

Nano Zombie

by Paul Westwood

Copyright 2013 Paul Westwood

Published at Smashwords

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Introduction

When the world came to an end, it was with more of a whimper than a bang. There were no comets, earthquakes, nuclear wars, or any other apocalyptic ending suitable for some Hollywood blockbuster. Instead events sort of crept up on humanity in a most underhanded fashion. No one expected it except for the usual scaremongers who were always braying about the coming end of the world. This time, for a change, they were right. It started with years of drought that brought crop failures. Added to that, the unrest in that usually far off place called the Middle East made oil an even rarer commodity. First the price of food started to slowly rise along with the fuel to push our ghastly cars down the road. And then as a result of the high oil prices, the jobs started to disappear, leaving people hungry and cold. Sure, we were all still civil then, but the better prepared started stockpiling what food and ammunition they could. The government, the state and the federal, stepped in to try to stem the inevitable tide, but by then all confidence in them had long disappeared. All we heard were words, not solutions. The army, instead of helping, only made things worse. They turned to looting for themselves, taking whatever food they could find. Wherever the soldiers went, they were only met by riots and unrest. One by one, the soldiers deserted their units to go home to protect their own kin. It was like this everywhere; a sudden wave of madness that had gripped us all.

If I was any sort of real historian, I would start making comparisons to the end of the Roman Empire, tracing out the characters and policies that caused our decline. But instead of casting blame, I will instead concentrate on my own personal history – how I lost everything, but yet managed to survive in a world scarred by disease, starvation, and other terrible things that will reveal themselves with time. Some of these events are already old history to the current generation that is now making the world anew, but I've been asked to document my own experiences before they are lost to the mists of time. It will be hard for the children of today to remember when humans ruled the skies, water, and the land; supposedly free of the foul nature of our very worst impulses. But yes, there was a time when food was plentiful and for the average person danger was only something experienced in books and in the movies. All of that changed quicker than anyone expected.

It's always difficult to know where to start when writing of one's past. However I won't trouble the reader with a long background of family and lost loves, because there is little to tell there that has anything to do with the story. You see by the time that the troubles broke out, my parents were dead and my marriage had also ended in failure. I was alone in the world, getting by with my wits working in the state of Michigan. Though large swaths of the population were facing long-term unemployment, my background in specialized computer programming and factory integration were still needed by the few companies that could stay alive in such a terrible economy. Back then I worked as a self-employed contractor, filling what needs could not be handled by their staff.

But even then I had the foresight to know that my work was coming to an end. The free time between my contract work was getting longer and longer while the news on the television was getting worse and worse. But I did not spend this time in a panic; instead I began stocking food and supplies in the small cottage I inherited from my parents. Perhaps cottage is the wrong word - it was more of a three room shack with a wood stove, an outside pump, and had the luck of being located down a barely noticeable dirt road near a small town called Shelby located a few miles from the west coast of Lake Michigan. It really wasn't much of a place, but the house sat on five wooded acres of land that had been bought by my grandfather. It was used as a sort of summer home ever since. I had spent plenty of time there as a child and was attached to the old place with the hundred of memories that came with it.

So with what time and money I had, I would visit Shelby, using my old Toyota pickup truck to ferry canned food and some other supplies to my little house in the woods. I was careful to buy in small quantities and to bury what I bought wrapped in plastic deep in the ground. Back then it seemed awfully paranoid, but now, in hindsight, it seemed terribly naïve. If I had any more sense I would have bought much more food and stocked up on guns and ammunition, but, like others, I was expecting any trouble to be short-lived. I would simply hunker down a few months while everything sorted itself out. In the end, I expected an easy return to civilization, unscathed by the tumultuous events of history. Little did I know what was in store for humanity.
Chapter 1

It was early September, that time of year when summer was still strong in the bones of the land. I left for work that Monday morning, taking my old black pickup truck. Sure, there are faster and flashier vehicles out there, but they draw attention to the hijackers and thieves looking for a well-heeled victim. But nobody pays attention to an old Toyota with rust and a few dents. I also liked the off-road capabilities and the high stance which gave me an extra layer of safety from any would-be attackers. Not that I expected such a thing to happen to me, but in those days it was better to be safe than sorry.

As I pulled out of my driveway, I looked fondly at my old bungalow built during the Depression. What the little house lacked in size was made up for by comfort. I had added built-in bookshelves, converted the basement to a home theater, and refurbished the kitchen with new cabinets. It would have been a cramped place for a family, but there was no reason why a man made recently single needed anything larger. So far the neighborhood had been free of any looting and much of that had to do with the block watch. I'm sure the men enjoyed playing soldier - toting rifles over their shoulders and stopping any visitor by the blockade of cars at each end of the street.

In the past this time of year was normally for apples and farm markets, but yet again the harvest had been bad with the usual predictable rise in food prices. It was the lack of rain and the oppressive heat that was the real problem. It left the trees looking sallow and lifeless, the leaves small and undernourished. It had been like this all summer, leaving the yards brown and lifeless since no one dared to use water for something as silly as grass. Even for this time of year the heat during the day was still unbearable. I missed autumn, the smell of decaying plants and the snap of brisk morning frost. I wondered if anyone should ever see such days again.

I slowed as I reached the checkpoint. Stopping, I rolled down the window. Out from the corner house came Bill Hayward, who was a chunky man with bald head and all the manners of a longshoreman. He was wearing a pair of worn jeans, brown boots, and a camouflaged jacket that looked to have been bought at the local army surplus store. He gave me a friendly wave with his left hand since the other arm was cradling a new-looking Remington shotgun. Since I left for work every morning, I was hardly an unfamiliar sight, but he still liked to jaw for a few minutes. Like so many others on the block he was unemployed and in need of a little social outlet.

"Hey, Brent," he said with a half-hidden yawn. "Did you see the news this morning?"

I shook my head and took a sip from the coffee cup I had brought. Personally I had little interest in the news since most of it was bad. There was only so much a sane person could take before you just decided to stop watching. Too much of that kind of information could drive one mad, spending the nights awake with worry, tossing and turning.

He said excitedly, "The police force went on strike – complaining they haven't been paid for weeks. And me still paying property taxes and all, and they're worried about money." He gave a little laugh. "Not that anyone can afford anything these days. What I wouldn't do for a nice steak, but it's been nothing but bologna at my house. I'm sure you know as much as anyone the price of groceries."

I knew since I was paying over half my income on keeping food in the cupboards. For a single man that was a lot of money. I couldn't imagine what it was like trying to feed a family. "With the police on strike there's going to be trouble," I said as I shook my head in disbelief.

"Yeah, that's what I thought too. You may want to stay home today, considering every two-bit criminal is going to be out looking for easy pickings. They might take a chance and give a try against us. All of the neighbors will have to stick together if we want to survive."

I let out an uneasy laugh. "These days we're all criminals in form or another. But I think I'll go out anyway. Someone has to go to work, even if it's for peanuts."

"Sure, sure," he said rapidly before pulling out a set of keys. "But still, be careful out there." He then climbed into a late-model sedan that was parked across the road. The car pulled forward just enough for me to nose my way through.

The streets this time of the morning were eerily quiet. It was only a year ago that I had to fight the daily battle of rush hour traffic. Now I had the entire stretch of blacktop to myself. As I slowly drove along, I kept my eyes busy wandering across the boarded houses and shuttered small businesses that packed the suburban roadside. I was looking for anything unfamiliar – such as a car poised in a driveway – something that could be used to ram or block my movement forward. There was nothing to see but the decay of weed-choked yellowing lawns, stripped cars, and with a majority of the buildings, open doors where the looters had already been.

I drove without incident to the industrial park that was the location of my current job at Rapid Engineering. I was immediately struck by the silence and lack of busy movement. The normal day-to-day activity beyond the high chain-link fence that protected the building was non-existent. Instead of the trucks, cars, and employees there was nothing but an empty lot. I hesitantly drove up the guard shack that protected the entrance to the plant. Impatiently honking my horn, I waited with a sinking feeling in my stomach.

From out of the guard shack came someone I did not recognize. He was a short man wearing black-colored police riot gear with the helmet visor flipped open. An AR-15 was slung on his side. "What do you want?" he barked with a voice that was more of a croak.

"I'm Brent Cohen. I work here," I replied as I eyed his finger which was resting over the trigger guard.

"Not anymore," the man spat out. "The whole plant has been closed for now. Everyone has been laid off."

"But what about my paycheck?" I asked impatiently. This hadn't been the first time I had been locked out of a job, but I still expected to get paid.

He shook his head from side to side. "I don't know about that. I'm sure you'll be contacted by someone."

"Thanks," I said sarcastically as I put the truck into gear and slowly backed out.

I was turning around the cul de sac to head back home when I saw another car approaching. It was an old Chevrolet Caprice. From the dent in the front bumper, I could tell it was April VanDyke, who was the plant supervisor. She recognized me and slowed down to a stop. I pulled up. From the height of my truck I could see a silver automatic pistol – a Colt - resting on the passenger seat. These days no one traveled unarmed.

April rolled down her window. She was a middle-aged woman with medium-length brown hair and a prominent nose. Her eyes were stuck in a permanent stare that some found unnerving. However, she was well-liked by everyone at the company since she had an easy manner and was always ready with a good joke.

"Hey, Brent," she said, "I'm sorry you had to make the trip in."

"What happened?" I asked. "When I was here on Friday I hadn't heard a word about the plant closing. Won't anyone let me in on the big secret?"

She gave a little shrug. "You know how it goes these days: the owner of the company decided he had enough trying to make ends meet. I just found out myself while I was driving in. The vice-presidents have been busy calling all the managers. You were just unlucky to get here before anyone else. I'm sure Bill will call you soon enough."

Bill Myers was the IT director I reported to. "I'm sure he will," I said glumly.

"Don't take it too hard, Brent. I'm supposed to go and wait outside and greet anyone who wasn't reached. I'm sorry. I really am. Take it easy."

"You too," I said. Rolling my window up, I pulled away. I was hardly surprised by this turn of events since it hadn't been the first time I had been laid off. The fact was that this was now a very common occurrence as company after company folded under the weight of increased expenses, disrupted supply lines, and decreased demand. But still, the idea of trying to find yet another place to work at seemed daunting because each new job was taking longer and longer to find. Perhaps this was the last one for me.

These thoughts were keeping my mind occupied as I drove home, once again taking it slow and easy. I kept my eyes busy scanning the roadside but the motion was mechanical. It took me a moment to realize that a column of smoke was ahead, billowing high against the jagged line of buildings and trees on the horizon. It was coming from the direction of my neighborhood. I stepped harder on the gas, this time ignoring my usual precautions.

I was lucky that the looters were so sure of themselves that they did not notice my approach. As I came within sight of my street, I saw the blockade of cars had been pushed through by a black semi, the diesel smoke still gurgling from the chrome exhaust stacks. The corner house belonging to Bill and Eileen Hayward was burning with high orange flames greedily consuming the wooden exterior. Even with the truck windows rolled up, I could hear a few gunfire shots. All along the shoulder of the road was a fleet of unguarded pickup trucks and vans to be used to haul away whatever the raiding rabble found. I slowed to a stop and parked, hoping my truck would fit in with the motley assortment of vehicles.

Last year the neighborhood had built a wall of sorts to protect the rear of the houses. It was cobbled together with wooden posts, barbed-wire, chain-link fence, and bits of board and corrugated metal. It wasn't much of a barrier but it was enough to slow trespassers until the block watch could respond. There had been a few intrusions now and then, but nothing of the magnitude that I was seeing now. But I needed to get to my house and take a closer look to see what was going on. If it was bad as it looked, I was also hoping to retrieve my Remington shotgun and Winchester rifle since they would be needed if I planned to make my way out of the city.

Before exiting the truck, I took out the loaded Browning forty-caliber pistol from the door pocket. I reflexively checked the clip and racked a round by pulling on the slide mechanism. I had ten shots which should be enough to see myself out of any quick trouble but certainly wasn't enough for the long haul. Keeping low and darting behind the assorted vehicles parked along the road, I edged my way towards the street that ran parallel to my own. This area had seen the inhabitants flee, the houses already looted long ago, leaving nothing but the usual broken windows, open doors, and weed-choked lawns. I had little worry of being heard since the screams and shouts coming from my neighborhood would easily cover my movement. I soon reached the home that sat to the back of mine.

The backyard here had a pool, the shallow dreams of suburbia long turned into an empty dry basin that now collected nothing but dead leaves. The grass around the cracked concrete was long and dry and moved easily with the wind. I stood with my back to the wall of house, and through the six-foot tall barbed-wire fence, I could see my own one-story brick home. There wasn't anyone guarding the back yard, so I stole across until I reached the fence. I had previously made a small crawlspace through the wire, just in case if I needed to leave in a hurry. I'm sure my neighbors also had their own hidden escape hatches and I could only pray that some of them had a chance to use them.

I sat on my haunches and pulled out two loose nails from the other side of the fence. A section on the bottom fell forward. I pulled it off to the side. With the barbed-wire scraping against my coat, I managed to just barely fit as I slowly wriggled through. Raising my head, I saw that I had gotten this far undetected. From my new vantage point, the sound of fighting was now louder than before. There were more screams, a few sporadic gunfire shots – though diminished compared to earlier - and a roaring of triumphant shouts from the assembled mob of looters. I could tell they were many in number and easily overwhelming what little resistance was left.

It was a quick dash and I was at the back door, fumbling with my keys. My hands were shaking as I entered. I was in the kitchen, the cabinet doors were open, the shelves now bare. Anything not food was left on the floor – papers, an old antique rotary telephone that had been ripped from the wall, and broken dishes and glasses. It was quiet here, but from my vantage point, I could look into the living room and see that the front door had been ripped from the hinges and now rested on the front lawn. The carpet was dirty from an army of feet. Through the open doorway, I could see groups of ill-dressed men and women moving in a chaotic fashion. Many were loading cars and trucks with whatever foodstuffs had been found, while others were laughing and passing bottles of booze back and forth. They seemed oblivious to everything, only stopping their manic activity when gunfire would erupt from somewhere nearby. I could only shake my head, thinking what fools they were. Sure, they could feed themselves today, but what about tomorrow? At this rate all the food in the city would soon be gone and these robbers would turn on each other, stealing and killing, until there was nobody left.

I quickly went to the front bedroom which served as a small office. My computer was there along with a collection of books. Standing in the corner, so far unopened, was my gun safe. It was a heavy thing and from the fresh scratches and marks on the green paint, apparently it had lived up to the advertisement and had withstood easy theft. I ran through the combination lock with practiced ease, inserted the key, and then pulled back the heavy doors. Inside were my rifle, shotgun, and a few boxes of ammunition. Slipping the Browning pistol into my coat pocket, I loaded up the shotgun with double-O. A little buckshot does wonders when facing a crowd.

It was time to get back to the truck. However, before I could leave, I heard a great rolling laughter come from outside. Going to the window, I lifted a corner of the curtain up. I saw the crowd outside part for some of my neighbors who were being led down the middle of the street. There was Steve Grant and his wife Terri, Joan Verrick, who lived next door, and Tyler Darby, a teenager of some ill-repute. Each was being guarded by a man on either side. They were marched to the front of the semi that had crashed through the barricade. The captives were forced down to their knees.

Standing on the hood of the semi-truck was a muscular man with short-cropped black hair. The distance was long enough where I couldn't make out his face but I saw that he was wearing a quasi-military uniform of tightly fitting black pants, shirt, and highly polished boots. With a bullhorn in his hands, he began to speak to the now quiet crowd.

His rough voice said, "As you all know, times have been tough. It has been especially tough on the poor, those who cannot afford to buy their way out of misery. Why do we have to suffer at the expense of the rich? There is no good answer to that question, is there, my friends? Many of us have lost brothers, sisters, parents, and children to the ills of starvation. We know what it is like to feel hungry, but see others thrive. But there is a way out. There is a way to survive. I have given you, my people, food. I have given you weapons. Now that the police are gone, nothing can stop us from taking over the city and taking what is rightfully ours!"

The mob roared with excitement.

He paused and looked smugly over them, his head slowly bobbing up and down like a modern day Mussolini. The man then held up his hands to quiet down the crowd. They readily complied. He continued. "The world is changing and we are going to be the vanguard of a new society. We are going to be the leaders that shape the next world. It is people like these," he said as he pointed at my neighbors, "with their petty values of working for themselves that are holding us back. We need to work together to survive. Why should we be starving in the streets when we have the power to take what is rightfully ours? I say we kill them as a lesson to others." He then jerked his hand across his throat in a cutting motion.

To my horror, I watched as Steve Grant was shot in the back of the head, execution style. The crowd laughed and jeered. There was nothing I could do unless I wanted to die myself. I quickly weighed the idea of rushing out, guns blazing, but there were just too many of them out there to do my own version of Custer's Last Stand. The gun cracked again and Terri joined her husband. Feeling helpless, I turned to leave. I was wrapped in my own miserable thoughts that I didn't see anything until I ran straight into someone.

He was a tall man with a black beard and a red handkerchief tied over his long, lank hair. His thick arms poked out of a leather motorcycle vest.

"Hey! Who are you?" he asked suspiciously, raising his fist to strike me.

I didn't even answer but instead brought the butt of the shotgun up and tried to club him in the ear.

He was an obviously an experienced street fighter and easily dodged my clumsy blow. A quick jerk of his hand and the man drew a wicked-looking knife from belt. He then tried to plunge it straight into my stomach.

Luckily I turned aside just in time, the blade cutting through the jacket and into the shirt. The cold steel slid against my flesh, leaving a thin line of fiery pain. The realization that I was hurt sent a wave of hot anger flooding through my veins. I hadn't been in a fight since high school, but now my life was on the line. I didn't want to kill, but I didn't want to die either. There was only one thing left to do.

Stumbling backwards, I tried to bring the shotgun up to fire. It could have alerted those outside to my presence, but that was a chance I was willing to take. My assailant was too quick and stepped inside the arc of the swinging barrel, trying to bat the gun out of my hands. My finger was already on the trigger. In the confines of the room, the sound of the discharging shell was a sonic shock that momentarily stunned the both of us. I had missed but had managed to blow a hole into the drywall behind the man's head.

I don't know if it was my experience with guns or just fear, but I was quicker to react. Dropping my left hand off of the stock of the gun, I swung my fist into the man's throat. It wasn't a hard blow, but it was enough to send him reeling away, choking. I took the opportunity to give him a hard kick in the rear. He tumbled forward, hitting his forehead on the wall. I brought the butt of the shotgun down on the back of his neck. Unconscious, he crumpled to the floor. I fought the urge to shoot him, but instead ran over and kicked the knife away. I then stared at my handiwork, feeling surprised by my violent actions.

It was time to leave the city.
Chapter 2

Getting out of town was easier said than done. The two highways that threaded through the city were the obvious routes for anyone willing to sacrifice safety for speed. However in those days only the best armed convoys could make it through the bloody gauntlet of the organized road gangs. Perhaps my little truck could pass unmolested but I dare not take the chance since it was obvious that people were now getting really desperate for food. So instead I stuck to the back roads, which tripled the normally one hour long trip to a series of twists and turns that seemed to take forever. This way was dangerous in itself, but by taking such an indirect route, I was hoping to minimize my chances of running into someone really bad. The worst part of this extended detour was the fuel consumption. Being stranded out here would be a mistake because there weren't many gas stations left in rural areas since they took too much effort to protect.

I drove through quiet little towns and past barren farms. There wasn't a soul to be seen. The small businesses – gas stations and restaurants – were boarded up, the parking lots empty with weeds growing through the cracks of the graying asphalt. The homes also appeared to be empty, though perhaps the residents were just hunkering down, ready to shoot any trespassers. The biggest heartache was the empty fields and the gaunt fruit trees. Food was once so plentiful and now people were willing to kill for a few scraps of sustenance.

I was heading towards the town of Shelby, an old lumber town that had seen better days. The cottage that I owned was deep in the woods and out of sight from the road, which made it a pretty good hideaway from the world. It was a place that my grandparents built and I had plenty of happy childhood memories visiting them there. The forest there had taught me much about the movement of animals, the growth of plants, and the changing of the seasons. I'll have to admit that I was no mountain man or tracker, but I still felt more comfortable in the woods than your average city-slicker.

The cottage itself was an older single-story building that was falling into disrepair by the time I had inherited it. In the past year I had added modern siding, windows and enough insulation to keep out the bitter cold of winter nights. Inside wasn't much - just a large living room heated by a wood stove. Adjacent to this room was the open kitchen and a single bedroom. It wasn't completely primitive - there was electricity, running water, and even air-conditioning to help with the humidity. The rare guest was expected to sleep on one of the two sofas. Bathroom facilities were simple: a small room with a toilet, a sink, and an old tub that was rarely hot when fully filled.

My ex-wife, Lisa, hated the place. It was always too cold, too hot, and too old-fashioned for her tastes. Instead she wanted to be drinking her morning cup of coffee in a nice city cafe, not battling flies and mosquitoes out in the wilderness. I generally respected her wishes so during our marriage the cottage saw quite a bit of neglect. It wasn't until the divorce that I decided to invest some extra money into updating the house. The changes I initially made were for comfort, but as the situation of the world worsened, I instead concentrate on survival. In case the power went out, I added a manual pump to the well. I also replaced the old roof with a metal one, put a gate across the driveway leading from the road, and installed a gasoline generator backup system.

But still, the early days there with my wife had been quite enjoyable. She didn't seem to mind the place then since it was just a place to escape to – a place where we could be together. I remembered how we made love outside in front of the fire pit, laughing as we swatted away the bugs, and afterward there was often skinny-dipping in the nearby creek. Or even the pleasant quiet moments, each reading a book or doing a crossword puzzle. The world seemed like a faraway place then and the politicians or troublemakers were just headlines in the newspapers. Little did I know how wonderful and short-lived those days were.

My thoughts of the past were broken by a curious sight up ahead. On the road was a stopped RV, the amber hazard lights blinking with timed regularity. The back window was smashed out. This in itself wasn't strange, but I suspected a possible trap, so I slowed the truck down to a stop. I was now some thirty feet distant. Putting the truck into reverse, I kept my foot on the brake. At the first sign of trouble I was ready to jam on the gas pedal and get the hell out of there.

I slowly looked over the scene and nearby woods. There wasn't any movement until I saw the RV rock ever so slightly. In a flash, the side door opened and a child jumped out. It was a skinny waif of a girl wearing dirty pajamas emblazoned with a popular cartoon character. She ran, apparently blind to the world, right past my truck. As I grabbed the shotgun resting on the passenger seat, I caught a brief glimpse of her face – tear-streaked cheeks covered by a mess of curly blond hair.

I stepped out of the truck, fearing the worst. Perhaps I should have gotten back inside and drove away, but I felt guilty after seeing my neighbors die in such a cruel fashion. Pulling the butt of the shotgun to my shoulder, I waited. My wait wasn't long. From out of the RV staggered a man dressed in military fatigues. He had brown short-cropped hair and a sunburned face. He wasn't carrying any weapons or even wearing a helmet, but I recognized the uniform as army issue. Even though I was in his line of vision, the man didn't appear to notice me but instead began chasing the girl with a clumsy gait that indicated some kind of leg wound. As he drew level to my truck, I racked up a shell. This sound alone is normally enough to make anyone pause but not this man.

"Hey you!" I shouted.

The soldier stopped and turned to look at me. The dead expression on his face remained unchanged. At this close range I finally noticed his eyes: the irises were so wide that any color was gone, leaving only a black lifeless pupil. I also noticed that his thick lips were flecked with foam and the front of the uniform was splashed with the color of blood. What I thought was a sunburn was in fact his veins pressing tightly against the surface of his skin. This was a very ill man. He took a step toward me.

"Don't come any closer!" I warned him. I could hear my voice struggling for volume as it cracked from fear.

My words had no effect and even the sight of the shotgun did nothing to deter him. This soldier was either on drugs or fearless. I had a feeling that things were spiraling out of control. There was something odd about this man that I couldn't quite put a finger on.

"Can't you talk?" I asked as I took a cautious step back.

A gurgling grunt was my only response as he tried to reach past my shotgun and grab at my neck. Using the barrel, I swatted his hands away. This move did not seem to cause the soldier any discomfort. For my next blow, I quickly swung the butt of my gun into his stomach. He fell into a heap without even making a sound, but immediately got back up to renew the attack. His movements, though jerky and strange, were still vigorous and strong. I had a feeling I could punch this man all day long and he would be able to absorb the punishment without batting an eye. I was getting scared and felt like I had to do something extreme if I wanted to stay alive.

The next thing I did was surprising, even to myself. It was an unconscious decision when I pulled the trigger. Firing at such close range had the expected consequences: the buckshot tore through the man, creating a momentary haze of blood and shattered bone. His shirt was torn way by the blast, leaving a massive gory wound. The soldier collapsed to the ground. I immediately felt sick to my stomach for killing another human being.

To my amazement, he was still moving. Even with all the terrible damage that had been inflicted, the soldier tried to crawl towards me with one hand grasping for my nearest ankle. It seemed impossible. I could hear my heart beating inside my head and I fought the urge to run away. Was this man or thing unstoppable? But whatever fear I felt faded away as he gave one last haggard breath and then slumped forward onto his chest.

Without thinking, I loaded another shell to replace the one that had been fired. I then half-stumbled back inside the truck. Fighting the urge to retch, I reversed onto the field by the side of the road and then started forward, heading the way I had just come. A short distance away, I could see the girl still going but was now struggling to keep pace. It was only a few seconds until I caught up to her. She didn't appear to notice me. I rolled down my window.

"Are you okay?" I shouted, slowing to match her speed.

She glanced briefly in my direction. Her blue eyes were wide with fear. As far as I could tell, she wasn't consumed by the same manic energy of the man I had just killed. She just looked like a normal but scared kid.

"Please, I won't hurt you," I said, almost pleading for her to stop. I had very little experience with children and always felt somewhat uncomfortable around them.

She continued to run, her little shoulders heaving with exhaustion.

Pulling ahead, I stopped the truck and got out. She ended up running straight into my arms. She began to kick and scream, raining my chest with a series of feeble blows. She then began to sob as whatever remaining energy she had drained away. I picked her up, brought her over to the passenger side of the truck, opened the door, and stuffed her inside. As she continued to cry, her head slumped onto the center armrest.

After shutting the door, I circled around and I got in on my side. I asked her, "Tell me, where are your parents?"

There was no answer but a shaking hand pointed back to the direction of the RV.

I turned the truck around and idled cautiously toward the parked vehicle. The man who I had killed was still lying on the road. I stopped a few feet away from him and got out, taking the shotgun with me.

"You stay here," I told the girl. "I'll be right back."

I stepped past the corpse, walking on the balls of my feet as I approached the RV. I could see the smashed back window with more detail. The way the safety glass was hanging, it looked like something had broken the pane from the inside. I could see blood stains on the jagged edges. I paused, keeping my distance but still trying to peer into the gloomy interior. There was somebody moving inside but who it was, I could not tell.

Against my better judgment, I went to the side door which was open, hanging loosely on the hinges and creaking gently in the wind. I could smell blood in the air. "Hello?" I said, keeping the shotgun pointing at the opening.

A guttural howl came from within. Inside, from out of the shadows, I saw a crouched figure. It was another soldier. I could see, like his comrade, his eyes were like black pools of death. With amazing strength, he leaped out from the opening with his armed outstretched as if to grab me by the throat. In that moment of time, I saw his mouth was covered with fresh blood. This time I consciously fired the shotgun, hoping to kill this crazed attacker. The buckshot tore away at his neck and head, nearly beheading the man. Like a rag doll, he fell to the ground by my feet. He gave a low thick gurgle before a shudder rocked his entire body. And then with a final twitch, he died.

I was breathing hard. I had killed a second time today and the swimming feeling in my stomach wasn't getting any better. I staggered off into the weeds and fell to my knees. I felt the bile rise in my throat. With a heave, I threw up the remnants of my breakfast. The acidic burn made my throat ache. I waited there for a few moments until I felt that I could move again. I knew what was coming next wouldn't be easy. I had to go inside and see what happened to the little girl's parents. I didn't have much hope that they had survived an attack from these two crazed men.

Gathering my courage, I got up and went to the RV. I stepped inside. My weight made the vehicle shift slightly underfoot. The scene inside was chaos. The garish carpeting and paneled walls were splattered with blood. Cups and plates were smashed and scattered on the floor.

"Is anyone here?" I asked, fearing what I would see next.

Near the back on the dining table, sprawled a body. It was a thin woman wearing a dark track suit with white tennis shoes. Her blonde hair and face were matted with gore. There was no sign of life there, so I looked forward towards the driving compartment. There I saw an unmoving bare foot and leg of a man resting above the headrest at such an angle that the head must be resting on the floor. The skin of the foot was gnawed away. The atmosphere inside the RV suddenly felt constricting. I felt a lump rising in my throat and the urge to vomit again. I needed fresh air and I needed it now.

I was turning to leave that hellish interior when something caught the corner of my eye. It was the young girl's mother – I thought I saw her arm move. Clutching the shotgun in my sweaty hands, I cautiously crept over to investigate. I could see now that she was in fact breathing shallowly. I almost let out a scream when her head bolted upright to stare at me. I could see that her eyes were nothing but black empty circles and the skin of the face was blazing red. She jumped up and made a grab for me, the sharp nails raking against my arm.

Deciding to retreat, I took a step back, holding the gun on her. To my horror, I bumped into someone who immediately closed their strong arms around my chest. In a panic I kicked backwards, throwing both of us off balance. I landed heavily on my attacker and felt a gust of his breath hitting the back of my neck. I jabbed an elbow into his chest, rolled over, and saw that the father had left his place under the steering wheel to attack me. Like the mother, his face was red and the pupils were large enough to cover the iris.

Hugging the shotgun, I scrambled to the side and fell out of the doorway and onto the road. I rose on one knee, which was drenched in blood from the last soldier I had killed, and fired three rounds into the side of the RV. It was no match for the lead buckshot which tore wide holes into the thin aluminum wall.

I ran for it, heading straight for the safety of my truck. I could see the little girl staring through the windshield, her face frozen in a mask of horror. I glanced over my shoulder. I was being pursued by these two creatures, their movements fast, even though they were bleeding freely from the various wounds they had received from the soldiers and the buckshot I had pumped into the camper. I grappled with the door handle, swung inside, and then slammed the door shut. Fumbling, I stabbed the wrong key into the ignition. As I fruitlessly tried to turn the key, it took me a moment to realize my mistake. By then the girl was cowering next to me, her plaintive cries growing louder and louder. Her monsterish parents were now using their fists to pound the glass on her door side.

I finally put the right key in and was relieved when the old engine fired up. I slammed the truck into gear and stabbed the gas pedal. We lurched away, the engine screaming. In my rear-view mirror, I could see them fruitlessly give chase. And then the truck dipped over a hill and they were gone from sight.
Chapter 3

When we reached the cabin, the girl still wasn't talking. Not that I could blame her after such a horrific experience. As far as her age went, I would have placed her at twelve, maybe thirteen. She had a stubby nose, thin lips, fair skin, and blonde hair that would probably turn brown when she got older. She didn't return my glances, so I turned to narrating everything I did. Perhaps she would break out of her self-imposed quiet if she heard enough words spilling out of my mouth.

As I drove up to the locked gate, I said, "This here is the gate that I put up. I had to drive the cement posts and weld the steel in place. Sure it looks heavy, but it opens real easy, just you watch."

There was no response.

