Fade to Grey (Book 1): Fade to Grey (40 page)

“Start car,” the heavily accented voice said.

He reached down with his right hand and twisted the ignition
forward, grateful that the big V8 fired to life immediately.

“Unlock door and step out, keep hands were I see them,” the
voice commanded in broken English.

He grabbed the door latch with his left hand and pulled it, knowing
the lock would pop up as he did. A blast of what felt like arctic air rushed
into the vehicle as his door opened. He hated the cold, preferring the hot,
humid temperatures of Louisiana where they had driven from. When he got back
there he’d swear that never again would he cross north of the Mason Dixon line.
But he had to get there first.

“Turn around, put hands against top of car. Keep there while
I search. Did they tell you rules?” The accent was thick, Russian maybe?

He kept his hands against the vehicle as ordered while he
answered. “Yes, they told us the rules several times. No guns, no knives or
weapons of any kind. No luggage allowed, only what you wear. Dress warm and
don’t ask any questions.”

“Good, you followed instructions so far. Have wife come out.”

He motioned to her and she exited the passenger door, walked
around their Cadillac, and stood next to him. She was searched as well.

“Not sick, yes?” the man asked.

His wife replied before he did. “We’re not sick, none of us
are. We just want to get home, back to the United States. You’re sure you can
do that, right?” The apprehension in her voice was still clear. She had been
against this idea since its inception, and all the way up until one of the
maids at their hotel told them that her cousin’s entire family was shot trying
to cross the border. She had finally acquiesced, reluctantly even then.

“Yes, cross border at secret place, then on to refugee camp,
you be safe there.” He paused for a second, scanned both of them with his
flashlight and said, “But first you pay.”

“The keys are in the truck, and I’ve already signed the
title.”

“Turn around,” the voice ordered. They did.

“Give me rings.”

“What?” his wife answered, echoing his thoughts.

“Rings. Give them to me if want to go on truck,” the accented
man said.

“That wasn’t part of the deal. You can’t change what we
already agreed on with your boss.”

The man didn’t reply immediately, but rather took a moment,
reached into his coat pocket and withdrew a small box. Folding open the
clamshell design revealed a row of neat, hand rolled cigarettes. He removed
one, lit it and blew the smoke directly into the couple’s face.

“You listen. No rings, no ride in truck. Goodbye,” he turned
and walked away.

“Wait . . . just wait a minute OK . . . we’ll give you the
rings, alright.” He turned to meet his wife’s gaze; it was a combination of
bitterness, sadness, and fear. “Honey . . .” He let the plea stand on its own,
waited for her response. Her eyes shifted through several more emotions before
settling on anger as she removed her ring.

“You better be right about this,” she said to her husband
before turning to get the kids ready.

April 23
^rd
, Michelle part 2

Michelle looked at Andy, then exhaled and leaned forward,
resting her forehead in her hands.

“What?” Thompson asked.

Andy sighed, closing his eyes and rubbing them in small
circles before answering. “This cop, the Indian, was his hair all black?”

Michelle looked up and said, “Come on Andy, how many cops
named Sam Ironfeather could there be up here?”

There was silence in the room . . . tension while Andy and
Michelle exchanged unspoken fears. Finally Thompson spoke. “To answer your
question, he had silver along the sides of his temples. I guess that’s how he
got his name. Is he that cop that you were telling me about earlier, the one
who ran out of gas at the marina? 

For some reason Sam’s name had never come up when they were
filling Thompson in. They had just referred to him as the “state trooper.”

Andy nodded but said nothing. Michelle stood up and swore,
walking a few laps along the path that Thompson had paced into the floor. “Why
can’t we get a freakin’ break?  Why is it that every time we start to see our
road get a little easier, some force of nature conspires against us and drops
us back into the meat grinder?”

Andy was still and silent as Michelle continued to rant. “This
sucks. We should have been back at Walter’s by now . . . hell, we should’ve
been back hours and hours ago. And now . . . what?  Are we supposed to take on
Colonel Douche Bag and all of his cronies?  Should we even be considering
this?  I’ve just about shit my britches enough in the past week, and that’s
just dealing with infected people who, oh, I don’t know  . . . wanted to eat
me!  Now we’re supposed to go and take on a pair of tanks?  But let’s not stop there;
don’t forget they also have helicopters, and a lot of guys with automatic
weapons. Horseshit. Asshole Murphy. Somebody should cap that bastard and save
us all from his ‘laws,’ I’m just so sick and tired of feeling like I’m right
behind the eight ball every second of every day, just waiting for some dickwad
to chalk up his stick and smack me in another direction.”

