Shades of Gray (35 page)

Michael, Jonah, Jake, and Rabbit had herded the last group of Terminators out of the lab and released them into the outside world. None of us were okay with that, but we knew we couldn’t kill them. Simply couldn’t. Even knowing that they would ultimately end up dying a slow and painful death, we couldn’t kill them. I think we wanted to, to save them. But damned if we could bring ourselves to do it.

We were cowards.

No one talked much those first few miles, and there was no sign of deadheads. Gus plodded along on one side of me, Dad on the other. We brought up the rear of the group. Dad and I had found some sort of closure before leaving McAlister’s office, after I told him I’d also figured out what had happened to Sophia. She had been amongst the last few groups to be changed. She was out there somewhere, slowly working her way home, slaughtering and devouring every single deadhead she came across.

As far as coming to terms with everything else, it was still a work in progress.

“I’m so hungry. You assholes know how long it’s been since we had anythin’ to eat?” Jake complained and rubbed his stomach as he walked.

“Heads up, crybaby.” Mia pulled a granola bar from inside her coat and threw it at Jake’s head. He didn’t catch it and it nailed him in the ear.

“Ow! What the hell!” He rubbed his ear and bent to snag the bar off the pavement, but Gus beat him to it. The beagle snatched it up and took off running ahead of us.

“Hey! Hey, that’s mine!” Jake laughed and ran after Gus. We walked and watched the two chase each other up ahead, clearly making a game out of it.

“Don’t you hurt my dog,” I called out.

“I’ll eat him if he doesn’t give it back.”

A few of the guys chuckled quietly, enjoying a tiny moment that shined like a pearl in a sea of shit and blood. Jake played with Gus all the way to the washout, keeping us distracted and entertained for nearly three hours. Michael led us down the rocky path we’d used before to cross the huge pit, giving the stony graves of our friends a wide berth. Of course we all stared at them when we passed; thankfully, Dad and the other men didn’t ask any questions. I think they could tell from the looks on our faces that it was a topic best left alone.

Dusk was just starting to settle in and the air was growing bitterly cold. Jake and Jonah started loading what little supplies we had left (mostly half-empty backpacks), into the Humvees while the rest of us fell in around Michael.

“We’ll get a fire going here and wait for Collins. There should be enough food and water left in the Humvees to feed everyone. After we eat, I want a watch set up on our perimeter, just in case,” he instructed.

Old habits indeed died hard.

“We’ll take watch,” I said, volunteering myself and Mia. She shot me a look but didn’t argue. Neither did anyone else, for that matter. Dad stood behind me and rubbed my shoulders.

“Alright then. Let’s get a fire going.” Michael twisted around and raised his voice to Jonah and Jake. “You fellas bring up whatever rations are left.”

They mumbled something and started loading their arms with what they could carry. The rest of us spread out and left the blacktop, looking for branches and whatever else we could burn.

* * *

Collins showed up two hours later. Everyone had been fed and, with the exception of Mia and myself, was huddled in silence around the fire that burned in the center of the road. We had heard a few screeches in the distance two different times. They’d been cut off and were far enough away that we didn’t give them much thought. We knew what was happening, what had happened. Runners had been closing in on our location and Terminators intercepted them. There was no need to discuss it. If we didn’t talk about it, then we didn’t have to think about it. If we didn’t have to think about it, then we could hold off the feeling that we were nothing but a group of murdering bastards. Whether directly or indirectly, it didn’t matter.

“What the hell took you so long?” Rabbit shouted to Collins after the pilot hurried over to the fire.

“Mind your tongue, Corporal,” Collins warned.

Rabbit curled his upper lip, but dropped his head. “Sir.”

The whirring of the Blackhawk’s blades drowned out everything and beat the tall grass along the road like a sustained wind gust. I squinted my eyes and jogged to the Humvees. Mia met me from the other side. We turned our backs to the thumping air and watched Collins gesture with his hands, his head leaned in close to Rabbit so the other man could hear his explanation.

“We had to scramble for fuel before we could head out. What’s in the bird now is all we’ve got left.”

Wherever the Guard’s supply shipments had been coming from, they had been cut off when Waters and his counterparts had decided to “buck the system.” The soldiers would have to learn how to live like we had been living; independent, self-sufficient, completely on their own. Of course we would help them get on their feet and teach them what we could about farming or whatever else they lacked experience in. It would be a rough road for them until they adjusted.

“Yes, sir, Chief. We should get these civilians on board and back to the prison. Do we have orders from any of the other districts?” Rabbit asked.

Collins motioned to one of his crew to start getting Dad and the other five secured. “Yes. You’re to call in when you get back and brief them on the situation.”

Rabbit nodded once and smacked Collins’ upper arm. “See you there in a few days.” They saluted one another and parted ways.

Dad split off from the group before he could be hustled into the helicopter and ran over to me. He wrapped his arms around Mia and I, squeezed us tightly, then kissed me firmly on the cheek.

“You be careful, take care of each other. I mean it.” His eyes darted back and forth between us. I held his upper arm tightly, gently shoving him away.

“Don’t worry, Dad, we’ll be fine. We’ve got armored vehicles!” I shouted and grinned. He gave me the crooked smirk I’d seen so many times in my life, and ruffled my hair. “Now get going before they leave your ass!”

He kissed my forehead and patted Mia’s cheek, then jogged back to an impatient Collins. The other four moved up behind us, and together we watched the helicopter take off and head out in the direction in which we would be headed.

Home.