I got out of the truck and swung open the gate. It was due for a fresh coat of paint but still moved without a screech. I always made sure to use some old motor oil to keep the movement free and easy. It then struck me that this entrance to my house was easily seen from the road. It was time to do something about that.

After I had gotten back in the truck and drove through, I went and shut the gate. As we drove along the road, I continued my narration. "You'll like this place. Lots of privacy and no one can just drive up to the house without getting through that gate back there. The way things are, perhaps some barbed wire will need to be strung up, but not many people know about this place. Ah, here it is. Yeah, it isn't much to look at, but it's real comfortable. We'll make up the bedroom just for you and I can sleep in the living room. Do you want something to eat?"

Yet again I was met with silence. She continued to stare blankly forward, her eyes unblinking. I was afraid she had gone too far into shock to come back. It would be real difficult to take care of someone like that. But those thoughts were unfounded since she slowly got out after I had brought the truck to a stop in front of the cabin. I grabbed my gear and found her waiting at the front door.

I unlocked it and went in first. She followed, tentatively taking a few steps before confidently entering. I hit the light switch and to my relief there was still power. I wasn't expecting it to last long. The running of the generators, which we took for granted, could only last so long. Blackouts were now a normal occurrence, but someday no one would be there to fix the machinery and cabling, and drive the trucks that delivered the fuel. Mile by mile, day by day, the world would become darker, like the return to an earlier, more barbaric age.

When we were inside, I said, "Well it's not much to look at, but it is home. Now why don't you take a seat there on the sofa and I'll make us something to eat. I'm afraid I'm not much of a cook, but I'm real handy with a can opener. Do you want soup or stew? After such a long trip, I'm feeling kind of hungry, so I think beef stew would be good. What do you think?"

She didn't say a word, but did walk over to slump on the sofa. Like anyone her age, she immediately stared at the little tube television I had in the corner.

I said, "I'm afraid the reception isn't too good here and I never had the urge to install satellite. But you can give it a try if you want."

She grabbed the remote and turned the television on.

I went to the kitchen and dumped my gear on the floor and leaned the rifle and shotgun against the wall. Searching through the cupboards, I found a dusty can of Dinty-Moore stew. There wasn't a lot in the cupboards since I had hidden most of my supplies in the woods. With another mouth to feed, the food wouldn't last as long as I would like, but what could I do? I wasn't about to cast this girl off into the woods to live on rotting acorns. Anyway, once she started talking then perhaps I could find some nearby relative to take her in.

As the stew simmered away on the electric stove, I watched as the girl fiddled with the television set. She clicked through several channels that just showed static, but finally stopped at a news station. The newscaster was a brown-haired man with an obvious toupee and shiny white teeth. The signal was bad with brief digital dropouts. The words coming from little speaker did little to raise my spirits – war, riots, and starvation were the leading stories. We also learned that the local government of Grand Rapids was under siege by a mob that was smashing windows, burning cars, and shooting anyone they didn't like. The police were nowhere to be seen. I was happy to be out of that cursed city before things got even worse.

When the food was ready to eat, I dished it out, got two cans of coke from the refrigerator, and brought everything to the little table between the open space of the kitchen and the living room.

"Time to eat," I said. "Go ahead and turn that television off."

The girl did as I asked without any sign of complaint. She then sat down across from me and began to eat with a ravenous appetite.

I felt hungry myself and did some considerable damage to the food before I began talking again. "My name is Brent. I would like to know your name too, but we can wait until you're ready to talk. I'm really sorry what happened to your parents, but just remember, you'll be safe from any danger here until we can find some relatives of yours."

My words were met with stony silence.

I shrugged and continued to eat until the food was gone. I waited until she was done and then brought the dishes to the sink. The girl went back to television set which was quickly turned on before she returned to her position on the sofa.

The news was still on – apparently all the normal shows had been interrupted by the events unfolding in the city. From some position up on a high building, the camera was panning over a massive crowd of screaming men and women. This mob was armed with guns, rocks, and baseball bats. They were busy smashing the windows of City Hall. The street was littered with chairs, computer monitors, and reams of paper. Whatever police or security was now left had apparently run for the hills.

The crowd suddenly gave a cheer. The camera panned and zoomed to the front doors. Standing there was the same man who had ordered the execution of my neighbors. I felt a quick anger sweep across my chest. He was still wearing the quasi-military uniform that I had seen before. On either side of him, dressed in similar clothing, was a group of men with scowling faces. Their leader pumped his fist into the air and the mob went wild with shouting.

The show suddenly cut to the newscaster, who was smiling wanly. He announced pompously, "We have just seen Eric Parker, the head of the People's Party. He promises that the new government will bring stability and food for the starving citizens of the city. I can only hope he right since we've been suffering for far too long."

I sighed, shaking my head. Whatever stability this tyrant brought would be short-lived. It wouldn't be long until the populace turned on this new ruler. There just wasn't enough food available to keep the people happy for long.

"Turn it off," I said. "I have some work to do and I want you to come along."

She didn't even look in my direction but dutifully got up, turned the television set off, and then went to the front door to wait for me. I went and grabbed the shotgun, loaded it up, and then we went outside. She stood next to me as I prattled on.

I explained, "I want to camouflage the gate to the road at least enough so a passing car won't notice that we are here. I want you to help out and gather some brush and dead leaves. I'll be digging up some smaller trees to plant in front of the gate."

I grabbed the shovel and rake from the small tool shed located next to the house. We walked to the gate and went to work. I first hung my shotgun on a branch that couldn't easily be reached by the girl. I then started removing any signs of the driveway by digging out the gravel and matching the contour of the shallow ditch that ran the length of the road. I then raked the new area over, spreading the dead leaves that the girl brought over by the armfuls. I then went further down the side of the county road and started digging out sickly plants and small trees with withered leaves. These I planted in front of the gate in a random pattern. Some extra twigs and branches did the rest of the work and soon it was hard to see that anyone lived here. It wasn't perfect and the winter months would lay bare any chance of camouflage, but it was still good to hide our location from a passing motorist speeding by.

I took a break from my work and listened to the sounds around us. The countryside here in Michigan is usually a quiet place – the only sound I normally heard was some pickup running headers or an open-exhaust motorcycle. But now there was nothing – not even a bird. It was like the whole world had decided to hunker down and wait until civilization decided to start working again. I could imagine the locals waiting inside their homes with their canned food and rifles, praying for the days to return to normal.

As I stared at our handiwork, my thoughts were broken by a small, but sweet voice. I was startled to hear the girl speak.

"Dad shouldn't have stopped," she said quietly, her eyes still not making contact with mine.

The tenor of her voice was as frail as leaves blowing across the ground. I was so fearful of breaking the spell that I stood perfectly still, afraid to breathe. She was standing by the post that held one end of the gate, staring into the woods.

She continued, "Mom said to keep on going, but dad thought it was a military checkpoint up ahead. So he stopped for the two soldiers on the road. Mom told me to hide under the sink until we got moving again. She was afraid of what strangers would do. Dad pulled over. I opened the cupboard doors and got inside, only keeping a crack open so I could see what was happening. The soldiers came in through the side door awful fast, without even knocking. Mom and dad tried to fight them off but they weren't strong enough. I saw everything." She paused here and then turned to look at me. Tears cut tracks down her dirty cheeks.

"I'm sorry," was all I could say.

Her voice was stronger this time. "I thought I was going to die. I took the chance and ran for it. I'm sure those men would have gotten me if it wasn't for you. But tell me, why did we have to leave my parents there? Why did they attack us like that?"

I shook my head. "They weren't your parents anymore, just like those soldiers weren't really themselves either. They changed in some way – I'm not sure how – but we had to get out of there so we wouldn't be hurt ourselves. Maybe your parents are okay now, once the effects went away."

"Do you think we can go back and check?"

"No, I don't think so. It may not be safe. Anyway, I don't have the gasoline to go that far again."

She seemed to accept my feeble explanation. "My name is Emily," she said with a shy smile.

I smiled back. "I'm pleased to meet you, Emily. As I already told you, my name is Brent."

She nodded.

I said, "Let's go to the cabin and get something to drink. We've both put in some hard work today."

I gathered the tool and took the shotgun down from the hanging branch. As we started back, I asked her, "Tell me, where were you heading with your parents? I mean do you live around here?"

"No. My Uncle Bill has a house on Lake Michigan, north of Ludington. We were going to stay there with him until things got better."

I nodded. "It's getting late now so I'll take you there tomorrow. Maybe your parents will be there too. We'll have to stop in town first to see if we can get some gas for the truck. And you can't very well show up there with just your pajamas, so we'll buy some clothes for you too."

She gave me a weak smile. "That would be nice. All of my clothing is back at the RV."

"It's no problem."
Chapter 4

I slept poorly that night. The sofa of the living room felt like bed of rocks. I had too many thoughts stuck in my head from the day before. I had experienced too much death to not think of my own mortality. Those crazed people had frightened me more than I cared to admit, but in the wee hours of the morning, those memories bubbled to the surface. What had those soldiers done to that girl's parents? Was it a disease or a drug that caused them to act so violently? From the bedroom came the gentle sobbing of Emily which did nothing to help my mood. If she was my own flesh and blood, I would have gone to comfort her, but considering the newness of our friendship, it seemed improper. Instead I remembered of the death of my own parents from a car accident and how it felt to be left alone in the world.

It was near morning when I finally fell asleep or more likely passed out from sheer exhaustion. I awoke fitfully, aware of the tree-filtered sun shining through the windows. There was the smell of coffee in the air. I peeled my eyes open and pulled my head off of the sofa. Emily was busy in the kitchen, working over the stove. She was still wearing the pajamas from yesterday and a too large sweater that had come out of my closet.

"You're awake," she said brightly.

"Yeah," I said as I pulled myself into an upright position. My shoulders hurt and I felt like I had a two day hangover. I guess I wasn't used to hard labor – rescuing damsels from distress and digging out part of a road wasn't my usual daily routine. I knew that would all change in this new world. There would be plenty more work in the future.

"I made some breakfast for us – just canned hash and some sausages I found in the freezer. And there's coffee in the pot."

"I could do with a cup. Tell me, do you often cook?"

A shadow of despair crossed her face. "Yes," she started out with a note of sadness but the tone became sunnier with each word. "With both of my parents working, I often had to help out around the house. I never liked cleaning, but cooking can be fun."

"It's a useful thing too know," I said as I stood and staggered over to the kitchen. I got myself a cup of coffee and sat down at the table. I watched as she served out two portions of food and grabbed a coke from the refrigerator. She then sat down across from me, passing my plate over.

"You know it's funny that the power is still on," she commented.

I shrugged. "I'm not expecting it to last much longer."

She began eating. Her mouth was full when she said, "Why's that?"

"Well, the systems are probably running on automatic right now. But they still run on nuclear, coal, or gas. Something has to eventually break down, or a switch has to be thrown, or more fuel added to the fire. When that event occurs, and someone isn't there, then the power is going to go out." I took a bite of hash. She was a pretty good cook.

"But what are we going to do without electricity? I mean the stove won't work and the lights will be out."

"The world has gone a long time without electricity. I guess I'll have to learn to cook on the wood stove over there. And use some candles until I can rig up some kind of lamp. Of course we could just go to bed earlier."

Emily giggled. "You snore," she blurted out.

"Do I now? That's what my ex-wife said too."

Her eyes were wide. "You were married?"

"Don't look so surprised."

"What happened to her?"

I frowned. "Sometimes things always don't work out, even between adults."

"Oh," she said before lapsing into silence.

We finished eating. I did the dishes while Emily busied herself in the bathroom. After an interminable wait, I took my turn and showered and shaved. I dressed in a black t-shirt, a light brown jacket, old blue jeans, and my trusty work boots.

I found Emily watching television. It was still the news, the digital reception now worse, with the signal coming in and out with no rhyme or reason. I busied myself by cleaning my shotgun and pistol. I loaded both of them out, stuffing the Browning semi-automatic in my coat pocket. I also filled a plastic bag with a few cans of food; just in case we got stranded somewhere.

When I was done, I said, "Come on, let's go. We have a few things to do before we can get you to Ludington."

We left the house. We both climbed into the truck. I fired up the engine and started down the driveway until I reached the gate. I had Emily unlock it and wait while I drove slowly through the newly-placed camouflage and then gently over the newly-made ditch. She shut the gate, locked it, and then got back inside.

The day was much like yesterday – still cool for the morning but with the promise of the same blazing afternoon heat. For most of my life September meant rain and gray skies. It was only the past few years when the summer became longer and longer with less and less rain. Even winters were now sparse with snow, if it ever came. The crops suffered first, and then the animals. The price of food went up so fast that it became the largest part of everyone's expenses. Even a gallon of gasoline, high as it was, was cheaper than milk. At first we all took it in stride, but as things worsened, so did everyone's patience. Last year the first food riots were reported, along with the hijacking of trucks delivering to the supermarkets.

As I drove, Emily played with the radio, trying to find any station out there. The FM range was a bust with nothing but static. The AM band wasn't much better with only a religious station broadcasting some hell and brimstone sermon by a screaming pastor. Emily made a face and turned it off.

The trip to Shelby was usually a short one since it was only six miles from my home. But I took it careful. We traveled over dirt roads that had few houses. They were boarded up and overgrown with weeds without a car or person in sight. I wondered where everyone had gone since the country was probably the safest place to be right now. I knew things were bad, but I didn't think it warranted everyone here to hide out.

I looked at my gas gauge and saw that I still had a quarter tank left. The problem with living out here is that you needed a truck to get work done, but the distances between places meant you would burn a lot of gasoline. I had to fill my Toyota up if I wanted to get Emily to her uncle in Ludington. I just hoped that Shelby had some gas left to buy. If not, I would have to find some nearby abandoned vehicles and steal what I could.

The outskirts of Shelby looked no different except the yellow dry weeds were higher than before. The houses were still here and the cars were still parked in front. I could even see a few people staring sullenly at me as I drove by. I wasn't exactly a stranger in town and since my grandfather had lived here for thirty years before his death, I was a probationary citizen of the city, provided I didn't mess with the old ways, take on airs, or get into a political discussion. Things were done a certain way around here and it wasn't best to buck the old traditions.

The center of town was dominated by the main street which had the usual small businesses that somehow clung to life. Like most small towns in the area, construction was done during the lumber boom of the early twentieth century. That meant buildings with brick exteriors, large display windows, and plate-glass doors made of wood. There was also a large fruit processing plant that dominated the southern side of town, but it had long since gone out of business. With the drought, there weren't enough dried-out apples on the trees to make them worth harvesting. The entire area had been suffering with job losses, straining this tight-knit community beyond anything it had ever suffered before. But they had weathered bad times before and could do it again.

When I turned onto the main street, I was surprised to see a set of concrete barriers built across the asphalt. The only opening was blocked by a sheriff patrol car, a Ford Crown Victoria, with the driver slumped forward with his wide-brimmed hat over his eyes, apparently sleeping. The length of the downtown was short enough that on the other side I could see another barrier and a police car.

I stopped next to the car and blew my horn.

The man in the car tipped his hat up. He turned to look at me. It was Sheriff Snyder, who had won the election so many times that he was considered a permanent part of the town. His gray eyes widened with recognition once he saw the familiar truck and my face behind the windshield. He got out from the car and ambled on over. Snyder was portly man who was more often found in the restaurant than patrolling, but he was by no means a slob. He had a sense of confidence that must have seen him through several bad situations.

I rolled down the window and said, "Morning, Sheriff."

"Morning, Brent. I see you have a stranger in the truck with you."

"This is Emily. I found her while I was traveling from Grand Rapids."

"Things bad there?" he asked. "The reports on the television said the city government is done."

I shrugged. "It's gone alright. Some local strongman has taken over. I had to leave before I got caught in the trouble. That's when I rescued this girl from being attacked by two soldiers."

"Soldiers, eh? These days nothing surprises me. Well we've been having our own problems here too. Half of the city of Hart has been burned down by some raiders and I heard Ludington has been having problems too. The police radio has been busy with all the troubles going on over there. Now this is a small town and we're going to be off the radar for a while, but someone is going to eventually remember that we're here. That's when the trouble is going to begin."

I asked with disbelief. "So you're going to stop them with these barriers?"

Snyder laughed. "I doubt it. It's more of a show of a force than anything else. If worse comes to worse, this will be the place to fight our last stand. The citizens of Shelby expect a little protection from me, their duly elected officer of the law. Well that's what they pay me for – even though a dollar these days ain't worth a plumb nickel. You can't even buy gas or food with the green stuff anymore."

"What? How am I supposed to buy gas? I need to get to Ludington. Emily has an uncle there."

"You can take that up with John Rhode. He's has the only place left in the area with gas. But let me give you a warning: you'll get yourself killed if you go up there to Ludington. It's nothing but trouble. Just give it a few days and maybe things will calm down, eh?"

"We'll see. Will you let us through? I want to buy some clothes for the poor girl."

"Sure, but no one in town is taking cash, credit, or checks. It's all worthless now. But if you have something to barter, preferably food, then people may start listening." With a wink to Emily, he returned to the car and pulled it forward, letting us pass through the concrete barriers.

"I don't think I like him," Emily stated.

"He's not a bad sort," I said with a chuckle. "At least he's somewhat honest unlike some other law and order types I've met."

I found a place to park, left the shotgun inside the truck, but took the food with me along with the Browning pistol stuck in my jacket pocket. There was a small thrift store here, not my usual type of place to shop, but perhaps they would be a little more charitable than the retail store down the block.

Emily made a face before we entered. She said, "If my friends could see me now, they would scream."

I smiled. "Think of it as a treasure hunt – you'll never know what you will find in a place like this until you look."

The store inside smelled of mustiness and mothballs. The racks were quite spare of clothing since charity had gone out of fashion quite a few years ago. People were giving less and less away, and were instead trying to make their clothes last as long as possible. I had no sense of fashion myself and went with the tried and true – t-shirts, jeans, sweaters, and boots.

The clerk, an older woman with graying hair and cherubic cheeks, gave us a suspicious glance. She said crossly, "Can I help you?"

"This girl needs some clothing. I'll trade you some food if we find something she likes."

"What have you got?" she asked, this time eagerly.

I replied flatly, "We'll get to bartering after she has made her selections – if any."

So the clerk and I crossed our arms and stared at each other. Emily gave us both a scathing look as if she hated the way adults communicated. Like many youngsters, she was right. It was rather silly but I was in no mood to give away good food for a few scraps of used clothing.

I waited impatiently, tapping my foot, as Emily began going through the clothing. I made no suggestions since what did I know about the way girls dressed? Somehow, even with the slim pickings, she managed to gather a small wardrobe of running pants, a pair of holey jeans, two garish t-shirts, a pair of old tennis shoes, and a gray sweatshirt printed with the hometown name. She refused to look at the underwear and sock collection. I didn't blame her. After a bit of haggling, we walked out of there with her new outfit. It had only cost me a box of crackers and a can of soup, but I still felt as if I had been ripped off.

We then stopped the dollar store where we filled out the rest of her clothing with some inexpensive socks and underwear that only cost me a can of ham. Emily then used the bathroom to change. When she came out, I received a shy smile.

"Thank you," she said quietly.

"You look much better now," I said, meaning it.

"At least you let me pick out my own clothing. My mom was never happy with what I wanted to wear."

"Come on, let's go," I said, not wanting her to dwell on the past.

After we had returned to the truck, the sheriff pulled his car away to let us pass through. I gave him a friendly wave.

Our final stop was at the only gas station in town. Back in the day, prices were always higher here than anywhere else in the surrounding area, but John Rhode had a monopoly on the business here. It was rumored that some relative in city hall stopped anyone else from getting a permit to build their own station. I always thought that corruption and glad handing were more prevalent in little towns, but at least the dollar amounts were still smaller than the big cities. It was still corruption but on a reduced scale.

Sitting outside of the station was a young thin man with a scruffy beard that barely hid a weak chin. A shotgun rested across his lap. He was sitting near the front entrance in a chair with the back leaning up against the wall. As I drove up and stopped at a pump, he grimaced.

I heard him shout, "Pa, there's someone here to buy gas."

I opened the door and got out. Without thinking, my hand went automatically for the handle on the pump.

The shotgun immediately sprang up and pointed in my direction. The young man said, "You pay here first, mister."

I spat out, "If you shoot then you'll blow us both to kingdom come. We can do our haggling together in hell."

My words didn't seem to register with him. His dark eyes stayed pinned to my every movement. So I took a step back and leaned easily against the side of my pickup and waited.

It was only a moment before John Rhode came out. He looked much like the young man sitting in the chair, but was older and his beard even more scraggly. The skin of his face was pockmarked and his hair a dark greasy mess. He was wearing a pair of oil-stained jeans and a faded red-and-black checkered shirt.

"Welcome back to town," Rhode said once he recognized me. "Don't mind my son here."

"I'm looking to buy some gasoline from you. I need to do a little traveling."

He nodded. "There isn't much left in the ground tanks here, but for the right price I can spare a few gallons."

"A few gallons are all I need. I can trade food or ammunition."

He scowled. "No gold or silver?"

"I'm afraid not," I replied crossly.

He gave this some thought. "For three gallons, how about a box of twelve-gauge shotgun shells and three cans of soup? It's the best deal I can give you considering the circumstances."

I shook my head. "Try six gallons."

"Let's not be unreasonable here," he said sourly. "I have a livelihood to make."

"I don't have that much food left to trade," I lied since I didn't want anyone to know about the stores I had hidden away at my property. "But perhaps I could add in a can of corn."

"As long as it isn't cream corn," he said with disgust. "Everyone always has plenty of cream corn to give away."

"Don't worry, it's not."

"Then you just made yourself a bargain," Rhode said, breaking into a wide grin. I could see a missing front tooth and a few gold molars in the back. He then went and started pumping the gas into the tank.

Giving Emily a smile, I got back inside the truck. I reached into the glove box and dug out my box of backup shotgun shells. I also grabbed the bag of food and found the requested soup and corn inside. That left me with nothing but a can of peaches, a box of cookies, and a bottle of water for the traveling food. I was feeling hungry already thinking of what I had given away.
Chapter 5

We didn't run into any trouble until we were some ten miles away from Ludington. I was lumbering along at an easy pace, keeping a look out for anything out of the ordinary. We were driving down a two-lane road, surrounded by empty farm fields. Ignoring my CD collection, Emily was once again fiddling with the radio trying to find a station. In the rear-view mirror, I noticed two cop cars coming from behind. They were moving fast. The one in the front was a Dodge Charger and taking up the rear was an older Ford Crown Victoria. Both were painted black and had the yellow markings of the Mason County Sheriff Department which served the town of Ludington. The lead car hit the red and blue lights.

Emily stared at me with big eyes. She said, "What are you going to do?"

In normal days I would have dutifully pulled over and found out what I was doing wrong. At worst I would have gotten a fine. But these weren't normal days. Now I could be killed on a whim or robbed for my truck or gasoline. Without a word of explanation to the girl, I put the gas pedal down and started to slowly edge away from the pursuers. I knew that moment wouldn't last for long since my little six-cylinder engine was no match for these cars meant to intercept lawbreakers.

The Dodge quickly roared past me while the Ford got so close to my back bumper that the front of the car disappeared. I could easily make out the driver in the rear-view mirror. It was an officer, or at least someone dressed as one. He had a blonde mustache and a large nose. The lead car slid in front of me and began to tap on the brakes. They were obviously trying to box me in to force the truck to stop. I could feel a rush of adrenaline course through my veins, strong enough to make my hands shake. These bastards were a little too sure of themselves. It was time to make the odds in my favor.

"Hold on!" I shouted as I slammed hard on the brakes. I felt the car behind me slide under the rear bumper of my truck with a metallic crumple. I reached down and pulled the lever up on the transfer case, dumping power to both the front and rear axles. I then spun the steering wheel to the left and went straight into the ditch on the side of the road. Emily screamed. As the Toyota dipped alarmingly down, the nose just kissed the leading edge of the dirt. And then we were up and over, running along the field, bouncing over the many ruts.

Laughing like a crazed man, I looked through the dust behind us and saw that the driver of the Crown Victoria, in the heat of the moment, had tried to follow. But a car that's made for speed doesn't have the ground clearance of a true off-road vehicle. He had apparently gotten stuck in the ditch. For my vantage point all I could see was the rear of the car pointing up in the air. I could only imagine the damage.

I came to the edge of the field where it met a gulley thick with sickly looking trees. At one time a stream must have run through here. There was also a rough track that ran parallel to this and led straight away from the road. I didn't know where it went, but it had to be better than where we had been. So I added a little more speed and we were soon out of sight of our pursuers.

"Are you okay?" I finally asked Emily.

She gave me a lopsided grin. "I'll never say a bad word about your truck again."

I patted the dash. "She may not be fast, but she gets there in the end. However we aren't out of the woods yet."

"What do you mean?"

"Well they know what direction we went and the remaining car can still go faster than we can. So we have to outsmart them."

"But how?"

I shrugged. "I don't know, but I'll think of something. I imagine the Dodge driver will go back to pick up his friend. They can either find a way to follow us and take the chance of damaging their car, or they can try to intercept us on the next main road ahead. My guess is they will do the latter, unless they are angry enough to take some risks with the remaining car. Either way, we won't be able to outrun them."

The two-track went by an old barn that had seen better days. With all the holes, sagging roof, and silvered wood, the entire structure looked as if a single puff of wind would blow it all over. The foundation was surrounded with scrubby trees that were older than the years of drought, indicating that this building had been abandoned long ago. In days past it would have looked positively quaint, but now it just reminded me that all things must eventually succumb to decay. I stopped next to the old structure and put the truck into reverse, trying to pushing the back bumper deep into the decaying vegetation.

I jerked the transmission into park. "Get out," I said to Emily.

She opened the door and was out of the truck. I grabbed the shotgun and supplies, killed the engine, and exited.

"Where are we going?" Emily asked.

"Never mind," I replied. "Have you ever fired a gun before?"

She shook her head. "My parents said they were bad."

I nodded. "They were right, but these days they're a necessity." I took the Browning out of my jacket. "This here is the safety. And this here is the trigger. Now I'm going to put a round in the chamber." I pulled the slide. "You're going to hide over there in the woods while I stay hidden in the barn. I want you to keep an eye on the truck. If those men come here, I want you to turn the safety off and then fire a round into the air. Do you think you could do that?"

Emily looked at me, her eyes wide, but she looked intrigued by the idea of carrying a pistol. She eagerly stuck her hand out.

"Now I want you to be careful," I warned her. "Just fire the one shot and then turn the safety back on. Don't play with the gun and especially don't point it at me. I want you to only fire it again if those men come and try to hurt you. Do you understand?"

She slowly nodded. "Yes, Brent."

I placed the Browning in her hand. She held it gingerly as if the hunk of metal could bite her. Perhaps that was the best way for her to treat a loaded gun.

I pointed to a group of pine trees with yellowing needles. "Get yourself in a good position over there. Stay low and out of sight. If we're lucky, those policemen will drive on by without seeing the truck or else they got lost trying to find us. But if they do, then they will come out of their car and start looking around. If that happens, I want you to fire the gun to draw their attention. But just fire once and only if they stop and get out of the car. And I want you to only come out of hiding when I call your name. If something happens to me, you have to run for it. Got it?"

"Yes," she said, her voice filled with excitement.

"Now get going, we don't have much time."

"But what are you going to do?"

"Don't worry about me, but I'll make sure we get out of here, okay?"

"Okay, Brent," Emily replied. She then took off running and soon disappeared into the thick pine trees.

I called out, "Can you see me from where you are?"

"Yes!" she replied with a short shout.

"Okay, just do what I said. And remember, stay hidden!" I then turned and looked the barn over. The main sliding door on the side had fallen off its tracks and was leaning at an angle. There was just enough room for a man to squeeze through. I went this route, stepping cautiously over the debris since this would be a bad time to step on a rusty nail. I ducked under the decrepit door, getting a face full of cobwebs in the process. Inside it was a wreck. In the corner was an old car with a dented bumper, smashed out windows, and flat tires. It looked as tired as I felt. A few rusty farm implements hung on the walls which had enough gaps that I could see much of the outside. The floor was covered with dust, mouse droppings, and bits of straw that had turned gray with time.

Resting on my haunches, I waited, keeping an eye on the rutted track outside. As I waited, I thought of Emily and how much trouble this all was. But I had to admit that I liked having her company. Even though I was naturally a loner, I did occasionally enjoy the company of others. I would be sad to see her go. I then chided myself for being so sentimental. On my own the food supply would last so much longer.

My thoughts were broken by the sound of an approaching car. Of course it was them. I saw the Dodge was driving cautiously over the ruts, the suspension occasionally bottoming out. As it approached the barn, it slowed. I was hoping against all possibilities that they wouldn't notice the truck hidden amongst the bushes and trees. At first I had thought I had gotten lucky since the car started to drive on, but then it stopped and was thrown into reverse. The driver backed up and then stopped in front of the barn. Perhaps he thought he was blocking some getaway point but with the clearance of the truck I could have driven right around them.

The doors of the car opened in unison and I could see two men get out. They were both wearing police uniforms with pistols on the hips and pump shotguns cradled in their arms. The officer who got out on the passenger side was the same who had been driving the Ford that got in trouble with the ditch. The driver was wearing dark wire-rimmed glasses and was of medium build. I could hear them talking.

"Do you see any sign of them?" the one of them asked.

"No, but that's the truck alright," the other one replied. "They have to be somewhere close by."

I couldn't see their mouths move but the words were clear enough. I waited tensely, expecting to hear the report of my Browning pistol. It then dawned on me that Emily couldn't see them because of the barn was in her line of vision. She would probably wait until she was completely sure that the two officers had left the car.

"I don't like it," one of them said.

"What can one guy and a kid do?" the other said with a laugh.

The reply was tinged with anger. "Yeah, you're right, but he still managed to make me wreck my car. It will take a tow truck to get it out of there." That would have to be the blonde haired man.

The driver of the Dodge laughed again. It was an annoying high-pitched sound. "Well you can take it out on him when we see him. But first let's see if they left anything for us in the truck."

The other man said, "Just be careful, it could be a trap."

I could see them moving now, their bodies appearing and disappearing through the broken slats of the barn. As soon as they rounded the corner, I heard the distant report of a pistol shot.

The two men froze, their shotguns now held at the ready.

"That sounded like a pistol," the driver said.

"But he wasn't shooting at us or else he's the worst shot in the world," his friend replied.

The men strode confidently forward. I watched for a moment before making my move. I felt my heart in my mouth as I quietly made my way under the barn door. The seconds ticked by, feeling like hours. I walked on the balls of my feet, trying not to stir up any debris. Their backs were to me, not even suspecting that I was behind them. I never counted on policeman, especially around here, for having much in the brains department.

When I was ten feet away from them, I pumped my shotgun, putting a round into the chamber. That was enough of a sound to make them jump. "Don't move," I managed to choke out. "If you do, I'll blow you away."

I could see them tense up as if ready to turn around and try to open fire before I had a chance to gun them down. Only a real fool would try something so impossible.

"You're making a mistake," the officer with blonde hair said.

My voice felt stronger as I said, "If you want to die, go ahead and give me a chance to pull the trigger. I've got a load of buckshot in here that will tear you in two. Now put those weapons on the ground. Slowly."

The Dodge driver was the first to rest his shotgun on the ground. His friend was a little slower but eventually got there.

"Now the belts," I commanded. "Easy there. Don't unbutton that holster or I'll shoot."

Both of the belts fell to the ground with a rattle of gear.