Thompson was trying to hide a smile when Michelle looked at
him. “Something funny?” Michelle hissed.

“Nah,” Thompson replied still smiling, “I was just thinking
that you remind me of a girl I knew in the guard. Her daddy had been a mechanic
in the navy. The way she told the story was that the first three words she ever
learned to speak were ‘shit, piss and damn it.’”

“Yeah well, my dad was a marine, so I learned from the best,”
Michelle answered.

Thompson continued, “And they’re not tanks, they’re APC’s. No
giant canon, just a machine gun and armor plating . . . piece of cake for a
marine’s daughter with a Glock.”

Michelle stood there, balanced on the knife edge between
smacking the grin off of Thompson’s face or joining him in the mirth. She was
still undecided when Andy chimed in. “And besides ‘Chelle, you hit the cue ball
first, not the eight ball.”

Thompson started chuckling, quickly followed by Andy. It was
inevitable, and she soon joined them. “Well, no matter whether they’re tanks or
not, I don’t imagine they’ll just let us walk right up to the front door and
hand them a note from our teacher,” Michelle said.

“Actually,” Andy said, “that just might work.”

April 23
^rd
, Michelle part 3

“What do you mean?” Michelle asked Andy.

“Look at it like this. It would really be our only option
anyhow, unless you have an armored division parked out back that I don’t know
about,” Andy replied.

Something in his statement triggered that elusive feeling in
Michelle’s head. That same reaction that she’d had when she was upstairs
getting the Rock and Rye. Michelle froze, trying to lock in on it. Thompson and
Andy both noticed her hesitation.

“What’s wrong?” Andy asked.

Michelle could feel that vague thread slipping from her hands
as she tried to focus on it. Something was wrong . . . maybe. Different perhaps.
She couldn’t put her finger on it.

Andy repeated his inquiry. “What’s wrong Michelle?”

She held up her hand, fingers spread, palm outward like she
was a traffic cop stopping a line of cars. A few seconds of silence passed while
she thought, grasped . . . searched.

“Say that to me again, what you just said,” Michelle stated.

Andy hesitated before answering. “Um, I just asked you what
was wrong.”

“No-no-no . . . before that,” Michelle said hastily.

“You mean when I asked you if you had an armored division out
back?” Andy replied.

Michelle froze again, eyes closed in concentration. A few
seconds of stillness passed before she began twisting her head back and forth
like she was trying to hear a distant sound. All of a sudden her eyes snapped
open, accompanied by, “Son of a bitch.”

Thompson and Andy watched as she made a quick search to
locate her Maglite. She found it on the end table, snatched it up and walked
towards the kitchen. They got up and followed her. Michelle walked straight
through the kitchen, unlocked the front door and stepped out onto the small
covered porch. She turned the flashlight on and scanned her front yard left to
right, then back again. The rain and wind had not let up, but the powerful beam
illuminated her property enough that she could see clearly. She completed
another arc with a flashlight, double checking for no other reason than to make
sure she hadn’t lost her mind. She hadn’t.

“Well, that just about figures,” Michelle said with a sigh.

“What?” Both Thompson and Andy asked together.

Michelle answered with a shake of her head. “For a while now
I’ve had this feeling that I forgot something, or that we missed something . .
. or that something was just . . . wrong. I couldn’t place it. Every time I’d
try to put my finger on it, it would just disappear. But your comment about
having an armored division finally triggered it enough that I was able to bring
it to the surface.”

Andy and Thompson both waited, anticipation mixed with
impatience showed on both of their faces.

Finally Michelle spoke. “Somebody stole my truck.”

“Huh?”

“My truck. My Explorer, it’s gone,” Michelle said while
shaking her head.

“Where was it?” Thompson asked.

Michelle turned the flashlight on again and held the beam on
an area of weed overgrown gravel just in front of where Andy had parked. “Right
there, that’s where I always keep it.”

“Where do you keep the keys for it?” Andy asked.

Michelle hesitated before answering. When she finally spoke
it was low. “In the ignition.”

“Where?” Thompson choked out, the amusement clearly audible
in his voice.

“In the damn ignition, where else!  Come on people, I live
out in the middle of nowhere. My closest neighbors are rabbits, deer, and a
little old, white haired grandma . . .”

