Winter Apocalypse: Zombie Crusade V (12 page)

Bruce heard the shots and came running. He saw the monster slowly slide off of O’Brien and lay moaning on the deck. The priest climbed unsteadily to his feet, then shot the creature three more times in the head, holding his fire when the beast finally stopped moving. Bruce saw O’Brien’s bloodied, mangled hand and felt a lump rise in his throat. “What . . . how did you . . . what can I . . .?”

The intense pain radiating out from his injured hand reminded O’Brien that he was a dead man walking, but in a strange way that thought didn’t bother him. He wanted to console his friend. “I don’t want you to worry about me; we still have a job to do. I’ll be fine.”

Bruce picked up the flashlight and illuminated O’Brien’s wound in a bright beam of light. Three fingers were missing near the palm, and his thumb was chewed in half. The only word that came to mind as he viewed the damage was gruesome. They both knew the truth. “Well, you won’t be fine if I have to carry you out of here with my bad back.”

Father O’Brien had never known that so much blood could pour out of severed fingers. In spite of his lightheadedness from either the horrible sight or blood-loss, he tried to rip a piece of cloth from his undershirt to wrap his damaged hand.

“Let me do that, before you pass out.” Bruce was much more efficient at creating a tourniquet. Once done, he gently asked, “Can you go on?”

In spite of the nauseating pain that made O’Brien want to lay down and curl up into a fetal position, he grabbed Bruce’s arm with his good hand. “Help me up.”  Bruce complied; then he guided his doomed friend toward the tug’s bridge, keeping an especially watchful eye out for any other flesh-eaters along the way.

They reached their destination without further incident. Perhaps due to some cosmic recompense for the horrible luck he’d just experienced, Father O’Brien quickly found his way to the pilot’s chair and discovered that the vessel had been left ready to depart at a moment’s notice. Whatever the fate of the crew, and it probably hadn’t been good, their careful preparation proved to be the trapped islanders’ salvation. The tug started almost immediately, and with the noise of the old engine loud enough to attract any infected in the marina not trying to reach Michael’s yacht, there was no reason to keep the lights off. The priest flipped the switches that operated the running lights and saw that Brittany and Robbie were engaged in a desperate struggle with the leaders of what appeared to be a score of hungry monsters on the pier. A trail of corpses marked the lethal fighters’ retreat, but they were obviously weakening and in imminent danger of being overrun.

Bruce turned on the loud-speaker and practically shouted, “Jump into the water and grab the mooring lines if you can’t make it to the lifeboat . . .” he turned to O’Brien and lowered his voice, “if they don’t get off that pier now they won’t make it off at all.”

Robbie hesitated for a brief second as he considered making a dash for the lifeboat secured off the far end of the pier by two meters of rope.  The danger of drowning with the weight of all his gear dragging him down was an issue no matter which option he chose—he wouldn’t have time to stop and pull in the lifeboat, but he liked the idea of being as far from the pier as possible when he hit the ice-cold water.  Brittany, on the other hand, literally jumped at the opportunity to abandon the pier instantly. She grabbed Robbie’s hand and pulled him into the channel with her. Several infected followed the humans into the water, but after a few seconds of flailing about, they disappeared into the murk with only a series of rising air bubbles to mark their descent.

As she leapt from the pier, Brittany saw that Roberto was coming in for the rescue. She and Robbie both kicked their way to the surface with some difficulty, painfully aware of the dangers posed by the frigid waters. After a few strong strokes, Brittany grabbed on to a life preserver and shouted for Robbie to join her. Bruce watched from the deck of the tug as Roberto pulled the two fighters to safety. He then headed back to the bridge to share the good news with Father O’Brien just as the mortally-wounded priest managed to find the lever for the foghorn. The long blast let Michael know that he and his team could stop their diversionary attack and return to the safety of the channel, and it reassured Bruce that he hadn’t yet lost his friend.

Now that the adrenaline of the fight was wearing away, Father O’Brien was having a hard time keeping his focus on piloting the tug. Seeing the Canadian yacht heading his way, he decided to cut the motor, drop anchor, and wait for help to arrive.

Bruce drew a quivering breath. “I should have had your back, even boy scouts know that the buddy system means you stick together.”

