Six Feet From Hell: Unity: 6FFH Book #5 (7 page)

“Is
that what I think it is?” Curtis asked as he pointed to the gray and black rifle.

“Yes
it is. Barrett model M82A1, a .50 caliber piece of anti-everything machinery. I kept it in a fireproof safe down in the basement. I had a couple things in the safe that I couldn’t take whenever we left years ago.” Jamie hefted up the Barrett. “Big sumbitch weighs over thirty pounds unloaded; it woulda been too heavy to do any good. Now that we have the wall, it can be used for long-range and anti-vehicle purposes. Plus I had to get a new sidearm.”

Curtis
grinned at the sight of the rifle. The Barrett M82A1 was a favorite of snipers of all branches of the military. The huge .50 caliber round was primarily anti-material, but would take out damn near anything in its path. It used the same .50 BMG round the Ma Deuce did. He looked on Jamie’s side, his new handgun sagging down his belt. Jamie had lost nearly seventy-five pounds since leaving Tazewell nearly ten years ago. The life of staying on the run combined with no fast food and constant walking had done the big guy well.

“Is
that a Desert Eagle?” Curtis asked, pointing to the oversized handgun.

Jamie
grinned. “Yes it is. I kept it locked up for a special occasion. I figure it’s about time that I break it out.”

“That
thing is a beast!”

“Yeah,
but, like the Barrett, it was too heavy to be effective when we were traveling. I figure that I won’t have to do much walking, so it’s about time that I get to use it. I’ve got two hundred rounds for the Barrett and another two hundred for the D. Eagle.”

Another
scream, much closer, interrupted Curtis again. He instinctively swung his rifle up again, scanning through the scope. “I told you!”

Jamie
grabbed up the Barrett and shouldered the massive rifle. The Leupold 8x scope attached to it gave Jamie a good range. He peered through the scope, trying to get a fix on what was making the screeching sound. Scanning back and forth, he spotted movement about two hundred yards away.

“Hang
on a second; I think I’ve got something. It ain’t a damn mountain lion though!” Jamie growled and strained his eye, desperately trying to identify the small movement in the trees.

“What
is it? How far out?”

“Not
sure what it is, but it’s about two hundred, maybe two hundred and fifty yards out.” Jamie took his eye off the scope for a moment, hoping his vision would notice movement. After a few seconds, it did.

“Jamie,
I don’t think that’s a zombie. That thing is sprinting!”

Ja
mie lowered the Barrett, set it on the ground, and moved forward.

Curtis
grabbed his arm in protest. “Whoa! What are you doing?”

Jamie
loosed Curtis’ grip and stormed forward. “It’s a woman! And from the look of it she’s being chased!” Jamie glared back at Curtis. “Come on! Cover me!”

Curtis
stood, debating whether to continue. He danced back and forth for a moment, unsure of himself. “Ah, dammit!” He blurted out. He watched as Jamie sprinted ahead. Not wanting to leave his friend’s side, he hesitantly jogged forward.

Jamie
was in a near-sprint as the woman came into view. He stopped and vehemently waved both arms at the woman, signaling her to come towards him. She was barely clothed, and what was covering her was tattered, dirty, and inadequate. As he got to within better sight, the woman saw him coming towards her and screamed once again.

“Please!
Please help me! They’re after me! Oh God, help me!”

Curtis
caught up to Jamie and raised his rifle at the sight of the woman. “Come on! Where is it? What’s chasing you?”

As
if to answer him, an arrow whistled by him, no more than five feet away. Curtis brought up his rifle and quickly peered through the scope. Behind the woman were two scraggly-looking men, also in dead sprints. The second man had fired the arrow, evidenced by the compound bow that he carried. He was reaching for another in a quiver on his back when Curtis knelt down and opened fire.

“Jamie,
get her and get to the wall! I’ll cover you!”

Jamie
had already retreated to the spot where he dropped the Barrett. He grabbed the massive rifle and chambered a round. He swiftly dropped to the ground, flipping out the bipod on the massive .50 caliber gun. Bringing the rifle to his shoulder, he took up a quick supported prone position. Curtis was still firing random rounds towards the two charging men, about a hundred yards ahead and off to his left.

