Fade to Grey (Book 1): Fade to Grey (48 page)

It was well below freezing as Michelle’s boots crunched
through the frosty grass in the partial moonlight on her way to the location
they had chosen the day before. By first light she had already consumed three
more cups of the steaming fragrant liquid. Several does had ghosted past in the
predawn gloom, but then nothing besides the flitting of songbirds crossed her
vision. By 10:00 AM she was fighting a losing battle to keep her chattering
teeth stationary long enough to pilfer the remaining warmth from her last
splash of the rapidly cooling, aromatic tea. That’s when she saw it. With no
warning, not the sound of snapping branches or the thunder of hoof beats, he
just appeared. Tawny brown fur edged with white blending in to the leafless
brush less than twenty yards in front of her, his rack was larger than any in
her grandfather’s stories. She watched frozen in stillness as he lifted his
nose and scented for danger. Finding none, Michelle watched him turn away from
her and worry a small sapling with his immense antlers. All semblance of
freezing to death now long forgotten, she quietly sat the thermos down and drew
her bow back, aligning the first knuckle of her index finger with the corner of
her mouth. Just like she had done thousands of times before. Apparently done
with the sapling, the huge buck canted down the trail quartering towards her. Seven
yards away he stopped, a perfect broadside pose as she lined up the razor sharp
arrowhead on his shoulder. An icy cloud of breath exploded from his nostrils as
his massive head swiveled directly towards her. Dark brown eyes looked unswervingly
into hers as he froze. There was no fear in those eyes, just wisdom and
understanding. And perception that his life now danced on the thread of her
decision. She held full draw as the minutes passed, each of them waiting on her
judgment. Finally, with the stomp of his front foot and another snort he had
trotted away and disappeared into the forest. Michelle sat down, still lost in
the visions of the huge deer ten minutes later when her grandfather walked over
and hunkered down next to her, another thermos full of honey lemon tea in his
hands. The spicy sweet aroma drifted through the cold woodland as they both sat
there in silence. Finally, her grandfather had nudged her with an elbow and
said, “He was a big one.” That evening when she was back at her house and
almost asleep, she overheard her mom asking her grandfather if she had got a
deer. Her grandfather had paused for a second before replying, “Yeah, she did.”

“’Chelle . . . you still with us?” Andy whispered in the
darkness.

Michelle slowly opened her eyes, reluctantly leaving the fond
memory behind as she answered. “Yeah, just thinking.”

“About Eric?

“No, about something else . . .” Michelle stopped herself,
unwilling to finish out loud the thought. “
That I let get away from me
.”

Another gap of silence descended between them as they sat in
the darkness sipping their tea. Two or three minutes of stillness while the
faint
click-click
of her battery-powered kitchen clock ran out of beat
with the mismatched snores coming from Thompson and Sam Ironfeather in the
other room. Finally, she let out a small sigh and returned his original
question. “What about you Andy, what’s on your mind?”

The slight squeak of the chair as Andy shifted, accompanied
by a soft, but rapid and repeated
tap-tap-tap-tap
as he raced his
fingers “hoof beat” style on the table told Michelle that he was definitely
thinking something. She waited.

Finally, with a soft exhale he answered. “I don’t know where
to begin.”

She stayed silent. Michelle had been around Andy enough over
the years to know a few of his quirks. The first was that when he had something
to say, no power on earth would prevent him from saying it. The second thing
was that if he didn’t feel like saying anything, then no power on earth could
make him talk.

Michelle used the ensuing quiet moments to get up and refill
both of their stoneware tea cups. A practiced mash of one of the buttons of her
own wristwatch—Thompson’s having been returned already—caused the luminescent
watch face to glow. It was almost 8:30 PM. “Do you want to wait until nine when
we’re supposed to wake Sam and Thompson?” she asked.

“It would save me repeating stuff, and Sam might be able to
fill in some of the gaps of the puzzle.” Andy’s voice dropped to a bare whisper
and he said, “’Chelle, do you trust Sam?  I mean, what does your gut tell you?”

