American Revenant (Book 3): The Monster In Man (15 page)

Chapter 25

“Where’s An…” Mike began
to ask, before he saw the blood soaking the waistband of Dean’s pants.  He was
standing to the left of the door and firing another volley just as zombies
reached the stairwell.

“Tell you later, let’s
just get the hell out of here.”

Jimmy scowled, looking at
the blood, at Dean’s hand clutching his side, and up to his face.  “I think I
can make time to beat the shit out of him.”

Dean could hear the
growing roar of the zombies moaning on the stairs, still behind the door
barricaded by the old desk.  “Won’t be necessary,” Dean told the others. 

“We have all the loot
bags, nothing else matters.  Let’s just get the hell out of here,” Rick told
his friends.

Together the men backed
away from the door that was now filling with undead.  Instead of firing they
broke and ran for the roof access door. 

 Outside, on the graveled
roof, the men blocked the door with a length of two-by-four, which someone had
presumably left there for that purpose.

Bodies slammed into the
door, but the board held.  Over the banging on the door and the moans of the
shambling dead they heard a scream rise up, at first full and deep then lifting
to a high and pitiable wail.

Wordlessly the men turned
to the far end of the roof, where they knew the receiving dock to be. 

Coming around the corner
of what was the third floor portion of the hospital Calvin stopped, surprised
to see the others.  Even from a distance he could see that his brother was
injured. 

Before Calvin could say
anything Dean said, “I’m fine; I’ll tell you about it later.”

Calvin did not think he
looked fine.  Dean was sweating and he looked extremely pale.  “Ok.  We can get
down from here, but we have to drop to the first floor roof, over that way.” 
Calvin pointed to the south edge of the building.

The thought of a drop was
pleasant to no one, but Mike dreaded it.  He wasn’t sure how much more
punishment his back could take.

The group ran quickly to
the edge of the roof where they would drop first.  Calvin went down, making the
drop easily and catching the bags of supplies as they were handed down.  Mike
went last, sliding over the edge and hanging by his arms as far as he could. 
Taking a deep breath he released his hold and dropped, letting his legs fold
and rolling with the impact.  Pain like fire lanced through his back and down his
leg.  He grunted, holding in a shout of pain. 

“You ok, Mike?” Dean
asked.

“No, but I’ll live,” he
responded, limping as the group continued toward the end of the roofline, where
they would drop down to the awning covering the dock, and from there down to
the top of the tractor trailer.

Just as the first of the
men took the shorter drop to the awning the group heard a crashing noise behind
them, a door behind thrown wide to slam against the wall behind it.

“Move guys, we need to
move now,” Jimmy prodded.

Jimmy took the last
position, watching back along the roof as Mike took the short drop to the
awning.  He heard his friend hit the roof, grunting loudly.  The mass of
zombies that had broken through the hastily boarded door came into sight just
as Jimmy turned to jump down.

Jimmy ignored them,
moving quickly to the edge and jumping on the trailer which sat just beneath
the awning, making the jump an easy one.  Alex already had the engine running
and Jimmy shouted, “Let’s go!”

Calvin and Rick rode with
Dean, who took the De Soto out first.  Alex began to roll the truck forward,
but not before several zombies joined Jimmy on the trailer’s roof.  Jimmy took
a knee and raised his rifle, popping off shots in rapid succession.  One zombie
was nearly cut in half, its dark crimson insides beginning to fall through its
perforated abdomen even as it fell from the truck.  Another creature was caught
in the shin, its right leg suddenly dissolving beneath it.  It too careened
from the trailer just as Alex began to make the turn from the parking lot out
toward the road leading away from this nightmare.

Jimmy leaned away from
the turn, keeping his balance as he fired on the remaining creature still on
the roof.  It went down, but did not roll away as he had hoped.  The dead thing
began to pull itself toward him along the roof.  Jimmy backed away until he
felt the M2 at his back.  Sighting with his AR-15, he carefully placed a shot
in the top of the gut-suckers head. 

Behind the truck Jimmy
could see the large pack falling from the roof, one after the other, then in
waves.  Zombies piled on top of zombies, some getting back up, others were
crushed beneath their undead kin. 

“Get some speed, Alex,
those fuckers are still coming!”

“I’m trying man!  Too
many turns, can’t go too fast yet,” Alex called from the cab.

Still crouching on the
trailer roof, Jimmy looked back toward the hospital, only to wish he had not. 
“Oh shit.”

The hundreds of undead
inside the hospital had started to press against the large windows when they
could see and hear the heavy truck.  One of the large panes gave way as Jimmy
watched, thinking,
“It looks like the hospital is vomiting up something
nasty.” 

“Just went from bad to
really bad, Alex, make this bitch roll!”

Alex pushed down on the
accelerator just before coming to the right turn that would lead them back to
Forrest Drive.  “Hang on!”