The
tattered woman reached Curtis as Jamie spotted the first man. He was dressed in a combination of animal skins, dirty clothes, and sported a chest-length beard. He did not at first appear to have a weapon, but as Jamie looked closer, appeared to be carrying a makeshift club. He placed the crosshairs on the approaching troglodyte.

Curtis
grabbed the frantic woman with his right arm, continuing to fire random, inaccurate rounds with his rifle one-handed. The woman was dirty, skinny, and smelled of urine and other unpleasant odors that assaulted his senses. He stopped firing and turned to run away from the two charging men. That’s when he noticed Jamie lying prone on the ground about fifty feet ahead of him. Curtis immediately recognized what Jamie was doing, and swiftly yanked the woman out of the line of fire. They both dove into the chest-high grass on the side of the road. Curtis hit the ground with a hard thud, turning over at the last second to protect the frantic woman.

“Good
night, asshole.” Jamie whispered as he fired the Barrett, the enormous boom and shockwave from the rifle threw gravels and flattened grass ten feet away from him. The shot was wide, however, and missed the intended target. The vapor trail from the shot was still visible through the scope as Jamie adjusted his target slightly. The man was now less than a hundred yards away, still charging, but at a considerably slower pace. He slowly stopped, raising a fist into the air and roaring – not yelling – at Jamie. The primitive-looking man was looking past Jamie and eyeing the wall, knowing that getting closer to it meant more trouble.

“Holler
all you want, you piece of shit,” Jamie said under his breath. After letting the rest of his breath out, he held it. He moved his finger back on the trigger and slowly pulled it again.

Another
shockwave-inducing blast.

The
man’s head exploded. The concussive force from the round blew skull fragments, brains, blood, and gore in all directions. The splatter from the popped head was still flying through the air as the body hit the ground in a headless heap. The second attacker, the one with the bow, let out a horrendous growl and darted back off into the woods as quickly as he had appeared. Within a few seconds, he was gone, disappeared into the forest.

Jamie
hopped to his feet, leaving the Barrett laying on the ground, and rushed over to where Curtis had landed. Jamie hadn’t seen any movement from the patch of overgrown grass where Curtis dove. Pulling out his new hand cannon, he crept down towards the trampled grass slowly. He raised the Desert Eagle, aiming in front of him and scanning back and forth. Behind him, shouting voices and rustle of the concerned citizens of Tazewell emanated from the wall. The Barrett had a loud, distinct sound that they were not used to hearing, and it caused a stir among those within earshot, which was more or less everyone.

A
groan emanated from the grass off to Jamie’s left. The grass undulated as Curtis moved through it and back towards the road. Crawling on his hands and knees, he flopped onto the remains of the asphalt road in front of Jamie.

Jamie
shoved the Desert Eagle back into its oversized holster. “Damn! You all right, Curtis?”

Curtis
rolled over on his back, still panting from his dash into the bushes. He gave a singular thumb up at Jamie and flopped his arm back down. “I think she passed out from the excitement. Better get hold of Joe and Larry and find out what they want us to do with her.”

“Yeah,
probably not a bad idea. What the hell were those other fuckers? They looked like fuckin’ Captain Caveman,” Jamie asked as he reached a hand out to help his friend up. Curtis obliged, grabbing his hand and pulling himself up.

“I
don’t know, but if I had to guess, they look like some
Wrong Turn
motherfuckers to me. God knows how long they’ve been up in the mountains up there,” Curtis said, motioning towards the wooded areas outside town. He dusted himself off, smacking away some of the errant weeds stuck to him. “God I miss Alabama. We didn’t have any of these assholes there. The worst I had to worry about before zombies and inbred cousin-fuckers was Auburn fans.”

Jamie
chuckled. Footfalls behind him drew his attention away from Curtis’ joking. He swiftly turned to see Boyd jogging up behind him. Jamie waved off the pursuit of the eager, young wall guard and proceeded to make his way back over to the Barrett.

“Ya’ll
all right? I heard a shit-ton of shooting but we couldn’t see anything from the wall.”

