Fade to Grey (Book 1): Fade to Grey (27 page)

And as if the very thought of the twenty-eight foot cabin
cruiser could somehow bring it to life, there it was. He had anchored her about
one hundred feet off the bank in twenty-two feet—according to his fish finder
anyhow—of cold lake water. There was a sharp rise in the bottom and he didn’t
want to bring her in any closer. A small inflatable stood upright near the
starboard cabin hatch. Its twin had been his transportation to shore. It was
only the second time he used one of them—the first being last summer right
after they bought the boat and took it out onto Devils Lake for its maiden
voyage. His kids had talked him into pulling an inflatable behind the boat. It
looked like fun and so he had agreed. An hour later they insisted that he take
his turn while his wife drove the boat. Five minutes into his fun the tow rope
broke. His kids, all seven of them, stood on the back of the boat as it receded
into the distance, laughing and pointing at his predicament.

The rhythmic slap of the low waves breaking against the shore
brought him out of his daydream. He wiped the sweat off of his brow. Sweat. That’s
odd, he thought while trying to focus on where exactly he had left the small
raft. He didn’t feel hot anymore. Chilled, actually. Another few minutes of
searching and he found the faded yellow craft. It still held air, and the lone
oar was right where he had left it as well. Dragging the inflatable to the
water only took a few seconds, although he did manage to sink both of his boots
far enough into the lake to overflow them. The icy water plunged down his
ankles and was absorbed by his cotton athletic socks. Well, they were his son’s
socks. He had only borrowed them after spending five fruitless moments
searching for his own amongst the luggage they had quickly offloaded from their
truck to the boat before they backed it into the water.

It had been a good plan, he thought as he paddled out toward
the sleek, metallic green and red boat that bobbed slightly with the waves. The
news reports, while they were still on at least, had shown that entire cities
were in chaos. It had been his eldest son’s idea to take the boat. After all,
it was already fueled and ready to go for an upcoming fishing trip they had
been planning. Plus it had a small kitchenette, a cramped but functional shower
and electrical hookups that could power the small LCD flat screen television,
microwave, and the chargers for the kid’s handheld video games, Ipods, MP3
players, and whatever else they used to escape from reality. At least as long
as the main batteries could be charged from the alternator when the engines
were running.

He stopped paddling for a moment, dipped his left hand into
the lake and then pressed that cool flesh to his forehead. It felt like fire. A
dozen seconds, or maybe an hour later . . . he wasn’t sure which . . . he
looked up to find the gold-flecked italic writing that spelled out ‘Dreamer’,
the name of his boat, within reach. The lake’s current or his own momentum must
have propelled him the final few yards. Using the single paddle, he maneuvered
the small craft into a position where he could reach the undersized ladder
attached to the outside of the hull.

He didn’t remember climbing into the boat, not at all. But it
was there he found himself moments or hours later. Time passage seemed very
elusive to him. He thought about his wife, she was somewhere below deck. He
thought about taking his fingers and plunging them through her eye sockets as
he tore off strips of her flesh with his teeth. What?  Where did that thought
come from?  It had been so vivid, so real. He looked at his fingers, his clothes,
they were clean—no blood. What was he supposed to do?  There was . . . something.
Something to do with the boat maybe. He stumbled up to the small wheelhouse,
more of a semi-enclosed cockpit actually—and sat in the captain’s chair. His
right hand followed muscle memory and made contact with the ignition key. Where
his arm extended forward, the sleeve of his overcoat crept back, revealing the
skin of his wrist. It looked odd to him. He had seen that color before,
somewhere . . . where was that?  The campground, that was it. The doctor, or
was it the loud older man with a shotgun and a crew cut, or the cops. He
couldn’t remember.

Several thumps sounded from below deck. He turned the key. Three
slow cranks later the engine caught and sputtered to life. Where was he going? 
The cops. There were two of them. One was a tall girl, the other, a taller man.
He wanted to wrap his arms around their waist and squeeze until their spinal
column shattered and sprayed bits of blood and bone fragments across his face. Huh? 
Another flash of intense memory. It had been so vibrant, pulsating with color
and sound. So powerful he even had the aftertaste of coppery blood in his
throat. Had he already done it?  More thumps sounded from below. He was tired. He
needed to rest, just for a little bit until his fever went down.

