The Rise of Macon: A Zombie Novel (Macon Saga Book 2) (6 page)

Chapter 6

The commotion in the fort died down eventually, the story
of the Yankee ship being passed along. People were shaken and mystified from
the odd experience, but didn't let it bother them too much. Kyle, along with
his ever present shadow James, walked into the courtyard to find their friend
Billy talking to Patrick and Jasmine. Kyle knew Patrick was much better friends
with the guy than he was, and that was good enough for him. It was good to have
a solid guy like Billy here.

"Hey Professor, nice place you have here," said
an older man, separating himself from his wife and walking up to Kyle. Of
average height and build, Billy was a rock. He had grey hair in a short
military cut, and steel grey eyes. The man radiated effectiveness and
precession. He was a guy who could coordinate multiple things and play a game
of tetras while doing so.

"We like it," Kyle answered, shaking the man's
hand. Kyle noticed he looked more frayed than usual, something which didn't
surprise him in this new world. His clothes and face were dirty, like he'd been
in them for the last few days. "We're glad you made it. How is it out
there?"

The man turned to look at his wife, a fire in the courtyard
throwing strange reflections on her haunted face. "It's not good Kyle, not
good at all. We barely made it here, just got lucky really. This is my wife
Linda, and my boy and his wife, Johnson and Renee."

Kyle shook hands with the rest and told them to he was glad
to have them here. Kyle looked at Jasmine. "Can you take care of
them?"

"Of course Kyle, go do whatever you do."

Kyle smiled as others stepped forward to shake hands with
the new arrivals. He moved back and let them have this time. It had been a big
day for everyone, seven new people to the fort. Kyle felt happy with the extra
man power, but worried about the food situation; they just didn't have enough.
He hoped to change that tomorrow.

"James, is everything ready for tomorrow?" Kyle
asked, heading to the area Eric had had taken for his workshop.

"The trucks are ready, and everyone's packed out for a
few days."

"We'll check again in a minute. I need to speak to
Eric, go ahead and check on everyone, then get something to eat and get some
rest. You don't need to follow me around you know."

James grunted, but turned toward the encasement where the
food was being made and left Kyle alone. Kyle walked towards the far side of
the courtyard, into an encasement similar to the rest, except this one had been
turned into a workshop for Eric and his odd apprentice Edmund.

"Knock, Knock," Kyle said as he stood outside the
entrance. None of the encasements had doors, except the ones that had been used
as recreations for the tourists. Kyle needed to speak to Eric about getting
some, but that wasn't high on the to do list.

"Hey there Professor," said Eric, not looking up from
what he was working on. Kyle took in the narrow room and saw that Eric had
moved in everything from his work truck. It resembled a messy fabrication shop,
with hoses, tools and an area for welding. Topping it off was a big dog box
sitting on the far end of the room.

"Where's the girls?" asked Kyle, referring to the
Eric's beagles. The dogs were Eric's pride and joy before everything happened.

"Oh, those young’uns mostly keep them over there and
they love the attention. Ruining them for hurting I imagine, but it seems to
help the kids, so..."

Eric finished with and held out the short sword Kyle had
found in the museum. Even in the darkened room it sparkled. "All finished
here, professor. I've got the other ones sharpened as well."

Kyle reverently took the weapon, almost in awe of how new
it looked. The blade seemed to shine and was so clean it could have been used
for a mirror. The handle, yellow brass, now had tiny finger molds so Kyle could
hold on to it easier if his hand became bloody or sweaty. "Amazing."

"Aw, don't go soft on me now, it wasn't that big of a deal.
I'll tell you to be careful though, that thing is so sharp you could shave with
it. That's some good metal. I also made a sheath, so you can just strap it on
your leg, since it's not that long of a sword. I already passed out the others
ones to those you said. Yours is the last."

Kyle didn't know what to say. "Thanks Eric, fine work
as always." He put the sword into the leather sheath Eric handed him and
set it down on a piece of equipment. "That's not why I came over here
tonight though." Eric looked up at him questioningly. "I need you to
stay here tomorrow."  Eric raised his furry eyebrows at that and began
shaking his head.

"Sorry professor, I need to be going with ya, I-"

"You're more important here Eric, and I have something
I need you to make me."

"But who's going to drive the truck? Old Ben can't go."

"Old Ben volunteered and he'll drive the truck,"
Kyle said and waited for the explosion he knew was coming. He didn't wait long.
Eric slammed down a wrench he'd been wiping, then walked back and forth,
mumbling to himself about an old man and delusions of grandeur. The tirade
lasted for another two minutes, with Eric saying every degrading thing he could
about old people. Kyle understood. Eric had lost his whole family less than a
week ago, and Old Ben was all he had left, even if the two only fought.