I said, "I'm sure you said this plenty of times to others, but now you get a chance to try it yourself. Put your hands over your head. Now move to your right – slowly. And don't turn and look at me."

Once they had moved away from the guns, I went over to the belts and retrieved two pairs of handcuffs.

I said, "Now I want you, the one with the glasses, to take some handcuffs and put them on your partner." I threw both pair of the handcuffs near his feet.

"Look, mister," the Dodge driver said, "you can't do this to us."

"And why not? There is no law left in this county and a pair of losers like you are through giving orders to people. So unless you want a backside full of buckshot, I suggest you take those handcuffs and slap them on your partner's wrist. Don't worry, if you do as I say, I'll make sure you'll live."

"Okay, okay," he said hastily. He put the manacles on his partner and only cinched them tight when I ordered him to.

"Now take the other pair of cuffs and close one of the loops over a wrist. That's a good job, officer. Now both of you, down on the ground and on your stomachs."

One they were both resting face forward in the dirt, I went over and put a knee into the back of the uncuffed officer. I then rested the end of the barrel of the shotgun on the back of his neck. With my free hand, I snapped the handcuffs over the remaining wrist and cinched both of them tight. I then searched the both of them, removing the handcuff key they each carried. I stood up and let my breath go. I felt sick to my stomach as the moment of fear washed away.

"Emily!" I shouted. "You can come out now."

In moments she broke out from the pine trees, the pistol hanging from her hand. She looked scared but had enough pluck to practically skip over to stand by me.

She said, "They look rather silly down there, don't they?"

I smiled at her. "Yes they do. Now let's get out of here."

The cop with the blonde hair began to bluster. "You can't leave us here!"

"I think I can. You can walk back to wherever you come from. See ya!"

"You bastard!" he yelled.

His friend said, "Just shut up. There's nothing we can do about it."

I scooped up their guns, placing the Beretta pistols in my coat pockets and held their two Mossberg shotguns over my shoulder. I had some use for these. Going over to the truck, I placed the shotguns gently inside of the bed. I waited until Emily was safely in the truck before I entered. I started up the engine and drove slowly past the two officers. By now they had rolled over on their backsides and were sitting up. They both gave me a baleful stare.

I drove over the dirt, and past the parked car, and reached the two-track. Stopping the truck, I put it into park. I said, "Hold on, Emily, I'm going to make sure they won't follow us, or bother anyone else with that car."

Hopping out of the truck, I took one of the shotguns out from the back of the bed. I walked over to the Dodge, keeping a small distance from myself and the mean-looking machine. I looked down the barrel and fired into the body of the car. The glass on the driver's side window shattered, the lead tearing into the metal. I did this a few more times, this time concentrating my fire inside the car hoping to damage whatever I could. When I ran out of rounds with that gun, I went back to the truck to retrieve the other. This time I took out the radiator and headlights with two shots. After I was done, I reached inside the car and popped the hood. I then went to work in the engine compartment, tearing off wires and hoses by hand. I put the final shells to good use by shooting the large fuse boxes and control units located in the back of the compartment.

This car was going nowhere unless it was on the back of a tow truck.
Chapter 6

As we neared the outskirts of Ludington, I could see several patches of black smoke against the horizon. Parts of the city looked to be on fire. The first traffic light I came to was out, indicating that the electricity here was off. I wondered if there was still any power at my cabin. I saw that the homes and businesses had open doors and shattered windows. Litter was strewn on the front lawns. I drove carefully since I didn't know my way around this town all that well since this popular tourist destination wasn't part of my normal travels. I've never been able to figure out why anyone would want to vacation in a place constantly surrounded by other people.

"You said your uncle lived to the north of town?" I asked Emily.

She still looked a little frightened of me. Seeing the way I had dealt with those two police officers and their car had made her wary. She finally said, "Yes, it's a big house on the beach."

"It shouldn't be that hard to find," I said. "But do you remember what street it was on?"

She shook her head. "I'm not very good with street names."

"Do you know how far it is from town?"

"Not too far, maybe a few minutes."

I pursed my lips together and realized it was impossible to pump the poor kid for any more information. It wasn't like she ever got behind the wheel and drove the car there herself. When you were young, parents just brought you places; the details on how you actually got there didn't matter.

I said, "Well then, we can work ourselves north and then west before heading south along the lakeshore. I'm afraid that will burn up more gas than I would like. The other option is to head into town and then go north. It's the shortest route but the riskier move. We may run into some more bad men."

"That didn't seem to stop you." Her tone was accusing, almost as if she expected me to turn the other cheek when confronted by the violence of others.

I cleared my throat. "We were lucky, Emily. Lucky to have a truck that could go offroad. And we were fortunate that those two so-called police officers fell into the trap. If you had a better way of getting out of that situation, you could have told me."

Pouting, she turned her attention to look at the landscape rolling by her window. After a moment of this, she finally said softly, "I just got scared, Brent."

"You have to realize that times have changed. I'll do whatever it takes to keep you alive."

She flashed me a smile and any animosity between us was broken. "Thank you."

I was about to say something in response but instead had to slam on the brakes. In front of us was a line of blackened and burnt cars stretched across the road. Some of the cars had been crushed and moved as if it hit by a tank. The corpses of a half-dozen men and woman were scattered around this blockade. A horde of black flies were taking whatever sustenance they could from the sun-baked bodies. Glinting all along the blacktop I could see the brass glimmer of shell casings. It appeared that some sort of firefight had erupted here, leaving the defenders worse off in the engagement.

Emily was staring at these horrors, her face was pale with shock.

"Don't look at them," I growled.

I then nosed the truck forward through the opening. I could see by the condition of the corpses that this had happened only a few days ago. My first inclination was to turn back and find another route, but the state of my gas tank and my own curiosity made me move forward.

The road widened out to two-lanes on each side. I rolled down the windows and listened. All I could hear was the gentle tick of my engine and the sound of rubber on asphalt. The homes and small business dotted along the side were burned out, the blackened wood of the windows staring at us like accusing eyes. Up ahead was a large grocery store, the lot empty. A car had been driven through the front doors. I idled past, waiting for the worst to happen. There was nothing moving but garbage being blown by the wind.

We came to another line of cars across the road. This time the line of defense was smaller and appeared to have been hastily put together. As before, the vehicles had been pushed aside as if they were toys. Sprawled on the nearby embankment were two corpses, staring up at the sky with empty eye sockets.

I said, "Emily, you said your uncle lives out of town. We have to hope that he wasn't part of this."

She nodded, her eyes glued to the dashboard.

The downtown was normally a teeming area of coffee shops, antique stores, and ice cream shops that catered to the tourist trade. Instead of tidy businesses and shiny cars, the road was choked with garbage and the stores burnt empty brick shells. Here and there was a corpse, the skin turning black and leathery. The noise of my truck echoed balefully against the walls, the only sound other than the wind and the trash skittering along the ground. It felt like a graveyard here; the end of the old world.

In the center of town was a large park where I once saw a free concert. Back then the grass was green and full, but now it was nothing but patches of brown dirt and sickly weeds. The once white gazebo were smashed beyond recognition. I mention these parts first because the other objects here were gruesome beyond description. I took my right hand and covered Emily's eyes since I did not want her to see the line of decaying corpses that had been crucified on rough wooden crosses. The insects had been busy here, leaving the faces eyeless and with white teeth glinting through lipless mouths.

"What is it?" Emily said as she tried to free my hand from her face.

"Close your eyes," I said.

"Why?"

"Just do it!"

"Okay," she whimpered.

I pulled my hand away and gave the gas pedal a hard push. I could feel my teeth grinding together, wondering how men could do such things. Once we were out of sight of those horrors, I slowed down again. I took a couple of deep breaths and swallowed the ball of phlegm that had collected in the back of my throat.

"What was it?" Emily asked carefully, our delicate truce now broken again.

"Never mind," I replied flatly. I thought it was a shame that someone so young had to experience such a violent world. Emily would see so many terrible things in the days to come, but there was no reason she had to experience it all yet. She had already seen more than enough.

I took the next road heading north. We were close enough to the shore of Lake Michigan that past the buildings and trees I could catch glimpses of the blue water. This is where the rich lived with their lake views and private property. Some of the houses were still smoldering, the last remnants burning like a dull ember. There were cars here too, lifeless and abandoned.

Minutes passed and then suddenly Emily pointed at a drive that was marked as private. Her face was gleaming with anticipation but I feared what we would find. I slowly drove through the wooded lot that soon opened up into a sandy field of yellowing dune grass. Built on a hill stood the remnants of a massive house that was now a tumbled collection of blackened wood.

"No!" Emily cried out.

She opened the door. I jerked the truck to a stop as she left and went running towards the house.

"Emily!" I shouted. I grabbed my shotgun from the extended cab and got out. She was stopped now, looking over the wreckage. I could only see the back of her head, but I could hear the tortured emotion in her voice.

"Uncle Bill!" she shouted over and over.

There was no response.

I stood by the truck, not sure what to do. It was one of those moments in life when you know whatever you say, the wrong words would come out.

There was a sound of someone treading on the gravel driveway. I spun around with the shotgun at the ready. A sigh of relief escaped my lips when I saw it was a little old lady with a white hair, a pale pink dress that showed blue-veined legs, and a pink shawl over her shoulders. She had come up from some half-hidden trail from the north. She was smiling benignly at Emily.

She carefully said to me, "Don't worry, I don't mean any harm. My name is Gwen. I just heard the little girl crying for Bill. I thought I recognized her voice. I never imagined I would see Emily again."

"You know her?" I asked.

Gwen slowly hobbled over to face me. "Yes, she's the niece of my next door neighbor, Bill. I've seen her often, especially during the summertime. She can swim like a fish. Just who are you?"

"I'm Brent. I rescued her from a bad situation. Her parents were attacked by two soldiers. I just happened to be in the right place at the right time." I decided to not mention the strange circumstances since I still did not understand what had happened myself. "What went on here?"

"My, my, I've never seen anything like it," she answered gravely. "My Henry went with the others to fight the invaders but there was too many of them . You would think that people would still know how to treat others right, even though times are so bad now. Henry said they put up a good fight but were overwhelmed."

"Who exactly came here?"

"There was a whole mob of them with big trucks and a bunch of cars. They had lots of guns and fought like wild men. The whole town fought but was pushed back block by block until there was nothing left for my husband to do but run home. Bill didn't make it back. He was part of the final stand and that is the last we've seen of him or anyone else until you came along."

Emily heard us talking. Tears streaming down her cheeks, she ran up to Gwen and clung to her waist. "Where is Uncle Bill?" she demanded.

"Oh, my little moppet, I don't know. We haven't seen him for days."

Emily began to cry again.

"Just how did you survive?" I asked Gwen.

"Now that's my little secret, Brent. You see our house was looted and burned just like all the others, but my husband built a bomb shelter here some forty years ago. Back then he was afraid that the Russians were going to start a nuclear war. Ever since that threat ended, the shelter kind of fell into disrepair. But then Henry started getting worried about the state of the world. I thought he was nuts when he started stockpiling food. Well since our house is gone, we've been living in the shelter ever since. It's safe enough now that those terrible people have left."

I nodded. "Is there any chance you could take Emily, at least until her parents show up?"

Emily looked between the two of us, her cheeks stained with tears. She looked hurt by my words.

The old lady shook her head. "Oh no, there isn't enough room in there for the three of us, and I'm sure my husband wouldn't want us sharing the food. There isn't much left for us to live on. Right now he's off searching the already looted stores. I'm sure you understand that we can't take the poor dear on."

"I see," I said with a frown. "I'm not really in a position to take care of a little girl myself."

"Brent, I thought you liked me!" Emily said angrily.

"I do, but you would be better off with someone else. What do I know about raising children?"

"I'm not a child and I can't go anywhere else."

"She's right," Gwen said. "You're her guardian now. Once you save the life of someone, you have to look after them too."

I finally relented. I sighed and said. "Come on, Emily, get in the truck and let's go home."
Chapter 7

It was late October when I finally decided to visit Shelby again. The last time I was there was to report to Sheriff Snyder what I had seen at Ludington. He took the news calmly. For my return to town, I had to leave the truck behind since there was only a few drops of gasoline left in the tank. If I drove, I took the risk of having to abandon it on the side of the road. I knew I had to get some more fuel but I still hadn't decided to loot the homes of my nearby neighbors yet. Though five acres of land sounds like a lot to a city dweller, my lot was only a few hundred feet wide. There were several other empty homes to my left and right, and even a few across the road. I still didn't think it proper to take their property, but things were beginning to get desperate. The additional responsibility of feeding Emily had put a crimp on my rations. Sure, I had enough to last a few more months, but I also worried about someone else raiding these homes for whatever food was left. I had to get there before anyone else did.

But first I had to get some medicine for Emily. Lately her normally cheerful self had given away to sullenness and moodiness. I first thought it was the normal actions of a precocious girl, but this morning when she didn't get out of bed for breakfast, I knew something else was wrong. After knocking on the bedroom door and receiving no answer, I entered and found her burrowed deep into the covers, her forehead beaded with sweat. She was still sleeping but moaning as if in some deep pain. When I felt her cheeks, they were burning hot. She snapped her eyes open for a moment and a faint smile was the only recognition I got before she drifted back to unconsciousness.

At first I wasn't worried since the flu is a fairly common for a child of her age, but the more I thought about it, the more I began to turn it over in my head. It didn't make any sense how she got it. We hadn't seen anyone, except for each other, ever since our trip to Ludington. Perhaps she caught something there that took some time to gestate. She didn't appear to be getting any worse, so after I saw she was bundled tightly up with blankets and the wood stove burning away, I started my journey on foot.

As I walked along the deserted road with my shotgun slung over my shoulder, I thought of the past few weeks. Emily and I had initially started out as two wary individuals thrown together by circumstance. But as the days went on, we gradually became familiar and at ease with each other. Now it was like she had always been a part of my life. We now worked and lived as a team, helping each other forget the miseries of the world.

Returning from Ludington, we had found that the loss of electricity had also affected us. That meant that all the food stored in the freezer was ruined. I was used to that since power outages in this part of the county were quite common. In the past, the trees, snow, and long distances had always been an issue for the power company. Of course I could have used my backup generator but it would have been a waste of gasoline to keep just a few items cold. So that left us with the supplies of canned food and whatever bounty we could gather from the countryside. I was no hunter – I hated killing anything unless I had to – but knew if things didn't get better, I would eventually have to take up some sort of fishing, or hunting. Of course the way things were, maybe there was nothing left alive in the surrounding woods or streams.

Canned food meant a limited meal selection, so we took turns cooking, trying different combinations of spices and herbs to add to the normally bland fare. Having helped her family in the kitchen, Emily was a better cook than I expected. There were a few culinary disasters, but nonetheless, all of the food was always eaten until the plates were clean. The fear of starving tomorrow gives one a certain hunger that is hard to contain.

Our days were fairly regimented since I thought it was important to stay busy. If one had too much free time, especially with the current state of affairs, then it would easy to fall into despair. I assigned Emily several tasks that had to be competed every day: cleaning the kitchen, washing the dishes, tidying the bedroom, and doing homework. You see I had become her teacher of sorts, going over what simple age appropriate math that I could remember, and reading history, fiction, and even an old physics textbook from my college years. There were some even vintage books leftover from my grandparent's collection, but she didn't seem to mind the old-fashioned text since she was a voracious reader. Thankfully she was hungry to learn and claimed I was the best teacher she ever had.

I spent most days chopping wood. Though the sun was still hot during the day, this time of year it wasn't out for very long. This made for cold mornings and nights with a warm, almost summer-like afternoon. A few years ago, this time of year was normally nothing but rain with the faint hint of winter just around the corner. Now I couldn't remember the last time we had a true downpour. But the well, which had been sunk extra deep, kept giving the water which we used for drinking and, when heated on the wood stove, for weekly bathing. Though I had let my beard go since it saved on soap and razors.

Emily and I would also walk the trails around the house. I wanted her to learn the lay of the land so she would know where to run to in case something happened to me. The woods were strangely quiet as if all the bugs, birds, and animals had fled to somewhere else. It was a far cry from the days of my youth when I had to spray on mosquito repellant and pluck ticks from my skin. I wondered what turn of fate had brought the world to such a point.

After dinner, we usually spent the nights by the wood stove. I would often read to her from the favorite stories of my youth, using the flickering light of the fire until my eyes hurt from squinting. We would also play checkers or some other silly board game left over from the past days of visiting friends and relatives. Emily was a sore loser, so to please her, I made sure to consciously lose the game most of the time. Sometimes she would check the crank-powered radio but all that came in was static or some strange, possibly military, beeping noises. It didn't seem to matter to me, but it sure made Emily feel lonely.

The sight of the outskirts of town made my thoughts return to the present. At first things looked much the same, but the small road I was using to approach was now blocked by a school bus that had been parked across both lanes. As I approached, a gun slid out from one of the rows of windows.

I continued to walk forward, keeping my hands in sight.

When I was about twenty feet away, a voice from within called out. "Don't take a step closer, mister. I've got plenty more guns on call if I need 'em."

"I'm Brent Cohen. If you're from town, you should know me. I live a few miles away."

"Yeah, I remember you." the voice from within said. And then the head popped out of the window. It was John Rhode, his eyes hollow with black circles under them. "I just didn't recognize you with the beard."

"I've got a real sick girl back home and she needs some medicine. I was hoping to see Doctor Corley."

He grimly replied, "You can pass, but don't expect too much help."

"And why is that?"

"The entire town is sick," he explained. "Even the sheriff is laid up at the hospital. The doc says he may not pull through."

"I'm sorry to hear that, but I have to know what I can do for the little girl."

"I understand," he said. "It's only natural."

I gave him a friendly wave goodbye and went around the bus. I started towards the little hospital that served the area. It didn't offer much for extreme medical emergencies, but it was good enough for a farming community that saw a fair share of broken limbs and the sniffles. The town was eerily quiet, even more so than before. No one was in sight. All of the houses had shut doors and drapes as if everyone had gone on an extended vacation. Even the businesses were closed. From the road I was traversing, I looked down the main street intersection and saw the concrete barrier in the downtown area had been supplemented by two school buses on each end. To complete this impromptu wall was corrugated roofing located on either end. After hearing my story about the fall of Ludington, the sheriff was obviously not taking any chances with the same thing happening here. Of course it remained to be seen how such a structure could withstand a concentrated assault.

The hospital was a one-story brown-brick affair with glass doors. It was the most modern building around. A handwritten sign was taped to the door: _No Medicine_. I went inside and into the familiar lobby. I had been here before for a sinus infection and an earlier case of broken ribs when I had slipped off of a porch I was building for a neighbor. The lobby was dark and empty as was the receptionist station. I went through a pair of swinging doors and into the hallway beyond. It looked deserted here but a series of distant coughs steered me in the right direction.

I poked my head into a room and found an occupied hospital bed and three additional cots that had been setup. The curtains had been drawn open to allow the sunlight to come inside. The four patients here had their eyes closed but were tossing and turning as if in the throes of some terrible pain. I recognized one of them as Bob Johnson, who ran the only used car lot in town.

There was a tap on my shoulder and I almost jumped a foot.

"May I help you, Brent?" the voice said.

I turned and found myself facing Doctor Corley. He was a young man who was apparently spending his time providing medical care to a small town in order to pay off some substantial student loans. His normally cheery face was now pale and drawn with lines of exhaustion. He looked much thinner than normal as if he had been ill for a long time.

"Er, yes, Doctor," I started. "I've got a sick girl back at home and she's burning up with a fever. I was wondering what I should do."

He pointed to the patients. "If she is suffering from the same thing they are, then there isn't much I can do. No anti-biotic seems to have any effect and it doesn't matter anyway since our supply of penicillin is gone now."

"Why are they thrashing around like that?"

The doctor smiled wanly. "I gave them each a shot of painkillers to ease the pain. They're passed out but still feeling the effect of the disease."

"What kind of disease is it?" I asked.

He shrugged. "I don't know. Since things have gotten so bad recently, I wouldn't be surprised if we see a whole host of diseases, some old and some new, that will strike humanity with a vengeance. Modern civilization has only temporarily postponed the germs and viruses from doing their work as nature intended. Now that we no longer have access to such a wide variety of medicine, there is bound to be only more germs and viruses. My own theory is that this disease was carried in by the looters and spread by those fleeing the cities. It seems to have a long incubation period so it's kind of hard to pin down the exact cause. And not everyone gets it – so you may be one of lucky ones who is naturally immune."

I shook my head as I tried to digest this information. "But what are the chances of living if one contracts this sickness?"

"I survived, but about a third don't. The disease will run its course in a week. Your patient will have a good chance of pulling through, provided she gets enough liquids and rest."

"One in three isn't very good odds."

"I don't make the odds, Brent," he said with a grimace, "I just try to cheat death for as long as I can. I'll give you some painkillers that will be suitable for a child. It should help her through the rougher parts."

I nodded. "Thank you. By the way, can I speak to Sheriff Snyder?" I asked.

"Follow me," he said. "The sheriff in the next room over. He came in a dehydrated state so I have him on an IV drip."

The room next door looked like the one I just came out of but Snyder was the sole guest. He was in bed, sitting upright. His eyes were glassy and the skin on his face was loose and bloodless. I thought he looked like death barely warmed over.

"Good Morning, Brent," he croaked out.

"Hello, Sheriff," I replied. "You're not looking that bad."

He choked out a laugh that caused him to erupt into a fit of coughing. "Don't lie to me. I look like hell and I feel like hell, but I'm not going to let any old germ kill me. Isn't that right, doc?"

"The sheriff here claims that he is too stubborn to die. He may be right."

Snyder smiled grimly. He asked me, "How are you holding up in that forest hideaway of yours?"

"We're doing okay though Emily is sick."

"That's too bad. She seemed like a plucky girl though how she can stand to be around an old curmudgeon like you is anybody's guess. But tell me, have you heard the latest news?"

"I'm afraid I haven't had any contact with the world since I've seen you last. We try the radio once in a while though, but there's nothing but static."

He slowly shook his head as if the motion took too much energy. "The world just gets crazier and crazier. It's that People's Party movement over in Grand Rapids. They've become a real power, raiding the smaller towns for food and loot. A bunch of innocent people are getting wiped out because of them. You see they've built themselves up a nice little army that no one has the power to stop. You saw what they did to Ludington. What they're doing is worthy of some medieval army."

"How did you find this out?"

"Refugees are on the road right now, trying to get away from the fighting. The People's Army, as they call it, hit Muskegon just last week."

I whistled. "That's a big city. I'm surprised they haven't come here yet."

He let out another laugh that caused a spasm of coughing. "We're just lucky, if you want to call it that. It's this damned illness. It hit the People's Army hard too. They're resting and burying their dead like the rest of us. Of course I blame this so-called army for spreading the disease in the first place since it seems to follow them wherever they go, infecting the population too. This damn germ is going to kill more people than bullets."

I shook my head. "Then it sounds like the town is going to be in a heap of trouble soon."

"You got that right. I was planning to stop by your place to ask for some help, but this damned sickness got a hold of me. Now that you're here, you've saved me the trouble of making the trip."

"What could I do for you?" I asked with puzzlement.

"You may have seen the preliminary work I did to fortify the downtown. I want your help in making it into a real fortress that can stop the People's Army. It's the only chance of saving the people of Shelby."
Chapter 8

I was on the hike back home. I was busy thinking about Snyder's plan to fortify the downtown. Of course defending the entire town would be impossible since there would be too many roads to cover, but one specific location, especially if the buildings were made of brick, would be a simpler matter. If both ends of the downtown block were built up with walls, the back windows and doors bricked up, and the ground around the buildings cleared, then it would be possible for a small group of defenders to hold off a much larger force. It was proven true in ancient history, so why not now? Of course gunpowder hadn't been invented back then nor had armored vehicles, but the idea of fortification hadn't changed all that much over the years. It was just important to stay safe inside the walls while continuing to inflict enough damage to your opponents that they had to eventually give up.

An odor of smoke made me break away from my thoughts. Though I was nearing my house, it would take an odd shift of wind for me to smell a fire from there. It had to be one of my neighbors. I scanned the tree line and almost missed the fine wisp of smoke coming from the lot located three houses away from mine. After jacking a shell into the shotgun, I slipped into the woods and made my way through the trees and scraggly bushes. I felt bad for Emily and hoped she wasn't in too much pain, but I had to investigate now if I wanted to keep the both of us safe.

The dry dead leaves crackled under my feet. Through the maze of branches I could see a large log cabin with a stone foundation. It was a two story home with shellacked cedar logs, modern windows, and a front porch that held a few patio furnishings. White smoke curled out of the chimney. There was no vehicle parked out front but it could have been in the garage located off to the side of the house.

Hiding behind a tree, I peered around the trunk and watched. I cursed myself for not bringing my binoculars. Except for the occasional noise of a creaking tree, it was quiet. Keeping low, I then worked my way to the northern side of the house. I crouched by the extensive woodpile. Here I could see a window had been smashed in. A patio chair was under the window, obviously used by the trespasser to help hoist themselves inside. I felt a rush of anger since breaking and entering has always been an issue with owning secluded property in the country. I then laughed inwardly at myself remembering that I was planning to rob these very homes soon enough.

Through the large French doors, I saw a shadow move. The figure looked out through the glass, not even seeing me. It was a woman, her dark skin and hair blending with the black sweater and pants she was wearing. I didn't recognize her. She looked amused by something, turned, and then disappeared into the gloom within. I waited for a few minutes more, just sitting and listening. As far as I could tell, she was alone but I didn't want to take any chances. Anyway, anyone can be dangerous, female or not, if they had a gun.

I quietly made my way to the front porch. I climbed the stairs, slowly as to not let them squeak. With a grimace, I knocked on the front door. I waited off to side by the wall where I couldn't be shot because of an overzealous trigger finger. As expected there was no answer, so I knocked again, quickly withdrawing my arm away from the door in case a bullet came through the thin steel.

Finally a shaky voice called out from within, "Who is it?"

"Your neighbor," I answered gruffly.

"What do you want?"

"I didn't know you were here. I just wanted to check that everything is okay."

"Everything is just fine," was the answer.

"I don't recognize your voice. Are you sick?"

She replied, "I'm a friend of the family. I told you everything is fine, now just leave me alone." The sweet, lilting voice was gaining confidence now.

"The owner told me to hide some food," I lied. "Would you like me to come in and show you where it is?"

"No!" she answered firmly but one could that she was interested by the idea of food. "You can just tell me through the door."

"It's in the trapdoor in the closet," I said even though it wasn't true.

I heard footsteps move away. I leaned back and gave the door a hard kick. The frame buckled and with a shove of my shoulder, I was through. The woman was turning, staring at me with wide eyes. She was trying to bring up a revolver. Before she could fire, I slapped it from her hand and let out a sigh of relief when it hit the wood floor without firing. Accidents are bound to happen when playing with guns and letting one hit the ground could easily lead to an accidental discharge

My quick attack had only momentarily broken her self-composure. But in a brief second her face relaxed. She shot me a seductive smile as if I was a handsome suitor. And then in a flash, she tried to kick me in the groin. I just managed to step aside in time. Her foot connected with my thigh, sending a jolt of pain rippling down my leg. Before she could strike again, I brought the shotgun up and leveled it at her.

I spat out, "No more tricks. And don't worry, I'm not going to hurt you."

"I don't believe that," she said, her teeth bared. She didn't look particularly scared of the weapon pointed at her.

"I don't care what you believe," I said. "I just don't want the Robertson's house robbed while they are gone."

"It doesn't appear they are using the place or ever will, so why can't I?"

I shrugged. "It's still their property."

She laughed. It was a wonderful sound, or perhaps I had been away from the company of women for too long. I also noticed that she was quite striking with ebony skin that was dark enough to almost shine. She looked to be in her mid-twenties. Her brown eyes were also large and the nose nice and straight. She was also slim as if life had pared her down to the bare necessities. Of course the baggy sweater and sweatpants she was wearing – obviously belonging to Mrs. Robertson – didn't help any. But if you changed the time and place, she could have been a Nubian princess of ancient days.

I dropped the barrel of the shotgun, letting it point to the floor.

She said, "Property doesn't mean much anymore. I had my house taken away from me and nobody stopped them."

"Where are you from?"

"Muskegon Heights," she answered. "I lived there my entire life. When things started getting bad a few years ago, we all thought it was just going to last for a little while. People are always losing their jobs and such, but it eventually gets better, doesn't it? Where I'm from, we don't expect much good to happen anyway. But when people started starving and started killing each other over food, that's when my family knew things were different this time. My mom and went and bought a gun, and even taught my sister and I how to use it."

"I heard Muskegon was raided by the People's Army."

She nodded. "We thought they would never come to The Heights. I mean people there aren't exactly rich, are they? It isn't like we had whole stockpiles of food hidden away. Us folks were already starving, fighting everyday for crumbs. It was three days ago that they came with their tanks and machine guns so there wasn't much we could do. A few of the gangbangers took some shots at them but nothing organized. That army went door-to-door, taking whatever they want as searched everywhere for food. Of course that's not all they did."

"Where are your mother and sister?" I asked, already guessing what she would say.

She shook her head, the expression locked into a cold grimace. "Three of those so-called soldiers tried to rape me and my sister. My mother shot them. The sound of the gun was enough to draw the attention of their friends. We ran for it, but not fast enough. My mother was killed along with my sister. They were shot in the back. I managed to slip between some houses and lose myself in the neighborhood. After that I struck north and just kept on walking until I saw this place. By then I was tired of sleeping in ditches so took a chance that no one was here."

"I'm sorry to hear about your family."

"Yeah, we've all got our sad stories now, don't we?"

"I'm Brent Cohen," I said. I offered my hand to hers. We shook.

"I'm Tanya Jarrett," she replied in turn.

"I'm sorry I busted down your door, and you are right, I was planning to take whatever food I could from here and the nearby houses. But you can stay here as long as you need to. As you said, no one else is using the place right now. It will be nice to have a neighbor."

She said, "I'm afraid there isn't much here. They didn't leave much food around. I just found a packet of dry soup, some pasta, and a few cans of beer. The refrigerator is nothing but mold."

"Anything that isn't in a can or jar just attracts mice," I explained, "So most cottage owners keep their cupboards bare when they're gone. They have an electric pump but there should still be water in the hot water tank and the toilet tanks that you can use. That should last you a few days. And another thing, run the damper on the wood stove set a little lower; it makes less smoke. I knew someone was here by the smell of smoke coming out of the chimney."

"Thank you," she said.

"It's no problem, Miss Jarrett. Now I will go ahead and say my goodbyes now. If you need anything, I'm three houses away to the east." I pointed. "That way. I've got a little girl with me and she's awful sick right now. I have to get back too her as soon as I can."

"How sick is she?" she asked with concern.

I sighed and made a face. "I hate to tell you this, but there is some unknown disease going around. Some people survive it while others die. I haven't had any of the symptoms yet, so maybe I escaped the infection. But when I last saw Emily, she was awful sick with something like the flu. I went into town to get some medicine but there's nothing left to give her. The doctor did give me some pain pills to help with the worst parts of the symptoms. You should probably stay away from my house until she is feeling better."

Tanya's face softened. "Emily, now that's a pretty name. Brent, you don't strike me as the type to look after a sick girl very well. I looked after my mother when she got older and know how to help. Anyway, if so many are getting sick, then I've probably already got it."

"You probably have. The doctor in town says it's being spread by the People's Army. If you've had contact with them, then you've been exposed."

She shook her head. "If I hadn't enough troubles already. Let me grab a coat and we can go to your place."