What was he supposed to do?  There was something. What was
it?  The doctor?  That sounded right. Maybe he was supposed to take his family
to see the doctor. He nudged the gear selector into forward and throttled up
the engines, felt the lurch as 170 combined horsepower thrashed the water into foam
at the stern. Something wasn’t right. Why wasn’t the boat moving?  He was so
tired. Leaning forward, he hooked his arm through the steering wheel, laying
his head along the instrument panel. Just a few moments of sleep, that’s all he
needed. He was so tired, so very tired . . . and so very hungry.

Forty feet off the ground, near the top of a spruce tree that
grew along the edge of the lake, a solitary blue jay sat. Cocking its head to
the left and right, the usually vocal creature was silent, observing the
curious scene below. The large shiny object that held the two-legs was circling
offshore. With each pass it came nearer to the land. Three circles later there
was a muted snapping sound, and the shiny object careened at an angle that
would take it very near the blue jay’s tree. Closer and closer it came until
there was a sound that reminded the bird of trees heavily coated with ice
falling in a winter storm. The shiny object turned on its side as it landed
where the water met the sand and gravel. The bird flitted to a higher perch and
watched the strange scene. Spilling out from a nest hole in the shiny object,
many two legs came. Some smaller, some larger. All of them made the jay uneasy.
All of them were the color of the dry stones along the lake in the summer. The
bird could clearly see red eyes on most of the larger ones. The two smallest
ones, the ones that moved much more quickly than the others, their eyes were a
sickly yellow.

Samantha’s eyes brightened noticeably at Andy’s statement,
and they spent the next forty-five minutes or so “talking shop.” Most of it was
way too technical for Michelle to follow, or even understand, but she didn’t
care. Computers had never interested her for anything other than the
necessities of her work. A few snippets of English interspaced between Andy and
Samantha’s nerd language trickled through. Samantha was a twenty-four year-old
information technology systems analyst from Bismarck. She had worked for a large
cellular phone provider in the IT department up until a few days ago when the federal
government had shut them down, quoting “national security.” Her boyfriend,
Garrett, was “strategically unemployed” and had been so for at least the last
year. Samantha seemed to think that with a satellite dish, several small pieces
of cable, and various connectors she may be able to use the software on her
laptop to access signals from satellites, possibly even into active data
transmission . . . whatever that was. Andy said that he had a very similar idea
a few days ago but hadn’t had time to work on it. He thought that he may have
most of the materials, or at least as good as they were going to get back at
the cabin. Michelle listened as Andy asked Samantha a few more questions. Apparently
satisfied with the answers, he motioned for Michelle to follow him a short
distance away down the loop.

“What’s up?” Michelle asked.

Andy appeared to be lost in thought. Michelle waited.

Finally he said, “A couple of things. You and I need to hit
the road, but I’d really like to get her started on this project; however the
stuff we need is over at my cabin. I don’t think we could, or should, take the
time to run over there and gather up all the potential items that she may need,
as well as a generator and fuel in case the power drops out again and bring
them all back here. I also can’t ask Walter to ferry her over to the cabin and
back while we’re gone. So that really leaves us with only two choices. Do we
wait until we get back to let her make the attempt, or do we take her and leave
her at my cabin when we’re gone?  Another way to look at that is, can we afford
to wait for information verses do we trust her enough to leave her at my cabin
without one of us there? What’s your gut tell you?”

Michelle thought about it for a minute, and then said, “It’s
going to have to be your call. It’s your cabin, your home. We don’t know
Samantha at all. She may be the greatest girl in the world, but then again she
may steal you blind as soon as you turn your back. I don’t know. And I’ve got
to say that things have been so messed up for the last several days that I’m
not sure if I’d trust my own judgment. Maybe Walter could run over there once a
day to check up on her. I suppose that Mr. Pin-cushion will be accompanying her
as well—something to factor in. Sorry I can’t be of more help, but really,
you’ll have to decide.”

Andy seemed to weigh the options for a few more moments, and
then he looked at Michelle and shrugged his shoulders.

“Do you think it’s possible for her to do what she’s
suggesting?  I mean, I know nothing . . . less than nothing about computers,”
Michelle said.

“Oh, it’s definitely possible,” Andy said. “All you’re really
doing is establishing a satellite link. The hard part will be making the data
you receive intelligible.”

“Didn’t you work with computers in the military?  I think I
remember Eric mentioning something about that to me,” Michelle said.