“Yeah,
Boyd, we’re fine, but we could use some help since you’re here,” Curtis answered, motioning for Boyd to give him a hand. “Some woman was being chased by some Grizzly Adams-looking dudes. Jamie got one of ‘em, but the other got away.” Curtis held out his arm, pointing to the woman in the grass. “Anyway, we need to get her back to town and figure out what’s wrong with her. She looks like she hasn’t eaten in days – weeks, maybe.”

Boyd’s
normal easygoing demeanor changed quickly at the mention of the rabid hillbillies. “The fuckin’ Mountain Men. Those assholes have gave us problems before, but we never could catch or kill any of ‘em. They might look dumber’n a bag of hammers, but they are some sneaky motherfuckers. They’ve killed some of our people before.” Boyd grabbed under the woman’s arms as Curtis helped with picking up her legs. Curtis ducked down as Boyd positioned her on Curtis’ shoulders in a fireman’s carry. “Let’s go find Larry, and we better do it quick.”

Jamie
started walking back towards the wall with the Barrett thrown across his shoulder. “And why’s that? She’s not going anywhere anytime soon.”

Boyd
turned back towards Jamie with a grim expression on his face. “Because I think she’s pregnant.”

CHAPTER
7

April 18, 2022 – 0835 hours

Jebediah Blevins peered over his shoulder as he ran. As if it wasn’t bad enough the little bitch had escaped, now he had to explain to the others – especially Father Rife – how she had managed to do so. He never expected her to live past the fifteen miles of backcountry between Bishop and Tazewell, let alone the last mile or so. Once he and Willie Stiltner had her in their sights, he figured the stupid whore would break down and give up the chase. He would be able to explain the momentary disappearance a hell of a lot easier than the now
permanent
loss of both the woman – Rachel – and Willie.

Willie
was Father Rife’s cousin or some shit and it didn’t sit well that Willie hadn’t sided with Father Rife and the Snake Handlers at first, choosing to forge off with a few other survivors in the backwoods. They lived off the land, hunting and fishing to survive. They eked out a meager existence, but they were happy nonetheless. It wasn’t until the Snake Handlers had made an offer that he couldn’t refuse that Willie and Jebediah had left the mountains. Food had slowly become scarce, damning them to search further for sustenance. It was when they crossed paths with the citizens of Tazewell that they began to have problems. Jebediah, Willie, and his few people were forced to retreat to their area nearly fifteen miles away after a shootout and several skirmishes with the Tazewell residents. Father Rife became aware of the problems of Jebediah and his people and had offered a simple truce: help kill off the Tazewell residents and he would take care of them. Jebediah was cautious about teaming up with the religious zealots, but he had no other choice. It wasn’t fair that Tazewell had all the firepower and food they could handle, and, as far as he was concerned, it was time for a redistribution of wealth. They had lived far too well for far too long.

As
Jebediah looked back, Willie Stiltner’s body lay in a heap in the middle of the road, a sizeable portion of his upper body blown away, as well as his head. His sacrifice would not be in vain, however. Jebediah had an idea for Tazewell, and the loss of a single woman would not halt the process. He wanted to bring down the hammer of God on the inhabitants inside the wall, and even if he had to break one of Father Rife’s commandments to do it, he would.

* * *

After breakfast, Joe made his way back towards the jail. It was a walk that he wanted to make alone, to clear his head and organize his thoughts, but Rick and Kane had decided to accompany him. Joe trudged along the mostly empty streets, slowly pacing towards the jail, more than two miles away. There were a million ideas rattling around in his head, and it was next to impossible to prioritize them. First off, there were the outposts in Bluefield and Richlands. Both areas were tactically significant and both offered up derelict National Guard units that hadn’t been thoroughly picked over just yet. Some of the things that might still be there would be of use in a fight, and there was certainly a fight coming. That line of thought led him to his next problem – staffing the outposts. Jim and his people were at the top of a short list, but the logistics of getting all the way to Hazard, Kentucky were difficult at best. It was nearly 160 miles away, and they needed more diesel than they had. Both LMTV’s were still available, as well as the singular vehicle in the tunnel, and all three had fuel.

