Winter Apocalypse: Zombie Crusade V (11 page)

What really angered Deb was that she, or someone else in the settlement, should have foreseen this problem when the evacuation order was issued. They could have kept the canoes and boats anchored out in the middle of the deeper water that stretched several miles above the dam. The refugees would have been uncomfortable bobbing in the waves while enduring a snowstorm all night, but they wouldn’t have been exposed to the dangers they were now facing as they tried to navigate the pitch-black Maumee as it flowed eastward toward Ohio.

Deb was concerned that the pilots of the Blackhawks that had led thousands of hunters to attack the settlement’s wall were just biding their time, waiting for the flotilla to reach a point along the river where the flesh eaters would be willing and able to wade into the shallows and resume their attack upon the humans. She hoped the aviators didn’t want to risk losing any of the choppers to wind or ice now that the enemy had overrun the settlement, but she still heard spinning rotors echoing through the storm. When she reached the dam, she found dozens of craft floating in the relatively deep pool just below the wall, following orders to wait for all of the boats to clear the structure before continuing downstream.

Carter had always stressed the importance of people sticking together in dangerous situations
. Never divide yer strength unless ya got no other options
, Deb heard her husband’s words clearly in her mind.
There ain’t no lone wolves out there, just lone sheep; them hunters’ll get around ya and drag ya down if nobody’s watchin’ yer back.

Already this night had seen the separation of the Castle and Fort Wayne’s inhabitants, and even now, Andi, Lieutenant Heder, and the remaining soldiers defending the bridge were somewhere behind the main body of refugees. Deb was determined to keep everyone currently in her group together until they reached safety. The boats and canoes waited below the dam until all other watercraft were lowered over the wall, but it was a time-consuming process. During the hour it took to complete the procedure, several canoes from Fort Wayne caught up with the fleeing civilians. Six soldiers, including the heroic sergeant who’d led the stout defense of the breach, were huddled in two boats that emerged from the slowing storm.

As the western soldiers climbed stiffly from their canoes,  Deb realized that Andi and Lieutenant Heder weren’t with them. She tried not to panic as she rushed toward the new arrivals. “Where’s Andi? And the young lieutenant from Middle Bass?”

The sergeant shook his head, “They covered us, and they headed west after we took off for the docks. They were moving just fine, so I don’t think either of them were wounded. We figured they had an alternate way out.”

Deb felt like she’d been punched in the gut. She couldn’t bear the thought of leaving Andi and Heder behind, but hundreds of others were waiting for her orders as they huddled on the frigid water in the middle of a winter storm. She had just turned to motion the hoist operator to begin lowering the remaining boats when somebody shouted, “Here comes another one!”

Deb strained her eyes against the wind and stinging snow, able to see the silhouette of a canoe approaching the dam but nothing to indicate who was in the watercraft. Finally, after several agonizing minutes, she could see that only one person was in the boat; now she felt guilty as she found herself hoping that the survivor was Andi. Then a male voice called out across the water. “Lieutenant Heder here, hold your fire.”

A minute later, the dam workers were pulling the exhausted soldier onto the wall. He looked about frantically, and when he saw Deb he lunged toward her. “Have any choppers landed here? Have you made contact with the enemy?”

Deb didn’t have any patience for his nonsensical questions. “The choppers don’t land, and the infected don’t negotiate. Where’s Andi?”

“A Blackhawk landed, and two soldiers jumped out and grabbed her. She’s been captured.”

“What? That doesn’t make any sense; what are you talking about?” Deb couldn’t get a read on the young lieutenant; he seemed anxious, but not disoriented.

Heder drew a deep breath. “For some reason she broke for the west when we retreated from the bridge. I followed her, figuring that we could find some type of boat along the riverbank if we could escape the hunters. Spy Run Creek forced us north until we came to Lawton Park, where we ran over that little footbridge. We were crossing what looked like an old softball field when a helicopter popped out of the storm right above us. They had a spotlight on us and everything. I screamed at her to run, and we headed toward the river. At least, I thought we did. She was right behind me, then the next thing I knew  she wasn’t with me. When I looked back I saw that the chopper had landed and two soldiers were dragging her aboard.”