"I'll try and keep him safe Eric, you know that,"
Kyle said, trying to settle him down.

"Professor, the world's gone crazy. You can't promise
anything and you know it. We're all going to die here, sooner rather than
later, and I just figured I'd like to go before him. Now that selfish son of a
bitch is going to go and die before me!"

Kyle laughed at the complaint. He hadn't been expecting
that. His friend was mad because his great uncle would die before him. Eric
turned his mountain man head at Kyle's laughing and smiled. "Don't say
anything to him about this."

"I won't."

"Now, what do you want, ole great protector
professor," Eric said, making his southern accent more profound.

Kyle smiled at the jest, then told Eric what he wanted. He'd
been thinking a lot about how they were going to survive out here and this
seemed one of their best shots. Especially if things got worse.

"You're not serious?" asked Eric.

Kyle nodded. "I am, and I need as many of them as you
can make. Can you do it?"

"With the supplies I've found in the fort and the
one's we brought, I can probably make two or three, but for more, I need some
things.

"Tell me what they are and I'll get them for
you."

Eric began to walk back and forth, rubbing his growing
beard and throwing out what he'd need. Kyle began to write.

***

Abe woke early, the sun still an hour from making an
appearance. He liked to be up early, liked to have things ready for the day; it
was just his way. The end of the world had not changed that. He slid out of his
wooden bunk and immediately shivered from the cold. He was already dressed, but
clothes made little difference. He was just thankful there was no wind in these
rooms. Each of these encasements had a fireplace, but they hadn't tried the one
in this room yet and Abe didn't push it. He was still feeling his way around
things.

He quietly stretched, pulling his sore muscles and
preparing them for the day. Proper stretching could help avoid any number of
injuries he knew. He dropped quietly down to the cold brick floor, and in
fashion to make a marine blush, performed 75 pushups. He stood back up,
stretched again and pushed out another 75 pushups. He felt better, and warmer. His
blood warmed up, he washed his face and hands in the bowl of water he'd
prepared last night before he went to bed. No doubt his brother would use this
water, but that's what you got when you get up late.

The sun began to rise as Abe finished washing up, and he
saw James quietly get out of his bunk, also being careful not to wake Kyle up. Abe
watched the big man hit the floor, quiet as a ghost, and then do some stretches
of his own.

  Abe nodded his head in appreciation; not many people
thought ahead like he did. The weak morning light began to filter its way
through the open window, and Abe sucked air in after getting a look at James
with no shirt on. He knew the guy was big, but James was cut like a chain. His
muscles seemed like they were sculpted by Michelangelohimself. But muscles
alone weren't what surprised Abe; James had scars, and a lot of them. More than
a dozen scars, long and wide, covered his arms and torso. Abe didn't have time
to see more, as James looked his way and gave a nod, his black eyes holding
him.

Abe nodded back and turned to make his bed. Once again,
being at the end of the world didn't mean you could be sloppy. He finished his
last fold, put his pack on his bunk, checked his rifle and latched his gun belt
around his waist. He then placed the sword that Eric had given him on his waist
and lashed the bottom of the sheath to his thigh. He felt like a warrior from
legend, ready to face the world, ready to save someone. But then he actually
thought about what was behind the walls and his enthusiasm died down. Everything
ready, he walked next to his brother’s sleeping form.

"I'll get him up in a few minutes," James said,
looking at Kyle. "He went to bed later than most."

"I'll go get some breakfast for us then," Abe
said. He wondered why the big man was so protective of his brother. He was also
surprised Kyle allowed James to act like that over him. Kyle was, in his own
right, a well-trained soldier. In the end, he felt better having James watch
over Kyle, because his brother could really get into some stupid situations.

***

Thirty minutes later Abe walked next to the ancient
Peterbilt tractor Old Ben had lovingly restored and kept in mint condition. The
truck, painted shiny black, easily stuck out, but who cared these days? Abe
would be going with Old Ben, Patrick, Bill and his son Johnson, and the college
kid, Jack. Six of them. Six of them would hit the small Costco, then connect
the old truck to an empty trailer. Of course, they needed to fill it first,
which was why most of the people were going to the store. The store was on the
edge of town, so they hoped to avoid large groups of the diseased.