* * *

Rabbit drove the lead Humvee and was kept company by Jonah. Michael drove the second vehicle, with Mia, Jake, Gus, and I riding along. We planned on following the same route, not stopping for any other reason than to relieve ourselves behind a bush when necessary. We were in a hurry to get home and leave the CC behind us, though deep down, I think we all knew we couldn’t. That shit would stick with us for the rest of our lives.

Michael confirmed that for me as we drove through the little tourist hole we’d passed through on our way to Pency. Mia and Jake had been talking amongst themselves in the back seat, and I was riding shotgun next to Michael. Rabbit led us in a zigzag pattern through what was left of the slow mass of deadheads that had been there before. The Terminators had been through this way. More than half were lying on the pavement, the only body parts missing were the heads. I supposed the bodies were so decomposed that the Terminators didn’t bother eating them. The virus
did
reside in the brain, after all. The rest were little more than brown stains on the pavement.

“Hell’s bells,” Jake muttered and fell silent.

We drove so slow through the carnage that we were able to pick out the smallest details; a broken pair of glasses reflecting the light from the Humvees, a pocket knife lost for good, a femur bone so gnawed it could have passed for a toothpick. Again, same as before, neither driver swerved to run over the remains. Before the Humvees cleared the area, I heard a very small and hushed whimper to my left. I looked over and Michael was crying. I could see he was fighting to hold it back just by the way he was breathing, but the tears fell anyway. I reached over and found his hand. His breath caught, releasing sharply. He squeezed my hand painfully and let it out, never letting his foot off the gas pedal. I held his hand for several hours, and no one spoke a word.

* * *

The trip back took longer than the trip out had. We ran out of fuel twice and had to siphon some from abandoned vehicles. Anyone who has ever had a mouthful of gasoline can tell you what a pain in the ass that is. We were held up a few times by packs of Terminators engaging swarms of deadheads. After seeing that again, accidentally swallowing some gasoline really didn’t seem so bad. There were trees down that hadn’t been down before, power lines as well, though we didn’t have to worry about them having any juice. High water in low lying areas from all the snow melt flooded the road and forced us to backtrack and go around. In the end, a three day trip turned into six, and we were damned hungry, thirsty, and tired by the time it was over.

We followed Rabbit to Blueville Correctional, not at all in a hurry to get back to the country club. Not yet. I think we were still trying to bury the pain we felt over losing so many of our friends. Going back to the Winchester just felt like the wrong thing to do.

After we pulled inside the garage and climbed out of the vehicles, enduring the pats on the back and the welcome homes, we were led to the Control Room. Rabbit left us and headed back to Harvel’s old office so he could go make the call to whoever it was he was supposed to call, and my group was split up and “debriefed” in the other offices. I didn’t know about Jake, but the only thing I could think about was when we had first found Cal, Michael’s friend who had been beaten to death in Harvel’s office by one of the Warden’s own men. I was a little surprised by how fresh that memory still seemed.

After all of that, we were taken to the cafeteria. Jake ate way more than he should have and made himself sick. Mia and I laughed at him, and of course he threw more cusswords back at us than a sailor. Dad found us just as we were finishing our meals, and fussed over Gus endlessly. We hugged and talked, he got to know the others a little better. After a while the conversation began to turn back toward the CC.

That goddamn place haunted us.

Granted, it hadn’t even been a week, yet it was becoming pretty evident that the shame and disgust we all felt concerning it would never go away. We would never accept what we had allowed to happen, what we had unknowingly been a part of—all of us, from the soldiers to the people at the club. We’d all played a part in sending living survivors to their “deaths.”

It didn’t help to know that the government had been behind it from the beginning. I mean, we had figured as much, but now that we knew for certain, it did nothing to give us peace or closure. Those bastards had sacrificed so many (we didn’t even want to know
how
many), in order to fix something they had created in the first place. What was a comfort, however, was knowing that our Guardsmen weren’t going to let it happen again. At least not in West Virginia.

Rabbit came in as we were sitting around the table discussing it, and informed us that from here on out, Districts One through Four would be protecting any and all survivors they found, giving them shelter if they needed it, and basically doing everything humanly possible to
help
whoever was left. Their new main objective was to protect the remaining civilians from the war now being waged against the reanimated threat. As for the Terminators, orders had been passed down from the leaders of the other three districts that they were to be left alone. We were not to put them down under any circumstances. We were to let them do the job they were created to do. Also, the districts’ commanding officers were going to contact the neighboring states, in an effort to plead our case, to try and convince them that it was imperative they shut down their respective Command Centers.

We all agreed it was a crapshoot whether or not that would happen.

It still begged the question: what would happen to the Terminators once there were no more zombies? Should we then terminate
them
, putting an end to their suffering before they starved to death? Or would they, as all living things usually do when change is forced upon them, evolve? Would they—
could
they—evolve into something far more dangerous than the walking dead themselves?

And if so, how many of us would be left to stop them?

Caleb crawled through the high grass on his hands and knees, as slow and stealthy as a sniper in the field. His rifle hung across his back and his now shoulder-length hair was secured at the nape of his neck by a strip of leather. The weeds brushed across his nose, but that didn’t seem to bother him. All his attention was on the street a hundred yards ahead.

And on the woman crouching behind a burned-out Ford Focus.

He paused long enough to pull the walkie from his back pocket. “Michael, I’ve got her.”

Caleb’s voice blended in perfectly with the rustling grass around him. The wind had been steady all day. The advantage to this was he could approach the city from downwind, concealing his position. Unfortunately, this also meant the deadheads were upwind, assaulting his nose with a myriad of rank odors.

“Good news. After you kick her ass for me, why don’t you two come on back. I’ll leave the light on for you.”