After a brief sorting through the jumbled thoughts that
question brought, Michelle answered. “Yeah, I trust him. And besides, I think
that if either of us had any questions about his character or integrity, we
never would have gone into the lion’s den after him. Let’s be realistic, we’ve
really only known him for a couple hours, and that impression, coupled with our
maniacal need to risk life and limb somehow merged into what we have now. Whatever
that is.”

She caught the incredibly faint outline of his head nodding in
the darkness as he answered, “Yeah, I agree.”

“So, do you want to wait till they wake up, or do you want to
start now?” Michelle asked.

“Let’s wait.”

The next half hour saw several more cups of tea distributed
between the two of them, accompanied by an equal number of trips to the
bathroom to get rid of it. Michelle put on more water to boil and turned off
the alarm a few minutes before it was set to sound. A little after nine she
softly called out, “Hey ladies, time to get up.” Several repeated calls, each
slightly louder than the last followed until both Sam and Thompson had groggily
wedged themselves into an upright position. Hot tea was distributed, another
round of acetaminophen was dispersed to Sam, and the cream of broccoli soup was
heated up and equally shared. A replay of bathroom tag took place before they
all retreated again to the living room. The heavy drapes were still closed, and
Michelle used the small light to locate a pumpkin spice scented candle she'd
had for years. It was still unlit, nestled in a squat glass jar with a lid. Borrowing
a lighter from Thompson, she charred the small wick until enough of the wax
melted and the flame caught. Forgoing any base plate, or even a folded sheet of
aluminum foil, she lowered the small light onto the center of her living room
floor. The shadows pushed aside, Michelle watched as Sam raised his hand.

“Sam . . .” she said, inclining her head in his direction.

Several hours of sleep and the effects of the anti-inflammatory
doses had dramatically improved Sam’s speech, and they were able to follow along
relatively easily as he spoke.

“Hey,” Sam started, “I know I told you before, but I’m going
to say it again. Thank you. Thank you for risking your life and pulling my ass
out of the fire. I don’t know how you manage to pull it off, but I’ve got to say
that I am, and will be forever grateful. And if you don’t mind me asking, how
did you even know I was there?”

“That would be due to a very brave and informative young
private who goes by the name of Thompson,” Andy said while nodding his head
toward Thompson.

“So you told them I was at the school?  How did you know?”
Sam asked.

“I was there man. I was standing in the hallway with the rest
of my squad when you cold cocked the colonel. I saw what went down right after
that also,” Thompson answered.

Sam shook his head. “I . . . don’t remember you. Sorry. But
I’m damn glad you remembered me. So how . . . what . . . shit, I’m so lost. Anybody
wanna fill me in?”

“We’d be happy to,” Andy said, “but first maybe you can help
us out. The last we saw of you, you were heading up to the quaint little border
town of Carson. What happened, and how in the heck did you end up at the
school?”