Deb was speechless. She knew she should have a hundred questions for Heder, but she couldn’t think of anything to ask. The idea of Andi being kidnapped in the middle of a battle seemed ridiculous.

Heder looked up with a haunted expression as he concluded, “This is my fault. I told you I’d bring Andi back, but when the helicopter showed up it was so surreal. Once they had her, they didn’t even try to find me, and they had to know there were two of us.”

Something in her gut told Deb that she shouldn’t be too quick to trust Lieutenant Heder. Even though he was supposed to be Luke’s friend, she didn’t really know the young man at all. She tried not to sound suspicious of his story when she asked, “How did you make it back here?”

“I found this canoe a few minutes later and paddled like hell to reach you guys. I’m so sorry.”

Deb nodded. “We’ll talk more about it later. Right now we have to get moving. It’s time to get the hell out of here.”

Heder slowly turned and climbed back into his canoe. “I’m sorry,” he repeated as the hoist lifted him over the wall.

CHAPTER 10

Father O’Brien opened his eyes as Roberto shouted, “Look at that!” He squinted in the direction of the young man’s outstretched finger, and his chest tightened. Scores of infected were tumbling off the ship onto the frozen ground below. Some of the flesh-eaters didn’t get up after the fall, but most did, and they were scattering in all directions in search of food.

“Bruce, get us out further from the pier! Roberto, Brittany—get our weapons ready—”

Brittany interrupted, “But they won’t be able to reach us on the water. Are you thinking we might need to worry about humans attacking us?”

“Right now, we worry about everything!” O’Brien barked. He was glad to see the Canadians’ yacht already anchored about fifty meters out, and he asked the Lord to help Michael Carboni guide his friends to safety. The priest’s mind flashed back to his first experience battling the infected, only he hadn’t battled them at all. He’d let others do the fighting, reasoning that a portly man of God with no physical fighting skills could only be a hindrance to those who were holding their ground against the monsters. But they weren’t holding their ground; they were being massacred. He lived now only thanks to the bravery of others, and O’Brien felt ill equipped to take charge of the current situation. He decided that fate had brought Jim Carboni’s nephew to this place, and that gave him hope that they would be able to find a manageable way out of their current mess.

Several minutes later the yachts were tied together a safe distance from the shore, and the pier where the crews had greeted each other only hours before was now covered with at least a dozen infected. It wasn’t particularly challenging for Robbie and Michael to make their way on to O’Brien’s craft, and Carolyn was happy to stay behind as the acting captain of the hybrid yacht. O’Brien was concerned about her safety until he saw her expertly loading a 12 gauge shotgun before positioning herself in a lounge chair in full view of her friends.

“I don’t suppose there’s a back door out of this place?” Robbie asked sarcastically.

Brittany snorted. “There are plenty of ways out of here if you don’t mind trying to walk through packs of the infected.”

Roberto changed the subject. “How much food you guys have on your yacht?” He looked from Michael to Robbie. Michael was studying the wreckage, alternating between the NVGs and the binoculars, apparently oblivious to the conversation.

“Several days’ worth, maybe a week’s supply,” Robbie replied. “But we did bring a bunch of fishing gear.”

“We have a little more food,” Father O’Brien interjected, “because we knew we’d be feeding Roberto.” He tried to smile, but it turned into a grimace. “Food may not be our biggest concern, though. I’ve been watching the weather all day, and I’ve got enough experience on these waters to feel a winter storm in the air.”

Michael grunted and turned to the priest. “You also have more experience dealing with these creatures than we do. How long do you think they’ll hang around the area?”

O’Brien sighed. “As long as they can see us they’ll be motivated to stay. And if they see us, they’ll start that incessant moaning that attracts any of them within hearing range. I suppose we could try staying out of sight for several days, but I wouldn’t expect the weather to cooperate with that plan . . .” His voice trailed off and he turned and stared toward the channel.

Brittany thumped him on the shoulder. “Hey, what are you thinking about? I know that look on your face right now.”

Michael looked in the direction that had temporarily transfixed O’Brien and squinted.

Father O’Brien spoke quietly. “Anybody notice that tug down at the end of the channel when we pulled in here tonight?”

“No,” Brittany explained, “and the entire marina is crawling with infected even if we wanted to grab another boat. Besides, what good—“

Michael interrupted, “You’re talking about the tug boat?”