Father O’Brien shook his head. “No, I’m the one who stopped. You had no idea that I wasn’t still behind you. And think about what could have happened if that thing had surprised both of us. I know it may sound crazy to you, but my soul needed this penance. Sometimes only blood can wash away our sins.”

A tear slid down Bruce’s cheek. “You’re the best man I know. I don’t believe for a second that your soul needed any cleansing.”

“You’re a good man, Bruce. Take care of the youngsters; they’ll need you when I’m gone. And I hate to ask you, but I need to settle things—after I pass, will you make sure it’s final? And I think a water burial would be fitting. I can ask Michael or Robbie if you’re not up to it.“

“I’ll handle it,” Bruce promised. “And I’ll see to it that Brittany and Roberto get home safely.”

After a few minutes the two yachts and the tug boat were anchored together in the middle of the channel. Bruce went back out on the deck, and Father O’Brien listened as Carolyn shouted for Michael to bring her towels and blankets as soon as possible. Finally, he heard his sultry radio-friend asking Bruce where her priest was. Then there was a long moment of silence. O’Brien knew it was time to start saying his goodbyes, and he stumbled out to the deck with his injured hand cradled protectively against his stomach.

Carolyn had already managed to find a way on to the tug, and she guided him over to the edge of the boat where he could see Brittney and Roberto gazing at him with mournful sorrow. Carolyn gently lifted his arm and studied the blood-soaked bandage. “Does it hurt much?” she asked in a soothing voice. “I can get you some painkillers if you need them.”

O’Brien smiled weakly, “Actually, dear, I can’t feel a thing. If I need the painkillers later I’ll let you know.”

“Can I do anything for you?” she asked.

“First, I’d like to talk to Michael, then I have some things I’d like to say to Roberto and Brittany.”

Carolyn gently ran her fingers through the old priest’s thin hair. “Whatever you need. I’ll get Michael.”

Twenty minutes later, Michael was briefing Robbie and Carolyn about the next phase of their escape plan. He’d left Father O’Brien talking quietly with Brittany, while Roberto and Bruce were trying to brainstorm all the things that could possibly go wrong, and what could be done to prepare for each contingency. Michael had confidence in the plan, but he was feeling a bit unsettled after his private conversation with the priest.

“You don’t think this is gonna work, do you, Michael?” Carolyn sounded anxious.

“What? No, I mean yes, we should be able to move the freighter enough to get the yachts through to the river.”

Robbie squinted at his friend. “Dude, what aren’t you telling us?”

Michael sighed. “It’s not what you think, it’s . . . it’s . . . personal.”

“It’s about your uncle, isn’t it?” Carolyn prodded.

“Sort of, but I don’t really want to talk about it.”

“Did Father O’Brien—”

Robbie cut Carolyn off. “Babe, he said he doesn’t want to talk about it. Let’s just focus on getting our butts outta here.”

Michael smiled, “I always say you’re smarter than you look.” He stared out into the darkness. “So let’s review, we’re leaving as soon as we get the signal. O’Brien will pilot the tug—he says he can do it, and he wants to go out with his boots on, so to speak. Bruce will be with him the whole time; he can step in if he needs to. It’s not a complicated maneuver—a little bump, a gentle push—once there’s enough room to squeeze through we’ll slip by single file. We’re taking the lead. Roberto is piloting their boat, and he’ll fetch the old guys, then we’ll rendezvous. If they want us to hang around until Father . . .” Michael’s voice faltered, and he cleared his throat before continuing, “we’ll help any way we can. Then we’re heading home.”

Carolyn sighed with relief. “We’re not going on to Middle Bass?”

“This doesn’t seem like a good time for a visit anymore. Besides, we need to warn Manitoulin about Barnes and everything that’s going on in the states. We’ve been fooling ourselves, thinking we were safe.”

Robbie agreed, “You’re a thousand percent right; we need to start preparing for—” He stopped and cocked his head. “Do you hear that?”

Michael nodded, “That’s our signal. Let’s get this show on the road.”