"Any help would be appreciated," I said.

Digging through the closet, Tanya selected a pink fleece pullover. "Not quite my style," she said with obvious distaste as tied it around her slim hips. She then picked up her pistol from the floor and tucked it in her waistband.

We followed the leaf-strewn driveway back out to the road and trudged along the shoulder. The sun was getting high now, baking the dry soil with its normal ferocity. The road was shimmering with heat waves that made it looker hotter than it was. I saw that my camouflaged entrance was looking worse for wear and wouldn't fool anyone actively looking for my house. I had some other ideas on how to hide the road to my house and with the possibility of the People's Army coming this way, it was now a critical issue.

Tanya continued to remain silent, moving in a wary way that revealed years of living on the bad streets. Perhaps in the future I could hear more about her background. I'm sure it would be an interesting story since I knew Muskegon Heights was not a place for the meek and mild. And a thirty mile journey on foot in three days was pretty impressive for a city girl.

We came to the house. She paused for a moment to ponder it, studying the lines of the ancient place. She finally said, "I see you're not one of the rich."

I smiled. "No, not really." I opened the door and let her in.

I heard her gasp. When I got inside, I saw Emily lying on the floor next to the open door of her bedroom. We both ran to her side.
Chapter 9

For whatever reason Tanya decided to stay on with us. Perhaps she felt safer with others or just wanted the company. There was no discussion about the matter nor did I even bring it up. Perhaps I enjoyed having another adult around to talk with. Of course her beautiful features didn't hurt either. She nursed Emily along, making the poor girl as comfortable as possible. I was glad that this street smart woman was here since she remained cool and collected throughout the sick girl's thrashing and painful moans. It also gave me a chance to work outside since the sounds of Emily's torment were too much for me.

I spent the remaining day and the next taking whatever useful items I could find from my neighbors. There were a total of fourteen houses near me. I found that four on the fringes had already been looted, but the remainder were still secure. When entering, I tried to minimize the damage, often only breaking a pane of glass or jimmying the lock with a crowbar. The pickings inside were slim. Perhaps, like me, they had hidden their food, but I still managed to find several more weeks of supplies. With an extra mouth to feed, even cream corn would prove to be useful. So with the help of a wheelbarrow, I transferred cans and boxes to my own cupboards, keeping my secret stashes intact for a little longer.

Five of the houses had nearly empty gasoline cans for running snowblowers and leaf blowers. I added the precious fuel to the tank of my truck. Of more interest were the three vehicles I found parked inside garages. Using a hand pump, I managed to siphon off almost fifteen gallons of the precious fluid. That almost gave me over half of a tank and a small reserve that I kept to the side in case I wanted to fire up the generator.

One of the vehicles, an old Chevrolet Scottsdale truck, I kept ready to go. It had a quarter tank of gasoline and still started on the first try. If something happened to my Toyota, this old truck would prove useful as a backup. I made sure to show Tanya where the keys were kept, so if she needed to escape, they would be there for her.

Two days later, while Tanya looked after Emily, I started early in the morning working on the driveway entrance. With a socket wrench, I first removed the gate, unbolting the heavy frame from the wooden posts sunk deep below. I dragged this off deep into the woods where it couldn't be seen from the road. Using a shovel, I then removed the dirt around the posts until I hit concrete. I then swung an ax, and chopped off the wood at the base. Once the holes were filled, I went to work shaping the first twenty feet of my road so it matched the contours of the ground. At the entrance, I then dug a shallow impression that was the exact width of the driveway. This was harder than I expected and it took quite some time with the rake and shovel until I was satisfied with the results.

A road through the woods can always be detected by the gap it makes in the trees. No matter how many branches or bramble I could place in front of the entrance, a roving eye could see that man had once passed through here. Luckily the very tops of the trees, due to the age of the driveway, meshed together quite nicely, but I still had to fill the middle if I wanted to create the illusion that this was unspoiled land. With that in mind, I went searching through the area around me for young trees, bramble, and short pines. These I dug out and dragged back.

Returning to the supply shed, I found some old lengths of lumber. With hammer and nails I began constructing a shallow box that was some six feet long and the width of the road. A thick rope was lashed to one side, anchored at each corner with heavy-duty eyescrews. When I was done, I dragged this contraption over to the driveway where I placed it into the low dugout I had made. A few corrections with the shovel and it was nestled pretty good into the driveway entrance. I then began filling the box with dirt, spacing my acquired plants in a random fashion until I had a thick mass of bramble and brush. When I was done, I went to the other side of the road to take a look at my handiwork. The end result was remarkably good and almost blended perfectly with the surrounding foliage. It wasn't perfect, but it would have to do.

It was getting on in the afternoon, the sun shining above. By now I was sweating profusely so I took a break. Leaning against a nearby oak, I drank of water from my canteen and tried to catch my breath. It was only a few minutes when I heard the sound of footsteps over gravel. It was Tanya.

She looked over my work with an appreciative whistle. "You're taking this seriously, aren't you? Is there anything I can do to help?"

"I'm just about done." I pointed to my garden of random plants. "The idea here is to camouflage the entrance but not in a permanent way. If I need to drive out of here, I can pull the box out by towing it with my truck. If I need to get out quickly, I can just go right through."

"Interesting," she said. "Do you really think it will work?"

"If someone has a rough idea where we are, then this won't fool anybody for long. But for the casual observer, it will do. Tell me, how is Emily doing?"

"She's sleeping right now." Tanya frowned. "I've never seen anyone so sick in my life. All she does is sleep, but she's started to talk to me a little bit."

"Do you think she'll pull through?"

The eyes betrayed a moment of grief, perhaps remembers her mother and sister. She said, "She's young, so you never know. But she seems to be getting better today. We've even had a small conversation this morning. She was surprised to see me there at the side of the bed and wanted to know where you were. I told her that you were out working. I also told her that you would visit her as soon as possible."

I was about to say something but stopped when I heard the distant rumble of a car coming down the road. It slowed and then stopped. The engine was turned off. I quickly stood up and reached for the shotgun leaning on the tree next to me.

"Get back to the house," I said to Tanya in a low voice. "And load up the rifle and the pistols."

She nodded and took off running.

I went through the woods, away from the driveway but slanting towards the road. I tried to move as silently as I could, my ears straining to hear any movement. Other than the swaying of the trees, there was nothing but my feet scrunching over the dead leaves. When I got to the edge of where the trees met the road, I stopped, craning my neck around a thick oak tree. However my precautions were for naught since, some forty feet away, I saw it was Sheriff Snyder, standing next to a parked police car. He was looking at a map, scratching his head.

I stepped out from the underbrush. "Looking for me?" I asked loudly.

The sheriff swung around with the speed of a rattlesnake, his hand darting for the pistol hanging on his belt. He stopped when he saw it was me, his face breaking into a weak smile.

"Hello, Brent," he called out as he came over. I saw that he looked healthier than before.

"I thought I was being invaded."

"No, no," he chuckled. "I just wanted your help. I had a hell of a time finding your place."

"I've sort of hidden the entrance, just to stop a passerby from noticing that someone lives here."

He nodded. "These days that's a wise decision. You did a good job since I thought I had driven right by it."

"Well then, what sort of help do you want from me? I've already given it some thought and I don't think it would be worth fortifying the downtown, especially with the new information I've heard."

"And what information is that?" the sheriff asked.

"When returning to town, I smelled smoke coming from one of my neighbor's house. I investigated and found a woman named Tanya living there. She fled from Muskegon because the People's Army came through and were taking everything. Her mother and sister were killed. According to her, they had tanks and enough soldiers to overtake all of the Heights. Now, sheriff, what can we do to stop such a force? We've got nothing here but a hunting rifles and shotguns."

"Damn it!" he exclaimed. "It's my duty to protect the citizens of Shelby! It's my duty to make sure what happened to Ludington doesn't happen here! I mean to do my job, even if costs me my life."

I shook my head. "Those are noble intentions, but you have to face facts, we don't have the manpower to do the job. The people of the town are just too sick to do anything in the time we have. It would take too long."

"Let's say that we did have the manpower, then what would you suggest?"

"Why are you asking me?"

He shrugged. "I heard you used to design factory layouts and whatnot. Surely you must have some ideas to make a defensive position that could stop an invader. There has to be someway to make it impossible for an amateur army to take the town over."

I frowned. "At the factory we were making car parts, not fighting a war. We don't have the sort of materials I would want to use – plate steel and reinforced concrete - to harden a position enough to stop a more powerful force than we can muster."

"But what would you do?"

I paused to give it some thought. Then I said, "You would have to make sure both ends of the street are securely protected. Some sort of wall that is thick enough to stop tanks and high enough to hinder being scaled by men. A ditch would help too. And the back doors and windows of the buildings must be bricked up to stop easy access in those blind spots. I would remove any flammable material inside so any possible fire won't spread. Store all the food and whatever water you can because if the invaders are eating their own rations, then they won't be eating ours. Move everyone inside and arm them. But the key will be to use the height of the buildings – a couple men on top, protected by sandbags, can wreak havoc at long distances with scoped rifles."

"What about these tanks?"

"I think when she said the word tanks, she didn't mean something heavily armored, but more of a personnel carrier – something that the larger police departments would have. They're good for ferrying men around and stopping small arms fire, but something heavier will go right through their thin skin. A concrete barrier or a sharp ditch could stop such vehicles from getting too close. We would need a large gun or some explosive to really knock them out."

"Like dynamite? That's still easy enough to get around here since the farmers use them to destroy stumps and the like."

"We would still need a way to deliver it, but as I said, the whole idea is ludicrous."

The sheriff looked at his feet and kicked the dust. "Well I'm going to try your ideas anyway. I have a few of the boys to help me and a bulldozer and a bunch of tractors to do the heavy work. We'll take our chances instead of waiting to be cut down like wheat for the harvester."

"I wish you luck, Sheriff. You're going to need it. I got get back home before Tanya gets worried." I turned to leave but Snyder suddenly grabbed my arm.

His eyes betrayed an unexpected desperation. He said, "Hold on, Brent. Are you sure you won't help? You saw the destruction in Ludington. Do you want the same to happen to the people here?"

I shook my arm free. "Of course not. But there is another option. Have everyone leave town right now. When this army arrives, there won't be anyone to kill. There won't be any food and they'll move on to somewhere else."

He shook his head, his expression set in a cold mask. "This is our town. This is our community. We've been here for generations. That graveyard outside of town is filled with our ancestors, including your grandfather. What would they think of us, turning our tails and leaving the only home we have ever known? I say we make our stand here, come hell or high water."

I made a face, turned my head, and spat on the ground. "Those are fine and noble words, Sheriff. Perhaps you had better save them for the day the town gets attacked. I'm sure such a pretty speech will be a real morale booster for everyone until they get chopped down by gunfire."

"I never figured you for a coward," he said quietly.

I shot back, "The world has changed. I'm just looking out for me. I'm not going to go sacrifice myself for any greater good. I've got enough to worry about right now. If I could make a suggestion, you should leave right now. It will be getting dark soon."

"I hope to see you there tomorrow, Brent," he said before turning on his heel and stalking off to the police cruiser. He got inside, slammed the door, and fired up the engine. In a moment he was off, accelerating as fast as the car could go.

"Damn fool," I muttered to myself.
Chapter 10

That night, as I tried unsuccessfully to fall asleep on the sofa, I watched the burning embers behind the darkened glass of the wood stove doors. I was busy thinking of what the sheriff had said. I knew I was right and that they would be trapped like rats inside their hastily constructed fort. The People's Army could either starve the town out or have enough firepower on tap to kill everyone behind the feeble walls. It was a foolish way to die. My idea of leaving the area was the wiser course. I knew I was right, but why did I feel so bad about it?

I heard the door to the bedroom open. From the flickering light from the wood stove, I could see it was Tanya. She was dressed in some sweatpants and a black t-shirt that had been liberated from one of the neighboring houses. I watched silently as she sat down on the sofa across from me. I could see the dim reflection of the fire dancing on her dark eyes. Once again I was struck by her hard-edged beauty. I cautioned myself, thinking this would be an easy woman to fall in love with. And love, especially right now, would be a mistake.

When she finally spoke, her voice was low, almost like a cat purring. "This house of yours is too quiet. I could hear you tossing and turning through the door."

"I'm sorry."

"You have nothing to apologize for. The way you've been acting, I thought you had a lot on your mind. You were awfully quiet during supper."

"How's Emily?" I asked, changing the subject.

She smiled at me, her expression barely visible in the gloom. "You do carry on about that girl, don't you? As I said she's doing better. Maybe tomorrow she'll be ready to receive a visitor. But never mind her, let's talk about you. I've noticed you're the quiet kind of guy who tries to carry the burden for everyone. Look, I can help."

"Tell me, Miss Jarrett, why exactly are you staying here with us? Don't get me wrong since I do like having you around, but don't you have any other relatives that you would prefer to be with?"

She leaned back into the folds of the sofa, folding her arms together as if fighting off the chill of the night. Her expression was now lost in the shadows. "My daddy left us when I was only two. I don't remember him at all. Hell, I've never even seen a picture of him. My momma had to take up the slack raising us two girls. She originally was from Chicago and has a few sisters and brothers there, but we stayed on in Muskegon since it was home. Now that she and my sister are dead, I've got no family to go to, not unless I want to try for Chicago, and things have got to be even worse there. A big city like that has just got to be a mess by now."

"I imagine so. Look you've been a great help with Emily. I haven't had the chance to thank you."

"I like being here with you and that little girl. It's a change compared to the past few years."

"How's that?" I asked.

It took her a few moments to answer, the voice low and filled with memories. "It was never easy where I lived – jobs were hard to get and the gangs were busy selling drugs on the street corners, all while fighting each other for turf. When food prices and gasoline got more and more expensive, it put the pinch on all of us. Instead of fighting over drugs, the gangs were fighting for control of the food. A girl like me with no guns or no turf had to do whatever she could to feed her mother and sister."

My heart beat faster. Was I feeling jealous? I felt my throat constricting as I said, "Like what?"

There was an uncomfortable silence before she answered defiantly. "I did some stripping. I also had some boyfriends from the gangs. I did whatever I had to do so I could eat. I'm not proud of those days, but you don't know what it is like. There is no reason to be angry with me if you haven't been there."

"I'm not angry with you. No, no, it's not that," I lied. "I guess I never knew how hard it was there in Muskegon."

"It's not exactly the sort of thing they report on the news. What about you? How did you get here in the sticks? You don't seem like the other hillbillies living around here. You sound educated."

"I used to be an engineer. This was my grandfather's house. He built it with his own hands. I've been coming here ever since I was a little kid. When things started getting bad, I took whatever money I had and sunk it in this place: food, newer insulation, new windows, and that sort of thing. I mean to stay here and ride out the storm and wait until things get better."

"You're evading my question. I meant did you ever do anything that you're not particularly proud of?"

I let out a little laugh. "I married a woman who I shouldn't have. She was a pretty blonde, all smiles and pretty dresses. When we first met, I instantly fell in love with her to the point that I practically worshiped the ground she walked on. Not to sound bitter, but it took me a while to realize how shallow she was and how unhappy I was. After a few years, when our marriage was on the rocks, I even blamed myself for the way it all fell apart."

"I know that type of girl," she said. "Men fall all over themselves trying to please her but they never get anywhere with her heart."

"Yeah, that explains her to a tee. It's been tough going trying to forget her."

"It seems to me that we've been given a rare chance to start over. Those old times and bad decisions don't matter anymore. Instead of dwelling on the past, we should move on and think of the future."

"Maybe you're right," I said.

She said lightly, "Of course I am. Now move over and make some room for me on that lumpy sofa."

"What?"

Tanya got up and moved over to sit next to me. Her hand gently touched my bare shoulder. It felt like fire. I wrapped an arm around her waist. She slid her body down and pulled her legs up so she was resting parallel to me, facing outwards. Her body felt wonderfully soft and warm. In that wedged position, I felt crushed but comfortable. I kissed the back of her neck and ran my hand along her well-shaped hip.

"Let's not move too fast," she said gently. "We have plenty of time to get to know each other."

"Okay," I whispered in her ear, just enjoying the moment. I didn't feel hurt by her words because the situation was so unexpected. It had been years since I enjoyed the company of another woman. My wife had been the last one. It wasn't that I wanted to be alone, but it just sort of happened that way. Instead of dating or getting to know others, I had become a recluse by choice. It had seemed easier.

After a moment, she asked, "Are you going to help that sheriff protect the town from the People's Army?"

I gave a start. I felt like Tanya could read my mind. I answered, "I don't know. I feel bad for not helping, but I know it's foolish to try. We'll be outnumbered and outgunned from the very start."

The tone of her voice changed, like she was speaking to herself. "If there is one thing I learned in this life, is that you can't always win. But if you don't try, then you'll never know if you would. Life is rough, but you can't let it roll you over."

"So you are saying I should help?"

I felt her shrug. She replied, "From what I can see, you think you're a loner. But you're not. You have roots here. You have Emily to look after and now you have me. I've seen what this supposed People's Army can do, as have you. They will loot and they will kill. Even though you did a good job hiding the entrance, there's a chance that they could find your place. I say they have to be fought, even if it means losing."

"Perhaps you are right."

She made a hushing noise. "We've talked long enough, now let me get some sleep. You're going to be busy tomorrow."

The minutes ticked by. I finally fell asleep with my arms wrapped tightly around her body.

When I woke up, the dawn light was coming through the open windows. I could hear that Tanya was already in the kitchen, preparing the breakfast that was to be cooked on the wood stove. Wrapped in an old quilt, I could still smell her hair that had been pressed against my nose all night. It was a sweet smell that reminded me of the earlier days of my life. She briefly smiled at me before going into Emily's room to check on our little patient. In the meanwhile I went into the bathroom to dress and prepare myself for a long day of work.

When I came out, Tanya was waiting for me.

She said, "Emily is ready to see you."

"I really should get going," I said, feeling uncomfortable.

"Don't start," Tanya said crossly. "That little girl looks up to you. She wants to see you."

"She can see me when I get back," I said lamely.

"There's a chance that you won't come back. This may be the last time that either of us sees you."

"You're the one who convinced me to help the sheriff!" I shot back. "And now you're warning me that I could die?"

"It's about doing the right thing."

Shaking my head, I stepped over and gently opened the door to the bedroom. Poking my head in, I saw that Emily was awake. She was tucked into the bed so that only her head could be seen resting on the pillow. Her skin was pale and taut against the cheekbones, the eyes dark hollows. When she saw it was me, her face broke into a wide grin that made me feel better.

"Hello," I said as I sat down on the edge of the bed.

Her voice was weak when she answered. "Tanya said you have to go away. How long will you be gone?"

"Just a little while," I replied. "But as soon as I come back, we can start your school lessons again. And I still haven't finished reading _The Hobbit_ to you."

"I would like that," she said.

I brushed a loose strand of hair off of her forehead. "How are you getting along with Tanya?"

"She's really nice."

"I think so too. Is there anything you want?"

"Just come back as soon as you can, okay?"

I nodded, hoping that I could come back. "I have to go now. I'll see you soon."

At the kitchen table, I found a plate of sausages and reconstituted powdered eggs. Tanya was there, drinking a cup of coffee. I sat down and started to hurriedly eat. She didn't say anything, but I felt self-conscious, almost as if she was studying me. After I was done, I promptly got up. I went and grabbed the shotgun and rifle from the hooks over the door.

Before I could get out of the house, Tanya rushed over and put her arms around me. She then kissed me lightly on the cheek. "Be careful," she had said before turning away. Before I could say anything, she disappeared into the bathroom with a slam of the door. That gave me food for thought. Well I will admit that she was on my mind. I hardly knew Tanya but felt that fate had thrown us together. Where it would lead us, I did not know, but she was already filling an empty part of my life.
Chapter 11

After towing the camouflaged entrance back in place, I started driving into town. It was cloudy above, but there was no promise of rain. It was going to be ghastly hot today. Already the sweat on my back was pressed against the fabric of the seat. The grass and bushes on the side of the road looked browner than I ever remembered. I wondered how low Lake Michigan, only a scant ten miles away, was. The last time I had been there was with my wife. She had enjoyed lazing about in the sun, looking at me with knowing eyes as I jealously watched other men check her out. She had a sexual power over men and it made me sick inside thinking about it. Perhaps Tanya was right – this was a time to renew oneself and let the past go. But it was still hard to let those old memories go.

I stopped for the yellow bus parked across the street. I blew the horn for a short second and saw that Rhode's son was now manning the barrier.

"Hey!" he shouted out. "The sheriff told me you were coming! They're having a meeting downtown. Let me ride in with you."

That bit of news was almost enough to make me turn around and head on home. To think that this small town sheriff had the gall to think that I was at his beck and call made me angrier than I expected. But instead of reversing the truck, I waited until the bus had been pulled forward. I slid through the narrow opening and drove in.

I stopped and waited until Rhode moved the bus back and hopped inside my truck. There was a moment of uncomfortable silence as I drove forward.

When he finally spoke, it was with a considerable amount of nervousness. "I don't think we've been properly introduced. I'm Aaron."

"Glad to meet you," I mumbled.

"They're debating right now if we should stay put, or run for it. What do you think we should do, Brent?"

I shrugged. "I really can't say which is the best route to take."

Aaron pondered this for a moment before saying, "My dad thinks we should negotiate with the People's Army."

I nearly slammed on the brakes. Instead, I took my foot off the gas and let the truck idle along. "Negotiate what?" I asked angrily.

"Perhaps if we give them some of our food, they will go away. At least that's what my dad thinks."

I shook my head. "Trust me, I've seen what they did in Grand Rapids and Ludington. They won't take no or even a maybe for an answer. They want everything. I know your old man likes to dicker and deal, but the People's Party is like a plague of locusts – they will take and take until there is nothing left. The only thing standing between them and our food is the end of a gun."

"I-I-I think you're right," he stammered.

"Does he know your position?"

Aaron didn't answer right away. When did speak, his words were slow as if trying to find a way through a maze of thoughts. "You see my dad isn't the sort to want to hear disagreement, especially coming from his own kin. It makes me angry but I've never really told him what I think."

"Well he'll have to learn someday, won't he?"

"Yeah, I suppose so," he replied uncertainly.

I parked a block away from the downtown. I could see a small crowd men and women gathering in front of the front barrier. The sheriff was up on top, talking through a megaphone.

"Come on," I said to Aaron.

We exited the truck and joined the edges of the listening crowd.

"And that's why we have to stay," the sheriff was saying. "We have too many sick to move and too many roots here. If we work together, then the town won't be an easy pushover for this so-called People's Army. But I understand if some of you want to leave, but just be reminded that as long as I live, I won't let you come back. Only those who decided to fight should be allowed the luxury of staying."

"There's another alternative, Sheriff," a voice said. It was John Rhode, his voice loud enough to be heard over the murmurings of the crowd.

"And what might that be?" Snyder asked, this time not using the megaphone.

"We can negotiate with them," Rhode replied. "They will listen to us if we decide to give them something in return."

"Just what are you proposing?"

"It's easy, Sheriff," Rhode said smugly. "We have food and I still have some gasoline in the bottom of my tanks. We offer this People's Army half of everything if they leave us alone."

"Just half?" Snyder snapped back. "Why not give them half of your wife or half of your family? We need that food to survive. You need that gasoline to run your truck or generators. How long do you think we could survive on just half of everything worthwhile? Can you put a price on our lives?"

"I think I can," Rhode snapped back. "I know my life is worth more than the bricks that make this building. I know my life is worth more than a can of soup or a gallon of my gasoline."

"Without food, life isn't worth living," Snyder said coldly. "But since I'm not claiming to be any sort of dictator, I suggest we take a vote on our three options. Do you have any problem with that?"

Rhode shook his head.

"Okay then. If anyone wants to run for it, instead of fight, raise your hand!"

There was initially no response from the crowd. Eventually an older man with white hair raised his hand. A woman, presumably his wife, followed along. Without a word, they slipped away.

Snyder looked regretfully at the retreating couple. He then said, "Anyone think we should negotiate with this People's Army?"

A scatter of hands went up, including John Rhode. His son, however, did not vote yes. That is, he did not vote right away. However once Aaron received a glare from his father, his hand slowly crept up. He did not meet my stare but instead looked down at the ground, shamefaced.

Snyder counted the hands and then said, "And now the last vote: do we stay and fight?"

The results were clear: the people of the town were willing to risk their lives to stay here.

"Are you satisfied, Mr. Rhode?" Snyder asked.

His cheeks burning red with embarrassment, Rhode said, "I still think it's a damn fool idea, but I'll stick by to help out.

"Good! Now let's get to work."

After a brief consultation, a large contingent began working away with shovels and wheelbarrows. One man got on an excavator and began digging a trench in front of the concrete barricade. The people were like busy ants, shuttling the resulting dirt and rubble away. Slabs of corrugated steel roofing were soon added to the sides of the bus, increasing the coverage. On top of the bus someone strung a thick mesh of barbed-wire and added sandbag behind this.

I helped out where I could, digging and moving dirt from the ditch that stretched across the road.

It was an hour later when the sheriff came up to talk to me. "Ah, Brent," he said.

"Yes, I'm here, even though it was against my better judgment."

Ignoring my feeble protests, he instead pointed to the working men and women of Shelby. "I'm proud of them, but it's a damn shame we didn't couldn't start earlier."

"Is trouble coming sooner than we think?"

He nodded. "After you told me about Muskegon, I sent my deputy, Johnson, out last evening to scout down south. He reported on the radio that Whitehall had been hit and was being looted and burned. That means they are only a few miles away."

"That doesn't give us much time," I heard myself saying with a tremor that I couldn't seem to control. I felt scared now. The People's Army was moving faster than I expected. Perhaps this Eric Parker and his followers were trying to grab everything that they could, acting fast to keep everyone off balance. Or else his little army was consuming so much food and fuel that he had to keep it on the move.

"You're damn right it doesn't give us much time. They could be here at any moment. Why didn't you get these people working sooner?"

He frowned. "Most of them are so sick that they should be in bed. Plus Rhode wanted a meeting to discuss this first, so that took up some time getting that organized. And really, some of the blame goes to me. I really didn't think the People's Army would be so close. I thought we still had a little more time."

"Did Johnson tell you how many there were?"

Snyder sadly shook his head. "I lost radio contact with him. Right now I'm assuming the worst."

"What still needs to be done?"

"I've got about three-fourths of the town inside the fort now. The rest are too sick to be moved their homes or are too stubborn to leave. Whoever is fit enough to work is here. I've got the barriers almost done, but the northern side of the street is still waiting for the excavator to finish up. The outside doors and first floor windows are being boarded up right now. I'm afraid there wasn't enough time to let the mortar dry so I decided to skip the bricks."

I frowned. "That's not ideal, but it will have to do."

"I know. I'm having men move sandbags to the roofs so we can set up sniping positions. With Johnson gone, I was hoping you could take command of that section."

"Why me? Surely there has to be someone else in town willing to take the job. Someone with some military experience."

"But I trust you. I'm afraid that Rhode may have more followers on his side than expected. That could be dangerous. I know that you won't go stabbing me in the back."

I nodded. "Tell me, how many shooters do we have overall?"

The sheriff snorted. "Hell, everyone in this town has hunted at one time or another. I've got over a hundred men and all of them swear they are the best shot in the county. We have enough ammunition from the hardware store for a small war, so those city slickers won't take us that easy."

"For the work up top, I think twenty men with scoped rifles, ten for each side, will be enough for me. I would like to have the best deer hunters in the group. We'll be able to keep the enemy's heads down and keep on inflicting damage, even if they draw way. For the rest of our forces, I would split another twenty-five men for each of the barriers and then put the rest, including the woman and children on the windows. Anything or anyone that can shoot would be good there."

"That sounds sensible. That should be enough firepower to put a dent into their army."

"We discussed the possibility of using dynamite against any of their heavier vehicles. What is our supply like for that?"

"It turns out there was just a couple of sticks left. I thought we had more but I don't know where it all went."

"I'm sure if you asked Rhode, and he gave you an honest answer, then you would solve that little mystery. But I can work with what you have. Give them to me. With the remaining gas from Rhode's tanks, we can also make some Molotov cocktails which will heat things up if need be.

The rest of the morning I spent helping to erect the downtown defensive works. With the clouds gone, the sun was now blazing high in the sky, forcing the men to strip down to their waists. We worked hard and without a break, only stopping to drink water or hastily eat a meal. There was an electric crackle of anxiety in the air, though hardly anyone talked of the impending battle. Instead the conversation stayed practical: the best way to remove the dug up sewer pipes, the thickness of steel needed to stop a high-powered rifle bullet, or the best defensive positions for those manning the barriers.

It was many hours later when I found myself on top of the western line of building, helping to carry sandbags. By placing them on the corners and along the top, we constructed several firing loopholes that would allow us to shoot without exposing ourselves to enemy fire. I was no expert in military tactics, but this kind of arrangement just made sense. Or else I had seen too many war movies.

With the black tar slanted roofs, it was burning hot up here. Those who had volunteered to man the top of the buildings were an odd assortment. I recognized a few of them – Tom Baker, who ran a cash register at the hardware store, old Sam Tyler, who once was the fire chief, and John Heller, the town's ne'er do well – famous for drunken brawls and fathering several illegitimate children. The sheriff hadn't selected them for their good looks, but for their known hunting skills and the long range power of the scoped rifles they carried.

It was nearing suppertime when one of my outlooks gave a shout. At the time I was busy making Molotov cocktails. I stuffed the rag into the top of the gas-filled wine bottle and ran over to his side. Binoculars planted on his eyes, he was pointing to the south of town which was the road leading from the highway exit. I could see a line of vehicles coming. The enemy was here.
Chapter 12

I took the binoculars from the sentry's hand. Adjusting the focus, I peered at the oncoming convoy. It was incredibly long, leading me to believe that hundreds, perhaps thousands, of men were descending upon Shelby. In the lead was a semi with a split bulldozer blade attached to the bumper. The front windows were covered with riveted metal. Flanking this were two full-sized pickups, each with a manned machine gun attached to a tripod bolted to the bed. Behind this was another semi, this one hauling a flatbed trailer that had two armored personnel carriers with some non-military, probably police markings. The rest of the convoy was a stream of random cars, RVs, a mid-sized tanker, and then three semis with closed trailers. From where I was standing, it looked like a whole heap of trouble

Ahead of them was one of the buses that was being used to block the road into town. The lead semi accelerated, leaving the two escort trucks behind in a belch of black diesel smoke. It was going at a terrific speed when it struck the front section of the bus. There was a crash of steel that tore into the bodywork like tin. A screech cracked the air as the rubber of the wheels skidded along the black asphalt. The bus was pushed away like a toy, coming to rest on its side. The convoy drove through this destruction and entered the outskirts of the town.

I turned and saw that the men with me had watched this spectacle with open mouths as if surprised by the violence. At first I had been expecting some sort of negotiation from the enemy, but their intentions were now clear. They were closing in fast and were going to try to take everything no matter what we did.

I shouted down to the men manning the barrier below, "They've made it through the bus. We're going to be next!"

I saw the sheriff wave his hat at me. "Okay, Brent!" he shouted. "Just keep on feeding us information."

I waved back at him. "Find a good position and start firing!" I said to my men. "Concentrate your fire on those leading trucks with the machine guns. We have to take those out!"