O’Brien nodded as Michael scratched his chin. “You might just be on to something, Father. It’s possible that we could use the tug boat to push the freighter out of the way.”

Robbie sounded skeptical. “I know you’re an engineer and all, but do you really think a tug could push that monster out of the mud?”

Michael shrugged. “I can’t say for sure, but we don’t need to move it too far, and being in water offers certain advantages. Still, we don’t know if the tug is even operational. It’s also still docked, so those creatures have access to it.”

“Why don’t we just try to pilot the freighter out of our way since that’s the only boat we really need to move?” Brittany suggested.

“That, my dear, is easier said than done. I know that neither Bruce nor I have any idea about how to run one of those modern monstrosities, but maybe Michael . . .” O’Brien looked up hopefully.

“Don’t look at me,” Michael objected, “I’d have bet that a ship that size was too big for the Great Lakes, and I have no idea how that one ended up here. It says ‘China Shipping Line’ for Christ’s sake—“

“Don’t be disrespectful, Major Mike,” Robbie cut in. “We’re in the company of a priest you know.”

“Sorry, Father,” Michael apologized, “but I think your first idea is our best bet. If we can get the old tug going, I believe we can nudge that freighter out  of our way. My main concern is how many of the infected have found their way onto the tug.”

Father O’Brien nodded his agreement. “My hope is that any creatures that were on board originally left a long time ago in search of food. I don’t know why any of the new arrivals would be attracted to a lifeless boat, but who knows?  The thing we need to remember is  we’re still smarter than they are. We just need a plan to get on that tug and figure out if we can use it. If not, we think of something else.”

The plan was simple but dangerous: create a distraction in the opposite direction, then have Roberto quietly escort Father O’Brien and Bruce to the tug. Robbie and Brittany would man a lifeboat and move to position themselves midway between the two hot spots once the old pilots were on their way. Michael would start the action by piloting the Canadian yacht to the pier nearest to the grounded ferry, where he and the others would open up on the infected with firearms. The goal was to take the boat close enough to the pier that the flesh-eaters believed food was at hand, while not actually drifting into the beasts’ leaping range. Everyone agreed that the plan would work best at night, using the cover of darkness to their advantage.

In less than an hour they were ready to proceed. Every light on the Canadians’ vessel was lit as it slowly approached the shore. Carolyn added her mix tape to the spectacle, and as soon as the first monsters ran in their direction the gunners opened fire.

Good head-shots were still the most reliable method of killing the infected, but as their numbers increased on the pier, any wound that caused one of the monsters to jump around a bit usually led to several others falling into the water. By the time Robbie and Brittany were slipping off the back of the yacht into the inflatable lifeboat, Carolyn had mastered what to the zombies was clearly a tantalizing display—she pranced about, yelped, feigned injury, fired a few deadly rounds, and repeated the process while Michael concentrated on trying to make consistent head shots. A few of the crazed beasts actually tried to jump onto the yacht, falling short by at least twenty feet. All of the creatures that went into the river immediately sank out of sight, but ten more came running for every one that fell. Half a minute into the fight, Roberto signaled Father O’Brien and Bruce to make their move on the abandoned tug.

Bruce cut the lights on their boat and tried to keep the noise of his approach as low as possible. Roberto was stationed at the bow with NVG’s, doing his best to communicate with the pilot through hand signals that could be seen with optics. As the smaller boat approached its destination, there were four or five infected loitering around the tug, apparently disinterested in the sounds and sights of the gun battle taking place a hundred meters away. O’Brien hoped the creatures were deaf and nearly blind; he theorized that if they were fully evolved hunters, they’d have quickly run to the noise of combat.

Bruce and Father O’Brien held their breath as they drifted to within a few feet of the pier. Roberto jumped out and temporarily tied the craft to one of the ancient iron-moorings. Brittany and Robbie appeared out of the darkness and swiftly dispatched the creatures O’Brien had noticed moments earlier, tossing them off the pier. The splashes from their bodies hitting the water caused a few more monsters to appear. These interlopers were put down in a matter of seconds, with mortal blows to their heads. It was clear that O’Brien’s suspicion that these infected were of low ability was true, but there was no guarantee that their next encounter would be so easily dealt with.