Jimmy reached for the
barrel of the big gun, gripping it with one hand.  The turn would have been
nearly too much for a big truck going slow, and Alex fought hard to keep it
from turning over.  The angle caused the trailer to tip just slightly.  When it
came back down with a hard thump Jimmy’s hand slipped from the barrel and he
slid off the roof of the trailer.

Alex, all of his
attention devoted to fighting the big truck back into a straight line, did not
notice that his friend had fallen, nor did Mike, who was in the passenger
seat. 

Alex caught up to the De
Soto where Forrest Drive turned onto Shinn Lane.  Pulling up beside the car,
Alex checked his side mirror and was relieved to find that they had pulled away
from the horde, as he could no longer see them.  “Jimmy, get down here!”

“Jimbo, come on!” Mike
called.

The men in the car got
out, and Dean jumped up on the cab of the truck, holding onto the busted side
mirror.  “Jimmy?”  He saw nothing, and scrambled up on to the roof.  “He’s not
up here guys!”  Dean’s voice was high, terrified. 

“What the hell do you
mean, “He’s not up there”?” Mike asked, his voice becoming dark.

Dean slipped a small pair
of binoculars from his pocket and looked back they way they had come.  “Oh no,
what the hell!”

“What’s going on, Dean?” 
Rick called up.

“Looks like Jimmy’s lying
on the ground, no, wait he’s moving.”  Dean watched as Jimmy sat up.  The horde
of undead grew perilously close to the man now sitting on the ground, holding
his head.  Dean could tell the moment Jimmy saw the horde, he looked back,
maybe hoping his friends were near.  When he saw that no help was coming he
stood up on shaky legs and began a stumbling run, not towards Dean and the rest
of the team but towards the nearest parking lot filled with cars.  The horde
was less than twenty feet away when Jimmy dropped to the ground between two
vehicles, out of sight.

Dean relayed everything
to the men as it happened.  That minute seemed to stretch to the breaking
point.

“We have to go back,
now!” 

“Mike, there are several
hundred zombies down there.  They’ll swarm us in minutes if we go back there. 
We’ll all die.”  Rick’s voice was heavy, his stomach turning at the thought of
what was happening to their friend.

“No, Damn it! Just.
Fucking. NO!”  Mike slammed his large fist into the side of the trailer,
putting a huge dent in the thin metal.  He looked around at his companions;
eyes large and wild.  “We can’t just leave him,” Mike said, his voice weak.  He
knew that any attempt to rescue Jimmy would be a death sentence for all.

Some of the horde
continued to follow the road, coming after the truck, while the rest weaved
through cars, surrounding the area where Jimmy had dropped from sight.

Dean climbed down from
the roof of the trailer, holding the area where Andy had stabbed him.  His face
was long, eyes downcast.  “They’re still coming.”  He looked first to Rick,
then into Mike’s eyes.  “We have to go,” he said slowly.

Mike gazed back toward
the hospital, tears just beginning to roll down his face.  “I’m sorry brother,”
he said softly.  No one moved until Mike climbed into the cab of the truck. 
The vehicles pulled away from Forrest Drive, taking the long and circuitous route
back to Camp Oko Tipi, carrying the medical supplies they had come for, that
had cost them so much.

No words were spoken on
the drive home.  Every man shed his tears in silence.

Chapter 26

Loss was not new to the
people inhabiting Camp Oko Tipi.  They all knew death, the pain of losing
someone dear and close and loved.  Every person mourns in their own way,
attempting to find that which would comfort, or at least numb the sorrow enough
to get to the next day, where they would do it again and again until the
heartsick sadness was lessened enough to continue their own lives.

When the scavenging crew
returned without Jimmy, Tamara began to scream, “No, no, no!” over and over. 
She blamed everyone on the crew, telling them it was their fault.  She blamed
Gordon, for making them go.  She blamed Jan for not talking Gordon out of it. 
Most of all she blamed herself.  She could have forced the issue, told Jimmy
not go, that she would not allow it, but Tamara knew that had she tried Jimmy
would have gone anyway. 

That evening, after the
truck had been unloaded by a silent crew, everyone except Tamara and her
daughters gathered on the ball diamond to hold a memorial for Jimmy.  For the
first time since it had been built the drawbridge gate went unguarded, nor was
anyone on top of the sports building, now the warehouse, watching for distant
threats.

Words were spoken and
unabashed tears were shed.  Anna held Louis as he wept for Garret and Jimmy and
for the life that once was.  Rebecca held Dean as he cried hot, bitter tears
filled with anger. 

Standing around a large
fire, flames snapping at the chill evening air, even Daniel Brenger, who had
been with the group the shortest, held his beaten old farm cap over his heart
and shed soft tears, feeling the loss of those around him. 

Mike, who had been
friends with Jimmy for many years, long before this family of survival-minded
people came together, sat on a thick log, head in his hands.  The knot in his
throat was heavy and painful, letting no words pass.  Lisa stayed close and his
daughters sat on the ground around him, all were tearful and needing to comfort
as much as they needed comforting.