The
more pressing question of risk versus reward came into play as well. It would take an all-day mission to get the working LMTV and siphon the fuel from the others, adding more work to the list. On top of all that, he had plans to cross-train and better equip some of the people in town, and, with any luck, adding to the number of trained personnel at his disposal. There were enough rifles to outfit twenty or more, enough to put an additional ten people at each end of the county. The necessary supplies and personnel were spread out over a large area, and it was going to take a lot of work to get all of it lined up.

“Penny for your thoughts.”

Joe
blinked away his thoughts. Rick had been studying his face, the worried wrinkles and creases of a forty-year-old man making themselves evident as he stared. Joe moved his rifle slightly, adjusting the feel of the M4 on his shoulder. “Just got a lot on my mind at the moment,” Joe answered as he walked on, still facing forward.

“Like
what?” Rick asked, adjusting his rifle as well.

“We’ve
got several things to work on and not enough people to make it happen. That, plus I have a feeling that I’m not as popular with the people in town as I think I am,” Joe looked over to Rick. “Any suggestions?”

“Quit.”

Joe’s brow furrowed. “Quit?”

“Yeah,
quit. Stop trying so damn hard to be a leader and just do what you need to do without
making
people do it. If they see you as one of them, just one of the guys, I think that would make them a little more apt to help.” Rick put his hand on his father’s shoulder. “Look, you and Larry do a great job around here, which is not an issue. Just ask some of the others if they want to go out and do a couple things, just don’t make it seem like you’re
making
them do it. Get some volunteers and do the work with me if you have to. You know I will always have your back, dad. It’ll be hard work, but I think it’ll be worth it.” Rick patted his father on the back. “Now, what’s the first thing we need to take care of?”

“Captain
White. I want to see what he’s willing to give us and I want to see how useful he will be on the mission today,” Joe replied.

Rick
motioned ahead, pointing towards Main Street and the jail. “So that’s why we’re headed to the jail?”

“Yeah,
well, that’s why
I
was headed to the jail. What are you doin’?”

Rick
shrugged as they walked together. “Nothing better to do I guess, plus Kane needed a little exercise. He’s gotten to be a lazy pooch here lately without any action.” As if he heard Rick speaking ill of him, Kane nudged him on the back of the knee as they walked ahead.

“I
think he heard you,” Joe said, chuckling and pointing to the German shepherd.

Kane
stopped in his tracks, his ears perking up and the hair on his back doing the same. A look of both interest and worry appeared on the dog’s face. He turned away from Rick and Joe, his attention drawn towards the other end of town.

Rick
didn’t initially notice he’d stopped, having gotten used to the dog being ever-present at his side. He shortly sensed the German shepherd wasn’t at his heels. He turned to see the dog standing at attention, his focus on something else.

“C’mon,
boy. Let’s head to the jail with dad.” Rick patted his thigh, trying to get Kane to follow, but the dog remained steadfast. The faint sound of yelling at the other end of town signaled something going on. A few voices could be heard over the rest, one belonging to Boyd.

“What’s
up with him? He hears yelling all the time, wonder what…” The first few gunshots interrupted Joe, startling him. He instinctively grabbed for his M4, pawing at the rifle until he had a firm grip and brought it in front of him. More shots popped in the distance as Kane emitted a low growl, unsettled by the gunfire. The staccato of rifle reports continued for a few seconds, one after another, randomly. After ten seconds, the shots abruptly stopped, silence followed.

“
I guess they had a group of…” The thunderous boom interrupted Rick as he turned towards the gunfire. He ducked down, covering his head as the sound reverberated through the mountains. He slowly removed his hands from the top of his head, desperately trying to figure out what had made the sound. A second roar sounded, signaling another massive shot fired.

Joe
stepped beside of his son, grinning. “I’d be willing to bet that is what Jamie was going after; sounded like a fifty cal, probably a Barrett.”

“Christ
that is loud!” Rick blurted out as he faced Joe.

Joe
walked forward swinging his rifle back behind him. “C’mon, let’s go see what was so bad that Jamie had to break out a fifty cal for.”

As
if to answer his question, the small radio on Joe’s chest rig crackled. The voice sounded out of breath. “
Curtis to Larry, Joe
.”