Now the two pilots had to make their move so that Roberto could navigate the yacht back to a position of safety. If the tug wasn’t operational, he would have to pick up the two men without drawing the attention of the infected.

O’Brien was elderly, still slightly overweight, and slow. Bruce wasn’t much younger, but he was wiry and strong. The priest carried a silenced .22 pistol that David Smith had given him a few months earlier; he’d rarely practiced with it, but he knew that it had proven to be devastatingly effective in other hands since the outbreak began. Bruce had his own .22, and a short sword strapped to his side. As they made their way to the tug,  they could see Robbie and Brittany standing guard at the end of the pier, between their boats and the mainland. Their silhouettes were illuminated by the lights from the Canadian yacht, and beyond them O’Brien noticed a number of infected limping their way. Just as one dropped to the ground, the priest keyed in on the music wafting across the water from Carolyn’s boom-box.
Another one bites the dust
. He stifled a laugh, and picked up his pace.

By the time Father O’Brien made it to the short ladder leading up onto the tug, Bruce was already on board waiting for him. The priest accepted his friend’s outstretched hand, and Bruce grunted slightly as he pulled O’Brien on to the deck of the unfamiliar ship.

Bruce tipped his head toward shore. “Look. We need to hurry.”

At the end of the pier, Robbie and Brittany were engaged in furious fighting with what appeared to be at least half a dozen flesh-eaters. These creatures were howling as they attacked, perhaps calling to others that could now be seen making their way toward the base of the pier. Some members of the new group looked as if they were moving much better than the first monsters they’d encountered upon landing, and O’Brien silently prayed for the safety of the brave young warriors.

The priest was familiar with the tugs used in the 1960s and 70s, and thankfully, this boat was an older model. A brief glance around the vessel revealed a well-kept ship, which immediately improved his hopes that he could get the engine started and move it away from the pier. Bruce led the way toward the ship’s bridge, obviously trying to move as quickly as possible. Without saying anything to his partner, O’Brien stopped to remove his NVG’s so he could rely upon the powerful flashlight he’d included in the kit he’d packed for this mission. He set the optics on the metal lid of a box on the deck, and fumbled with the light in his pocket. In the brief moment he was momentarily blind, he heard movement to his right. “Bruce?”

A relatively clumsy, but large infected male had somehow made its way onto the vessel, and just happened to be shuffling around the outside edge of the cabin wall when it saw Father O’Brien standing a few feet away. The creature was hungry, starving, and here was food waiting to be taken. With a snarling howl, the flesh-eater lunged for the shocked priest, who was briefly immobilized by the fear rushing through his body as he heard the noise of a large predator bearing down on him. O’Brien instinctively raised his hands to try to ward off the attack, but the weight of the monster, as well as the momentum of its charge, knocked both man and beast to the hard surface of the deck.

With the breath violently forced from his lungs, Father O’Brien couldn’t call for help, and, as the frenzied beast clamped its jaws down on the priest’s gloved left hand, he felt several fingers break. The pain that washed over him almost made him pass out, but the sharp wave of agony also brought a bit of clarity to his panicking mind, and he frantically thought about what he could do to save himself. He remembered that the small pistol was holstered on his right side. Even as he felt the monster rip the glove off by shaking his head like a wolf or dog might do when sinking teeth into prey, O’Brien was reaching for the gun with his free hand.

As the beleaguered priest struggled to bring the weapon into action, he experienced a new level of pain when the ravenous creature finally found exposed skin with the glove removed. The monster began to savage the unprotected hand, tearing away at the fingers with a fury that seemed to be fueled by more than just hunger. Father O’Brien realized with a jolt that this creature was driven by evil; the beast wanted to kill him as well as eat his flesh. With the realization came a primal rage that immediately overwhelmed every other emotion the priest was feeling, including fear and panic. He was being eaten alive, and for the first time in a long time, he felt something close to hatred course through his soul. He was now determined that this abomination wasn’t going to have the satisfaction of killing and consuming him. He would prove that he could fight this battle physically as well as spiritually. His hand finally closed around the pistol grip and he yanked the weapon from the holster. Then, he stuck the barrel in the flesh-eater’s face and began pulling the trigger.