“I never made it. After I left you . . . and let me say that
the idiot you stuck me with would not shut up. Hell, I was tempted to put a cap
in his ass just to get some peace and quiet. Anyway, where was I?   Oh yeah, I
made it with no problem to highway 403. Once I turned north, the flow of
traffic was pretty steady both ways. Lots of cars off the road, lots of people
just standing there. Some of them would try to flag me down, and I stopped for
most of the ones that looked coherent. I really couldn’t give them any
information. Shoot, I didn’t really have any. About eight or ten miles north of
Fort Hammer, there was a bad accident involving a semi truck and about a half dozen
cars. There was, oh I don’t know, maybe fifteen or twenty people standing
around the scene in various stages of discontent. Traffic was still flowing
around the pileup, but I pulled up and got out. That’s when I heard the
gunshots. From somewhere behind the semi there was shooting and screaming. People—the
crowd that had been standing around—started scattering. I drew my SIG, but then
I remembered the barracks and Fernandez, so I popped the trunk and grabbed a
shotgun and some extra ammo. It was already dark outside, and with the chaos at
the scene—people screaming, running past me, not to mention the gunshots—I was
more than a little on edge. I about plugged some meaty, bingo-wing-armed lady
who latched onto my shirt like it was the last bag of Doritos in her house. She
was huffing and puffing trying to catch her breath in between attempting to use
me as a shield for whatever was on the other side of the semi. I actually had
to pop her in the chin with the stock to get her to let go. After that I
scooted around the edge of a Range Rover that was on its side, and from there
to the back corner of the jackknifed semi. I peeked around, shotgun ready, and
it was just . . . damn, just a freakin’ mess. What I couldn’t see before was
that the semi and the five or six cars were just the ass end of the wreck. There
was another ten or so cars in various stages of destruction scattered up ahead.
Part of the left lane was clear, but as I learned later that was due to a dump
truck that pushed people and cars out of the way, whether they wanted to go or
not. Anyhow, the cars were not the worst of it. I mean, I’m looking around the
edge of the semi and there’s probably a dozen people moving my way in the dim
glow from the dying headlights. It wasn’t bright enough for me to get a clear
picture, but there was enough visibility for me to see that some of them were
wounded. And I didn’t want to use my flashlight and call attention to myself
either. Well shit, how was I supposed to know if they were just wounded from
the wreck or if they were sick?  Just about then some girl crawls out from
under the tires of the truck. I’m damn lucky she wasn’t sick because the first
time I noticed her was when she grabbed onto my waist screaming and sobbing. Before
I knew it I had my left hand in a death grip choking her scrawny little neck up
against the semi. I guess the pressure I was exerting caused her little eyes to
bug out, but it was enough for me to see that they looked normal color. I
relaxed my grip and held a finger up to my lips, well, a shotgun and a finger. Anyhow
I think she got the point and didn’t say anything. I’m telling you it was
happening so fast, it was just unreal. It couldn’t have been more than three
seconds after I ‘
ssssshhhh’d’
her that she got all big eyed again. You
know those icy cold feelings you get when the shit is about to hit your
personal fan?  Well, all I’ve got to say is listen to your gut, and it’s a good
thing I did. My knee-jerk reaction made me drop and spin, and as soon as I did
that . . .
WHAM
. . . right where my head had been was a hole in the
truck big enough for a baby to come out of. Well, maybe not that big, but it
was huge. Then the girl start screaming ‘Don’t shoot, we’re both OK.’ I popped
up in time to see this old guy pointing a lever action rifle at me. It had one
of those octagonal barrels with a hole in it big enough to . . .”

“We know, big enough for a baby to come out of,” Thompson cut
in.

Andy laughed, and Sam chuckled along as he nodded his head. “Let
me tell you, if that gun were any bigger it’d need wheels. So anyway, this old
guy with the canon points to the truck and says ‘Get on up that ladder, I’ll
cover ya.’ Well, before he was even finished, this girl is halfway up and I’m
right behind her. There was another
BOOM
from the old guy as we made it
to the top. I turned around to return the favor and cover him but it was too late.
He was on the ground with a guy on top of him, just flailing away trying to
keep from being eaten. I was two steps back down the latter on my way to help
him when another infected piled alongside the first. I was still undecided when
the girl screamed, ‘Don’t leave me, please don’t leave me.’“

