holding out
his hand to the man as he walked.

"They call me weasel," the man said, seeing Rich
join them.

Kyle stopped walking and looked at the man. "Why do
they call you that?"

The man seemed unsure as he answered. "Because I look
like a weasel."

Kyle wasn't sure if it was an answer or a question.
"Do you like this nick name?"

The man seemed stunned. He looked at the ground, then to
Rich, then back to the professor who held his gaze without flinching. Nobody
had ever asked him that question. He felt compelled to answer. "No, I
never liked it."

"What's your real name?"

"Terry Grinnky"

"Well Terry, let's dispense with the nick names shall
we?  I'm Kyle and this is James. Now what did you see?"

Kyle turned his piercing gaze from him and Terry felt
relieved, as if he'd been sent to the principal. Who was this guy? "It's
probably nothing, but if you look at where the land meets the sky, you can see
a dark line across it. I swear I saw it move a little. Just a little, but it
was there."

Kyle took the binoculars and scanned the horizon. The sun
had risen in the sky and it was almost noon. It was a clear day, with blue
skies in Carolina. A golf day. Kyle took his time, but didn't see anything. He
put down the binoculars and looked around outside the fort. It was clear of
diseased.

He started walking, glanced at James. "I need to go
have a look."

"No."

Kyle turned his head at the man. "James, I need to
know what's out there."

"I understand, but you're not going. Jasmine's orders,"
James said, his face devoid of humor.

Kyle laughed anyways, and started to let James have it when
Terry spoke up. "I'll go."

Kyle stopped, and looked from James to Terry. "You
can't go alone, company policy."

"I'll go with him," said Rich, nodding his head.

"Okay, take one of the smaller trucks, it's faster. I
need to know what Terry saw. If you see any danger or you're in danger, don't
engage. Come back and let us know. James, let's get the generator fired up and
get the radios passed out, just in case. Get Eric and he'll let you out."

The three of them turned and disappeared down the stairs. Kyle
looked back at the horizon but couldn't see the black line without the binoculars.
There could only be one thing that was so big it caused the horizon to look
like a black line. He heard shouts from behind him, the movement of the fort
coming alive again, and he hoped he was wrong. If not, it would be a fight.

***

Kyle stood in the middle of the parade ground, his eyes
drawn to the motley group standing around him. There was tension in the air,
but no panic, no hysteria about the meeting being called. A meeting that could
only mean bad news. There were seventeen of them now, not including kids. Twelve
men and five women, who looked up to Jasmine much more than Kyle.

 Kyle walked among the group, giving words of
encouragement, sharing a joke or responding to condolences about Abe. He pushed
the pain and memory of his brother away for now, he couldn't handle it. Everyone
had seen Rich and Terry come back to the fort and head directly towards Kyle. That,
along with the generator being fired up and all the things Eric had dumped in
the middle of the parade ground, had everyone curious.

"Here's what we know," said Kyle, drawing
everyone's attention. "Terry and Rich scouted a sizeable group of diseased
headed this way. They couldn't find the reason, but that's immaterial right now.
There're coming and we need to get ready. Jasmine, can you take a few people
and get all the magazines loaded and up to the wall?" She nodded. "Good,
we'll go over a battle plan in a few minutes but I want Eric to introduce a few
things. I'd hoped to have more time to practice with these but there's no time
now. Eric."

Eric left the make shift line that had formed and walked
next to Kyle, where he pointed at a pile of wood on the ground. "These are
wooden shields." He had to stop as everyone started talking. "Let's
get through this please. Ok. There are eight of them and they'll be used at the
top of the wall to push the diseased back and to keep them from biting
us."

"Who's going to carry them?"

Kyle stepped forward. "They aren't light, so it'll
have to be the eight strongest of us."

"You've lost it boy. Shields?" said Old Ben,
rubbing his age marked face in frustration and thought. "But it might
work, especially since we don't have any bullets for the guns."

At this news, the group started talking again, looks of
horror upon their faces.

"That's not true Old Ben," said Kyle, irritated
at the old man for his loose words. He knew these people needed confidence now,
not fear. "We have thousands of round, but the supply isn't bottomless. Look
guys, I'll be honest, there's a lot of them, but they're braindead. We aren't. We'll
get through this, but we have to work together."

The chatter died down at Kyle's confident words, even Old
Ben leaning in waiting to hear the rest of the plan. After a look from Kyle,
Eric continued. "Now, as I was saying, these shields will be used with the
short swords and some longer spears I've had made up. They'll do just fine. We
have less than an hour, so listen up-"

A noise carried through the fort. A horn. It wasn't close to
the fort, but its high pitch was easily recognizable. The sound was repeated
and everyone looked around, as if the offending noise was hiding next to them. Kyle
turned and ran to the top of the wall just as the horn sounded again.

Closer.

The sound of feet scraping, jostling weapons and curses,
complaining about the narrow stairs, accompanied Kyle to the top of the wall. The
group looked out over the killing ground surrounding the fort, until the horn
drew their eyes to the beach side of the peninsula.

Kyle squinted his eyes as a man ran from the beach, through
the sparse trees and to the ground in front of the fort. The man carried an air
horn in his upraised hand, pointing it away from the fort, right towards the
diseased.

"That's why their coming," said Patrick with an
air of confidence.

"Figured that one out did ya?" Eric replied,
beside him.

"Yep, classic zombie move. I've read about it."