The men dropped behind the sandbags, training their rifles through the loop holes we had just constructed. They began to eagerly fire at the enemy. I watched through the binoculars as the windshield splintered on one of the trucks. A radiator started leaking on another. Suddenly one of the vehicles veered off, plowing straight into a house with a crash that sent aluminum siding flying. The other truck slowed, ducking behind the semi. It was pointless to fire at this thing since it would take a lucky shot to disable the armored beast.

"Careful now!" I ordered. "Wait until we get another good target!"

The quick dispatch of one of their lead trucks put a stop to their forward momentum. Instead of heading towards the downtown, the convoy took a left and disappeared behind the now empty fruit packing plant. We took this chance to put a couple of bullets into the sides of the other vehicles. I don't know if we caused any damage, but it would make them think before trying another frontal assault.

The men below, who had been watching from the ramparts, gave a feeble cheer. We had won the first round of the battle. However my real worry was with those armored carriers. We had nothing in our arsenal that could put a dent in them from long range. Instead we would have to wait until they got close so we could use the dynamite or Molotov cocktails. And there was no guarantee of success there since the six-wheeled APCs looked quite rugged. But still, they were meant for handling a little civilian trouble, not for real combat.

It was just a moment of time when a black foreign luxury car wheeled around the corner. A white flag was waving from the open window.

"Don't shoot," I cautioned the men near me. I shouted over to the others on the rooftop across from us to make sure they also held their fire. It was quite easy to get carried away when you were fighting for your life.

The car slowed, stopping in front of the ditch. Through the binoculars, I could see the shadow of a driver. The rear door opened and out stepped a man wearing a green shirt, gray pants, shiny black boots, and even a black beret that he wore at a jaunty angle over his graying hair. A brown holster was slung around his waist. He looked like a man playing soldier, but his voice had the distinct edge of military or perhaps police command.

"Who's in charge here?" he shouted.

Snyder stood up from his position on top of the barrier. He said, "I guess you could say I am. I'm the sheriff of this town."

The newcomer eyed Snyder and then said, "I am General Hamilton of the People's Army."

"A general?" someone down below laughed.

Hamilton ignored this and went on. "I have been ordered to commandeer what goods in this town I see fit to take. The population here will be put under the protectorship of Lord Parker, who now rules all of Michigan. It will be to your benefit since there will be food for everyone! This we promise."

The very idea that they would treat us well was absurd. I couldn't help but laugh and I was soon joined by the others. This laughter made this so-called general turn red with anger. He stood there glaring at us.

The sheriff waved his hands to quiet us down. "Well, Mr. Hamilton, we're in a tight spot here. You've got that army of yours with its little tanks and big rigs. All we have are a few sheets of metal and some old brick buildings that our great-grandparents made so very long ago. We appear to be at a disadvantage." He looked back at us, carefully meeting our eyes. "But we know what you've been doing to the other towns around here. You've been stealing and killing without recourse. Your men are animals! So no, we won't surrender and we won't give in to any of your demands. We already know the price we will pay if we give in."

Hamilton shook his head. "Sheriff, there's been a bit of a misunderstanding. You see we didn't hurt anyone – those must have been other groups that you've heard about. We're here to protect our fine citizens. We offer food, gasoline, and even medical supplies that will help cure the terrible disease that has been killing so many innocents. We just ask to be let in so we can take some of your supplies back to other people in need. We all have to share if we want to survive these terrible times."

The people of Shelby were quiet now. I could tell that these words had an effect on some of them, especially John Rhode, who was nodding in agreement.

Before anyone could be swayed by these words, Snyder quickly said, "That's a mighty pretty speech there, but let me ask you a question. I sent my deputy down to Whitehall to determine what was going on down there. You know, kind of scout the area to see what you were up to. He gave me a radio report that the town was being looted and burned. My deputy then lost contact with me. You wouldn't know anything about that, would you? His name was Johnson."

"Of course not," Hamilton said stiffly.

The sheriff snorted. "So he just had an accident then – nothing of your doing. That's a mighty strange coincidence."

"I don't care what you think. You must abandon this wretched little fort of your or else I will be forced to open fire. I have my orders and mean to carry them out. I will give you twenty minutes to decide. You can wave a white flag when you are ready to surrender."

"You can watch for my lily-white ass," the sheriff snapped back before stepping down. This brought out a cheer from most of us. Hamilton scowled and the slipped inside the car and slammed the door. The driver backed up and slowly pulled away to our jeers.

When we had quieted down, Rhode spoke up. "You heard the man. I say we take his offer."

Standing next to him was his son, Aaron. He was shaking his head, looking down at the ground.

"We've already voted on the matter," Snyder said. "I heard nothing that will change my mind. Now get back to your position."

Rhode scowled at him and grabbed his son's shoulder. They both returned to their positions inside the pharmacy.

The sun was almost gone now, turning the sky to the darker shade of twilight. I wondered what the enemy's next move would be. In my mind, I went through the possibilities. Based on the bearing of Hamilton, I would guess that he was ex-military, perhaps even an officer of some sort. That would mean fairly standard attack maneuvers – using snipers and machine gun fire to keep our heads down while moving up the armored vehicles with infantry to provide support. Any attacking troops would use the buildings and trees between us to provide cover before sprinting the short distance to our walls. It was there that they had to find our weakest point. But where was that?

"Sheriff!" I called down.

"What is it, Brent?" he shouted back.

"Look, we will need more men inside the buildings to protect the doors and windows. That's our weak spot. Once they get in that way, we will be forced into some close quarter fighting. They have more men than us, so we'll lose in the end."

"I get it. I'll take half the men from the barriers and move them inside."

As soon as he finished that sentence, bullets started coming our way. There was the long ripping noise of a distant machine gun firing. The lead projectiles slammed into the brick walls and the metal of our hastily constructed barrier, sending ricochets whining and spitting everywhere. Like the others up on the roof, I ducked behind a sandbag. A long shiver of fear passed down my back, making me feel sick to my stomach. It took all of my willpower to peer with the binoculars towards the packing plant. There I immediately saw a moving truck with its headlights off. It was steering a wide loop around us, ducking through side streets and past buildings. But the blinking flash of the machine gun muzzle gave away its position.

"I want that machine gun taken out!" I ordered, pointing in the direction of the fire coming our way.

The men with me began to shoot at the distant truck. These shots were answered by the enemy hiding amongst the empty pallets and containers of the packing plant. Several rounds thudded into the sandbag near me.

Tom Baker, who was lying on his stomach next to me, suddenly let out a painful scream. "They got me!" he shouted.

I crawled over, rolled him over, and saw that his forearm had been grazed – a lucky shot to get through the firing loops we had created – leaving a long bloody gouge in his flesh.

I said, "It doesn't look too bad. Use your belt as a tourniquet."

He did as I suggested, gritting his teeth as the leather bit deeply into his flesh.

"Keep shooting!" I yelled out, trying to keep the morale up.

I don't know who made the lucky shot, but the machine gun fire suddenly stopped. The truck continued to move, but this time much more slowly. It finally stopped for cover behind a two-story house.

The top of the roof where we were laying was now scattered with piles of bullet casings. We were really pouring it on. Luckily we had plenty of ammunition taken from the hardware store. But if we got into a protracted siege then we would have to start rationing our bullets.

Hamilton made his next move. From behind the packing plant came the two personnel carriers, their turret-mounted guns clacking away at our position. Following them were four pickup trucks, each bed loaded with shadows that I took to be a number of men. This convoy made a beeline for us, using the main road and not even bothering to find cover.

"Concentrate on the trucks, not the tanks!" I croaked out. It was better to deal with the men when we could since the armor of the carriers was too thick to be pierced by our small-caliber bullets. Even as I spoke, I could feel my heart in my mouth. The past few minutes had stretched into an infinity of gunfire and fear. This was one hell of a place for a systems engineer to be.

The side under my direct command heard the orders, but across the way, the other men apparently did not since I could see the brief flash of ricocheting bullets striking the heavy steel of the personnel carriers. I wished for a walkie-talkie so they could stop the useless waste of ammunition. Below us, the men station on the barrier were firing with several bursts of small caliber fire interspersed with the boom of a shotgun or a big rifle suited for taking out deer..

Nearing the ditch, the enemy convoy split to the left and right in an attempt to take both of our flanks. I crawled over to the Molotov cocktails that had been prepared. There were a dozen there with several lighters that had been contributed by the cigarette smokers of the town. I grabbed a lighter and stuffed it in my pocket. I then took a bottle in each hand and half-crouched, half-ran over to the edge of the outside roof. Peering over the corner, I could see the personnel carrier crawling over the empty back lot behind the row of our buildings. It was moving slowly like a prehistoric beast, the bark of the its repeating gun making my ears ring.

With shaking hands, I lit one of the Molotov cocktails and dropped it over the side. It hit the corner of the armored vehicle, shattering into a ball of flame. The dry grass of the nearby lawn immediately started on fire. A few shots from the men in the truck went by me, one hitting the brick near my face, showering my cheek with a combination of dust and fragments.

I rolled on my side and lit the other. This time I took better aim and threw it directly down on top of the personnel carrier. It exploded into a big ball of flame, spreading lit gasoline all over. The vehicle trundled on, but this time it swung violently to the left and the right as if in a blind rage. It soon stopped and the hatch popped open. The driver got out and ran for it. A few shots went his way, but he lucked out and was soon hidden in the darkness beyond.

From the light of the burning gas, I saw that the soldiers in the back of the pickup truck had unloaded. They were now kicking and pulling at the boarded up doors and windows, trying desperately to gain access inside. The defenders on the second story were making things hot for them, with buckshot and bullets cutting swaths into the thin ranks of enemies. The dead and wounded were scattered on the ground. It only took a few seconds of this unrelenting damage and then they broke for it, some running for safety while others hopped in the backs of the now damaged trucks. The men on our side continued firing, bringing down several more attackers and even disabling a truck that sputtered to a stop.

The action on the other side was still hot with the sound of men screaming and guns firing. I stuffed a few sticks of dynamite into my coat pocket, grabbed two more Molotov cocktails, and ran for the door leading to the stairs. I took these three at a time, nearly colliding with a woman carrying a shotgun. Going through the ground level door, I was out on to the street, running as fast as I could for the other side. An explosion rocked me hard enough that I stumbled and fell backwards.

With the safety of the Molotov cocktails in mind, I landed hard on my back with a jolt of pain that took my breath away. I shook my head, feeling disorientated. Brick dust and debris covered the ground around me. Near the corner of the corrugated metal barrier and the first building was a massive hole that had been made by some kind of explosion. The edges were singed deeply with black and still smoldering with heat. A few mangled bodies, some still moving, were on the ground. The area was stained with blood and gore.

It had to be bomb. The enemy had planted a bomb there, using the attack as a diversion to draw our fire away from whoever planted it. I had to give that Hamilton bastard props for such an audacious plan. I certainly didn't think of such a possibility and felt foolish for overlooking it. Now we had a big gap in our defenses that would be hard to plug.

I realized my ears were ringing so hard that I couldn't hear anything. This made everything seem strange and dreamlike. I almost didn't care when I saw an enemy soldier, who was dressed in army fatigues, come through the hole. He was armed with an AR-15, the civilian version of the famed M-16. It was the sight of the gun that finally snapped me back to reality. Using the lighter from my pocket, I lit a Molotov cocktail and chucked it hard into the opening. It exploded into a fiery ball, engulfing the soldier with fire. For good measure, I threw the other one, creating a temporary wall of hot orange fire. I could see a knot of attackers on the other side, trying to get through but overcome by the heat and flames.

A hand grabbed my arm and jerked me away to the safety of a doorway. I then realized I had been standing there like a fool, waiting to catch a bullet. I saw it was Sheriff Snyder. He was yelling something at me but I couldn't make out the words. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a flash of movement. I turned my head to see what it was. A pickup truck loaded with unused building materials suddenly went hurtling past us, straight into the gap. I saw the flash of enemy guns firing and then the view of the outside was blocked by the vehicle crashing into the opening. The driver stumbled out, only to be immediately shot in the back. I saw it was Aaron Rhode. He had finally stood up to his father but it had cost the poor fellow his life.

Snyder pointed up to the rooftop that I had been stationed at. I nodded, understanding that he wanted me to go back to my post. It was going to be a long night.
Chapter 13

The gap that the People's Army had created in our defense drew them in like moths to the flame. Instead of looking for another weak spot, the enemy spent the next hour attacking this same area over and over. It became a killing ground for both sides, though the attackers took the brunt of the casualties since their soldiers had to run across open ground to get there, all while braving lethal sniper fire from my men. Once they reached the opening, they were greeted by the guns under the command of Snyder. It was cruel and grueling work, but it beat the alternative: my death.

Our seriously wounded were carried to the basement where Doctor Corley did what he could for them. The dead were laid out in the middle of the street, hopefully to be buried someday soon. Our problem as defenders boiled down numbers. The enemy had so many more men that they would eventually overwhelm us. It was a losing game with no way to win in sight. But we still fought on since now there was nothing to lose.

After a burst of heavy fighting, there was an unexpected lull. I was sitting with my back against a bricked chimney. It was colder now, but still too warm for a normal morning in late October. As the sky began to lighten in the east, the ringing in my ears had subsided enough that I could just start to hear again. I had begun to wonder why the enemy had stopped attacking. My answer came quickly enough when I peered through the binoculars and scanned the rooftops of the houses, looking for snipers. I felt horrified what I saw. While their comrades had been busy, other members of the People's Army had been at work, dragging out any of the residents that had not joined us inside the makeshift fortress. The resulting dead had been left scattered on the driveway and streets, apparently shot execution style in the back of the head. In the distance they looked like ragdolls. We had been too busy with fighting to hear the struggles and resulting gunshots just a few blocks over.

I then turned my attention to the packing plant. The vehicles were still hidden behind the bulk of the building, but I could see a few armed men dawdling around as if waiting for something to happen.

My attention was diverted by the grating sound of the door opening. It was Snyder. He was looking bedraggled with dark circles and a sickly, pale face. He was carrying two cups. Sitting down, he handed me one.

"Coffee?" I said hopefully.

"Just made and still hot. I gotta say that you look like hell."

I laughed, shaking my head. "You don't look so good yourself, Sheriff. How are things holding up at the street level?"

He gave a tired sigh. "Morale isn't exactly mountain high right now, but we're keeping it together. The alternative is worse, but I wouldn't be surprised if some decide to hightail it out of here."

I pointed in the general direction of the nearby houses. "You saw the dead bodies the enemy left in the streets?"

The sheriff nodded. "Yep. I told those people to come with us, but they were just too stubborn. But being stubborn is no reason to die, at least not that way."

I pointed in the direction of the packing plant. "The attacks seem to have stopped. Do you have any guesses why?"

He shrugged, the motion causing the coffee in his hand to almost slosh over the sides. "I think Shelby turned out to be a harder nut to crack than they thought. We've hurt them pretty bad so they're off licking their wounds for now. Nonetheless, I'm sure that Hamilton fellow has some new devilish trick up his sleeve."

The corner of my eye caught a glimpse of a vehicle along the southern road from the highway. It was an old black pickup that was towing something. I put the binoculars to my eyes and let out a gasp as soon as I saw what it was. I handed the binoculars over to Snyder.

"I'll be damned," he said after a gasp escaped his lips. "I was afraid of something like this. Now they can sit back and just destroy us from a distance. I had better tell everyone down there that we will have to make a break for it. That means most of us are going to die."

It was an artillery gun – a short stubby model with a small barrel, but still with enough firepower to knock the buildings here flat. It would also have a longer range than we could muster with just a rifle. That kind of weapon had to be some leftover from an Army Reserve base or some museum piece that had been restored to use again. It was no wonder that Hamilton had pulled his soldiers out since he could batter away at our defenses without any return fire.

"Damn, damn," Snyder muttered to himself. "I can't think of any way out of this mess."

I took the binoculars back from him and trained it on the truck carrying the artillery piece. It had stopped, the driver talking to a soldier. It then reversed onto a field. The doors opened and out came three men who began working to unlimber the gun from the hitch. At the angle they had parked, I could see a line of shells packed away in the bed.

I scanned back to the plant and saw that Hamilton's black car was coming towards us. Once again it had the white flag flying out from the window.

"I believe that general wants to have another talk with you," I said.

"Shit, we should forget military conventions and just shoot him when he gets into range."

"I don't have a problem with that," I said. "The bastard doesn't deserve any such consideration after what he did last night."

Snyder made a face. "I suppose I should go down and hear what the little general has to say. I'm sure I won't like it even if he promised us all the food in the world."

He left me, slowly ambling over to the doorway that led downstairs. As I watched him open the door and disappeared inside, I shook my head, thinking this sheriff was born in the wrong time. He would have made a great lawmen in the Old West. Perhaps it was all a front that bought enough votes to win the election every time. Well he didn't have to worry about elections anymore since he was now the defacto leader of the whole town.

The car stopped in front of the trench. A rear door opened and Hamilton got out. He examined our defenses with a practiced eye as if taking measure of how much fight we had left in us.

"Hello, General!" Snyder called out from on top of the barrier. "I hope you are having a good morning, killing innocents and all that."

I looked down and saw the men and women of the town gathering to hear what our fate was going to be.

Hamilton smiled wanly. He said, "Out of the kindness of my heart, I have come once again to ask for your surrender. As before, the conditions are just and fair. We know that you have innocent women and children in there, so why make them suffer just to keep your pride intact?"

The sheriff pointed to the left and right, indicating the homes outside our hastily constructed fortress. "I hope those poor people out there didn't suffer too much before you shot them in the head. Is that the kind of mercy we shall receive from you?"

"That was just a lesson to prove that are helpless against us. But you have my word that no harm will come to you or anyone else inside."

Snyder shook his head. "You have a funny way of proving that your word is any good. Why should I believe you?"

Hamilton actually laughed. "Because you don't have any choice. If you didn't already know, there is an artillery gun being setup in that lot over there behind the plant. After that commendable fight that was put up last night, I went and radioed for some backup. The command in Grand Rapids sent me that. Now you can either give up, or else I will have to give the order for this area to be shelled. You wouldn't want the blood of innocents on your hands, would you?"

The sheriff spat. "As far as I can tell, all of the blood is on your hands, General."

"I'll give you a half-an-hour to think it over. If you don't surrender in the time allotted, then the shelling will begin." Hamilton then gave a jaunty salute and then clambered back into the car.

"Hold your fire," I said to John Heller, who was peering at the car through the scope of his Marlin rifle.

"He doesn't deserve to live," he said angrily.

"I know, but unlike them, we're still civilized. Let's keep it that way for now. But if he ever gets into range again, then you have my permission to shoot the bastard if I don't get him first."

"Fine," he said nastily.

Below the townspeople were talking amongst themselves. The sheriff turned and sat down on the barrier to watch them. There was a low, rolling murmur of discontent and fear.

John Rhode finally spoke up. "We can't survive here, Sheriff. We will have to surrender or die." There were shouts of agreement that rippled through the crowd.

Snyder took off his hat and wiped his brow. "You're probably right there, John, but I would rather die fighting than give into their demands. Just take a look at the streets over there – everywhere you look around us, you can see someone you know who was killed by the bastards. There's no guarantee that we will walk out of here alive."

"He could be telling us the truth!" Rhode retorted.

"I know you're angry that you lost your boy last night. But even if we are free to leave, they will just take all of our food and leave us defenseless. That means we will die anyway but of instead of a bullet, it will be through starvation. I would rather go quick than be killed the slow way."

I shouted, drawing the attention of everyone. "We can still fight it out! I saw they only had maybe ten or maybe fifteen rounds of ammunition for that artillery piece. We can ride that out if we evacuate everyone, including the wounded, down into the basement. However, a few of us will have to stay up here to watch their movements. Once the main force makes a move, we'll call everyone up from the basement."

My words were punctuated by the scream of a falling shell. Everyone but a few of the braver souls fled inside, screaming in panic. John Rhode and Sheriff Snyder stood still, listening intently. From my position, I saw the first round strike some eighty yards in front of our dug ditch. There was a cloud of asphalt and dirt thrown high into the air. It appeared that the enemy were ranging in the gun and trying to scare us at the same time.

A few men poked their heads out, their faces pale with fear.

The sheriff yelled, "Get back inside and into the basement. Like Brent said, we'll ride this out and then give them hell when they come back. Don't worry, we will survive this!"

"And just who are you giving orders, Sheriff?" Rhode said, his voice shaking with anger.

"I'm just the man who keeps law and order in this town. Do you think someone else would be better for the job?"

"Yes I do, Sheriff," Rhode replied, his voice rising in intonation.

I went unnoticed on top of the roof. Reaching over, I picked up my nearby shotgun and trained it on Rhode. I had a bad feeling that something violent was about to happen. I didn't trust the man.

"And just who could take over?" the sheriff asked lazily.

"Me!"

Snyder laughed and Rhode went for a pistol tucked under his shirt. But the old sheriff was too fast for him and had his own gun out in a flash. Rhode stopped when he saw he didn't have a chance.

"I suggest you get down in the basement with the others," Snyder said coldly.

Rhode didn't say a word but turned on his heel and walked into the pharmacy. He disappeared inside and slammed the door shut.

The sheriff shook his head, and then turned to look up at me. "Thanks for the backup," he said.

"Didn't look like you needed it," I said with admiration. "You're quick on the draw."

He snorted. "It was the obvious move on his part. I laughed at him so he would get the chance to do it. But right now he's no worry. Never mind him, what's going on with our friends out there?"

"Let me check."

I peered through the binoculars again and saw three men clustered around the artillery piece. They were making some adjustment to the angle of the barrel and then sighting through a telescope. A shell was pushed into the chamber and they moved away with fingers over their ears. One of them, a tall man wearing a helmet strapped tightly to his head, was getting ready to pull a long cord attached to the gun.

"Better get under cover!" I shouted.

Snyder scurried to one of the doorways. The men near me hugged the top of the roof. I followed suit.

There was a momentary whistling noise. The shell dropped straight into the compound and exploded with a mighty roar. Asphalt and shrapnel went flying everywhere, shattering windows. The ground shook as remnants of dirt rained on top of me. A dark plume of smoke rolled into the air. I felt my heart racing with panic as I fought the urge to flee. The next shell was closer to the barrier and exploded with the same intense fury as the last. I had read books about soldiers snapping from constant artillery fire and now I could understand their predicament. One felt helpless in such a situation and a whole bombardment of such infernal devices would have sent me running away like any sane human.

There was another whistling noise and this time I could tell by the terrible sound that the bus has been hit. I crawled over and peered over the edge. My guess was confirmed. A hole has been blown through the middle of the body and black smoke was spiraling into the air. I rolled over onto my stomach and waited.

Next to me, John Heller said, "We've got to get out of here!" His voice rose in pitch with every word.

"There's nowhere to go!" I shouted back. "Just sit still for now. They're just trying to make a wide enough gap in our defenses so they can drive right through us. They won't be shooting into the buildings for fear of destroying the food supply." At least the words sounded good to my ears. I had no idea if they were true or not. These were desperate enemies who would be willing to do anything to kill us.

The rounds continued to fall, most of them hitting on or close to our hastily constructed barrier. A thick haze of smoke and dust hung in the air, making me cough fitfully. It was a maelstrom of noise and fury, but somehow I found myself getting used to it. Up here on the roof, I felt strangely safe and disconnected from what was going on below.

The shelling stopped. I rolled over and peered over the edge of roof. I saw that the bus was nothing but a spot of burning twisted steel. The windows all along the buildings had been shattered and the ground was strewn with debris: metal, brick, glass, and bloody fragments of our dead who had been left in the middle of the street. There was nothing left of the original barrier except for the ditch and that wouldn't stop them for long.

"They're coming!" one of my men shouted.

I reached for my rifle and joined the men at the sandbags. He was right. A large group of the enemy was moving towards us with the surviving armored personnel carrier taking the front position. Behind that was a long line of a dozen or so pickup trucks, each stuffed with men riding in the bed. Taking up the back there were also some one hundred men on foot. Their gunfire started up, sending rounds ricocheting and whining along the walls and ground. We began shooting back, but the effect against such a force was like pinpricks on a giant. It was only a matter of time before we were overwhelmed. Somehow I felt no fear, but a grim determination to see it through until the end. It didn't matter what happened now.

The people of the town tried to fight back but there wasn't any cover from the barrage of lead. Anyone who ventured too far out into the street was immediately cut down. Firing from the cover of windows and doorways wasn't enough to slow the coming behemoth down. Without the defensive barrier, we were doomed.

The personnel carrier stopped right in front of the trench, the gun in the turret spitting death. I saw our men and women fall from the relentless firepower. Next came the pickup trucks, the one mounted with the machine gun was firing long bursts, giving cover as the enemy unloaded and joined the attack.

I left my rifle on the ground and rolled over to the remaining Molotov cocktails. Without aiming, I lit and threw each one over the side, towards where the enemy was massing. I did the same with the only sticks of dynamite on hand, creating a series of explosions that rocked the ground and sent up a chorus of pained screams from the soldiers below.

I grabbed my shotgun and checked the loads. "Come on!" I shouted to the men. Not even waiting for them, I ran down the stairs, screaming as I went. I knew I was going to die, but I was going to take a few of the bastards with me.
Chapter 14

The hallway on the ground floor was crowded with woman and children, their eyes wide as saucers. Some were crying while others were as still as statues possibly made immobile by shock. The outside door had been blown off its hinges and lay askew on the ground. Two dead men were lying here, bloodied and torn with gunshot wounds. The sound outside was overwhelming with screaming soldiers, gunfire, and bullets ricocheting off the outside walls and asphalt. Across the street, I could see Sheriff Snyder taking careful aim with his pistol. He fired quickly and calmly without paying attention to the obvious danger.

I saw a shadow fall across the entrance. It was an enemy soldier, his taut, scared faces streaked with sweat. He was running towards the doorway, assault weapon at the ready. Without even thinking, I brought the shotgun and fired at him. In that enclosed spot, the blast made my eardrums ache. The buckshot tore into the man, dropping him to the ground like an armored fist. I will never forget the sick feeling that passed through my bones as I watched him gasp in pain and twitch with pain. I chambered another round and fired again, mercifully finishing him off.

Running over, I picked up the assault rifle. It was an AR-15, the stock slippery with blood. Glancing up, I saw the sheriff was still up, firing his pistol at the rushing enemy. A bleeding hole in his shirt showed that he had been wounded in the shoulder. It was chaos outside. I watched in helpless horror as John Rhode came out of the darkened doorway behind the sheriff. He triumphantly smiled, and with a rifle, shot Snyder in the back of the head. The sheriff's hat went tumbling off with a splash of blood and then he slumped to the ground like a lifeless doll.

I saw all of this in a state of shock. The moment just seemed unreal. Screaming in rage, I jumped outside and fired the assault rifle at Rhode, but the street was now too crowded with soldiers. The burst of bullets missed my intended target and instead hit one of the enemy. In the confusion, Rhode disappeared back inside. I hardly knew what I was doing as I emptied the clip into the rushing attackers. My fleeting thoughts were of poor Tanya and Emily, wishing they could survive without me. If only I had stayed home instead of trying to save this damned town.

With a searing burst of pain, I found that I could no longer stand. I was hit. I fell, my leg burning with a burst of pain that almost made me pass out. The rifle tumbled from my hands. I reached for my thigh and felt warm blood. The sound of the gunfire suddenly grew to a crescendo. It took me a few moments to realize that the expected bullets weren't coming my way. I opened my eyes and down the street, I saw the most curious and unexpected sight. Instead of continuing the attack on us, the enemy had turned and was now firing their weapons the other way. I didn't understand what was going on. Why would they let up on us like this unless they were being assaulted from the rear?

I felt hands grab me by the shoulders. I looked and saw that two women from town were pulling me into back into the hallway. They looked scared but their jawlines were set with determination. The shotgun was still slung over my shoulder, digging into my back. It was going to be hell on the metal and wood stock.

Once I was propped up against a wall, one of leaned over and said, "Are you okay?"

I shook my head.

"Do you think you can walk?"

"I can try," I said feebly. I tried to stand. My leg hurt but could still support my weight. I carefully looked myself over and saw that the wound, though bleeding, was only superficial. The bullet had somehow passed through the skin of my thigh but hadn't severed any arteries. It would be a long time before I wanted to play any football, but I could limp along under my own power.

"What's going on out there?" I asked.

One of the woman answered, "I don't know. There's a whole mob of people fighting the soldiers hand-to-hand. I've never seen anything like it."

"Thank you for helping me," I said. I then hopped over to the stairs and began slowly climbing upward. Each step was pure agony. My vision began to blur and the world was spinning in a most sickening manner. When I made it to the roof, I saw that my men still hadn't left their posts. But instead of hiding behind their sandbags, they were standing and watching the scene below. Tom Baker saw me and came over to help me to the ledge so I could look for myself.

The scene below was nothing but chaos. The remaining members of the People's Army were standing in a defensive line across the destroyed barrier. They were firing at a rushing mass of humanity made up of all sorts – young and old, skinny and fat, and wearing different clothing, most of them nothing but rags. There must have been thousands of them jumping over the barrier to attack the soldiers. The crash of bullets tore savagely into this mob, killing left and right, but there were just too many of them to be stopped by lead alone. One by one, the soldiers were pulled down and assaulted. Off to the side and apparently out of ammunition, the armored personnel carrier had stopped firing. It was surrounded, but moving slowly through the crowd which was beating against the metal hull with closed fists.

Baker said, "They came from the east. When I first saw them, I thought they were more enemy soldiers joining in the fight. But just look, there are so many of them. There's nothing that can stop them."

A sudden thought jogged my memory. "Get me a pair of binoculars," I said.

"Here, take mine."

I put them up to my eyes and scanned the faces of these new attackers. Once I saw the wide black eyes and blood-veined faces, I knew what I was seeing. These were the same type of monsters that had attacked me the day that I had rescued Emily. Those things had converted her parents, who I did not have the heart to kill. Had they spread this infection on to others? The idea was ludicrous, but the evidence was right here in front of my eyes.

"We have to leave now!" I exclaimed. I started hobbling toward the stairway.

"But why?" someone asked. "They look to be saving our hides."

"They are sick!" I shot back. "And if you get infected by them, you won't stop attacking healthy people until you are killed or die. I've seen this before. Come on!"

There was a stunned silence. Before I could say anything more, the men quickly grabbed their scant belongings and rushed for the exit.

Because of my injury, I was the last one to reach the stairs. From my position, I could see we were bunching up, unable to move forward. A rush of women and children were screaming in panic, trying to get past us and up onto the roof. There was the sound of sporadic fire coming from below. The men in front of me pushed through the crowd which continued upward. When I tried to ask one of the women what was passing by, I only received a blank stare. Her eyes were stung with tears. It was a sea of humanity swept with fear.

The first man on the stairs made it to the second floor landing which was awash with blood. He immediately began firing at some target I could not see. He was joined by the rest of the men. The rifles were poor weapons for such close quarter fighting. I pulled the shotgun off of my shoulder and brought it up, ready to fire. Below us was a horde of people, their eyes empty and black. They were packed tightly on the staircase, trying to reach us with the fervor of a parched man grasping for a drink of water.

I fired again and again into this mass, the buckshot tearing wide gaps into their ranks and leaving the stairs soaked with running blood and fallen bodies. However our combined firepower was barely slowing them down. They were immune to fear and great in numbers. Soon they would have us overwhelmed.