To everyone’s surprise, Father O’Brien’s post attack good luck continued. As soon as the tug gently bumped the freighter, he began pushing the bigger boat with as much power as he felt it was safe to use. In less time than anticipated, a gap of nearly eighty meters opened up between ship and shore. Michael didn’t hesitate to make his move, and the Lake Erie contingent followed in his wake. The tug kept nudging the freighter until it was also able to pull out of the channel and into the river proper. Cheers rang out from both yachts, and Roberto was getting ready to circle back to pick up Father O’Brien and Bruce when he spotted a lifeboat floating by the tug’s side. He handed Brittany his NVGs.

“Isn’t that the lifeboat you and Robbie left tied to the pier?”

“Yeah, that’s weird . . . wait, there’s somebody in that boat!”

Roberto sounded confused, “Is it Bruce or Father O’Brien?”

“I don’t think so . . .”

“It’s not one of the infected, is it?”

“No, it’s a young guy, and unless the flesh-eaters have gotten a lot friendlier, it’s not one of them either. He’s waving.”

CHAPTER 11

After a difficult discussion with Maddy and Zach, Jack was confident that Luke wouldn’t be coming back to life as one of the infected. Though he’d tried to remain matter-of-fact about the unpleasant necessity of making sure Luke’s death was permanent, both teens had ended up blubbering like babies. They also both promised that they would do for Luke what he would have done for them if the situation had turned out differently. They’d pulled themselves together and decided on a plan  before Jack left them—Maddy would distract Gracie while Zach took care of business with a few rounds from a silenced .22. They all knew it was for the best, but it still felt like all hope and part of their humanity would be lost with those fateful shots.

Jack needed some time alone after his talk with Zach and Maddy,  so he spent an hour carefully preparing the gear he thought he’d need fighting his way down a river in the middle of winter.  Then he checked in with Carter to finalize the list of who would be joining them on the Blackhawk. Lori and Blake Alberts were obvious choices: they knew the river, were great fighters, and their kids were part of the fleet of refugees. Marcus, Bobby, Todd, and John, men who’d served in Afghanistan in Jack’s platoon, were all going. John’s wife, Tina, was an outstanding combat leader and a deadly fighter; she was coming as well. Finally, in a surpris
e
move, a man named Hector Villueva, a local soldier and dog trainer, was bringing two of the war dogs who’d saved the right flank during a critical moment in the Battle of Vicksburg. Carter had been determined to include trained canines in their fighting units from that day forward, convinced that man’s best friend was one of the greatest weapons in the human arsenal against the infected.

Jack wanted a few more items collected for the trip north. “Carter, do you think you can scrounge up half a dozen sticks of dynamite and some sealed containers of animal blood?”

Carter raised an eyebrow. “Chummin’ for sharks and fishin’ with explosives again?”

Jack gritted his teeth, in no mood for any attempt at humor. “We know our folks are in contact with a large force of hunters. We may need to create diversions or something if we get trapped along that river. I figured we could turn some flesh-eating heads with loud noises and the smell of fresh blood.”

“Sounds reasonable,” Carter agreed. “I’ll take care of it. We got everythin’ here under control fer now—don’t ya have someplace more important to be?”

Jack stood and pulled up his hood, “Let me know when the chopper gets here.”

Carter nodded without looking up. “Tell Luke he don’t have to worry—I still got yer back.”

Jack was surprised to find Charlotte and her daughter Lucy at Luke’s cabin. “Carter thought we could help out Gracie—I brought some chicken, but she doesn’t want to eat anything.” Charlotte silently gestured for Jack to join her in the kitchen, then spoke loud enough for everyone in the cabin to hear, “Let me at least make you a plate.”

“Sure,” Jack answered, peering over toward Luke. He seemed to be sleeping peacefully while Gracie applied cool compresses to his forehead. Young Lucy was acting as Gracie’s assistant, wringing out fresh rags and waiting patiently for any instructions.

“Do you mind pouring your own coffee? I just want to get one of these bigger plates—” Charlotte brushed up against Jack and reached in front of him. She whispered in his ear, “105 fever for a while now, but it has spiked higher a few times. He’s had some convulsions, but Gracie is exhausted and in denial. She thinks he’s getting better, and I’m not going to argue with her.”

Jack calculated that the bite wound had occurred over twelve hours earlier, and death could be expected at any time. He sat down at the table and started to eat, surprised to find that he still had an appetite. He was about to ask Charlotte if Lucy could run and get Maddy and Zach for him, but the two teens arrived before he had the chance.