Andy grinned and said, “Among other things. But to answer
your question about the girl, she definitely has the skills. I just have a hard
time trusting people is all. But I guess you gotta start somewhere.”

Andy and Michelle turned and walked back over to the picnic
table where the bundled up gamers were furiously poking at their keyboards
again. Both of them stopped their game and looked up at us.

Andy said, “Samantha, Garrett, were you both at the meeting
last night?” They said they were.

“Listen to me carefully,” Andy continued, “we need
information about what’s going on. The sooner the better. I can offer you a
chance to use your skills to try and gather some information that will help us
out, and really, any information at all is going to be better than what we have
right now. But I can’t babysit you. Michelle and I need to drive over to Fort
Hammer, and we’re not entirely sure what we’re going to run into. Maybe
nothing, maybe . . . something. You’d be on your own up at my cabin, probably
one of the safest places to be, but you’d still be on your own. And I’m not
sure for how long. Hopefully, Michelle and I will be back before the day is
out, but we may not. I don’t know you from Adam, and the same is true for you. What
I do know however, is that I’m willing to put some trust in you as a person, if
you’re willing to do the same for me. I just want you to remember something
though. You saw the bodies, you understand what’s happening, right?”

They nodded again.

“OK then, all I ask is two things. First, that you give your
best effort toward getting us some usable information, as much as you can. Second,
treat my cabin and what’s in it with respect. Enjoy yourselves while you’re
there, but remember why you’re there. Do we have a deal?”

“Hey man,” Garrett said, “like you said, trust is a two way
street. For all we know you could be some deranged serial killer trying to lure
us up to your shack where you’re going to soak our livers in moonshine before
you eat them.”

Samantha stared across the table at Garrett and said, “You
moron, everybody knows that human liver taste better in a light garlic cream
sauce.” Garrett shrugged sheepishly as she continued, “Mr. Andy . . .”

“Just call me Andy,” Andy said.

“Andy it is then. Andy, I’ve never built a campfire in my
life. I’ve never caught a fish, come to think of it I’ve never even roasted a marshmallow.
But I’ve shot about a million people, killed hundreds of thousands of zombies—half
of them with chainsaws and baseball bats. I’ve driven tanks and flown jet
aircraft, shoot; I’ve even golfed right next to Tiger Woods—and beat him. Of
course all of that has been on a computer. On those same computers I’ve also hacked
into everything from schools, power companies, and traffic cameras to the U.S.
military and NASA. If anyone can get the information for you, it’s me. Provided
I have all the materials to build the uplink. If you’re willing to take a
chance on us, we’re willing to take a chance on you. Just remember something
though; we may look different on the outside than most people you run into, but
Garrett and I are still people. We have feelings, we have fears, but we also
have a sense of honor and integrity, so that little speech about how you were
worried that your cabin was going to get messed up if you let the computer
nerds stay there, well, it’s kind of an insult.

“You have my apologies then,” Andy said.

“When do you need an answer?” Samantha asked.

“An hour ago,” Michelle said.

Samantha looked at Garrett, and he shrugged again. Then she
closed her laptop and gazed up at Andy saying, “Got any food at the cabin?”

Michelle and Andy stopped back at the medical clinic on the way
out. Doc wasn’t there, but they told Sally about the kids and their plans to
try and get some information. She thought it was a good idea and wished them luck
on her way out the door. Following behind Sally, carrying a clip board each,
were Francis and Marty, apparently drafted onto the medical teams. Samantha and
Garrett met up with them at Andy’s truck about fifteen minutes later. Andy was
talking to Walter on the radio, letting him know about the slight change of
plans and also asking him about the possibility of a chain or cable across
Ravenwood Campground Road. Michelle heard Walter say that he’d look into it,
but that he thought he might be able to make it happen. Something about a spool
of three-eighths in his basement, if Michelle understood the hollow sounding
voice coming out of the speaker. Walter also said that if he hadn’t heard from
us by tomorrow evening, he would drive out to the cabin and check on the kids,
weather and other priorities permitting. Andy thanked him, and a few minutes
later the big white truck with four passengers headed out of the campground.