Andy cut in. “And two other houses that the residents move in
and out of like a revolving doors.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know. There’s just never been any problem
before,” Michelle replied as she shined her flashlight over the confines of her
yard again. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, consciously and
forcefully exhaling slowly, trying to let it go. “I guess it doesn’t really
matter anyhow, since I didn’t plan on driving it back. It just sucks. I only
had three payments left on it.”

“Tell you what Michelle, first thing in the morning we’ll
stop by the bank and let ‘em know that your last payments will probably be a
little late on account of someone stealing your truck. From what I hear the
bank has a new drive-thru window . . . I mean wall. ‘Course if you have a large
amount of change, or more than three transactions, or, if you’re currently
being pursued by more than six zombies you still have to use the inside teller.”
Andy said it in a perfectly level tone, waiting and watching her face for a
reaction. It didn’t take long before she broke into a smile, which was quickly
followed by a chuckle and then on to full-fledged laughter. Thompson and Andy
joined in as well. They were still standing on the front porch laughing when
they saw headlights approaching.

“Let’s get back inside,” Michelle said as she watched the
headlights grow closer.

The three of them quickly entered the house and shut the
door, and then moved toward the windows and peeked out. The vehicle was
approaching from the opposite direction of town.

“It’s slowing down,” Thompson observed.

“I see it,” Andy said. “Is everybody armed?”

Thompson dashed back into the living room and grabbed his M4,
now fully loaded courtesy of the U.S. Fish and Wildlife ammo cache. He was back
seconds later, just in time to hear Michelle say, “Shit, they’re slowing down
more . . . they’re gonna turn in my driveway.”

The three of them watched as the vehicle stopped on the road
outside of Michelle’s driveway, idling there for a few seconds before cutting
the wheel and turning in. It pulled directly behind Andy’s pickup and sat
there, still running, waiting. A few seconds later it moved backwards, stopped,
then the brilliant high beams came on and the truck angled forward to point
them at the front door. Between the storm and the bright headlights none of
them could make out the vehicle or its occupants.

“Are you expecting company?” Andy asked.

Michelle ignored the question and its obvious answer.

“What do you want to do?” Thompson asked.

“You two wait here,” Michelle said, “I’m going to head out
the back door and go around. Be ready to come out and save my butt if I screw
this up.”

“Be careful,” Andy said.

“Yeah, well . . . no guts, no glory, right?” she replied.

“Glory is overrated. I’d rather you keep your guts where they
belong instead of spilled all over your yard if something bad goes down,” Andy
replied.

“Thanks for the visual Andy,” Michelle said with a slight
laugh as she turned and left.

“Chick’s got some stones,” Thompson quipped as he watched
outside.

“Yeah, ain’t that the truth. Remind me to tell you about the
time that Michelle, Eric, and I went deer hunting a few years ago,” Andy said.

“Why?  What happened?” Thompson asked curiously.

Andy answered, “Well for now let’s just leave it at ‘there
was a grizzly involved and Michelle was hunting with a bow,’ and we’ll get to
the rest of the story later. Maybe.”

They watched out the window as the high beams brought the
rainstorm into glittering focus. “I can’t hardly see nothing with those
headlights shining in my eyes,” Thompson said.

“Yeah, we need to mov… . . .”

Andy’s sentence was interrupted by the sight of Michelle
suddenly appearing out of the shadows off the driver’s side door of the vehicle.
Her flashlight’s reflected illumination threw her silhouette into a ghastly
half light, but it was enough that they could see her standing there, gun drawn
and pointed.

Andy swore as he headed for the door with Thompson right
behind him. Both of them charged onto the front porch with guns drawn and
pointed.

“ANDY WAIT,” Michelle yelled over the wind and rain as she
holstered her gun.

He froze, gun still pointed at the windshield as he watched
Michelle step toward the vehicle. Two seconds later the headlights went off. Now
that Michelle’s flashlight was the only source of illumination in the yard, he
could clearly see her leaning against the driver’s side window as she spoke to
somebody, gesturing towards Andy and Thompson and nodding her head. A few
seconds later Michelle trotted over and passed them with a quick “be right
back.” She disappeared inside the house and came out a short time later with a
short cylindrical object in her hand. When she exited the porch the object
blossomed into an umbrella which she used to escort the vehicle occupant back
into her house. Andy and Thompson followed.