“We don’t want to intrude,” Maddy explained apologetically, “but Luke, Zach, and me—well, we were the three musketeers and we want him to know we’re still here for him.”

“All for one, and one for all,” Zach offered weakly.

Gracie welcomed them both with firm hugs. “Please stay as long as you like. Charlotte brought enough chicken to feed an army, so get something to eat. Luke’s been sleeping quietly for a while, and I don’t want to wake him when he’s so peaceful.”

Jack finished his meal while Charlotte fixed plates for the new arrivals. He ignored the quiet chatter from the kitchen and walked over to Luke’s bedside. Gracie was right; Luke did look peaceful. Gracie joined Jack and slipped her arm through his, “Don’t worry, Jack. I’ll never give up on him. He can beat this; I know he can.”

Jack stared into her bloodshot eyes. “I’m sorry I have to leave, but I know I’m leaving him in good hands.” He glanced over at Maddy and Zach. “Keep those two close by—they can get you anything you need.”

Gracie tearfully nodded in reply.

Charlotte looked at Jack skeptically. Jack realized that any rational person would expect him to prepare for the inevitable; and even Gracie might become suspicious if he didn’t handle this right.

Jack cleared his throat, “Listen, Gracie, I am hoping and praying that you can see Luke through this. It’s what I want more than anything in the world. Don’t think I don’t have faith in you, but I can’t leave without covering all of the possibilities—”

Gracie looked shocked. “There’s only one possibility; Luke will survive this.”

“I’m counting on that, Gracie. But, if we’re wrong, we need a back-up plan.” Zach choked on his chicken, and Maddy turned white as a sheet. “Charlotte, you have connections here. Are there local security guys that you trust?”

“Sure,” she answered, “I know what you’re asking, and, if it comes to that, I can arrange it.”

“It won’t come to that!” Gracie insisted.

“My money is on Luke making it back to us,” Jack said sincerely. “Take care of yourself, Gracie. I’m leaving my son in your hands.”

Gracie’s expression softened. “Jack, I know you’re taking care of all of us. I shouldn’t have snapped at you. The truth is, we’re counting on you to be able to set your pain aside and focus on saving our people. I only have to focus on saving one.” She touched Jack’s cheek and smiled. “Luke gets his strength from you. Don’t worry about us—just go do what you need to do.”

Jack pulled Gracie close and kissed the top of her head. Then he donned his winter gear and left the cabin without another word.

Chuck landed the Blackhawk on the I-20 causeway to the west of Vicksburg, warned to avoid the east bank of the Mississippi, where tens of thousands of corpses lay freezing in the snow. The aircrew he’d brought along after putting a .45 round through the USAMRIID officer’s head were quickly offloaded as Jack’s team piled into the chopper. Captain Harden was fairly certain they could find fuel at a helicopter rental and service business about fifty miles to the east, so after a brief and successful detour in that direction, the bird headed north. Todd Evans rode co-pilot while everyone else tried to get as comfortable as possible for the long trip back to Indiana.

Jack was asleep five minutes after takeoff from Vicksburg, but Carter and Tina spent some time getting to know the war dogs in spite of their own exhaustion. One of the valuable canines was a Belgian Malinois  named Digger, while the other was a yellow lab-pit bull mix called Kira. Both dogs were friendly and loving in a dignified manner, and Hector assured everyone that they would have no potty accidents aboard the aircraft.

“How did you learn to train?” Tina asked.

“Spent eight years doing it for the military, but got tired of having to send my babies to war zones. Decided to give civilian life a try, but I’d only been out six months when the outbreak happened. I was running a kennel in Shreveport, but lit out for the Mississippi River when rumors started spreading that the infected wouldn’t go in the water. I lost a good dog finding out that wasn’t completely true; the flesh-eaters would go in the water, just not deep water.”

Carter jumped into the conversation as he scratched Kira’s belly and she licked his hand. “A lot of ‘em tried goin’ in the water in the early days, they just didn’t come back up. Critters got smart after a while, and started avoidin’ anythin’ that that might be over their heads.”

“That’s what we eventually figured out,” Hector agreed. “Anyway, I finally set up camp on the old bridge at Vicksburg with a bunch of escape routes prepared for me and the dogs. That’s how I met Captain Harden and the rest of the Tennessee folks. We’ve been training every mutt we could get our hands on since then.”

