The Rise of Macon: A Zombie Novel (Macon Saga Book 2) (9 page)

"We need to get things that will last and a lot of it.
Think rice, flour and canned goods. Let’s break into teams and get moving. Jack
and my son will stay near the loading dock, covering our rear. Let's go."

Abe watched the college kid, Jack, and Billy's son head
back out the swinging doors, then turned to find Patrick smiling at him.
"Let's go man, got to get some fruit roll ups for the kids."

Abe smiled, thankful to Patrick for reminding him there was
still humor in the world.

***

The finding and loading of food went more quickly than Abe
would have thought. Everyone moved with a purpose, and that purpose was to not get
killed. The shuffling sound of moving feet between the loading dock and store,
became a constant flow as people moved around each other, all trying to work as
fast as possible.

Abe, arms full with a 50 pound bag of rice, followed a
biker back through the swinging doors and deposited his haul onto the dock,
near the trailer. Jack and Billy's son had moved from guard duty to loading
duty and a lot of food was being put in the truck, though it was a big trailer
and they hadn't taken up much room. Abe saw Billy talking with the leader of
the bikers near the stairs of the dock, and walked over to see what was going
on.

"I don't know, Wes, it's not really my call to
make," Billy said to the older man. Billy saw Abe move over and turned to
look at him. "Abe, Wes here has a proposition. They need a place to stay
for a few days. In return, they'll help us load all the food and get out of
here quicker."

Billy seemed to be asking Abe's permission, but Abe didn't
feel like he was the guy to ask. He was thinking through the ramifications when
the lightly bearded giant that helped him earlier walked over. "Hey pop,"
he said, "we got about as much as we can carry, or push in those grocery
carts. Time to go?"

The older man looked from the newcomer to Abe, considering.
Abe looked up at the younger man. "This is your dad?"

"I don't like to claim it, but he is," returned
the big man. "Didn't have time to meet you earlier, name's Rich." He
held out his hand again and Abe took it. The man’s hand swallowed his own, but
the big man didn't put any extra pressure, no contesting of will. Rich had
light brown hair, a long nose and an even larger Adam's apple, which poked out
in dramatic fashion. He looked like a muscled version of Ichabod Crane. What
drew Abe to the big man, even more than his saving him earlier, was the smile. Abe
thought himself a good judge of character, who doesn't, and he liked the big
man. He also thought it spoke well that he got along with his father.

While thinking about the offer, the group was joined by two
bikers Abe hadn't seen earlier. Abe only need a glance to know he didn't have a
good feeling about them. The first man, not taller than average, walked like a
mix between viper and peacock. He had a dark complexion, with even darker eyes,
eyes that would have been more natural in one of the fallen. Unlike his fellow
bikers, this man sported no beard, no goatee, just the stubble of a man who
hadn't shaved in a few days. Another difference was his hair, or lack of hair,
for the man was completely bald. Abe sensed something dark about him, a shadow
to the man which spoke of danger.

Beside the bald man, towering over him like a child, was a Sasquatch
of a man. Grease, dirt and filth were his attire, with a beard that hung to his
stomach. He exuded the power of a Lion, with the creased face of a monkey,
until one looked again and saw the face for what it was, the face of a savage.

"Did they ask for help?" asked the bald man. He
talked with his head down and eyes up, as if he were looking through his brow. His
voice was slippery and full of scorn. He didn't look at Billy or Abe.

Wes gave a horse laugh and slapped the man on the shoulder.
"Hardly Dave, we offered to pitch in if we could stay at their place for a
few days."

Abe thought Dave didn't like Wes slapping him, nor the way
he casually shut him down. He caught Billy's eyes, both men asking themselves
the same question. Can we trust them?  If it were just Dave and Goliath here,
then Abe wouldn't even have had to think about it, but he liked Wes and Rich. More
importantly, they were in charge.

Abe made a decision and hoped it was the right one,
otherwise, it could place everyone in a lot of danger. He turned to Wes.
"You know what you're asking, don't you?  In these times?  We've already
had more than one incident with people who want to hurt us or take what we
have."

The older man kept his eyes on Abe. "I understand. You
have my word, we're just looking to get out and back to our people."

Abe accepted his word, and turned to talk to Billy privately.
"The decision was made to help those people who needed it. I think we need
to, besides I trust Wes and his son, they seem like good people."