Abe found his brother checking magazines. With a dwindling
amount or rounds, they'd each been given 7 magazines, with 28 rounds in each,
which was about 20 percent of their ammo. The people staying at the fort would
have the rest, but Kyle and James hoped to find more guns and ammo at the Coast
Guard station.

"You ready?" Kyle asked as Abe walked up.

"I was born ready son," said Abe in a tough voice.
Kyle laughed and pointed at Abe's magazine pouch.

"Did you check all of those and the action on your
rifle?" asked Kyle

"Yes, mom."

"Good, and I know you cleaned your rifle, so it
shouldn't jam, but just remember what to do if it does." He slid his
magazine pouch to the side and looked at his brother in a serious face.
"It's important to keep your rifle clean, much like everything else in
your life. You’re getting sloppy Abraham, step it up."

"Aye, you're a funny one, me lad," Abe said in a
bad Scottish accent.

"Irish?"

"Scottish," Abe replied.

"Needs work then," Kyle said and stood. He shook
hands with his brother, turned and climbed in the Tahoe they'd be using. Abe
followed his example and climbed up into the ancient Peterbilt cab. Behind the
wheel, dressed in his best oily, blue jean overalls, sat Old Ben. Missing half
his teeth and white hair sticking up, he might scare the diseased away. With a
big grin, Old Ben fired the truck up and they pulled out.

Chapter 7

Kyle sat in the passenger's side of the Tahoe, letting
James drive. They pulled away from the fort, the Peterbilt following a good
pace back. The sun, having risen, promised a beautiful November day in the
Carolinas. The Tahoe made its way slowly down the dirt path, which led from the
fort, and through the state park. Kyle kept his eye out for any sign of the
diseased, but Fort Macon was so far removed from town, they would almost have
to be led there. He took a look in the rear view mirror to find the Shiny black
Peterbilt following them out, its old school look giving it a sense of danger.

Kyle turned his eyes back around and thought about the
container ship they saw last night. The group had talked about it some,
throwing different conspiracy theories around, but no one had any realistic ideas.
Why would they fire on them?  No one had been able to remember what flag they'd
been flying or get a good look at the people on the ship. It'd been to dark and
no one had been thinking about any of those details at the time. Whatever it
was, Kyle hoped it was just a mistake and not another problem for them.

Kyle cleared his thoughts and focused on what needed to
happen today. He picked up the radio. "Macon, XR-1, radio check."

"Macon, XR-1, we've got you loud and clear," came
the response from Eric, still not happy about being left in the fort with
Edmund and the girls. "I'll be with you for a few minutes, then Edmund’s
taking over the radio for today's exercises.

Kyle sighed at this. "Copy that Macon. XR-2, XR-1,
radio check."

"Roger, Roger Rubber Ducky, give me that old man. XR-2
copies, loud and clear. Macon, XR-2 radio check."

"XR-2, Macon, loud and clear, Patrick don't let Old
Ben give you any problem, he's a worthless old cuss," said Eric.

"Copy Loud and clear," said Patrick. Kyle
listened to the exchange and wondered what would become of them if Patrick was
the responsible one. "I'll keep the Old Guy in line. The force is with
us."

"All right guys, here's the plan, "Kyle said,
breaking in. They were nearing the end of the state park and there would start
to be beach houses on either side of the road now. "James and I will lead
you straight to the center of town, we'll pick up a crowd and then draw the
diseased off, by which point you should be safe to continue on. You need get
the truck there as soon as you can, while they’re distracted with us. Once your
shopping is finished, you'll need another distraction to keep them from
following you back to the plant. Copy?"

Kyle heard the radio click, but only heard breathing and
whispering as they talked to each other. Kyle sighed, didn't they know he could
still hear them? "Copy that XR-1, what about you?"

"We'll be fine, just get the food and other supplies I
wrote for you, as much as you can, but if it gets to dicey, better to not
engage if you don't have to."

"Copy that XR-1, good luck."

"Same to you XR-2, Macon, have Edmund stay on the horn
in case we need him," Kyle said and hung up the receiver on the Tahoe's
console. He leaned back in the truck as he listened to Macon's response and
then turned to James. "You ready to cause a distraction?"

James looked at Kyle. "I've got no plans for
today."

"James, did you just make a joke? Not a good one, but
still a joke."

James turned back to the road and gave a small smile.

The Tahoe gave a bump as it hit paved road and James
pressed the gas, building more speed. Sprawling three story beach houses lined
the road, sitting deserted next to the ocean. Kyle looked at the speedometer,
35 miles per hour. They'd be reaching the edge of town soon, already diseased
could be seen walking aimlessly among the houses.