Sam paused, shaking his head a little bit. “Nothing else I
could do except maybe save him a little bit of pain at the end. They weren’t
but fifteen or so yards from me, and so I sent five rounds of double-aught buck
rolling their way. I did risk a short ‘look see’ with my flashlight at that
point, because the headlights from the cars on the highway and the ones in the
wreck were both adding to and subtracting from my visibility. You know, they helped
where they were pointed, but they also made the shadows deeper and ruined my night
vision. And the bitch of it was that the line of traffic was still snaking
around the left side of all this, you know, right when it was going on. So
anyhow, I looked around with my flashlight . . . and the first thing I see is a
group of people near my cruiser. It looked like they were trying to get
organized into some type of, I don’t know, protective circle or something. On
the other side of the truck I could see movement in a couple different places,
but hell, I didn’t just want to just shoot at someone . . . like I said, they
may have just been injured from the wreck. And the whole time this girl is
sobbing and moaning, grabbing on to my calf and not wanting to let go, like a
four year old throwing a temper tantrum. I’m halfway between trying to console
her, or kneeing her in the temple to get her to shut up so I can think, when
this head pops up over the edge of the truck. Bloody face, blood red eyes. Son
of a bitch was climbing up the ladder!  My first shot dug a little trench in
the aluminum skin of the cargo top about two feet to the right of him. The girl
starts screaming even louder and I’m trying to back up with her hanging on to
my leg at the same time I’m attempting to put a bead on Mr. Bloody’s head. My
second shot connected and knocked him off the ladder. I managed to dislodge my
leg from the girl, but damn, she was still trying to hold on to me. I finally
had to threaten to cuff her before she stopped trying to grab me. I went to the
edge of the truck and shined my light as best I could toward any movement, but
I swear those things were purposely staying in the shadows, so I crouch-stepped
toward the back of the truck by the ladder and peeked over. The guy I just
blasted was laying on the asphalt, but there was another one, some lady
standing at the bottom of the ladder looking up. Her face and shoulder were
half mangled already, maybe from the car wreck . . . I don’t know. But I do
know any normal person wouldn’t have been standing there with those injuries. That,
and the fact that she was snarling at me sealed the deal and I put her down. I
went back to the girl to try and get her calmed down, and managed to do it
after a few minutes of reassurance. I don’t even remember what I said. Probably
some crap like ‘everything will be OK’ or something like that. It was full dark
now, and I’m trying to force myself to come up with a plan, especially since it
was starting to rain and my weather gear was still in the cruiser. Up to that
point I hadn’t really noticed the cold, but it was starting to creep in all at
once, or maybe my adrenaline was starting to tank out. Anyhow, I knew I
couldn’t stay on the metal roof of that semi truck cargo container for long
without freezing my very valuable Indian balls off, but at the same time I
didn’t want to just climb down the ladder and make a run for the Crown Vic. The
crowd around my cruiser had vanished, and the girl was starting to cry again. I
heard a quick horn followed by a brief tire screech then
THUMP
as one of
the cars heading north smacked into . . . somebody. So I trotted along the top
of the truck over towards the line of traffic. You ever run on a big hollow
aluminum box?  Sounds like war drums. But as I’m trotting I’m looking down into
the mess with my light and I see a few bloody faces peering back at me; some of
them look like they’re starting to move my way. So I freeze, literally as well
as temperature wise, and use my flashlight to search between the cars in the
pileup for another . . . whatever they are. I finally see two of them leaning
over another one and biting, or chewing. They were about twenty-five yards away
and their backs were to me. Man, I kept my light on them and stomped on the
metal roof twice. Like a pair of cats they twisted around and looked right at
me. I swear the look they gave me was like them saying, ‘We know where you are,
we’ll be there in a minute.’ It totally creeped me out. So I stomped again,
about three or four times in a row. The two that I had my light on started to
get up and come my way, but I also caught movement down below near the tires. There
was someone I hadn’t noticed before pinned underneath some of the drive wheels
on the rig. Crushed, but somehow still alive. Reaching up for me. Shit. I don’t
have a weak stomach, but the cumulative effect of the previous twenty minutes
had me almost losing the ‘cinnamon buns a la’ Sheldon,’ and that would’ve been
a waste.”

Sam took a big slug of tea and moved his jaw left, right, and
up and down to try and work out the stiffness. A couple of neck rolls followed
before he continued. “So I was standing still looking down at the guy crushed
under the tires for a few seconds, wondering just what was going on when I
remembered about the other two. I shined my light back where I had saw them,
fully expecting them not to be there, like in all the movies where the
creatures disappear only to jump into your face three seconds later. But they
were back at their, um, meal. I could hear the girl crying louder now, and I
was about to tell her to shut up, but then it occurred to me that maybe, just
maybe instead of me getting off the truck, I could bring them, funnel them
really, into a kill zone by the ladder. So that’s what we did. I explained my
plan as best I could to the girl and we both started stomping on top the roof. A
couple minutes later, we had put three more down. Another ten minutes or so of
stomping, and two more joined the pile. It was weird though. I’m almost sure
they don’t like bright light. They’re not afraid of it after a certain point, I
mean it’s like when they’re close to a . . . target or something . . . that the
rage, or blood lust . . . whatever it is takes over. And that’s not the worst
of it. I don’t know if you know this, but whatever is changing these people,
they’re not all the same.”