He looked profoundly sad as he explained, “We lost a lot of good dogs when the right flank collapsed during the battle. I didn’t worry about these two though; I adopted both of them from the Army program, and I’ve kept them sharp ever since. They can hamstring a hunter before the bastard knows what hit him, and they have the speed and smarts to get away from packs.”

“Well,” Carter explained, “I guess we got another big snow comin’ in over the Maumee, and I expect your dogs’ ears and noses will give us better warnin’ than our own senses will in bad weather.”

“They will,” Hector promised. “Now, if you two don’t mind, I’m gonna try to grab a little shut-eye while I have a chance.”

Carter and Tina didn’t mind, happy to cuddle with the dogs as they quickly fell asleep themselves. Kira and Digger relaxed without sleeping, and they kept wary eyes on Jack during the trip: he had an unusual odor about him . . .

In Vicksburg, Gracie was battling despair at a level she hadn’t known since her father died, and maybe not even then. Luke was slowly stewing in his own body heat, while David and the others from the original Ohio group were flying seven hundred miles north to try to save the rest of her closest friends. Charlotte rarely left the room as she felt  the time tick by slowly. Maddy and Zach were maintaining a constant vigil at the left side of Luke’s bed, but Gracie had never felt so alone. She found herself wondering about her mother and little brother, once again trying to envision a scenario in which they could have survived the outbreak in the middle of one of the most populous, violent regions on the planet.

She had decided to skip last summer’s annual trip to Israel to visit her mother’s parents, high school sports preparation suddenly seeming to be more important than spending time with her grandparents. Gracie’s grandfather was a still-fit war-hero who lived in a Jerusalem suburb, and his wife and only child had also served in the Israeli Defense Forces before going to college. Mickey, Gracie’s younger brother, had also been trained to fight from an early age. The boy was a natural marksman with any type of gun that fell into his hands, and he had been trained in knife fighting and Krav Maga self-defense since his fifth birthday. If any family could have survived the outbreak in Israel, it would have been Gracie’s, but she knew full well that the odds were that they died fighting somewhere in Jerusalem. She wanted to hope, she needed to hope, but tonight she was beginning to fear that she might be alone in the world.

Charlotte, who was sponge-bathing Luke in cold water, quietly called to her, a soft voice that nevertheless was loud enough to dispel Gracie’s morbid thoughts. “Hey honey, he might be coming around. His eyes are starting to flutter.”

Gracie walked over and took Luke’s hand in hers; he still felt as if he was burning up. Slowly, his eyes opened halfway in response to her touch, and he murmured, “Still here, still here.”

He hadn’t spoken in over three hours, and at this point he wouldn’t have been expected to. Gracie reached out and stroked his face. She spoke soothingly, “We’re here too, baby, we won’t leave you. Maddy and Zach are right beside the bed.”

Luke tried to smile, and seemed to nod his head in acknowledgement, but that gesture marked the end of his awareness as he almost immediately began to quietly snore. Maddy looked at Gracie with an open-mouthed astonishment, while Zach had once again bowed his head and resumed praying over his friend. “He’s a warrior,” Gracie whispered to Maddy with a shrug of her shoulders. “He won’t give up.”

Charlotte nodded over toward Lucy who was curled up on a chair, sound asleep. “Maddy, since your cabin is right next door, would you mind if Lucy and I make ourselves at home there for a while? We can get some sleep, but you can fetch us quickly if you need us.”

“Of course,” Maddy agreed. “I should have offered when we first got here.”

“Don’t be silly,” Charlotte replied, “but you can help me wrap a couple of extra blankets around her before I pick her up. She sleeps like a rock, just like her dad.”

“We can do better than that; Zach, carry Lucy for Charlotte. And bring back my bag with the paper and pencils. I feel like drawing.”

“You’re the bossiest girl I’ve ever known,” Zach grumbled as he grabbed his coat.

“And I don’t know how you ever survived without me.”

Their playful banter warmed Gracie’s heart. The isolation she’d felt a few minutes earlier had been entirely replaced by a sense of trust and belonging; she knew she wasn’t alone: she could rely on these friends to stand by her through anything.