The town of Oak Island wasn't that big during the winter,
with about 40,000 people calling it home. During the summer however, the town
would balloon to about four times that size. Kyle was grateful it was low
season, but forty thousand, or anything close to that, would swallow them like
a Tsunami wave. They'd just have to play it by ear and hope for the best.

Diseased were everywhere. Their slow, awkward gait changing
as they heard the trucks go by. Kyle noticed a diseased undergo this transition
as they drew closer. It's head popped up, it's nose in the air; smelling, it
turned its head slowly back and forth. It started walking into the road, the
left side of its body hunched over, right hand raised in the air as if pointing.
It unexpectedly lunged, and James swerved but edged the man with the bumper. The
diseased flew away from the truck, leaving a spray of blood down the side of
the vehicle.

James slowed further, the road filling with diseased. They
stumbled everywhere, sometimes alone, sometimes in small groups, seemingly lost
and without a goal. It all changed once they heard the trucks; they had a
purpose again. Kyle, forcing down his panic of not being in control and held on
to the door as James swerved back and forth on the road. It was becoming harder
and harder to drive, the diseased were joining together, forming a mob. James
slowed again, they couldn't afford the Tahoe to break down in the middle of the
road. They'd never survive.

"Okay, let's pull ahead of the others and start
drawing them to us. Honk the horn some." He picked up the radio.
"XR2, XR-1, when we start making some noise, turn the truck off and drift
for awhile, hopefully that should get most of them coming after us, copy?"

"XR-1, XR-2 copies, good luck."

"Now," said Kyle as he unbuckled his seat belt
and hit the button for the sunroof to start retracting. Gusts of putrid, burnt
air rushed through the Tahoe and Kyle angled his way out of the top of the
Tahoe, his upper body fully outside. He brought his rifle out and turned around
to face the Peterbilt behind him.

 Aiming while someone was swerving was impossible at best,
but Kyle braced his legs on the seats below and started firing towards the big
truck. He just hoped he wouldn't actually miss and hit the thing. He didn't
think Old Ben would forgive him, but he needed to draw the diseased after him if
this was going to work. Kyle cringed at the loud, irritating sound of the
Tahoe's horn as James swerved and made their way through town.

The rifle clicked and Kyle ejected the magazine, letting if
fall into the Tahoe before grabbing another from his pouch, which was hanging
from his body. In less than three minutes, he'd gone through 28 rounds. At that
rate, he'd be out In 30 minutes, and might as well turn himself in so the
diseased could have lunch. He still needed to keep their attention, so he
didn't stop. As James kept driving, Old Ben's diesel engines had gone quiet and
it had rolled to a stop. Kyle still spotted a few diseased around the truck,
but not many. Most were following him. Thousands trailed the slow moving Tahoe as
it made its way through town.

"We need to pick up speed to avoid those closing from
the front," boomed James from inside. With a last wave at the truck, Kyle
turned in the seat and almost peed his pants. Diverging from both sides of the
road were hundreds, thousands of diseased. They came from everywhere, their
growls and moans easily heard over the rush of wind.

"Do it!" Kyle screamed. "Get in front of
them, then we'll make sure they’re following us." Kyle barely finished his
sentence as the Tahoe surged forward, its back end dropping down as the big V8
thrummed with power. Kyle slipped back down through the roof and into the front
seat. He set his rifle aside; using it now wouldn't accomplish anything, and he
needed to save all the ammo he could.

"Hold on," said James, his voice strained. The
Tahoe swerved to avoid hitting a pack of diseased that formed together, but ran
into two standing in their path. The truck shook at the impact, a line of blood
spattering across the windshield like a piece of modern art. James pushed the
gas again, barely making it past the main intersection in town, before it
filled with diseased.

Thousands of them stumbled through town, mainly not walking
on the road, but straight toward the direction of the noise, which kept moving.
The diseased kept changing directions, but most didn't stay on the road, a
fortunate thing for James and Kyle. Most, but not all. In front of the truck, a
thin wall of them, too slow to change directions, walked right towards them.

"Hold on," James said again, though Kyle's body
was so tense, he couldn’t imagine being able to clutch something any tighter. James
kept his speed up, then slammed on the break and hit the thin line of diseased
at 20 mph, enough to knock them back, but not cause major damage to the truck. The
truck shook from the impact of the diseased, but James floored the gas pedal,
and the faithful truck surged ahead again, now to an open road. They'd made it
through town.