I pulled the trigger. Nothing happened. I had already fired my last shell. I promptly loaded up with the shells in my jacket pocket. As I did this I felt a rush of adrenaline that made my hands shake. An uneasy prickling sensation made me glance over my shoulder. There were more of them behind us, moving out of the rooms where earlier they had presumably trapped others. A good dozen of these creatures were coming down the hallway, straight towards us. Their lips and hands were smeared with blood. With a jolt of pain in my leg, I spun around on my ankle and unloaded all of my freshly loaded rounds down that corridor. Each shot made my ears ring. When I had finished, there was a pile of corpses, broken wood, and shattered plaster.

Everything was moving too fast. As the horde scrambled to the top of the landing, the men with me broke, rushing away from the oncoming onslaught. Some went back up the stairs while others headed down the hallway behind us. I followed the latter. It was every man for himself now. Out of shells, I slung the shotgun over my shoulder and pulled out my fully-loaded Browning pistol. I had ten rounds in the clip and prayed it would be enough to get me out of here.

In a headlong flight, I took the first door to the left which led to an apartment located the outside wall. Without even looking, I slammed the door shut and locked it with the deadbolt. It was a small place with cheap furnishings and threadbare carpet. Any other detail was lost in the moment of panic. I wasn't alone in here. There were two women and a young girl – I was reminded of Emily – in here, all lying face down on the floor with bloody bite marks on their arms. Beyond them was a window with the glass punctured with bullet holes. I knew I had to get outside where at least I could have some fighting chance against this inhuman mob.

There was a pounding noise that sounded like my heart was about to explode. It took me a moment to realize it was the door behind me. It began to shake as the creatures on the other side began to hammer the thin wood with fists and feet. I went for the window but the three figures on the floor rose, blocking my way. Their eyes were solid black and the skin of the face flushed red hot. I recognized them as residents of the town. The little girl was the first to come at me, her teeth bared. I just couldn't shoot her, so I gave her a swift kick that sent her sprawling. The two women closed in, nothing but a fury of swinging arms and fingernails.

I fired the Browning. The bullet struck the women on the left, straight in an eye. With a spurt of blood, she crumpled to the ground. The other one was too quick, grabbing at for the hand that held the gun, her sharp fingernails scraping against my skin. She was inhumanely strong. As she drew closer and bared her teeth to bite me, I cocked my arm back and struck the poor woman in the jaw as hard as I could. It rocked her hard enough to send her stumbling backwards. But it was only a moment of respite before she came at me again.

I could hear the door behind me begin to crack, but I didn't look in that direction. Instead I brought the pistol up and shot the charging woman two times in the chest. I stepped aside as she went running past, trailing blood, her mouth frozen in a scream. She fell by the door.

The little girl charged again, so I gave her another kick. She slipped, tripping over the woman I had first killed. I then ran for the window and smashed it with the barrel of the pistol, sending the remaining glass raining below. As I did this, the door burst open and a group of the bastards came rushing in. I didn't take the time to lower myself over the ledge, but instead jumped.

For a brief moment, I had the sensation of flying through the air. I saw nothing but pavement below. I landed hard on my side, rolling as I went. A burst of pain raked my body. I felt scraped and bruised from head to foot, my wounded leg hurting the worst of all. I couldn't tell if anything was broken, but I didn't have the time to check. I would have to keep moving, no matter how badly it hurt. From the window above came a half-dozen more of these wretched things, jumping to the ground to get me. They were fearless and relentless in their pursuit. As I got up, the bodies began falling all around me. I ran for it, ignoring the pain that wracked every part of my body, the shotgun dragging on the ground behind me.

At least these creatures felt pain, for they had a hard time getting up to follow. I took the opportunity to fire my Browning at two of them. They were close enough that it was an easy pair of targets. The bullets rocked them hard and they stopped moving. I continued to limp along as fast as I could, casting a glance over my shoulder. The remaining four were up, moving after me. Their pace increased with every step and I knew I couldn't make it without being caught. I had to make two blocks where I could get to my truck, hopefully still in the same place that I had left it.

Instead of continuing my useless flight, I turned, bringing my pistol up in the classic firing position, with my gun hand being supported with the other. I fired off one round, hitting the closest creature, a young, thin man with black hair, in the chest. He fell to the ground, flailing in pain. The next shot felled an old lady with gray hair and wearing a dirt-stained nightgown. I missed the next targets, the bullet passing harmlessly between the remaining two attackers. I steadied myself, and took a deep breath. The next bullet struck a middle-aged man with sideburns right in the face, bursting the cheek open with a sickening smack. That gave me one more bullet and only one chance to save myself.

My last remaining pursuer was a man many years older than myself. He was the last to have jumped out of the window and the slowest moving. Thin and gaunt, he was wearing a ripped blue jacket and a pair of jeans that were splattered with mud. In his emaciated condition, he looked hungry, the black eyes centered on me. Instead of taking the last shot at the damn thing, I turned and moved away from him, limping as I went. It was silly but I had a belly full of killing and anyway, I wanted to save my last shot for a real emergency. So the both of us shuffled along with neither of us gaining ground on each other. In hindsight it was a funny situation, but I had no time for laughter.

It was that moment that the rest of my surroundings came into focus. I had been so concerned with my own survival that I had lost track of everything. I now heard that the air was filled with screams as the horde inside rampaged through the buildings and grounds, attacking whatever remained of the town and the People's Army. From inside sporadic gunfire could still be heard, but it seemed to be diminishing with every one of my labored steps.

I thought of this strange turn of events and what it meant. What caused this disease and where would it lead? One bite would infect, converting another, and the effect would spread exponentially. I wondered how many had already been transformed into these terrible killing machines. How far had the diseased spread across the state, or for that matter, the world?

To my left, I saw someone running. Even though the figure was faraway, I recognized the clothing and gait. It was John Rhode. With several creatures in pursuit, he was heading north, past the town's funeral home, and then I lost sight of him.

I crossed the street and was among the houses. At least here the dead were still. I saw where a family had been executed, a man's arm around a woman and a small boy. The stink of rotting meat assaulted my nostrils, making me gag. The windows of the houses had been broken and the doors left open. Scraps of paper blew with the wind, collecting against the yellow weeds that choked the dry lawns.

I could see my truck parked on the corner, seemingly untouched in the chaos. I picked up the pace as much as I could, glancing behind me as I went. My pursuer was still with me, still trying to close the distance. I pulled the keys out of my pocket, the metal cold in my hand. I stuck the key in the lock, opened the door and hopped in. The familiar seat felt good against my back. I started the engine up, jerked the transmission in reverse and drove up on the sidewalk. With a stab of the gas pedal, I ran over my pursuer, making the vehicle buck.

I stopped, put the truck into drive and started home.
Chapter 15

By the time I reached the hidden entrance to my home, I was feeling dizzy and sick. I had lost more blood than I thought. The leg of my pants was stained red. All of that intense action had also taken a toll on my body and spirits. It took some of my last reserves of energy to dig up the buried rope and hook it to the tow hook of the truck. Once it was pulled out of the way, I drove in and reversed the process, hiding the driveway from view.

As I drove up and began to slow in front of the house, I saw that the door was open. There was a bloody stain of a hand on the edge of the doorway. Fearing the worst, I jerked the truck into park and practically fell out when I opened the door. I half-crawled, half-limped towards the house, the pistol with one bullet gripped in my right hand. A wave of grief mixed with sickness passed through me. I didn't want to see what was inside, but I still had to go and look.

I went through the open door, leaning my weight against the frame as I did. It was dim inside and what I could make out was from the light of the doorway. My heart sank as I saw a woman with black hair lying face down on the sofa nearest to me. She was quite still. Near her head, I saw that blood had soaked the fabric. It had to be Tanya. But as I drew closer, I had a glimmer of hope. The shape of the body was different: this person was taller and wider of hip, plus the hair was long and straight.

With much effort, I rolled the cold body over and saw it was someone I did not recognize. She had been shot with a bullet under the left eye and the resulting blood had drained onto the sofa cushion. It was a gory mess. I let the corpse fall back into place.

A scratching noise from the bedroom caught my attention. The door there was shut. The sound was like someone feebly rubbing at the wood with their nails, like a dog wanting to be let out. Or else it could be Emily, feeble and too sick to call out for help. I crept forward slowly on my knees, my hands trembling with exhaustion.

"Emily?" I whispered.

The scratching sound became more intense. I pulled myself up, lumbered over and grabbed the door knob. I opened the door a crack, just enough to see through. A hand shot out and grabbed me by the throat. Out from the bedroom came a massive man with long bushy brown hair and a pockmarked face that was bright red. His black eyes stared into mine. His bulk was too much for me to resist. We fell together onto the floor, the impact knocking the breath out of me. I felt the world spin around me, but I could see his mouth opening, revealing a set of broken yellow teeth. He was pushing me down, trying to bite me in the neck. It took me a moment to realize that I was still holding the Browning pistol. With one last burst of energy, I plunged it into his side and fired, the sound echoing loudly in the confines of the house.

I passed out.

When I awoke, I could barely breathe. It took me a moment to realize that the crushing weight on my lungs was that of the man I just killed. In my weakened state, I felt trapped and powerless. Blood had drenched my jacket and I wondered if I had become infected. The old zombie movie saw about needing to be bitten may not be true here, especially with dealing with a real-world disease. Gingerly pushing the corpse to the side, I tried to sit up, but the motion nearly made me pass out again. Instead I zipped the jacket off and sort of rolled out of it, trying to minimize any contact with the blood.

I felt cold. My leg was slick with my own blood. I could tell I was going into shock. I had been running on adrenaline for far too long, trying to ignore a bullet wound and the various bodily and emotional damage I had received in the past twenty-four hours. It was too much for any one man to take, but I knew I had to push on if I didn't want to die. I had to be stay alive if I wanted to help Tanya and Emily.

First I had to confirm that I was alone. I was in too much pain to walk. Crawling, I checked the bedroom to check that no one else was inside the home. I let out a sigh of relief when I realized Emily wasn't here. I feared that in a terrorized flight Tanya had abandoned the sick little girl. The covers were askew and a plate and cup on the side table indicated that some sort of meal had recently been consumed here. I then poked my head into the bathroom and it was also empty.

I crawled over and shut the front door. By now I was so weak that I had to lean my body into it and turn the deadbolt by reaching up. It took all of energy to turn the old thing.

Returning to the bathroom, I slowly worked my jeans down, fearing what I was about to see. I saw that the skin of my leg was coated with blood, so much so that the sock was now thickly drenched with the stuff. The wound was on the outer part of my thigh was a red burning gouge that looked clean enough with a both an entry and an exit point, but it was still possible that it could become infected with dirt or fabric from my jeans. I remembered reading about the days before penicillin and how many soldiers had died from secondary infections, not the wound itself. There were no medical facilities around to help, so I had to do this myself. I only prayed that I would have the strength before I passed out.

Removing my belt, I looped it twice around my leg and cinched it tight, using the innermost belt hole. That should stop the blow of bleeding long enough to start operating. I pulled the first aid kit out from the bottom drawer of the cabinet. It was stocked with most of the materials that I would need. First I had to clean the damaged area. I snapped on a pair of rubber gloves and opened the bottle of hydrogen peroxide. Gritting my teeth, I poured it on the wound. The world burst into a red haze of excruciating pain. I screamed, thrashed, and saw lights dance in front of my eyes.

When I could breathe normally again, I cleaned my leg off using a handful of tissues. I could see the wound more clearly now. It was still slowly oozing blood but at a slower rate than I expected from all of the gore. Now came the part I dreaded the most, cleaning the inner part of the bullet puncture. This time I applied the hydrogen peroxide directly to the opening and squeezed the bottle hard enough to forcefully eject the liquid out the other side. This time the pain was almost as bad as when the bullet originally went through. With shaking hands, I pushed a gloved finger inside the wound and tried to dislodge any trapped dirt. I repeated this procedure for the bullet exit opening.

All of this probing did little good to the damaged area and once again it began to bleed profusely. This is where I used an old combat trick that I had read about. Pulling out a tube of super glue from the first aid kit, I first toweled dry the area before applying a thick glob of the adhesive to my damaged skin. I then pressed the lips of the puncture together until the glue had dried. I did the same to the exit wound. Though it felt strange, I hoped this homemade suture would keep the bleeding in check until the wound could heal naturally. A few layers of gauze strips tied around my leg and I was done.

From the bathroom I was able to drag myself to the living room. I pulled myself up on the sofa across from the dead woman and promptly fell asleep. It was the sort of sleep that hits so fast that I don't even remember my head hitting the pillow. I was so tired that I didn't even dream. When I woke up, the sun was low enough that the light from the windows was a faint orange. I suddenly felt ravenous which I took as a good sign. That meant my body was in the healing process and not ravaged with some blood infection.

I felt a little stronger and was able to crawl fairly easily to the kitchen. There I pulled myself up to the counter and opened a can of beef ravioli. I ate it cold, drinking from a can of warm beer as I did. They both tasted wonderful.

As I stood there eating, I wondered how Tanya and Emily were holding out. As far as I could tell from the scant evidence, they had managed to successfully flee the house, unless they had met misfortune and became part of the horde that had attacked Shelby. Tanya had probably shot the woman, who promptly died on the sofa. The man had been trapped in the bedroom while the two of them made their escape. The question was where? My eyes ran over to the key hook next to the refrigerator. There was a set of keys missing.

I gently hobbled over, my hands going over the remaining keys. I finally figured out that the missing set belonged to the Hanson family, which had the garage which held the Chevrolet pickup truck. It appeared that Tanya and Emily had also left hastily without taking any food. That meant that there had been enough danger to abandon the home and take to the road. Perhaps the horde that attacked the town had come through this part of the forest. There were enough of those things that it would have been quite a group tromping through the woods. That would have been enough to scare anyone.

In frustration I slammed my fist against the counter top. I was too hurt to go looking for them, especially at this time of day. The light was running out and my chances of finding them at night was slim to none. I would have to stay here until the morning, and try to regain whatever strength I could find. Against my own wishes, I went to bed, lying once again on the sofa. This time I had my pistol, now fully loaded, resting on the floor next to me.

I woke up early. I found myself fairly mobile with enough strength to start my expedition. My leg still hurt quite badly but I was happy to see that there was no new blood showing through the bandages. I decided to let it sit for now and hope for the best.

I'll admit that last night I was still too tired to mind the dead in my house, but the dawn light found me painfully dragging the cold corpses outside and off into the woods where I covered them with fallen branches. I suppose I should have said a prayer or something, but those civilized times were now long forgotten. In my mind, those that suffered from this virus or plague were hardly human anymore. Beyond the urge to spread the disease, they had no other function that I could see. Sure, they weren't some slow-witted zombies from a campy horror movie, but I could tell that any soul was long gone.

Returning to the cottage, I first dug in the back of the closet and found the cane that used to belong to my grandfather. He used to stump around with the thing, shaking the length of wood with anyone that he disagreed with. It was thankfully still there in the same place that my very father put it the day that the old man died. Until my leg fully healed, I would find good use for it myself. It felt good to hold the old thing in my hand, as if I was drawing on the ancient strength and stubbornness of my family.

I then went over the shotgun, admonishing myself for the damage that had been inflicted on the wood stock and metal barrel. It was a shame, but the trigger and hammer still looked serviceable. I cycled a few shells through before loading it up with some double-0 buckshot. In the close combat at Shelby, I had been impressed by the stopping power of the dense load and preferred it over the pistol which required more careful aiming.

Slinging the shotgun over my shoulder, I set off to the Hanson house. Even with the use of the cane, it was slow going since every step was agony. The woods here had the same silence that I was used to, but something felt different. There was a new level of worry as if the comfort I once drew from the trees was long gone. I felt as if one of those things could jump out at any time, which would be a very bad thing in my current state. I had no chance of outrunning the things so my only hope rested with the guns I carried.

Along the path I found the body of a man, staring sightless up at the sky. There were two bullet wounds visible: one on the chest and the other on the shoulder. A few steps later and I found another corpse. This time it was a teenage girl with blonde hair. She was lying sideways, wearing a red dress and black pumps. A bullet had passed through her forehead. Tanya had come this way alright.

Coming up the path, the home looked pretty much the same as it did before. The doors and windows were closed as if the owner had simply gone away for the coming winter. I wondered if anyone would ever live here again. If not then time would destroy the place. The timbers would eventually rot away and leave nothing but the foundation. Out in the country, one often came across old farm houses, the owners long dead and gone, left to disintegrate in the harsh environment of Michigan. At this rate, in a hundred years there wouldn't be much left to remember us by – just a few scraps and trinkets to be dug up by some future generation – if there was one.

I saw that the garage door was open, the interior empty. That meant that Tanya and Emily had made it to the truck. With the amount of gasoline in the tank of the Chevrolet, that gave them only a fifty or sixty mile range, unless they found fuel somewhere or switched to another vehicle.

The question was, which direction did they go? West would mean the lake, which was only ten miles away. There was nothing there but little old cottages or the newer luxury houses of the rich, probably long plundered for food since they were such easy pickings. South was Muskegon, which was familiar to Tanya. She would normally feel safe there, but the People's Army and the fever would keep her away. That left the north and east, filled with farms and small towns. Food would be harder to get, but the lower population density would bring less conflict. People there would stick to their homes, trying to ride things out, not risk their necks traveling around looking for a fight. At least until things got desperate enough.

I would have to check the northern and eastern routes, working an arc along all possible roads in the direction. It would mean wasting a lot of gasoline and plenty of time. But I had to find them. Steeling myself for an impossible journey, I limped back home.

In the kitchen, I started putting together a bag of groceries: a few cans of beer, beef and chicken stew, a box of crackers, a half-dozen candy bars, three cans of peaches, and a gallon of water. I took the rest of the food from the cupboard and stuffed it into plastic bags. Dragging these out into the woods, I took a shovel and buried them deep into the ground. I marked the spot with a stone and two branches running parallel next to each other.

I then went to work on my truck, checking the oil and anti-freeze. I also went over the engine belts, looking for any worn spots or looseness. Using a foot pump, I then inflated all four tires and even the spare hanging under the bed. There was no reason to go out driving only to be stranded because of a mechanical problem. This old thing had never given me any problems before, but there weren't any mechanics around now, and getting spare parts, if necessary, was going to be a problem.

In the extended cab I threw in three sleeping bags, the food and water, my hand pump for transferring gasoline, and an empty plastic gas can. I wedged the shotgun between the driver and passenger seat, keeping it in easy reach. In the glove box, I put in a box of shotgun shells and a box of forty-caliber pistol cartridges.

After everything was stowed away, I went and locked the house up. I stood outside, looking at the old place, wondering if I would ever see it again. With a fatalistic shrug, I climbed inside the truck and started the engine. I listened to it turn over and gently idle. After I was satisfied that everything was running correctly, I dropped the transmission into drive and drove away.
Chapter 16

At first I started heading east, later taking the first left turn to head north. I would drive for a few miles before turning east again, checking every major road that I could. There was nothing here but gaunt trees, yellow weeds choking the shoulder, and lonely, apparently deserted houses. The farm fields looked emptier than before, the crops long gone and the wind stripping the soil away. The bright sun above shone through hazy clouds, burning the interior of the truck hot. I had the windows down and could smell dust and dried leaves. The wind circled inside, feeling tired and used. My air-conditioning had stopped working long ago and I now regretted that I never had it fixed.

On and on the miles went. I kept one eye on the road while the other stayed on the ever diminishing gas gauge. I stayed busy by singing along to the same old CDs over and over, the lyrics long ago burned in my brain. I had gotten to the point where I could do a fair imitation of the whine of Bob Dylan or Neil Young, though I still had a difficult time mastering the breathiness and cool vibe of Marc Bolan. However, I was sure I would have plenty of time to practice.

Trying to ignore the cramp in my wounded leg, I instead thought of Tanya: her smooth skin, rare but beautiful smile, and how much she cared for Emily. I missed the both of them more than I cared to admit. When I had made my plans to ride out these bad times, there was no room to share my survival with others. Now that had all changed. It was a sense of urgency that I felt, as if the two were in grave danger. I knew Tanya was resourceful but wasn't sure how long they could last with no food and only a single pistol between the two.

Those ruminations kept me busy until I stopped for supper. By then my eyes felt tired and raw from the constant glare. I had parked off of the road in a field, hidden from view in a shallow depression. I sat in the back of the bed, eating my cold chicken and drinking a beer. It was eerily quiet here, the only sound was my own breathing and eating; not exactly a sensation that led to long-term sanity. The sun was beginning to take its final downward arc towards the horizon, turning the hot air into a cold gust that easily swept through my thin clothing. I could either stay here for the night or move on for another hour or so. That uneasy, restless feeling made me get back in the truck and drive.

By now I had covered over a hundred miles of country driving and my fuel gauge was getting lower than I liked. It was just above the quarter tank mark which meant I had maybe another fifty miles of range left. Though the off-road pickup is a wonderful tool, even the six-cylinder engine was no gas miser. Pushing a boxy tall shape through the wind didn't help either. I had to get gas soon or else I would be stuck with a very long hike back home. As the crow flew, I was only twenty-five miles or so from the house, but it would mean some hard walking with a chance of being pursued by those unnatural creatures. With the way my leg was feeling, that wasn't something I wanted to try.

It dawned on me that I hadn't seen a single one of those creatures on my trip yet. Based on the number I had seen at Shelby that puzzled me. This area should have been thick with them, unless all of the normal people had already fled or been infected. If that was so, then it wouldn't take long before everything was swept up by this disease, the horde moving on and on until the entire continent was taken over. I had a sudden thought, imagining myself as possibly the last man left alive, holed up in some prison somewhere, surrounded by these inhuman monsters, these Infected.

It was getting dark when I finally stopped. I was nearing the town of Baldwin, which was hardly more than a dot on the map, but would still have a gas station and some stores worth checking out. If anyone was still around, perhaps they had seen Tanya and Emily passing through. It was worth a chance, but not the risk of going there at night. So I slowed to a crawl, turned off the road, and drove gently down and then up the ditch and onto a dusty field. I went this way for awhile, aiming for a group of scraggly trees ahead.

After backing the truck into this little lonely forest, I shut the engine off. The wind outside suddenly picked up, whipping the dead branches overhead. To the west, the dim sky was orange with a strange tinge of cloudy gray. As I sat there watching, this haze began to grow and grow in size. I wondered what it was since it was a type of weather I had never seen before. And then it happened: the light disappeared as if a black veil had been dropped across land.

The wind suddenly hit like a fist, making the truck rock on its springs. The sound outside was frightening: groaning and shrieking with rising and descending waves. At first I thought I heard the sound of static coming from the radio, but I soon realized it was sand striking the glass and metal of the Toyota. I reached over and turned on the headlights. All I saw was a swirling cloud of gray dust. The light didn't couldn't even pierce the gloom more than a couple of feet. I was reminded of a photograph from the Great Depression where the farmer was struggling to get back home against the fury of the dust-choked wind. I turned the lights off and decided to try and sleep.

The seals on my doors and windows were hardly perfect, so tiny amounts of dust began to filter through. I coughed a few times before reaching back into the duffel bag to take a t-shirt out. I covered this over my mouth and nose. It helped but was uncomfortable. I first locked the doors before reclining the seat all the way back. I then pulled out the sleeping bag, put it over my body and listened to the fantastic noises outside. It wasn't the kind of sound that lulled one to a deep sleep, so I just rested there with my eyes shut, thinking of this and that. I wondered why no such storm had ever happened before. Perhaps it took years of dry conditions for such strange weather to occur. With the howling dust cloud outside I felt very remote and alone, as if the world had gone and disappeared. Perhaps it had.

After some strange dreams, I awoke from the sudden silence. I let out a gasp, feeling a rise of panic even though I had nothing to be afraid of. The storm had merely passed. It was now cold enough that my nose felt numb. My leg still hurt but not as badly as yesterday. I pulled the t-shirt from my face. Checking the dashboard clock, I saw it was three o'clock in the morning. The sky was lighter now, the half-moon shining above. Pulling the sleeping bag away, I got out to relieve myself. My feet sunk in a good half-foot of fine dirt. It was thicker around the tires where the wind had pushed it against the rubber. Looking around, I hardly recognized the landscape. It was desolate now and reminded me of photos from the moon landing.

Crawling back inside, I tried to get comfortable on the seat which now felt rock hard. I rolled around, trying to think restful thoughts, but my back ached and my head hurt. After an hour of this, I gave up on the idea of sleep. Perhaps I could scout around the town of Baldwin, using the cover of darkness to mask my approach. There was nothing else to do, so I reached over and turned the key. The engine started, coughed, and then died. I swore to myself and said a little prayer as I tried again. This time the engine caught though it was running roughly. It was this damned dust, I told myself. It was fine enough that it ended getting sucked in, clogging the air filter. I would have to find a replacement, wash the current one out, or else suffer from an engine that fired sporadically.

Hitting the lights, I pulled forward, slowly coaxing the sputtering engine onward. The dust was so fine it felt slippery, so I pulled up on the transfer case shifter, engaging the four wheel drive. I headed back the way I came but hardly recognized the road when I came to it. The asphalt, along with the weeds along the embankment, had been covered with a thick layer of dust. The only way I could tell that I was on the road was the slight indentation left by the ditch on either side. It was like traveling after a big snowstorm, the land blanketed out by an unreal sameness.

I drove up to an intersection and saw a road sign for a diner located in Baldwin, only three miles ahead. Turning, I continued to drive on, kicking up a great trail of dust. As I took a corner where some bare trees sat, I saw a pickup on the side of the road. The truck was pointed in the same direction I was traveling. The passenger door was hanging open and the entire vehicle was covered with dust, but I could still see the paint color of the tailgate. It was burgundy, the same color of the truck that Tanya took. I slowed to a stop, feeling my heart beat fast with anticipation. Leaving the Toyota running, its engine rough, I clambered down with my shotgun in hand, a round chambered.

"Hello?" I called out, though it looked as if the Chevrolet had been abandoned. What I really feared was some sort of trap, though the undisturbed layer of dust showed that no one had been here recently.

There was no response, so I cautiously approached the passenger side, keeping some distance from myself and the door. There was nothing inside but dust. I went over and climbed inside. A quick search of the passenger compartment revealed a set of keys in the ignition and a fuel gauge pointing at empty. I gave the engine a few cranks but it did not start. That meant Tanya had driven as far as she could, perhaps aiming for Baldwin itself. I would be surprised though if that had been her ultimate destination since it wasn't a well-known place. It was more like a place of convenience that offered the possibility of food and fuel. My own needs of the latter were also a concern. I had enough to get there, but not much further.

Returning to my own vehicle, I slammed the door shut and took off with a feeling of heady excitement. I was getting close and it would only be a matter of time before I would see them again. I also felt a rush of apprehension as if Emily and Tanya were in some sort of trouble and needed my help. There was no logical reason to feel that way, but I did.

As I neared Baldwin, I could see that the wind was beginning to pick up again. The rising sun that had been poking over the horizon was blotted out by a cloud of gray, once again covering the land with darkness. I turned the headlights on. In the beams I could see the dust pitching and swirling across the road, which was becoming increasingly difficult to see. I had to slow to a crawl and turn on the windshield wipers, which scratched noisily across the glass. It was some white knuckled driving.

The dust was flying so thick and fast now that I could have driven right through town. It was the shadows stumbling across the road that made me stop. They were people, moving painfully against the blowing wind. To the left and right I could see dark square shapes that I took to be buildings. I quickly pulled over, the tires rubbing against the curb. When the truck finally came to a stop, I threw it in park and bolted out with my shotgun in hand.

"Hey!" I shouted as I ran towards the small knot of people. My voice seemed to be swallowed by the wind. When I was closer, I tried hailing them again. This time I got a response.

As if of one mind, they turned from their course and started coming my way. Their speed also picked up, changing from a lumbering walk to a full-bore run. From out of the swirl of airborne dirt came two of the Infecteds, their eyes black and soulless. They charged straight for me. They were close, too close. I brought up the shotgun and fired, the round of buckshot tearing into one with a ferocious impact. It went sprawling. There wasn't enough time to shoot the other, so I had to take a step back as he grabbed me by the arm, the teeth bared.

Luckily this was a scrawny specimen with thinning hair, an emaciated frame, and spindly legs. I shrugged him off, and brought the butt of the shotgun up to strike him in the jaw. He went tumbling to the ground.

I could see the approaching shadows of many more, their faint shapes coming and going in the swirl of dust. I could barely see anything, so I fired two rounds in their direction and then ran for it. I jumped into the truck, fired up the engine and slammed the transmission into reverse. The engine stalled. Too much dust!

"Damn it!" I swore to no one in particular. I tried turning the key again, frantically pumping the gas pedal. The exhaust gave out a bang that could be heard over the wind. I glanced up and saw a mob of Infecteds coming towards me. There were so many that I could not count them. If they had the chance to get to me, I would be dead. I cranked the engine again and thankfully it sputtered to life. This time I eased into the gas pedal, giving a silent prayer to the god of motors. I backed slowly away, but not fast enough. They were on me, beating at the hood and quarter panels with their fists. I gave it some more gas and soon pulled away from their reach. In moments I was far enough to turn around and head out of town.

I would be back though. I had to return and see what happened to Emily and Tanya.
Chapter 17

It was hot. For now the wind had stopped but the sky above was still gray with dust. Shafts of light from the sun managed to break sporadically through the clouds, scattering strange shadows along the barren land.

To find a new route into Baldwin, I had gone off onto a side road and driven to a hill that looked as it offered a good view of the land around. The road heading up was rocky, shaking the insides of the truck. The engine coughed and growled along as the transmission shifted up and down through the gears. I reached the top. An old house sat here. The windows were boarded up and dying weeds were tangled thickly around the brick foundation. The white paint was peeling, revealing silvered wooden boards underneath. The shingles of the roof were missing in spots and the rain gutter was resting on the ground. I took the chance that the place was deserted. At least no one seemed to mind when I parked the truck near a corrugated steel outbuilding and shut off the engine. I sat there a moment, listening. It was quiet.

I got out with my shotgun at the ready. I carefully scouted the land around the house. Other than my own there were no footprints or tire marks. When I was sure that I was alone, I tried the front door. It was locked. A judicious tap with the butt of my shotgun I broke the glass inset and was able to reach inside and release the deadbolt. I stepped inside.

With the boarded up windows, the only source of light came from the open doorway. I could see a living room with outdated furniture, an antique floor lamp, gaudy floral wallpaper, and wooden floors covered by a large brown rug. The television was an old tube type set in a large cabinet. On top of this a collection of records was stacked next to a turntable and receiver. Thick dust was everywhere. Some time ago, an enterprising spider had built a huge web across the entryway into the kitchen. A flight of dark stairs went up to the second story. A closet was open with a jumble of coats and mittens strewn on the floor. Next to this was an open door leading to the basement.

"Is anyone here?" I called out.

With no answer, I brushed the web aside and proceeded to the kitchen. The floor here was white tile. The cupboards were also painted white and the countertop was laminated with a pale yellow color. A glass slider led to a small back patio. There was a faint but rank smell of rotting food in the air. A quick search and I found nothing to eat. Even the bottle of catsup in the refrigerator was empty. I had a quick vision of some hungry soul using the last remnants to make some vile soup.

I went to the stairs and peered into the gloom above. There was nothing to see but darkness. Heading upwards, the steps squeaked under my feet. I clung to the bannister, using it to guide me. Reaching the top, I found myself on the landing that led to a small hallway with three closed doors. A runner rug spanned the short distance.

The first door led to a modest bathroom with a toilet and a clawfoot tub. Searching through the medicine cabinet, I found a still sealed bottle of aspirin that I stuffed into my pocket. There was also a motley assortment of worthless items: used toothbrushes, a rolled up tube of toothpaste, and two safety razors.