The drive up to Andy’s cabin was uneventful. They saw several
cars pulled off the side of the road, but no occupants were visible. The first signs
of life were a small herd of deer that crossed the gravel road in front of Andy’s
truck at one point. Several of them stood for a few moments at the edge of the
road, looking at the pickup before trotting off unafraid. Samantha made all
kinds of “ooohs” and “aaahhs” when she saw them, apparently she’d never seen a
wild deer so close before. Michelle watched as Garrett pulled out a little
“flip” video camera and filmed them walking along the edge of the woods. He
seemed as wide eyed as she was. Amazing what you miss when you spend all of
your time with your nose in front of a computer screen, Michelle thought.

It was almost 1:00 PM by the time they made it to the cabin. Eric’s
truck was parked between the cabin and the new storage building that Andy had
built. Garrett and Samantha saw Andy’s lake as they were driving in and asked
if they could go down and check it out. Andy told them that it would take him fifteen
to twenty minutes to get the cabin ready and the stove lit and “Just don’t fall
in and kill yourself.” As they walked down to the lake, Andy motioned for Michelle
to follow him inside.

Once inside he said, “Would you mind taking the keys to
Eric’s truck . . . go out there and make sure there’s nothing the kids can get
into trouble with. Guns, knives, rocket propelled grenades . . . that sort of
thing. I’m sure he put his duty pistol in my safe, but would you mind checking his
truck anyway?  I’m gonna gather up all the loose guns from inside the cabin
here and put them away. Well, I’ll probably leave them with a shotgun just in
case.”

Michelle nodded and caught the keys that Andy tossed to her
as she headed out toward the truck. A quick search found nothing more dangerous
than a Swiss army knife in the glove box. She left that there. There was also a
box that had about a dozen pairs of the zip cuffs that Sam Ironfeather had left
for them, the rest being still in the bag in her Tahoe. She took six pairs and
left the others behind the seat. Walking back inside the cabin, Michelle
glanced towards the lake and noticed that Garrett and Samantha were headed back
this way. Garrett was using the little video camera to film Samantha flapping
her arms and pretending to fly as she skipped along. Michelle watched the pair
of them for a few more seconds before turning to enter the cabin just as Andy
was locking the big Liberty safe. The cabin door was still hanging open as
Samantha stepped up onto the porch and said, “Can we come in?”

Andy spent the next half hour giving them the grand tour. Everything
from how to start the generator to where the food was kept. He had even waited
to light the stove in order to show them how it was done. Michelle was pleased
to note that that they seemed like they were paying attention at least. They
definitely paid attention when he showed them the old Winchester model 12
shotgun.

Andy turned to Michelle and said, “Would you mind takin’
these two youngsters outside and given’ them a few lessons?”

Michelle nodded and motioned for Garrett and Samantha to
follow. After about ten minutes of basic safety instructions, the training
culminated with each of them demonstrating how to load, aim, fire, and reload. Garrett
was rubbing his shoulder after three rounds.

“A little different than in a video game, ain’t it?” Andy
said, smiling as he came out of the cabin.

“Now I’m going to leave you with one full box of shells, and
the partial box leftover from your brief schooling, OK?” Andy said, adding,
“Don’t use em’ if you
don’t need to. If we’re not back by
tonight, just come in the cabin, shut the door,
and drop the bear bar,” he
indicated the four foot long, two inch diameter section of metal pipe that
could swivel from its anchor point on the right side of the door frame and drop
into three heavy duty brackets spaced along the door and opposite side of the
frame.

Samantha nodded her understanding.

“Now, about food . . .” Andy said as he grabbed a step ladder
and removed two fishing rods that were laying across some of the large, exposed
oak beams that made up part of the ceiling. Stepping back down, he asked them
if they had ever fished. Samantha hadn’t, but Garrett said he did when he was a
kid. Another ten minute lesson on fishing followed. Michelle was starting to
wonder if it was even going to be worth their time trying to leave today. Besides,
she was sure that Andy had more than enough food in the freezer to last until they
got back without them having to resort to fishing. Her questioning look was
noticed by Andy, who only gave a quick wink at Michelle before saying, “Of
course, if you prefer your fish already cleaned and gutted, you can just use what’s
in the icebox there. Either of you twenty-one? . . . Well I guess it don’t
really matter. If you’re old enough to hack into NASA, you’re old enough to
have a few beers. Just don’t drink em’ all.”

Andy turned toward the door and said, “OK, now that all the
little stuff is out of the way, follow me out to the shed and let me show you
where I keep my surplus computer crap.”