Joe
paused for a moment, waiting for Larry to answer before he did. After a few long seconds of silence, he reached for the radio and keyed it up. “Yeah, go ahead Curtis. I’m assuming you’re gonna explain what all that shooting was about.”

Still
out of breath, Curtis replied immediately. “
Yeah, that was Jamie and I. We got a few extras from his house, but we were attacked by somebody that Boyd keeps calling the ‘Mountain Men.’ That make any sense to you?”

Joe
bit his lip and winced noticeably. “Yeah, unfortunately it does. Ya’ll get out of there without incident?”

“
Mostly, yeah. It depends on your definition of ‘incident
.’”

“What
does ‘mostly’ mean, Curtis?”

“
Well, the hillbillies were chasing a woman through the woods. She managed to make it to Jamie and I before they got to her. We’ve brought her to the chow hall for now. Boyd seems to think that she’s pregnant, but I’m not so sure
.”

Joe
rubbed his head vigorously and delved into thought. Finding a stray person was not completely out of the ordinary, but it wasn’t something that happened often enough that they had a plan in place for it. They had no specific area for medical emergencies or other issues. The best they could manage for most occasions was to take the person to the chow hall or to the jail. The latter being a better option for an outsider; God only knows what sickness they could bring down to the rest of the residents of Tazewell. The jail was as close to quarantine as it would get.

As
Joe pondered the alternatives, Larry keyed up on the radio. “
I’ll be headin’ down to the chow hall in just a few minutes, Curtis. Just hold tight until I can get there
.”

“Larry,
I’m headed to the jail to pick up Captain White. Why don’t you just pick up Curtis and the woman and bring them both over to me. We can kill two birds with one stone,” Joe interjected.

“
Sounds good. I have the truck, so I’ll pick them up and then head to you. See you in a few. Larry out
.”

“
Roger that. Curtis out
.”

“I’m
on Fincastle Road, Larry. Just pick Rick and I up along the way. Joe out.”

Joe
let out a deep sigh and continued walking. About fifteen minutes later, Larry pulled alongside him. Joe and Rick lumbered into the vehicle, while Kane took up residence in the bed of the truck. Larry sat in the driver’s seat, while Curtis sat with the still-unconscious woman in the back. Rick sat in the back with the two as Joe climbed into the passenger seat.

The
woman, who smelled like freshly made manure, looked to be in her late twenties. She was covered from head to toe in filth, looking as bad as she smelled. Her long hair hung in clumps and looked to be either dark brown or black. The sheer amount of filth on her made it difficult to discern her race or creed, but she appeared to be a white female under the layers of grime. The small pooch of a belly looked to be from malnutrition, not from pregnancy. Skin clung tightly to bone throughout her body with almost no muscle to hold together. She was the epitome of a life lived in the wild, or a human thrown into the trash.

The
smell of the comatose female in the back hit Joe full force as he got into the truck. “Christ, if she’s not one of the undead, then she missed a hell of an opportunity. She smells like the last shit I took.”

Larry
made a grimaced face. “Try riding in here for a few more minutes. It’ll make you wonder if she isn’t rotting from the inside out.” He pulled forward and headed across town to the jail.

Joe
turned around to face Curtis. “So what exactly happened? Where the hell is she from?”

Curtis
shrugged. “I have no idea. Jamie and I went to his house to try to get some more guns and ammo he had locked up. After a few minutes, I heard some screaming and she came runnin’ down from the hills outside town. Two good ‘ol boys came down after her, shot at us with a bow and arrow, and Jamie took one of ‘em out with a Barrett.”

Rick
perked up at the mention of the behemoth rifle. “A Barrett?”

Curtis
glanced over to Rick with a wry grin. “Yeah, he said you might be interested in it.”

“So
what is with these ‘mountain men’ fuckers, Larry? What do they want?” Joe said, turning his attention to his cohort in the driver’s seat.

“I’m
not real sure. We’ve had run-ins with ‘em before, but nothing major. They mostly keep to themselves and we keep to ourselves. The Snake Handlers, however, have given us problems, though.”

“Funny
how both of those names popped up this morning. Who was the old guy bitching about them this morning?” Joe was intrigued. The two factions, however minor they may be, were still a thorn in their side. There was no use in trying to act like both groups popping up was a coincidence.