"I agree," said Billy, "about those two, but
I don't think I trust all of them."

"Me either. How about we accept, but keep our guard up.
Kyle should be back tonight and can put his two cents in."

Billy nodded, then turned to Wes, ignoring the others.
"We agree, but when the professor comes back, you'll have to talk to him. He
calls the shots."

"Sounds okay to me," said Wes, reaching up and
putting his hand on his son's wide shoulders. "Let's get this stuff loaded
and out of here then.

Almost as if on cue, Patrick ran up with news. "We got
diseased coming."

"How many?" asked Billy.

"Just a few, but more seem to be wandering back."

"Okay, let's get the last bit loaded and get the truck
going."

The group turned to go, but not before Abe turned and saw
Dave leering at him, a smile on his face. He didn't like the guy, but he'd been
wrong before. Besides, he wasn't in charge.

The next few minutes rained pandemonium as everyone tried
to throw all the food they could in the back of the trailer. Wes, Rich, Billy,
Patrick and a few others headed out to stop the first of the diseased making
their way around the building. In one's and two, they were easily able to kill
the diseased, as they trudged up, but every kill brought two more, until
everyone had to fall back. Directions were yelled and Old Ben and a few others
jumped in the cab of the shiny black truck, now loaded and ready to go. Everyone
else jumped in the trailer, and slid the door closed, locking them in darkness.

"Next stop, Fort Macon, boys," said Patrick in
the black of the trailer. "And then we're going to make some
biscuits."

Chapter 9

Neil walked through the lobby of the motel, his gait
confident and sure. He'd spent extra time this morning making sure his uniform
was immaculate and his appearance well groomed. Three days had passed since they'd
moved into the hotel and marina. He'd spent that time shoring up his defenses
and getting organized. He was making a difference here, he was building
something and he knew this was where he belonged. Among these people who didn't
know how to survive, among these lambs, he was the shepherd. He'd found his
calling.

He spotted two of the new survivors making their way across
the other side of the lobby. They two spotted him, quickly dropped their gaze,
and continued walking. They were afraid of him and Neil had come to realize he
was okay with it. Better than okay, they needed to be scared, so he could keep
them alive. He knew what was best for them, even if they didn't. There were
more than thirty survivors now stationed at the Hotel and he was making them
into an army. An army that would bring justice to this island.

He almost made it to the front doors when he heard screams
coming from outside. Neil picked up his pace to find out why someone had broken
the noise restriction. He'd told everyone to keep the chatter down, but they
were amateurs, not yet the professionals he'd make them.

"Commander! Commander!"

Neil heard the words and smiled to himself. Neil knew
titles were important, and he was well suited to this one. There must be rules
and there must be someone in charge; that was him. Any organization would do
the same. He pushed open the glass door and saw one of the younger boys running
full out in his direction. The boy was moving at an angle, every few seconds
looking back over his shoulder, almost causing him to trip over himself.

Neil stopped outside the doors of the hotel and held up a
hand, indicating for the boy to stop. The teenager skidded to a stop in the
gravel parking lot and tried to talk, his words jumbled.

"Report, soldier, and say it clearly!  And why are you
away from your post?" Neil demanded. He wouldn't have his soldiers
deserting their posts. Not now. Not in war.

"Commander, I was at the far post …”

"XR-1," interrupted Neil harshly. "You will
learn the call sign of all the posts." This particular post was the farthest
one from the hotel. It was stationed in an old house they'd found and cleared
on the side of the road. From its vantage point,on the second story, a person
could see the edge of town if they used binoculars. It was an important post
and Neil's anger built at it being left empty.

The teen boy looked back at Neil in utter confusion. He
quickly turned and looked back over his shoulder, his eyes wide with fear. "Sir,
they're coming!"

Neil let the slip on the post go at the words of boy.
"Who's coming?"

"I saw a big truck driving through town and it was
honking its horn over and over again, just staying ahead of the diseased. The
people in the truck were leading the diseased after them. There are millions of
them. The whole town was following him. All the dead people were following it
and now they're all coming this way. "

Neil cringed at the information; he wasn't ready yet. His
defensive positions weren't ready and they had nowhere near enough weapons. He
quickly focused his mind back on the story. "Is the truck still leading
them?"