The next room was a small bedroom, unoccupied. There was a queen bed here squeezed up against the wall, a window that overlooked the back yard, and a small nightstand with a brass table lamp. The floor here was made with wood planks that were uneven. I opened the drawer of the nightstand and found an odd collection of memorabilia including old photographs with faded colors, a few postcards from tourist traps, and a snow globe of Mount Rushmore.

I slowly opened the door of the last room. This was occupied, but not by anyone alive. On the bed were two figures resting as still as stone. In the darkness my imagination expected these bodies to rise like the undead, but from the odor I could tell they were long expired. Taking a step closer, I could see the remains were mummified. A stain of blood, now black with age, was on the pillowcases. A shiver went up my spine when I saw the little revolver clutched in the man's hand. He had presumably shot his wife and then had taken his own life. A more ghoulish looter would have taken the gun from that death grip, but a feeling of sadness stopped me. Instead I took a hurried look over the rest of the room and saw a set of wallet and keys on the dresser. I grabbed the keys, turned, and left, gently shutting the door behind me.

I went back to the living room and stuck my head down into the basement. It was pitch black down there and without a flashlight, I wasn't about to venture down there to search for food. With my luck I would end up breaking my neck. Anyway, the evidence that I had seen indicated that the dead above were starving with they had ended their lives. There would be nothing to find.

I returned to the kitchen, opened the slider, and went outside. The air here, though hot and dry, felt clean compared to the dark mustiness of the house. I breathed deeply, trying to shake the dark mood that had poisoned my thoughts. Turning my thoughts back to Tanya and Emily, I took out my binoculars and looked through the bare trees and down on the town below. I saw that it was crowded with Infecteds. They were concentrated around a single building: a two-story brick affair with high windows. It looked like a post office or some type of small government building. A tattered American flag hung outside the front door. On the street there was a white van that had been tipped on its side. Going over the windows on the top floor, I could see an open one. I saw a shadowy figure standing there, but the distance was too far to make out any detail.

It was difficult to see everything with the branches in the way, but what I could make out made me suspect that the person up there was trapped and desperately waiting for help. Perhaps it was Tanya and Emily. I had to take the chance and find out. There had to be some way to safely reach those inside but for the life of me, I couldn't think of one.

I returned to the outbuilding and tried to open the garage door. It was stuck fast, apparently locked. Trying the side door gave the same result. I went through several of the keys that I had found until one fit. The knob turned easily. Inside was filled with cobwebs hanging from the ceiling. A crowded tool bench was on the side wall while in the middle of the garage was a brown Cadillac built in the 1970s. It was an immense coupe with two massive side doors and a hood that I could easily lie across. The tires were slightly flat, so it had only been a few months since someone has last parked it here. Tucked in the corner was a riding lawn mower and next to that, a small, old-fashioned metal gas can. I went over to this and gave it a shake. It was half-full. I took this outside with me.

Returning to the truck, I put the gas can in the back of the truck. I then went into the cab and retrieved my bag of groceries. I opened a can of peaches and had my breakfast. As I ate, I thought of how to reach the person trapped in the building below. It would take some sort of tank or armored car to get there. My Toyota, with its high ground clearance wasn't ideal for such a mission since it could be flipped over if enough of the Infecteds put their strength into it. That tipped over van in the street was proof of that. I was then struck with another possibility. Perhaps I could lead the bastards away from the building, allowing those inside a chance to escape. It would put my own life at risk, but I was willing to take that chance if Tanya and Emily were there.

I then realized that the Cadillac would be a good vehicle to use against the mob of Infecteds. With that size it could very well ride down quite a number of those creatures. The weight and low ground clearance would also make it difficult for a frenzied crowd to shift and flip over. The question was, would the damned thing start?

After finishing the peaches, I returned to the outbuilding and was able to open the garage door from the inside. I tried the driver's side door handle of the car and it was unlocked. The interior light did not go on, indicating that the battery was dead. I climbed inside, marveling at the tacky interior and excessive use of chintzy leather. I found the key and stuck it in the ignition. There was nothing, not even a click from the starter. But that could just be the battery. I pulled the hood release and left the car to lift the massive slab of steel up. Inside was big eight-cylinder engine with an honest to goodness carburetor, the sort that hadn't been made for ages. The battery posts were thick with corrosion.

I went outside and popped the hood of the truck, and using the collection of tools from the garage, installed my battery into the Cadillac. This time when I turned the ignition, the old beast fired right up. The engine gave a cough, idled roughly for a moment, and then ran smoothly. I gave a holler, happy to hear the rumble of the engine. The fuel gauge indicated that there was even a quarter tank of gasoline left. I then shut it off and began the next part, transforming this car into something more formidable.

Searching through the garage resulted in several prizes: a roll of rusty wire chicken fencing, a bucket of screws, and several lengths of barbed-wire. Sitting outside, I unrolled the fence and used a pair of wire-cutters to cut four six-foot lengths. Barbed-wire was then weaved through the fence pattern, creating a barrier that would be hard to hold onto. With the use of a screwdriver, I then took pieces of fencing and attached them to the doors, over the hood, protecting the windshield, and then tacked the final piece across the trunk. When I was done, the car looked like a rolling nightmare. The owner would have fainted away if he had been alive to see it.

Next I used the hand pump from my truck to inflate all of the tires. It was then time to transfer my shotgun and pistol to the Cadillac. I made sure everything was loaded with a shell ready to fire in the chamber. These were placed next to me on the passenger seat.

After I was done readying the car, I returned to work on the truck. Removing the air filter from the box, I found it was coated with dust. I gave it a couple of gentle taps against the ground until no more material came out. I then held it up to the sunlight. It looked much better now. After that, I carefully removed the large intake tubing and shook out the remaining dust. That would hopefully correct the misfiring engine.

When that was finished, I fired the Cadillac up and sat there a moment, listening to the engine tick over. Everything sounded okay, so it was time to go. The big car practically floated down the road in such a manner that it could bring on sea sickness. But even with such a luxurious ride, I could tell the engine was powerful enough. It had enough torque to pull out tree stumps, provided the rear wheels could get the traction. I headed down the rutted road, letting the suspension soak up the bumps. I turned, heading straight into town, blowing the horn as I went. Every Infected I passed turned to look at me and then began to give chase. By the time I hit the center of town where the brick building was located; I had a large following of several hundred of those things.

The main horde was still camped outside of what I now saw was the town post office. They were a motley group of Infected farmers, women, children, field workers, and everything in-between. To the person, all of them appeared to be suffering from starvation, the scraps of remaining clothes fitting loosely over their emaciated frames. Black eyes stared at me and none of them flinched or recoiled in fear as I headed straight towards them, my foot pushing the gas pedal all the way to the floor. In fact those things started running towards me as if they could reach right through the windshield and pluck me out of the car.

The front bumper stuck the leading edge of the crowd, making my head snap forward from the impact. As the front tires began rolling over a mass of bodies, I stood on the brakes and whipped the steering wheel in a circle. The back end spun around. I heard a heavy thunk as several were hit by the sliding rear of the car. Punching the gas, I ran over a few more of the Infected, and then I was clear, heading down an alley. I then slowed down enough to let them catch up, but not enough to let any touch the car. When I had enough following, I took a sudden right turn and accelerated away. I circled around the block and headed back towards the front of the post office. The crowd here was thinner than before, the effect of so many pursuing me.

This time I drove the Cadillac straight through the bastards, sending bodies hurtling to the left and right. The car lurched and bucked as if I had just ran over a series of thick speed bumps. Several tried to cling to the sides or get through to me, but the barbed wire kept them from holding on for too long. The windshield and side windows were now splattered with blood, making me feel sick to my stomach. I felt like a butcher. I had no stomach for such killing people, Infected or not, but I was willing to do anything to save Emily and Tanya.

Looking in the rear-view mirror, the rest of the mob began following me. They were in a frenzy to get me. I slowed down and honked my horn a few times, leading them away from the building. I kept this up for two blocks before turning down a street with gas station on the corner. Backtracking, I accelerated quickly down the street, letting the engine go all out. When I was finally in front of the post office, I stopped the car and got out, taking the shotgun with me. I was breathing hard, the adrenaline pumping through my veins.

The evidence of my rampage was clear. It was a mess of blood and gore, with many corpses sprawled like ragdolls on the black asphalt. A few of the Infecteds were still moving though, their wrecked bodies impeding their movements to a crawl. It was a sight that would have normally filled me with pity, but there wasn't time for such considerations. Instead I ran to the entrance and began pounding on the double doors that had been boarded up with thick plywood.

There was no response.

"Is anyone in there?" I shouted.

"Yes," was the answer. I felt disappointed. It wasn't the voice of a woman or a little girl, but instead that of a man.

"This is your last chance. If anyone else is in there, you all have to leave now!"

There was a brief pause before the reply. "Okay, okay. Hold on a second!"

I heard the sound of wood squeaking as if nails were being pulled out. A board fell to the ground revealing a man with red hair, pink complexion and pale blue eyes. He looked as scared as I felt. I gave him a grim smile. Turning my head to look down the road, I saw the Infecteds were hurrying back. They were only blocks away, running as fast as they could. In less than a minute, they would be here.

"Come on! Move it!" I ordered.

Another board popped free and he came out, clutching a blue duffel bag.

"Is there anyone else in there?" I asked.

"No, no, just me."

"Well, don't just stand there, get in the car."

We both ran for it. The faster Infecteds were already too close. I brought up the shotgun and fired a few rounds at the oncoming attackers. They fell to the ground in a burst of blood and bone. The red-haired man was now getting into the car. Jumping and sliding along the hood, I reached the driver's side of the car and tumbled inside. Jamming the transmission into drive, I slammed the pedal down and the car lurched forward with a burst of torque that can only come from a big engine.

Now the crowd was so thick that all I could see was a mass of hands and faces pressed against the car. We began to slow as the engine fought against the dense weight of the inhuman wall that threatened to engulf us. Our progress soon crawled to a near stop. The Infected were beating on the hood and the windows. Their gaunt faces leered with all the emotion of a medieval executor, and the black eyes looked as empty as an open grave. There were just too many of them to fight.

The man I rescued began to whine. "I should have stayed inside the post office. At least I was safe there."

"Shut up!" I shouted.

From the seat, I pulled up the Browning pistol. My companion's eyes grew wide as I began firing straight through the windshield and into the crowd. Body after body fell under the hail of lead but we were still going nowhere fast. Brass casings fell on the floor. The hammer hit an empty chamber. It was time for a change of direction or else all would be lost.

Without even touching the brakes, I dropped the transmission into reverse, squeezing the gas pedal. The car lurched and then shot backwards, suddenly free of the mob of Infecteds. That didn't stop them from chasing us further, but our superior speed finally gained me enough distance to twist the wheel into a barely controlled bootlegger skid. The front whipped around so I we were facing the other way. Stabbing the gas, I was soon driving out of that wretched town.
Chapter 18

As I drove back to the house where I had left the truck, I began grilling my new companion for information. "What's your name?"

"Tim Roberts," he replied weakly, glancing in my direction. He was hugging his duffel bag as if it would ward off some evil spell. Apparently our run in with the Infecteds had been too much for him.

I asked urgently, "Did you recently see a little girl, accompanied by a woman?"

He shook his head. "I don't know. I've seen lots of those sick people trying to get in and kill me. There were plenty of girls and women in that crowd. Maybe they were there, maybe not."

I shot him a nasty expression. "I'm not talking about the Infecteds. I'm talking about a girl named Emily and a woman named Tanya. I found their deserted truck on the side of the road that lead to this town. They only had a days start on me so they had to have passed through here."

He didn't answer.

I pulled up to the outbuilding, reversing the Cadillac into its parking space inside the garage. Popping the hood, I began removing the battery to return back to the truck. Roberts got out and stood sullenly off to the side, watching me work. I ignored him, not sure what to do. If I brought this man with me, he would only eat into my limited food supplies and slow me down even further. Anyway, I could hardly trust someone I had just met. Sure, I suppose us remaining humans had to stick together and all that, but my concern was with Emily and Tanya, not some fool who couldn't save himself.

He finally spoke when I popped the hood on the Toyota. "Look," he said, his voice quavering, "I admit that I saw them yesterday. At the time there weren't any of those things around then. I was with three others, doing some work, when this black woman and a little girl showed up at the front door. They were asking for food and gasoline."

"Did you give them any?"

He shrugged. "We were running low ourselves. There was nothing left to give them."

"How could you do that?" I snapped back. "They needed your help."

He smiled wanly. "It's just the way things are these days. Anyway, that girl was still sick. There was a chance that we could have caught the virus. You have to see that we couldn't let them in."

"You're saying Emily could turn, and become like one of the Infecteds? Running around and attacking people?"

He shook his head. "The Infecteds? That's a good choice of words considering the situation. No, that girl has the flu, that's all."

"The flu? But it's killing everyone!"

He gave me a smug smile. "Did you ever hear of the great influenza pandemic that occurred during World War One? Back then, before penicillin, it killed over twenty-million people. With the breakdown of our healthcare system and the mass migration of so many citizens, it's only natural that something like this occurred. History is merely repeating itself. This version is particularly nasty and doesn't seem to respond to the normal antibiotics.

But these so-called Infecteds of yours are an entirely different matter. They personally remind me of some zombie movie, but they aren't undead or anything silly like that. As far as I can tell, it's an unknown virus that is transferred through the act of biting or contaminated blood. The rate of virus growth is beyond anything I've ever seen, causing an almost instantaneous change to the victims. They attack the nearest living creature, trying to spread the infection even further. And the changes to the body and mind are dramatic indeed, transforming the host into a single-minded machine only bent on transferring the virus to yet another host. It makes them incredibly strong and with no fear of their own death. Any remnant of humanity is wiped out, only leaving a shell that lives on to spread the disease."

"Just who are you?" I asked, wondering how someone could know so much about this plague.

"I used to work for the CDC."

I said sourly, "A government man, eh? So who exactly is paying the Center for Disease Control these days? I didn't think any of you leeches were left after the money ran out."

He visibly bristled at my words. "Not all of us work for money, you know. Some of us are at the CDC to help people. There are still a few of us left. And when that virulent influenza hit this area, we decided to go investigate to see what we could do. It was then that we heard about new cases of people getting sick and then attacking others. We came to here to Baldwin to see if the reports were true. We made the deserted post office our base to conduct experiments with tissue samples. And I'm afraid that the rumors were correct. After the two females that you are looking for left, I lost one of my friends, Anne, right away when a few of these Infecteds came to town. We fought them off, boarded up the building, but it was too late. More and more of them came. We were low on food. The other two, Bill Myers and Steve Chu, tried to escape last night during that dust storm. I warned them not to go. They didn't make it very far. You saw the overturned van out there. The Infecteds swarmed it and tipped them right over. They didn't have a chance. I spent today upstairs, praying someone would come along and help. When I saw that big car careening down the road, I couldn't believe it."

On the truck, I was bolting the terminals onto the battery. I said, "I was hoping to rescue a woman named Tanya and a girl named Emily. I was just taking a chance that they were in there with you."

"Well I'm still grateful that you came. I couldn't have lasted much longer without your intervention."

"So where did they go?"

"The woman and the girl? The last time I saw them, they were walking north, taking the main road out of town. Not long after that, Baldwin, which was deserted, became thick with those things."

I slammed the hood down. I said, "Well that's the way I'm going then. They couldn't have gotten very far on foot."

"Not very far at all," he said glumly. "Look, they're either dead or infected by the disease now. There's no reason to go in that direction. We just have to find somewhere safe to hole up so I can continue my work. That's more important than anything else."

"What work? What do you expect to accomplish?"

He patted the duffel bag. "I have the tools here to investigate the cause of the Infecteds. If I'm given a place to work in peace, then maybe I can come up with some sort of cure or even a vaccine to stop its spread."

I opened the door of the truck. "I don't have time for this shit. You're on your own."

"But you can't leave me here!" Roberts said, his voice rising with panic. He ran towards me to plead his case. I half-expected the bastard to drop on his knees and beg for mercy.

I said coldly, "Look, I don't have enough food here. I've also got a pickup truck that's about to run out of gasoline. I just can't support the both of us."

"I won't ask you to feed me. I still have a few military rations here - at least enough to last a few days."

"And what you do after that? Starve to death?"

"That's my problem, not yours."

"Get inside," I growled with exasperation. I realized I was still too kind even though by now I should be freed of such civilized impulses.

While Roberts sorted out his bag and seat, I dug out the pump and began transferring the gasoline from the Cadillac to the plastic gas can. When I was done, I had almost three additional gallons. I added that to the meager remnants in the Toyota tank. That would be enough to drive just a little further on.

I started the engine up and gave it a couple of revs. It ran smoothly. Taking the long way around to bypass the Infecteds, we were soon heading down the northern road out of town. I had hoped to see Emily and Tanya walking, holding hands, on the side of the road. But as the miles passed, there was no sign of them. Instead there was just swirling patches of dust, choking the weeds with gray. Farm houses and barns were the only interruption of the empty fields and lifeless trees. I couldn't believe that I had gotten so close only to lose them. Since they were on foot now, I would have to move slowly, searching every house and barn I came to. If I struck out there, than every passing moment meant they would be getting further and further away from me.

I had to think like Tanya. She would have come to Baldwin with a sick girl who was already tired from walking. They couldn't get very far, not without food and water. So she would have to hole up somewhere; a place to let Emily rest, but still safe from the Infecteds. A house was an obvious choice, but it had to be the right kind of place -perhaps one with high windows and a secure metal door. Or perhaps Tanya would just pick the first place she found. I shook my head and realized that I didn't know Tanya well enough to really know what she would do. I would have to guess or I could spend days looking, giving the pair a chance to slip away before I found them. A little luck was in order but that seemed to be in short supply.

I slowed and began turning the truck around to head back to Baldwin. I had to start there and work my way up the road, searching as I went. I would also have to scrounge for food and gasoline.

"Where do you think you are going?" Roberts said with alarm. "We've only just come back from there."

I shot back, "We have to start at the beginning. Emily and Tanya couldn't have gone far."

"If those things see us, we're going to have to run for it."

I patted the dashboard of the truck. "They'll never get close enough to bother us. Provided the gasoline lasts. And the first thing we need to do is find some more. But I want to start my search in the beginning. Anyway, the more homes we hit, the better our chance of getting some more fuel."

"You're the boss," he said sullenly.

The first house I searched was close enough to the town of Baldwin that I could just make out the Post Office building. The Infecteds were swarming around it like flies on a carcass. However it would only be a short while before the horde moved on, looking for some new prey. I wondered how much longer they could go on without food. I'm sure Roberts would have some idea, but I didn't bother to ask since I was already tired of the man's company and his sniveling cowardice.

The first house I came to was an old two-story farmhouse from the turn of the century. Such places are quite common out here with the ever present picturesque red barn and a few more modern outbuildings to keep the animals and equipment safe from the elements. The yard was littered with garbage, including an old brown sofa, the dust imbued fabric faded by the beating of the sun above. My eyes immediately spotted a tractor, the front end poking out from a blue tarp. There was also an old Ford truck parked by the house, the rear quarter panels eaten by rust caused by the years of winter and salted roads. Everything looked quiet enough, so I parked my Toyota in the driveway, and killed the engine. The keys came with me. Pulling out the shotgun, I also reached in the back of the extended cab for the gasoline can and hand pump. If there was any fuel to be had here, I was going to get it.

"Stay here," I said to Roberts. "If you see anyone, blow the horn to let me know."

He licked his dry lips. "Could you leave the keys?" he asked as his eyes darted suspiciously to the home and outbuildings. "I'll be a sitting duck if any of those things are around."

"Then you had better practice your running," I snapped back as I shut the door – gently, mind you. There was no reason to alert anyone that we were here, provided they hadn't already heard the rumble of the engine.

I went to the front door and knocked. I wasn't expecting anyone to answer, but to my surprise I heard the creak of someone moving inside. And then silence. I knocked again. This time the door opened a crack. A single bloodshot eye stared at me from the gloom within.

"What do you want?" the voice rasped. It was a man speaking.

"I'm looking for someone – a woman and a girl. Have you seen anyone recently?"

"Lots of people pass by," was the reply. "Perhaps I saw them. But again maybe not."

There was something unnerving about this unblinking eye and creepy voice. I fought the urge to kick the door down and start demanding answers. With exasperation, I said, "Look, it would have been yesterday -a black woman with a little girl who is sick. They couldn't have gotten far from the town."

"They may be out back with the rest of them," he answered.

"What?" I asked with surprise, thankful that there may be a glimmer of hope that I would find them here. "Please show me."

The door slowly opened as if being pulled lethargically by a dying man. The speaker was revealed as a middle-aged man of medium stature, a thick potbelly, long gray hair that fell on the shoulders, and a dirty face that had been scarred by some childhood disease. His nose was long but narrow, reminding me of a rat. The eyes were pale blue and had a wild, almost crazy look to them. His clothing was that of a farmer gone to seed: dirty blue jeans, scuffed working boots, and a brown jacket that had been roughly patched several times in the past.

There was an odd odor in the air that was strong and pungent, like a farm or waste dump, but even worse with the closed space of the house. I couldn't quite place it, but I was reminded of rotting meat or trash that had been in the bag for too long. My stomach recoiled at the smell, making me take an unconscious step backward.

"Yes, sir," the man drawled with his strange rasp. "I've got lots of people staying here. Back in the outbuildings there." He gave a giggle. "I'm happy to give them a place to stay, times being bad and all."

"My name is Brent," I said, offering my hand.

He wiped his hand on the front of his jacket before shaking it. It still felt wet with perspiration. "I'm pleased to meet you. I'm Simon as in Simon Says." He gave out a strange little laugh. "Here, let me show you where your friends are."

"Go ahead and lead the way."

I began to follow him across the yard, but Simon stopped when he saw that someone was sitting inside the Toyota.

"Who's that?" he asked suspiciously.

"Just someone I rescued from Baldwin," I said. I felt that there was something wrong here but I didn't know what. I didn't trust this Simon and vowed to never turn my back on him.

"Ah," Simon said, shaking his head. "That town has seen its fair share of trouble."

He went on, heading towards the largest outbuilding. It was a large affair with a lined pattern of fading blue and white paint. The roof had several narrow skylights and a livestock fence was attached to the side. The ground here was bare of grass.

"Used to raise cattle?" I ventured.

His head bobbed up and down in agreement. "I used to raise 'em, slaughter 'em, and butcher 'em. I made some pretty good money selling the meat, that's until the feed got too expensive to buy. Now some refugees are using my little stockyard as a place to camp. Imagine that."

Simon stopped at a large sliding door that covered most of the side of the wall. A nearby shovel was stuck in the ground here. He put his shoulder against the door and with a grunt, tried to move it.

"Give me a hand here," he requested. "This door sticks sometimes."

I went over to help and the door immediately slid open. Except for the sun coming through the skylight, there was no other source of light inside. The interior was divided into fenced off pens. Inside of these were people, their hands over their eyes, staring at us with expectant horror. On the floor, I saw heavy rusty chains going off in every direction. Each end appeared to be attached to an ankle. They were prisoners. I spun around, trying to pull the shotgun off of my shoulder. But it was too late. My head burst into a blaze of pain. I saw nothing but stars and then darkness.

There was never a moment where I fully passed out. Instead I felt myself hit the ground, the side of my head hitting hard on the baked soil. The shotgun was stripped from my hands. I was dragged into the dark recesses of the building. Then something was attached to my ankle. At no time did I feel any fear, but more like a sense of detachment from the horrific events. I knew I was in trouble but it didn't seem to really matter, almost as if the events were happening to someone else.

I was pulled roughly into one of the pens where I laid in a daze. The light dimmed as the sliding door shut with a rasping racket. It was only a few moments when I could hear someone calling my name. It took me only a second to recognize the voice. It was Tanya.

"Brent! Wake up!" she demanded.

I slowly shook my head, feeling the cold cement grind against the back of my head.

"Wake up!" Her voice was frightened.

Painfully turning my head toward her, I saw it really was Tanya. She was in the next pen over, her head tucked over the top of the steel fencing. I smiled stupidly at her. She smiled back, her teeth a flash of white. I tried to sit up but the pain was too much. So instead I decided to rest there for a moment.

"Where's Emily?" I finally choked out.

"She's here with me," Tanya responded, her voice flooding with relief.

"Brent! Brent!" It was Emily, her pale face showing through the bars of the fence.

"It's good to see you," I managed to say.

Tanya said, "You're the last person in the world I expected to see come through that door. I thought you were dead."

"By all rights I should be. It's been a difficult search looking for the two of you."

"From what I heard from the others, I thought it was time for that bastard to come for another one of us. It seemed odd since he took one of us just this morning."

"Come for another? What is he doing?"

She gave a short cold laugh. "He's butchering us for food. There is someone else in the house named Lyle who helps him move the victim out of here. Lyle doesn't seem very smart but he's big and strong. The cattle prod he carries does the rest."

"That's right," a weak voice from another pen chimed in.

"What? That's insane." The revelation made a rush of adrenaline flow through my body. It was enough energy to let me turn over and clamber up on my knees. The world began to spin but I fought the urge to retch. I managed to stand. Swaying like a drunken man, I staggered over to the barrier separating Tanya and myself. The chain padlocked to my ankle dragged against the floor. I grabbed the fence and rested my head on top of the cold metal, trying to fight off the dizziness.

Tanya's hand ran through my hair. She kissed my forehead. "My goodness, Brent, how I missed you."

"What are you going to do?" Emily asked, her voice high with anxiety.

"Get us out of here," I said. I reached my hand between the bars and grasped hers. She squeezed my fingers tightly.

"But how?"

"I don't know. I'll think of something. How many of us are in here right now?"

"Nine of us, including you," Tanya answered.

The door rasped open again.

"I think number ten is about to join us."

"What do you mean?"

I gave a weak shrug that took too much energy. "While looking for you, I rescued some government geek from the clutches of those disease carrying things out there. His name is Roberts. I'm sure you won't like him. I don't."

As expected in came Roberts, followed by Simon who was now carrying my shotgun. Without a word of protest, the biologist meekly had his ankle cuffed and was led to the same holding pen I was in. He sat on the ground, looking scared.

Simon gave a laugh. "He came a little easier than you, that's for sure."

Though armed, our jailer was no fool. He was watching me warily, looking for any sign of an attack. I also noticed he kept his distance, ready to use the shotgun if I decided to charge him. He pointed his finger at me and said, "You're the most dangerous man here. I'm afraid we'll have to come for you next \- maybe today or maybe tomorrow. But just you sit tight for now. I won't be forgetting about you. Anyway, you still have some meat on the bones and I would hate to lose all of that flavor."

"You're sick," was all that I could say.

With a laugh, he shut the gate and left, closing the sliding door as he went.
Chapter 19

"We have to get out of here," I said, stating the obvious to anyone who was listening.

"But how?" Roberts whined. His voice was thick with fear.

"I don't know," I replied. "Tell me, why didn't you try to get away from that maniac when you had the chance?"

"I don't know," he replied sheepishly. "You seemed to be on friendly terms with the man, so when he came to the truck and told me that you needed some help, I was happy to oblige. It wasn't until he opened that door that I knew it was a trap. But he had a gun. What could I do? Where could I run?"

"Anywhere but here," I shot back.

Sitting on my haunches, I ran my hand along the iron brackets that were clamped around my right ankle. They felt rough in manufacture – perhaps homemade – but strong enough to take any abuse that a person without tools could dish out. They were hinged at one end while the other was held together by a medium-sized padlock that could have been bought or looted from any local hardware store. Pulling on the chain, it rattled under the fence and then clinked against the concrete floor.

"Where does this chain go?" I asked out loud.

Emily replied, "There's a round metal loop in the ground over there in the middle of the room. All of the chains are connected to it. Tanya and I tried pulling it loose, but it won't budge."

I had a glimmer of an idea, but it would require all of us working together.

"Everyone!" I called out. "You do not know me, but I have a plan to escape."

There was some murmurs from the darkness. A voice said, "Tell us what you're thinking."

"I know you are sick. I know you are weak from hunger. But if we stay here any longer, then we will slowly die, one by one. But if we work together, then we can escape these chains."

"But how?" the same voice asked. "We have tried to pulling on our chains at the same time. It got us nowhere. We are too weak with hunger and the links are too strong."

"Now you have me and my companion here," I said. "We are still healthy. Plus I want to try something different. Instead of pulling directly on chain, use the post of the fence as leverage. Like a pulley, that will multiply your strength."

There were some more murmurs in the darkness as my fellow captors explored this idea. A few brief conversations later and there was a rattle of metal scraping against the ground as people moved into position. I slid over until the length of my chain was pressed against the post. I pulled on the links until the chain was taut and braced my feet against the fence bottom. Roberts did likewise. Looking over, I could make out Tanya and Emily doing the same.

"Are you ready everyone?" I shouted out.

A weak chorus of assents was my reply.

"One. Two. Three. Pull!"

I jerked hard on the chain, pulling with all of my might. It felt like my back was going to break and my legs were going to snap. The large room was filled with the sounds of grunts and groans as we collectively strained against the one thing that was holding us all captive. At first it felt like we were getting somewhere, but I realized it was only my own chain, the loose links stretching out from the force of my exertions. After a few seconds of this, I heard the weaker members drop their chains and give a plaintive cry of frustration.

"This isn't working," someone gasped out.

"We have to keep trying!" I shouted, just long enough to stop gritting my teeth.

"It's useless," Roberts said with frustration. He also dropped his chain and rolled on his side, sobbing.

The muscles in my arms were a fiery knot of pain. I gave one more jerk before dropping the links to the floor. It was impossible. There was no escape from this mad man. I would have to take the chance of rushing Simon when he came back for me. It would probably mean my death, but it would be better to die standing instead of meekly being taken away to be slaughtered.

"Brent, it was a good try," Emily said with disappointment.

"Thanks," I replied. Crawling over to the partition that separated us, I reached my hand through the fence and tussled her hair.

"Don't do that," she said sourly.

"And why's that?"

"It makes me feel like a little kid. I'm grown up now."

"Sure you are," I said. "How are you doing, Emily? You know that I was worried about you two being out here without me."

"I'm feeling better now, though I'm awfully hungry."

"We didn't find much to eat out on the road," Tanya added, her face now level with mine, peering through the bars between us.

"This is hardly the time for a happy reunion," I said, "But fill me in what happened to you two."

There was a pause as she gathered her thoughts. "The day you left, Emily was still as weak as a kitten. We were both scared with you gone and when we heard a bunch of explosions in the distance, I really started to get worried that something bad was happening."

"That was the artillery gun that the People's Army brought," I interjected.

"I see. So things went pretty bad there?"

"Yes, but I'll tell my story later. Please go on."

"Well those noises were bad enough, but then something really strange happened. A large group of people came through the forest, heading straight towards Shelby as if they were being drawn in by the sound of fighting. There were hundreds of them, dressed in all manner of clothing. They weren't moving like an army or anything like that, but like a bunch of birds getting ready to head south for the winter."

"Birds?" I asked, puzzled.

"Yeah. You ever see those huge flocks of birds that gather together? They move as one, flying and hopping to one location or another. All without any kind of signal. It was kind of scary when you see a bunch of people doing the same thing. Anyway, I made the mistake of opening the door and asking one of them what was going on. I didn't get any sort of answer. Instead, this big fellow just turned and started coming at me. His eyes were completely black. I tried to shut the door, but he was quick. He was in before I could get my pistol, so there was a bunch of running and scrambling as I tried to keep out of his reach. While this was happening, another one came in – a woman – and things were getting a little desperate. I thought I was a goner until Emily shot the woman with my gun that I had left in the dresser."