Kyle, forcing himself to breath, couldn't remembering ever
going through something like that before, even in the army. His heart, racing
like a cheetah, felt like it might jump out of his chest. He took two more
breaths, then said reluctantly, "We need to keep them following us. Get
ahead of them and I'll lead them. Pied piper time."

For the next 10 minutes, James sped up and slowed down,
sometimes honking his horn, sometimes letting Kyle shoot a few of them. Behind
the Tahoe, a horde of diseased followed, their growls and moans rolling over
them like a tidal wave. Packed so tight together, the slower ones would fall,
crushed, never having the opportunity to stand up again. Kyle popped out of the
sunroof and took a minute to view the fading town. Devastation. It was the only
word Kyle could think of to describe what he was seeing. Half of the building
were burnt completely to the ground, their smoldering ruins still smoking. Other
places still stood, some looking completely normal, as if a blood sacrifice had
been painted on their doors, and the plague passed by. Kyle just hoped the
Costco still stood, the group needed food. Now, he just needed to get back
alive and without leading the horde to the fort.

"We're a mile or so from the Coast Guard station. We
need to get there a few minutes before this horde."

"Copy," responded James. The whole day, he'd
never asked Kyle what they were doing, what the game plan was. He let Kyle plan
all of it. Kyle had tried to explain, but James just shook his head. Kyle would
never understand him, but didn't have the time to psychoanalyze. This next part
would be the trickiest.

After some final directions, and two turns, they arrived
outside a 10 foot fence with wide open gates. Above the gate, a white sign read
U.S. Coast Guard station Oak Island.

"We're in luck, the gate is open, turn the Tahoe
around, pointing back in the direction we came from." While James did
this, Kyle hopped out with his rifle and a bag he'd prepared. He closed one of the
gates and latched it into the ground. Kyle looked up to find that James had
finished turning the truck. "Alright, get what you need, we're saying
goodbye to this thing."

James didn't respond, but grabbed his rifle, bag and a pair
of binoculars that were on the dash, and slid out of the driver's seat. He
moved back, as Kyle reached around the seat and pulled out a red brick, with
traces of mortar still stuck to it. Kyle studied the console in the middle of
the truck and flipped two switches. The first switch turned on the blue police
lights on the roof of the Tahoe. The lights, never actually used at the plant,
were more for show, but they did work. The second switch, this one also never
used, blared a police siren out of speakers attached to the roof. The noise
sped Kyle up, as he didn't want to be around the truck when the horde showed up.
Standing outside the truck, he put one hand on the break, using his other to
put the big truck in drive. He felt it start to move and pressed harder on the
brake pedal. He then placed the brick on the pedal and wedged it down. Before
he had time to consider, the Tahoe jumped forward, knocking Kyle in the side of
the chest and out of the vehicle.

****

James watched as the big white Tahoe sped off, Kyle still
stuck inside it. Kyle, not quick enough to get out or not realizing what was
going to happened, was hit by the door jam and thrown backwards, the back tires
barely missing his head as the vehicle accelerated without a driver.

  James took a knee and examined Kyle; out cold. Kyle
hadn't told him his plan, James hadn't even wanted to know at the time, but it
seemed obvious now. James leaned down, grabbing the back of Kyle's collar and
dragged him inside of the open gate. James didn't check on the moving truck or
look to see if the diseased found the road. He just acted, getting it done.

James slammed the gate shut, picked up a heavy chain left
on the ground, and weaved it through both sides of the gate. He found an open
lock and clicked it shut, sealing himself and Kyle inside the wobbly fence. He
picked us Kyle's rifle and pack in one arm, grabbed the still unconscious Kyle
with the other and started dragging him across the parking lot, to the white
building near the water.

The building was only one story and wasn't big from the
outside. A pair of glass doors served as the entrance. Surrounding the building
was a small attempt at a flower garden, though only a few scraggily trees were
planted. James threw the bags to one side and laid Kyle down in the empty
flower garden, placing the bags over his inert form. He needed to be able to
have his hands free for the next part. He placed both rifles next to Kyle and
pulled out the short sword that Kyle wore. He also pulled out a large, black
bladed knife he kept on his hip and entered the building.

The glass door pulled back without a sound, a small gust of
rancid, stale air filling his lungs as he inspected the inside of the darkened
building. He couldn't see much. In front of him, an empty reception desk sat in
disarray, next to it another doorway that led to the main building. James let
the door close, keeping his hand on it to stop it from closing too quickly. He
faced the open doorway and moved to the side, getting a better angle to look
into the building. Shadows mixed with beams of sunlight to give the large room
an unearthly feeling. James moved forward, needing to get this over with.