Gordy leaned over,
resting his head against Jan’s, drawing strength from her.  He looked around
the fire, at the forlorn and broken-hearted faces, knowing each as family.  He
tried to wipe away his tears but they would not stop as he thought of Sam, and
Jack.  He remembered when he had turned Jenny away, and when Jonathan Cambrey
had died, and even young Garret, so new to the group.  He felt every death as a
weight he had to bear, wearing them as his own crown of thorns, every tear a
weak testament to his failure to lead these good people that he loved so much,
each sob an insufficient apology to those who were gone.

Rick stood up, Trish and
the quiet little Tyler standing with him.  He spent a long, silent minute
gazing at the people seated around the fire.  Tipping back a pint of whiskey he
had taken from the stockpiles, he swallowed a large gulp, no longer feeling the
sweet burn of the alcohol.  “I wanted to...say...I…Uhh…Jimmy,” his voice caught
in his throat.  Rick looked down at the bottle in his hand and back up,
scanning faces, “Fuck.” He sat back down hard on an upturned log and took
another long swallow from the bottle.

Many felt the lack of
Rick’s words, the inability to say what needed said.  They had felt the same
for Sam and Jack.  Simple, ineffective words could not convey what the heart
desperately needed to say.

Pushing himself up,
leaning on one crutch, Gordy stood, looking over the fire at no one.  He was
afraid to face anyone, to look them in the eye at this very moment, fearing
they would see his culpability in the deaths of their loved ones.  “Jimmy was
friend and brother, he was family and to many he was a hero,” Gordy began, “no
words can ever be enough to convey what he meant to us all.  I’m not going to
make a speech, I just want to say…,” Gordy paused, his voice catching in his
throat, “that Jimmy was, and is, my brother and will not be forgotten.”

Mike stood as Gordy sat
back down, his shadow a flickering giant behind him.  He looked around the fire
at tear streaked faces, saying nothing, only watching.  Mike turned and walked
away, silent in his misery.

****

Tamara woke late the
following morning with a pounding headache.  She made her way from her cabin to
the dispensary in an exhausted daze, barely remembering asking Jan for
something to ease the throbbing in her head. 

She found the girls
outside the main hall beneath the pavilion picking at a late breakfast. 
Neither child wanted to eat, so she sat with them in silence as they pushed
food around and stared into their plates.

Tamara wanted to talk to
her daughters, but she had no words of comfort, nothing she could give them to
fill the emptiness inside.  Sitting there with them was almost too much for her
to bear.  She could see their father in the girl’s faces and mannerisms, in the
way one held her fork, or how the other would tap her toe as if listening to a
song in her head.  Unconscious actions picked up from Jimmy.

Standing, Tamara took
each of her silent little girl’s hands and led them back to their cabin,
ignoring the sad, empathetic eyes every person she passed cast at the three of
them. 

Inside she sat down on
the floor, back against the wall, and pulled her daughters into her lap,
holding them as tightly as she could.  Together they cried loud tears, long
tears, and silent tears.  Slowly the three sank to the floor, curling up
together, sharing their sorrow until the girls fell asleep.

Tamara lay there on the
rough wood floor with her children, attempting to force her mind to go blank,
but it swirled and flipped, turning constantly around Jimmy.  He was gone,
excised from her life.  Tam felt the missing piece of herself there like an amputee
might, a phantom limb, unbalancing her in its absence.

Tam felt her wrist throb
through the last haze of wakefulness before she slept.  The place still bore a
faint bruise where her husband had gripped her so tightly while in the throes
of his own nightmare.  She cherished even that dark reminiscence. 

Sleep took her, tumbling
her into the fresh hell of nightmare, her synapses firing thought, after fear,
after pain into her dreaming, denying her a moment of peace with her husband,
even in her dreams.

****

On the third day after
the return of the scavenging crew people began to push themselves back into a
routine.  Gardens needed harvesting; water had to be brought up and boiled. 

People focused on
completing the wall, which was nearly done.  Everyone needed to feel safe and
secure; a place to go where the outside world would be hard pressed to reach
them, and the wall gave them that.

Surviving as a large
group often involves routine, doing many of the same things day in and day out,
whether for food, or water, or security.  This routine helped focus the group
as a whole, allowing them to continue on even at their darkest times. 

Maxwell proved his value
to the group during this time when he was able to work out a pump system to
replace the electric pump the owners of Camp Oko Tipi had installed years ago,
tapping into an aquifer. 

Though having fresh, cold
water that did not need to be boiled before drinking was wonderful, the news
was unable to remove the shroud of sadness covering the camp and its
inhabitants.

No amount of joyful news
could penetrate the heavy cloak of guilt and remorse so many wore.  Each person
would have to shrug it off on their own, or bear the weight of it in silent
misery.