"No commander, it pulled ahead and then turned down a
side street, but a few minutes later it came back out and crashed into them. The
dead people swarmed over the truck for a few minutes, but most of them them
kept walking in our direction."

Neil stood, stunned at how this could have happened. Why
would someone drive directly into a mob and kill themselves?  Why would they
lead the mob away from town?  Neil dismissed the questions for the time being,
knowing he needed to get his people to safety.

"Good job soldier. I need to you tell everyone Code
Red. That means-" Neil stopped as it hit him. Kyle Smalls. Kyle had done
this to him. He deliberately led all those diseased this way, to finish him off.
Of course he did. That was exactly the kind of thing Kyle would do, something
sneaky, something cowardly, something where he wouldn't get hurt. He must have
followed him somehow. But how? Didn't matter. Just one more crime that Kyle
would pay for.

"Code Red?" the boy asked, flinching when Neil
turned his blazing eyes on him.

"Get everyone to gather the emergency food and water
and get them to the boats. Go! Now!"

Neil walked farther out into the parking lot, trying to get
a better view down the road that led to town. It was a small, paved two way
that was surrounded by Pines and a grassy run offs on both sides. Neil took a
quick look at the motel to see the teen talking excitedly with two others, then
all of them took off running. Satisfied, Neil turned back around, not having to
worry about them getting ready.

Neil neared the road, and stopped. He didn't see anything,
but something wasn't right. He waited and listened. Nothing. Only silence.
Then, he heard it. It was a low moan, almost as if a giant were humming. Neil
stayed still, eyes straining, the noise growing louder in the distance. His
heart stopped when he saw them.

 Initially, he thought he was looking at the road, the
black top blurring against the gray sky, but realized there wasn't any line and
the black shape moved slightly in the distant horizon. A solid wall of the
diseased, from one side of the road to the other, was headed towards them. Neil
turned and ran.

Neil ran, desperation filling him at the sight of the dead,
directly towards the main lobby of the hotel. He slammed through the doors to
find chaos among the survivors. They were everywhere, slamming into each other,
carrying boxes, clothes and other assortments in an attempt to get organized. They
were panicked and running in circles. Neil's voice snapped like iron across the
lobby. "Stop."

All motion ceased and heads turned in Neil's directions. Frightened
eyes, only seeking direction and safety, looked at him. Neil put his arms down.
"They're coming. Be calm, but quick, and get to the boats with as much
food as you can carry, nothing else. You only have minutes. Now go."

Neil watched as the people resumed their activity, this
time in an orderly fashion. He turned left and ran down a small hallways, to
the room he'd claimed as his. He opened the door, grabbed his rifle and go bag he
kept in case of emergencies, and headed out the door. He could come back for
anything else, if he needed it. He ran out the back entrance of the hotel to
find a dozen people frantically running towards the boats they'd staged. He
needed to find the rest of them. He threw his bag into a small pontoon boat
tied to the dock and went back out front.

He zipped back through the lobby, yelling at people to move
faster, and emerged out the front again. Neil had to keep himself from turning
around and leaving everyone else behind. He mastered himself, this was his time.
The horde, in their thousands, made it to the edge of the parking lot and were
spreading out. Drawn by the noise and sight of people scurrying, the fastest of
the diseased were half way across the gravel parking lot.

Neil scanned the area and saw people on the far side of the
motel, near the marina office. He'd buy his people the time they needed. He
unslung his rifle and mentally rushed his people along. He turned to the
diseased, whose low, menacing growls were thunderous in their numbers.

Controlling his breathing, knowing he needed to keep his
people safe, he took a knee and brought his rifle up. He easily zeroed in on
the closest diseased and put them down with a quick head shot. He shifted his
EO-Tech slightly and put the red dot on the next diseased, a teen with a blood covered
hole for an ear. Crack. The teen dropped, his head smacking the gravel. Neil
spent his magazine in less than minute. No good. There were too many of them.

The diseased, their white eyes seeming to laugh at the
thrill of the hunt, focused on Neil, the soul target in front of them. Neil
tried to drop back slowly, a tactical retreat, but there was no moving slow in
the face of these creatures. They pushed forward, tripping, stumbling, falling
to the ground in uncoordinated aggression to get to him. Those that fell were
trampled by those pushing behind them. Neil gave up, almost panicked, and ran
for the glass doors, rushing through them and locking them. A wasted effort, he
knew, but maybe it would hold them off a few minutes. He soon found out, they
would need more time than that.