Once back inside and in the living room she turned to Andy
and Thompson and said, “Gentlemen, may I present to you Mrs. Sarah Glass, my
neighbor. Andy, if you don’t mind, can you throw on more water to boil for
tea?  I’ve got to go change out of these wet cloths.” Before Andy could answer
she was gone.

“Land sakes, that girl is going to catch her death of
pneumonia if she doesn’t learn to stay out of the rain.” Mrs. Glass’s voice was
musical and light, reminding Andy of someone whose life was spent surrounded by
laughter, joy, and probably dozens of grandchildren. He liked her already.

Michelle came back a few minutes later in a pair of sweats
and a dark brown baggy sweater adorned with a pattern of eight tiny reindeer
pulling a sleigh across the sky. It was the only time she had ever worn it as
she recalled. Well, except for the first time she tried it on that Christmas
morning a few years ago after her grandmother had knitted it. It was the
traditional “ugly” Christmas sweater. Definitely warm, overly so as a matter of
fact, but whatever insulating value it had was overpowered by the boxy shape of
the garment and the clashing colors of the pink and green reindeer. She noticed
Thompson and Andy trying to suppress their grins and was just about to explain
the circumstances behind her acquiring the monstrosity when Mrs. Glass chirped,
“What a lovely sweater. I used that exact pattern to knit one for my son-in-law
a few years ago.” Michelle swallowed hard and turned away from Mrs. Glass so
she wouldn’t be exposed to the boys’ silent howling.

“Sarah, let me get you a cup of tea,” Michelle said as she
headed toward the kitchen. To her credit Michelle made it almost four steps
before breaking out into a semi-quiet fit of chuckling. A few minutes later Michelle
came back out with a tray balancing four ceramic coffee mugs on top. Each mug
was imprinted with the USFW logo, compliments of a training workshop last fall.

They sat down in the living room, their eyes adjusting to the
candlelight as Michelle spoke. “Andy, Thompson, as I said this is Mrs. Sarah
Glass. She and her husband Abe live at the farm just down the road from me. Sarah
was returning my truck.”

Mrs. Glass took a sip of her tea and replied, “Well that’s
not exactly true. I was starting to tell Michelle what really happened when we
were sitting out there in the rain. I mean when Michelle was standing in the
rain and I was sitting in the nice warm and dry truck.”

Andy said, “Michelle thought somebody swiped her truck.”

“And they might just have if Abe and myself hadn’t come by
when we did,” Mrs. Glass said.

“Mrs. Glass, do you have a few minutes to tell us what
happened?” Andy asked.

“Call me Sarah, OK . . . and yes, I’d be happy to tell you
about the little hooligans.”

Sarah sat down at one end of the couch while Michelle took
the other. Andy went back to his recliner and Thompson chose the floor again. A
few delicate sips of tea were savored by Sarah before she started talking. “Well,
as I started to tell Michelle out in the truck, with all the news that’s been
happening in the last week or so, Abe and I have been a might bit concerned
about some of them crazy people coming out our way. Especially since our last
trip into town a few days ago. It looked like a circus with all of them people
from the city parked along the road, starting fights, yelling and screaming and
just being rude. And there wasn’t a scrap of anything good to be bought
anywhere either, it had all either been bought or swiped. Land sakes, you’d
have thought better of folks. We even saw two of those sick people. I’d half
expect that the governor should call in the troops to maintain order. But I
imagine he has his hands full everywhere else.”

Michelle doubted that Sarah grasped the apparent worldwide
scope of the issue, but said nothing.

Another closed-eye sip of tea passed before Sarah continued. ”Well
we just turned around and came back to the farm. Them neighbors down there,”
she pointed in the dim light back towards town, “were all milling about in
their yard when we drove by. Up to no good I’d think, from the way they stared
at us. We spent the rest of that day taking a look at all of the stuff we’ve
canned over the years and making sure we’ve got enough to ride this out. Our
root cellar has been packed to the gills for too long and it’s about time we
get to eat some of the stuff we’ve been saving every year. We threw out
anything older than two years, which wasn’t much, but at least it made a little
bit more room for when I start canning again this fall. But I imagine they’ll
be plenty of room if we can’t buy any groceries for while.” Sarah reached out
and patted Michelle’s hand. “You come over any time you’re hungry and we’ll try
and put some meat on them skinny ribs of yours. And I imagine with all the
critters hopping around here that even Abe might be able to luck into a deer
now and then. Although the way he shoots he might have better luck tying some
ears of corn to the front of his pickup and driving up and down the road.”