Neil was astonished to find people still moving about the
hotel lobby, packing, talking as if their lives weren't at stake.

"Leave now!  To the boats!" screamed Neil,
hysteria taking over his carefully planned persona.

"We're almost packed Commander," one of the
survivors called back, his hands full of clothes and food.

"Leave it, we must leave now," said Neil. The
words had barely left his lips when a thunderous crash came from behind him. Neil
whirled to find the front doors shaking in their frames, the diseased crammed
up against it like shoppers on Black Friday. Screams and yells came from the
hotel lobby as their nightmares came to life. People panicked and ran in all
directions, bumping, hitting each other as all form of discipline and
deliberate action were replaced by mind controlling fear.

Neil stood there, not knowing how to get things back under
control, how to help these people. He heard the creak of metal bending, glass
shattering under the weight of the diseased pressing against it, and knew it
was too late. "Run now or you're dead."

He could do no more for them. Neil turned and ran towards
the entrance at the back of the lobby, others following him on instinct. He
raced through the doors, the others behind him, hitting it at the same time,
creating a bottle neck, slowing them down further. Neil heard the first scream,
a scream full of fear and pain. He knew it was human. It was a woman, but Neil
was passed it now and didn't turn around. The scream didn't last, but was soon
replaced by others. Neil kept running. He neared the wooden dock, which was
directly outside the back door and was horrified to find all four boats they'd
prepared were still tied to the dock.

"Cut the lines now," screamed Neil as he darted
to the right where his pontoon boat was tied by itself. He reached the narrow
boat in less than a minute, quickly cut the rope and pushed the light craft out
into the waterway. After a few feet, he jumped into the backwards moving boat
and quickly looked back around to make sure none of the diseased were near him.
They weren't. They had easier targets.

Neil looked at the dock, not more than 10 feet from himself,
as his boat slowly moved farther into the waterway. The diseased streamed out
the back doors, and onto the wooden dock. There was so many of them, they
couldn't fit on the dock, and began falling into the water. Frantic shouts and
curses fill the air, the survivors scurried to cut the ropes, to free the
boats, but their hands shook too badly to hold the knives.

The first boat was reached, the diseased spilling into it
like an unstoppable lava slide. In seconds, the survivors were surrounded and torn
apart, their tortured voices lasting only seconds before they were silenced.
The rest of the boats fell, one after another, in seconds. The last survivors,
desperate, tried diving into the water to escape, but even that was no use. So great
was the multitude that hundreds dropped into the water, creating a walkway of
human diseased, until they were able to reach their prey.

In less than two minutes, all the screams, all the frantic
pleas and desperate yells for deliverance stopped. More than thirty people died
under the weight of thousands of diseased, the blood covered bodies and inhuman
growls filling the night like a field of locus.

Neil kept the presence of mind to take out the oars and
paddle a few times, putting more distance between himself and the awe inspiring
nightmare behind him. He dropped the oars and watched the disease try and reach
him, hundreds more dropping into the water, creating a mountain of inflicted
that reached higher and higher as they kept coming. The diseased kept their
heads lifted into the air, as if communicating with a deity. Their heads
snapped back and forth in an attempt to follow his progress, the prey that
escaped.

Neil sat in shock, unable to breath at the death of all
those people. He wasn't able to comprehend, to form thoughts of what he'd
witnessed. Despair filled him at the unstoppable tide that opposed him, and all
mankind. There was no chance against them. He'd tried to save people, but
failed. He wasn't strong enough. No, it wasn't his fault!  This was a crime, a
deliberate action against him, and innocent people had paid the price.

Kyle Smalls.

Kyle did this, he killed these people. Kyle caused Neil to
fail at protecting them, caused Neil to fail at being what he knew he should
be, a leader of men. A commander.

Neil had no misconceptions about defeating what he'd just
seen, it was their world now, no one and nothing could stop what he'd just seen.
But he could take revenge on the person who caused today to happen, who caused
the death of Yolanda and so many more. He would make sure Kyle was punished and
he fully accepted that it would be the last thing he ever did.