"I thought they were going to hurt her," she proudly piped up.

Tanya continued. "It was lucky thing. Instead of going after me, the man turned his attention on Emily. He rushed into the bedroom. Luckily she dodged out of his way and got out of there before she got hurt. I then shut the door and we ran for the truck that you showed me. I had two shoot two more of them."

"I saw your handiwork," I said.

"I was so scared that I didn't even think of stopping to bring food or water. I just wanted to get out of there as soon as possible in case there were more of those things coming.

"We hit the road. I wasn't sure what way I was going, but I knew I needed to head north, away from Shelby and Muskegon. I thought you were dead, though Emily here kept telling me to go back for you."

The girl nodded. "I did, Brent. I knew you had to be alive. I just knew it!"

I smiled. "Thanks for the vote of confidence, but I still have to think of a way out of here."

Tanya said, "Before we got to Baldwin, the truck ran out of gas. So we started walking. Luckily the town seemed deserted except for those CDC men. I tried to get some food and gasoline from them, but they wouldn't give any. So we walked on."

Roberts, who had been quiet, said, "There wasn't anything to give."

Ignoring this, Tanya went on. "Emily still wasn't feeling very good and both of us were so tired, that I stopped at the first house that I saw. Too bad it was this one. We've been here ever since, praying for someone to come and rescue us. I'm sorry it had to be you. If hadn't come looking for us, then you would still have a chance to live. Now we're all going to die."

I reached my hand between the bar and gently touched her face. There were tears on her cheeks. She took my hand and kissed it.

"I'm hungry!" interrupted Emily.

"I have some food, but it's in the truck," I said, annoyed by the interruption.

"Since I was sick I've lost so much weight," she continued. "My clothes are hanging on me like a scarecrow."

"Hold on," I said. "Let me take a look at your ankle."

Her leg was painfully thin, the end result of sickness and starvation. The shackle was the same as mine, built for an adult-sized ankle. On her it was extremely loose.

"Have you tried taking this off?" I asked Emily, trying to control the excitement in my voice.

She answered, "Yes, but I can't get it to slip over my heel. It hurts badly when I try."

"I'm afraid we will have to try it again. Hold Tanya's hand while I take it off. It won't take long, trust me."

"Okay," she said uncertainly.

I grasped the shackle and began to slowly work it downward.

"Hold on," Emily said. She spit in her hand and slathered the saliva over the exposed heel. "That should help."

I said, "Point your toes so the foot goes straight with the leg." Gripping the edges of the shackle, I tugged on it, gently rocking it further and further down the foot. Eventually it stopped, pressing tightly against the flesh. There was another inch to go before I could get it over the heel. There was nothing here but bone so there was very little room to give. I hated going any further but there wasn't much choice.

"Are you ready?" I cautioned her. "It's going to hurt a little."

"Yes," Emily answered, her voice quavering.

"Here we go."

I pulled on the edges, willing the metal to magically widen to reduce Emily's pain. It didn't seem to help since she immediately began to whimper. The shackle had another half-inch to go, though this was the highest part of the ankle. I twisted the metal, turning it to try to find any millimeter of a gap. It was now digging hard into her flesh and must be causing considerable pain..

"I don't think I can get it off," I said.

"Perhaps we had better stop," Tanya said, the tone of her voice filled with concern.

"No!" Emily gasped. "Please, Brent, I know we can do it."

"But it can't go any further," I warned her.

"Just try it one more time," she said, the words escaping between clenched teeth.

The metal was slippery in my hands but I managed to grip the edges using my fingernails. I turned and twisted, pulling as hard as I dared. To her credit, Emily didn't cry out this time. I was about to give up when the shackle suddenly popped free, jumping into my lap.

"It's off!" Emily said happily.

"Does your ankle hurt?" Tanya asked.

"It will be okay," she replied proudly. "Now what do you want me to do next?"

"Does they keep the keys fort the shackles in here?"

"No," Tanya replied. "I think they are kept in the house."

I gave this a moments thought. Staring at Emily, I said, "I'm going to ask that you do something very dangerous. Do you think you are up to it?"

"I think so," she said uncertainly.

I explained my plan. "I have a pistol in the truck which I parked in the driveway. If they haven't cleaned it out, then perhaps it was missed. I want you to leave here, being very careful that you aren't seen. Take the long way getting to the truck, using the cover of the buildings and field to get there. Get in there and find the gun – it's in the driver's side door pocket. Bring it straight back here, running as hard as you can. I know I'm asking a lot out of you."

Emily nodded.

"It's too dangerous," Tanya said. "She's been through too much."

"She's a tough girl," I said. "Anyway, she's our only chance unless you can think of something else."

"I can do it, Tanya," Emily protested.

Tanya looked away for a moment, staring off to some corner. When she finally answered, her voice was choked with emotion. "I've already lost my sister and my mother. With you two, I feel like I have a family again. I can't have anything happen to her but I understand what she has to do."

I grimaced. "We're going to die if she can't get that pistol. And she'll die if we just sit here and wait for those two bastards to come and get us. There isn't much choice in the matter."

"Please be careful," Tanya said as she turned too speak to Emily.

But it was already too late. Emily was already clambering over the fence. She headed towards the sliding door, limping slightly as she went. It only took a pull and a small gap opened. She disappeared outside.

The next minutes seemed to drag interminably on. I couldn't help myself but all I thought about were the worst possible outcomes. As I held Tanya's hand through the fence, my ears strained to hear any sign that Emily had been discovered. Simon had my shotgun now and a load of buckshot would make short work of a little girl. I began to question my decision of letting her go, fearing the worst. And those moments can really get one down – it's the racing thoughts, hurtling towards an unknown outcome that leads towards the dark road of depression. But you couldn't control everything in the world no matter how hard you try.

"You're squeezing my hand too hard," Tanya said.

"I'm sorry," I whispered back, letting my grip relax. "I'm just worried."

"It will be okay," she said back to me, but her own trembling voice betrayed the emotions bubbling underneath.

Outside, above the coughs and groans of the people around us, I heard the sound of footsteps running over baked dirt. A thin body shot through the gap of the sliding door. It was Emily, running as hard as she could. There was a heavy shot outside. Buckshot struck the corrugated metal exterior, sounding like hail against a tin roof. The range was close enough that little holes had peppered the wall, letting little dimples of light shine through.

"I made it! I made it!" Emily shouted.

She ran over, the Browning pistol clutched tightly in her fingers. It was soon in my hands. Emily then hopped over the fence to join Tanya. The both of them cowered together on the floor.

With a rusty squeal, the sliding door opened. The streaming light was blinding. In came Simon, the shotgun held in his hands. Behind him was the man I took to be Lyle, holding a cattle prod. He was a big fellow wearing nothing but overalls that exposed a massive set of arms. His head was bald but he had a long and unkempt black beard.

"Where are you, little girl?" Simon intoned chidingly.

Silhouetted against the open door, they were perfect targets. I could have shot the both of them right there, but instead I waited. I wanted them to get closer before I pulled the trigger. It was a matter of survival. If I fired now, then there was a slight chance that one of them could escape, leading to a standoff. In that case the survivor outside would have all the cards. I was locked in here with only a child as my only trump. Anyone with a half a brain would quickly realize that they would have to merely wait long enough until we were too starved to resist.

"Come out and play with us," Simon said, his voice as sweet as honey. He was a cagy one, moving slowly forward as if expecting a trap to be sprung at any moment. He had to know that something was wrong – why would anyone escaping run back to their prison?

Lyle was still standing close to the door, looking dumbly at his friend.

"Get in here and help me look," Simon snarled.

The big man nodded dumbly before lumbering inside.

Simon took one side while Lyle took the other. They began searching the pens one by one, peering through the bars. I moved to my haunches and waited. I didn't feel particularly keyed up – I was too tired for that. Instead I knew exactly what I had to do.

Simon's head was soon over the side of the metal fencing, looking into Tanya's holding pen. Trying to hide, Emily had moved behind her. A grin split his ugly face.

He said, "So there you are, girl. It looks like I need to tighten those ankle cuffs. We can't have little things like you running around and burning up all that energy or else all that good meat will turn stringy. Now come here."

Without a word, I rose and pointed the Browning at him. Before I pulled the trigger, a brief look of surprise passed across his weather-beaten face. The bullet passed through his cheekbone and with one final gasp, he fell over and died.

Lyle was still standing on the other side of the pens, his child-like face filled with shock. I felt a pang of guilt as I twisted around and shot him in the chest. He was a simple man, probably only guilty of following orders, but he was also an unknown. If I let him live, there was always a chance that he would try to get back at me or stop Emily from performing her next task. Needless to say, he had to go.

That first bullet barely made an impression on Lyle. He looked at the bloody hole in his chest and poked at it with a thumb. It took another moment before the message reached his brain that he was dying. With a groan, he fell to his knees, and then fell face forward onto the dirt floor.

"Emily," I said, "get the keys."
Chapter 20

From the old blanket I was sitting on, I watched sleepily as Tanya and Emily played in the waves. It was June now. The sun was high in the sky, baking the white sand to a furious temperature that would burn bare feet. The beach here was wide; wider than I ever remembered it being. The dunes of the old shoreline were over a hundred yards away now. The water was warm like a bath and here and there, thick patches of algae could be seen.

What had started out as a journey to find food and more gasoline for the truck had turned into a day at the beach. Once Emily had spotted the water from the abandoned beach house we had stopped at, she demanded that we all go for a swim. I could hardly say no to her since she rarely complained about the odd situation she had been thrown into. So stripped down to their t-shirts and underwear, Tanya and Emily went swimming while I stood guard against the slightest chance of a threat.

If I closed my eyes, I could almost imagine that everything was back to normal. We were just a little family out on vacation, enjoying the hot summer and sandy beaches. My only concern should have been if Emily had enough sunscreen, not if she food to fill her belly. I shook myself away from that impossible daydream and instead thought of the present situation.

We had survived the winter, living on the buried rations supplemented by daily trips to gather supplies. The houses and stores in town had little left to offer, so it took many trips to the abandoned homes to keep us going. There wasn't anyone left to contest our looting either. It seemed that everyone was either dead or gone. Without a supply of victims to attack, even the Infecteds had moved on, probably terrorizing some new city and spreading the disease on and on. It was a dire thought that kept me awake at nights but there wasn't much that I could do about it. My only purpose in life was to survive and make sure that Emily and Tanya stayed alive.

One thing I did see plenty of was the dead. They were lying everywhere, mostly the starved remnants of the Infecteds. The winter, which hardly had any snow, had been cold enough to freeze the bodies in strange contorted positions. The heat of the spring and summer had turned the corpses black, the eyes now empty sockets. It was a feast for the flies which swarmed everywhere where a good wind wasn't blowing. I had first tried to shield Emily from such sights, but it was a full-time job that I eventually had to give up. She was now immune to such horrors, which was probably a terrible thing for a foster parent such as myself to admit. But this was a new world and she had to get used to it if there was any chance of surviving.

In my few moments of spare time, I taught Emily how to drive. At first she was a poor pupil but she soon got the hang of driving the truck, albeit at low speeds. It was funny to see her blonde hair barely poking over the steering wheel, but it was really no laughing matter. If something happened to either Tanya or I, then there may be a time where she would have to escape on her own.

I could see Tanya looking at me shyly, giving me a knowing smile that made me blush like a school boy. I knew now that I loved her more than anyone that had come before. She was vivacious and the bad situation we all shared did little to bring her down. It was this spirit that seemed to keep me going. Or perhaps it the love-making we did in the rare moments we were alone. I learned a lot from her. In a house filled with people, those were truly special times, perhaps made even more precious by the horrors around us. In those moments we were together, often traveling to search for food, I felt like a gawky teenager, which was perhaps a good thing. I already had enough to worry about so any distractions were godsend.

My supplies, which had been set aside just for myself, had been expected to last a year. Now with four mouths to feed, the amount of available food had been cut dramatically. We had only survived the winter from the easy pickings of the local bounty. With everyone gone, it was easy to thoroughly search and take what we needed. But those free rations were getting slimmer with each passing week. I had to circle further and further out to find new places to search. The countryside around here was sparsely populated before the diseases that swept through, so I put no great faith in us lasting much longer. But I still loathed to leave the area. It was relatively safe and who knew what dangers were waiting in another place. But still, something had to be done sooner than later. I knew I was just putting things off, hoping that something would happen to break the spell.

As for Roberts, he spent most of his time peering through the microscope that he had brought inside that duffel bag. From time to time, I would drive him to the deserted pharmacy or hardware store, where he would dig through the already looted remains for some chemical or object he needed for an experiment. He claimed he was looking for a cure for the disease that caused the Infecteds to acts as they did. What advances were made, he did not share. Luckily his laboratory work was done in a small shed I had built during the winter. It turned out that his constant mumbling and tinkering had bothered the rest of us to the point where I hauled in enough lumber to build him a rough structure. It wasn't much of a place, but it was faraway enough from the house so Roberts was no longer a constant distraction.

The rest of my rare free time had been spent reading books taken from the library. I concentrated on farming and livestock. Being a rural area, there was certainly no shortage of equipment laying around to be used, but there is much more to being a farmer than what you can learn from just words printed on a page. If there was a chance of using these skills in the future, I would have to make allowances for any number of mistakes that would be made. That meant I would need a large supply of canned food before I could even attempt to grow my own.

Considering the heat that was enveloping us, farming may seem like a strange obsession for someone living in a state that was slowly turning into a desert. But things had to be better up north. If we could move up to Canada, closer to the Artic region, then perhaps the weather would be cool enough to allow plants to thrive. That and the abundant deer population should be enough to stave off starvation without resorting to canned items.

"What are you thinking about?" It was Tanya, her legs were shiny from the water of the lake. She was looking damn good and it set my heart fluttering as I hungrily looked her up and down.

I said clumsily, "You surprised me. I was just thinking about the future."

"That's not the only thing you're thinking about," she laughed.

She sat down next to me, leaning her head against my shoulder. Her wet hair soaked through my t-shirt, but I didn't mind. It felt nice.

"The future is a grim subject," she said.

"It certainly is. You know we can't stay here much longer."

"I know, but Emily is having such a good time with us. Look at her. When is the last time she looked so happy?"

I looked towards the water and saw Emily splashing in the water, looking younger than usual. "I'm talking about leaving Shelby entirely. It's time that we moved on. I've given this a lot of thought and it's our only choice if we want to see Emily grow up."

"But why? We are finally safe here. We haven't seen anyone for months now."

I shook my head. "There was already a shortage of food and fuel when I came here. Now we are getting down to our last stockpiles. We have enough for maybe another month before we will be forced to cut down on eating. Even the gasoline is getting low. I've stored enough to half-fill a fifty gallon drum, but that's only a full tank for the truck. We have taken pretty much what we can from the surrounding towns and homes. Anything else we find will be sheer luck. If we don't do something soon, then we'll be starving soon enough. It's best to make our break while we can."

"But I'm so happy here." She reached over for my hand.

I grasped it tightly. "So am I."

Tanya let out a sigh. "Well nothing lasts forever. If anyone knows that, it should be me. What would you suggest that we do?"

"Head north. It might be cooler up there. Maybe we can start a little farm and make enough food to live on."

"So that's why you've been reading all those books. But aren't you worried about the Infecteds being there?"

I shook my head. "It's pretty sparse where I'm planning to go. Like here, there aren't enough people there to keep those bloodthirsty creatures going for long. Just think of it, we'll be free from them and any group like the People's Party. Maybe it will be safe enough that we can have some more kids." The last part I just blurted out without thinking. I paused, waiting to hear her reply.

She was slow to answer, but her head still remained planted on my shoulder. "You make it sound rather idyllic, but it's just going to be a bunch of hard work, isn't it?"

"It beats starving."

"No, I mean having children. Emily is already a handful. A few more and I won't have any free time for myself."

I felt a lump in my throat, my heart beating fast. "You mean you do want to have children? With me?"

I could feel her nod, wet hair moving against me.

A burst of relief and happiness flooded through me, making me feel dizzy.

Her voice was low and gentle. "This is no world to raise children – no children should have to experience what Emily has been through. But this world still needs to go on, even though people seem to do their best at killing each other off. Perhaps we will do better the next time. Do you think humanity deserves a second chance?"

I shrugged. "I don't see why not. Everyone deserves one."

"Even me?" she said with a laugh, putting an arm around me.

"Especially you. You know that I love you, don't you?"

"Of course," she said as if it was simple fact. "I love you too."

I was glad to hear those words. I smiled, feeling happier now than I had for a long time.

She asked, "So when do we get started on this trip to Canada?"

I shrugged. "I want to gather as much gasoline and food as possible. That will take a week or two to get us what we need. Of course we will still have to scavenge as we travel, hopefully finding enough fuel to get us there. The amount of food I will want to carry is going to take up most of the room in the bed of the truck, so we will have to travel pretty light. Only a minimum of clothes, tools, and whatever we deem important."

"What about Roberts?" she asked, her voice not betraying any real concern for the man. He wasn't popular with anyone in the household

"It's up to him if he want to come with us. As far as I'm concerned, he's been living off my hard work for far too long. Unless it's looking through that damn microscope, Roberts doesn't care about anything. And for his hopes to find some magical cure for the Infecteds, I doubt that will happen, especially with the limited tools at his disposal. He needs computers, a real laboratory, and some assistants to help carry out the extensive work. Without those things, he's swinging in the dark trying to find a solution. I may be no biologist, but I do understand how such things are done."

"He's still a person – which seems to be a rarity these days. I think we should bring him with. I don't think he can survive without us."

"That's for sure," I said disdainfully.

Emily came running up, her blonde hair dark with water. She frowned at the two of us as if disappointed to see us sitting so close together.

"What are you two talking about?" she asked curtly.

It never dawned on me that Emily could be jealous of Tanya. The two of them seemed to get on splendidly, but now that I thought about it, this little girl had been rescued by me two times. That would definitely lead to some hero worship on her part. There wasn't much I could do about her feelings for me other than to let them naturally move on. And in time she could grow up and fall in love with someone her own age, provided there was someone left for romance. That was uncertain.

I gave Emily a smile. "We were discussing an upcoming move. Somewhere where we could raise some crops and maybe some animals."

"But I like it here!"

I explained, "So do I, but our supplies are getting low, so we have to try somewhere else. I was thinking some time soon. Anyway, wouldn't you like to ride some horses? I mean there still have to be some up in Canada."

"Horses?" she exclaimed, her eyes dancing with excitement.

"Sure, why not?" I said. "We will need some horses to help with the farm work. And that old truck of mine isn't going to last forever. In this new place we will need some way to get around that doesn't require gasoline."

"Now don't get the girl too excited," Tanya warned me. "We don't know what's up there."

I nodded. "We won't find out until we get there. Come on, let's get back home and start packing. I'll break the news to Roberts."
Chapter 21

"What? You can't leave now," Roberts sputtered.

He had been in working inside the shed, peering through a microscope when I interrupted him. The air inside this little building was stifling with the smell of sweat. After I explained the situation, his eyes had flashed with anger.

"It won't be for another few weeks," I said with a shrug.

"But I'm getting so close to finding a cure. The world can't afford to lose my valuable work. There are millions of lives at stake."

Jabbing my thumb into my chest, I said, "There is only one thing I care about – survival. There isn't enough food here to last us much longer. The sun overhead isn't getting any cooler either, so we have to head north and hope we can scrape by an existence. I have to think of Emily and Tanya, not some misguided fancy of yours."

Robert's face turned red. "This isn't just some fancy of mine, but a chance to cure! To save! Surely you can't be so cold-blooded that you don't care what happens to the human race."

I made a face. "From where I'm standing, there aren't many of us humans left. And even if you did find a cure, it will be too late to help anyone. There's no government to provide the inoculations and no way to communicate this information to the remaining survivors. Perhaps it could help us here, but I'm planning to stay as far away from the Infecteds as possible. That's my defense."

"Please look into the microscope." He pointed to the device, a small candle underneath the slide provided the back light.

With an exasperated sigh, I peered into the microscope and saw several strange creatures swimming through a yellow light. They were black and had long spindly legs and wasp-like abdomens. It was certainly not something that I had ever seen before but I knew nothing about diseases and such.

"This is the parasite that is the cause of all the trouble," he explained eagerly. "These specimens were collected by my team at Baldwin. Now watch as I add some healthy blood cells." His whisper was uncomfortably close to my ear as if he was telling some important secret.

There was the sound of equipment being moved around and then the view changed. On the left side of the slide came a large new influx of cells, flooding towards the wasp-like creatures. The parasites instantly reacted, their thin legs swimming energetically towards the blood. As the two collided, something very strange happened. It appeared as if the blood cells were consumed, only to be quickly ejected. But they looked changed in color, having turned nearly black.

His voice shaking with excitement, Roberts explained, "This is the most amazing discovery – an object that causes a cell to mutate on demand. It doesn't kill or consume, it just changes the host in a way that benefits the parasite so it can continue to multiply and spread. It does the same type of modification to different types of cells too, including nerve and brain synapses. The action is surprisingly swift, since it only takes a few pumps of the heart to circulate the parasites deep into the cerebral cortex."

It seemed like something straight out of a horror movie. Looking up from the microscope, I said, "You called it a parasite. I thought parasites lived off their host. What are these things eating?"

He cackled. His face was glowing with excitement. "They use the micro-nutrients in the blood to live. And the iron in the blood is collected by them too. That's used for a different reason which took me a long time to figure out. Would you like to see for yourself?"

"Sure," I replied. I hated to admit it but my curiosity was getting the better of me. There was something strange about these parasites that made them look unnatural. It was like an alien that I had never seen before. At least it wasn't anything that I ever saw way back in biology class or some educational television show.

Roberts began sorting through a series of slides, examining the labels. He stopped at one and gave a grin. Fiddling with the microscope, he said, "Take a look at this."

I peered into the eyepiece again and this time saw two parasites; apparently dead. Oddly enough, one of them was incomplete. The one on the right was whole, but the one on the left had missing legs and half the abdomen was missing.

"What does it mean?" I asked.

"Hold on, just one more slide."

As I watched, the slide was changed. This time it was another pair of dead parasites, one complete as before, but this time the other one was just missing the legs.

Roberts said, "I was able to capture this half-way through the building process by removing the blood. Without food, they eventually stop working, probably waiting to be reactivated with a fresh transfusion. This dormancy makes them especially dangerous since they can essentially hibernate until activated .

I look away from the microscope and stared at him. "Building and activation – those sound like words used when describing a mechanical process. What are you getting at?"

"Of all the people left in this world, you are probably one of the few who can understand this. You've heard of nanotechnology?"

"Yes. At least for surgical and medical uses they are supposed to be little robots that have been injected into the body to heal and seek out cancerous cells." A sick wave of understanding passed through me. "You don't mean to say that these parasites aren't alive? They were actually made by humans? But who would do such a thing?"

He shrugged. "That I don't know. But they are ingenious little machines, capable of modifying cell structures. This new nanotechnology isn't my specialty or even my realm of study, but imagine how such little robots could cure cancer or fight disease. It's simply amazing to see in action."

"Or else they could run amok, killing millions of people," I said sarcastically.

"Yes, there is that," he said as if it was a minor concern. "What do you know about the Manhattan Project?"

I quickly replied, "I believe it was a secret project during World War Two to create the first atomic bomb."

"Exactly. And after that, we got nuclear power, medicine, and Pandora's box was forever opened. Take missiles and satellites as another example. The only reason the government was interested in developing them was because of the military implications. The civilian uses only came later."

"You're saying these little nanobots were created for the military?"

He nodded. "Unless you can think of another reason, it's the only explanation that makes any sense."

I had a sudden memory. I said, "The day I rescued Emily there were two Infected soldiers. The very same soldiers who passed the parasite onto her parents."

"When was this?" he asked excitedly.

"It was last October, just when everything was really going to hell. I was driving here when I saw an abandoned RV the side of the road. Emily popped out and went running past, looking scared as hell. That's when I saw an Infected for the first time. It was a soldier. I assumed they were part of some convoy or perhaps from a local military base. Anyway, after I took care of him and picked up Emily, I went back to investigate what happened to the parents. I was attacked by another soldier and then driven off by her parents who had also become Infecteds. Emily and I ran for it. At the time I thought it was some drug or some strange disease that caused people to go mad."

Roberts began rubbing the scraggly beard on his chin. He said, "Very interesting. I wonder if that was the beginning of the outbreak. Just think, you could have stopped it all if you had removed her parents."

I shook my head. "You're really something. I couldn't kill Emily's parents in cold blood, and especially not in front of her. That's inhumane."

He gave me a puzzled look. "Maybe you're right, but now you're obligated to fix the problem, aren't you?"

I answered coldly, "My only obligation is to look after Emily and Tanya. I don't owe anything to anyone else."

With a lopsided grin, Roberts said, "If you care about their safety, then you should be willing to help me. I'm looking for a way to stop these little machines from reproducing in the body. Perhaps there is a way to stop the effects, allowing the victim to return to normal. If not, there still has to be a method of stopping the nanobots from spreading from person to person."

"What makes you so sure of that?"

"You see weapons like this are very tricky. If you used it against an enemy, you had better be damned sure it doesn't spread to your own troops. If the designers of these little self-replicating robots were smart, which I think they were, then there would be some fail safe method of removing them. Perhaps a light dose of radiation, or some chemical trace that can be safely injected into the bloodstream. I don't know what it is yet. I've tried several methods, but so far only removing the source of nutrients – the blood – seems to do the trick. And that's no solution since that method will also kill the victim."

"So what would you have me do?"

He let out a little laugh. "You're obviously stronger than me and also more handy with a gun. I want you to go back to the scene of the crime, the place where you first saw the Infecteds, and search the area. Those soldiers had to come from somewhere close by. Perhaps there is a base and something there that can point to a method of removing the nanobots."

I shook my head. "And what am I supposed to do if I find such a place? Since I don't exactly have a background in medicine or nanotechnology, how am I supposed to know what I'm even looking for? Shouldn't you come with me?"

His face turned pale. "Now, now, let's not get hasty. I would just get in the way and anyway, I could get killed."

I laughed at his timidness. "You're ready to put all the risk on my head without considering the fact that it's been me keeping you alive. It was me who rescued you from Baldwin and it was me who kept you fed during the winter. Do you really think you could have survived otherwise? You would have starved or turned into an Infected and that's no lie. Now it's time to lay something on the line. If this is so important to you, then it's time to put your own life at risk."

"But I can't do it by myself," he sputtered.

"Oh, I'll come with you. I'll admit that I'm curious now and if there is a cure, I want to know what it is. If I'm moving Tanya and Emily up to Canada, I need them to be safe. I'm willing to take that chance for them, are you?"

"I think so," he said, his cheeks turning back to a normal color.

"We'll leave in the morning," I said coldly.

I left the shack and strode angrily back to the house. Opening the door, I went inside. Emily was sitting by the window, reading a book. Tanya was resting on the sofa, her head tilted back on a cushion. She was watching me through slit-like eyes.

"Well is he going with us?" Tanya asked.

I nodded. "Looks like it, but Roberts wants me to do something first."

"I don't like the look on your face. What is it?"

I looked at Emily to see if she was listening. The book was dropped in her lap and with unblinking eyes she was now paying attention to the conversation.

"It's like this," I started lamely. "The day I met Emily was when I rescued her from two soldiers who were Infecteds. Her parents were bitten and suffered the effects that we've already seen."

"We had to drive away from them," Emily sadly added.

"Yes, we did. At the time I didn't know what an Infected was. No one really knew. But Roberts has evidence that the Infection isn't caused by a disease, like everyone thought, but is actually a nanotechnology device – a little robot, if you will – that has been designed for the military."

"A what?" Tanya asked skeptically.

"It's a robot that is small enough that it can crawl through the arteries and veins of the body. Such technology is pretty exotic but it really does exist. I know it sounds insane, but I've seen the evidence with my own eyes. Whatever is converting normal people into Infecteds is not a biological in nature. It's not a germ or a virus, but a machine that mutates cells, changing them into something different. Roberts think there might be a cure or at least a way to inoculate against the infection."

"So if my parents could be found, then they could be cured?" Emily asked hopefully.

I frowned. We hadn't really broached the subject of her parents since I had assumed that she had understood that they were gone forever. Impossibly she still had some childlike hope that they were still alive.

"You mustn't think that," Tanya interjected before I could say anything. "Chances are that they are dead now."

"No!" Emily shouted. She stood up, letting the book fall to the ground. "They aren't! They can't be!" She then ran off to the bedroom and slammed the door hard enough to make the dishes in the kitchen rattle.

Tanya made a face. "I could have handled that a bit better, but she has to know the truth."

"I think she does, but part of her just can't face it yet."

"You're probably right. But I want you be careful, you hear? I don't want anything to happen to you."

I went over and put my arms around her. "And don't go running off without me again, okay? I don't think I can stand it."

"I'll never leave you," she said and then kissed me on the mouth.
Chapter 22

Roberts and I took the road heading south. I was driving, keeping the usual lookout for any sign of trouble. Though I hadn't seen a stranger for some months now, the countryside still looked alive as if the abandoned cars just needed a little work, and the deserted homes just needed a little cleaning to beat back the dirt and grime. But I had already looted these places and knew there was nobody left here except for the echoes of memories past. I'm not the sort to believe in ghosts but if I saw one, I wouldn't be all that surprised. This world still had plenty of reminders of restless spirits roaming.

The road, of course, was still passable but the yellow, dry weeds were already encroaching past the shoulder and onto the asphalt. God only knew how such plants managed to survive only on dust and plenty of sunshine, but there they were, rippling in the wake of the truck. The engine ticked along as usual. We rushed past empty barren fields and leafless forests that looked like gaunt skeletons. The heat had been so bad this year that I feared I would never see rain again. I only hoped that Canada, or even further north than that, would be cool enough to allow crops to grow again.

"How far is it?" Roberts asked impatiently.

I shot him a dirty look for interrupting my train of thought. "It's about thirty miles away, so at this speed we'll be there in another hour or so."

"I forgot to thank you for doing this."

I shrugged. "It's no problem, but just make sure to do what I tell you. If things go down, I can't be busy looking after you. You'll have to run when I run, and duck if any shooting starts."

"You're not expecting any trouble, are you?"

"I don't know. If we find a military base, there are bound to be soldiers there, provided they didn't all become Infecteds. Of course compared to my shotgun, they would have some serious firepower, so any chance of winning a fight with them is negligible. With MREs and a good source of water, it would be a good place for the soldiers to hunker down and weather the storm out. But we shall have to see who we find, if anyone."

He nodded and turned his attention back to the road.

It was almost noon when we got to the place where I first saw the Infecteds. To my surprise, the RV was still there. It had been picked over by looters. The vehicle was not resting on the axle; the tires long gone. The windows were all smashed out and the hood was open, presumably to steal the battery. The outside door was open and some debris – a torn tablecloth, a worn cushion, and a smashed television – rested on the shoulder of the road. Deep in the yellow weeds were the remains of one of the Infecteds I had killed, now just rags and white bones poking through.

I stopped the truck a few yards away. Taking the keys out of the ignition, I put them in the front pocket of my jeans.

"Hold on," I said to Roberts as I pulled the shotgun from the back. "Let me take a look first before you go snooping around."

Fiddling with the window switch, he nodded. "Don't worry, I'll be careful."

Sliding gently to the ground, I brought the shotgun up, ready to fire at anything that moved. It was quiet. The bare trees creaked and the weeds rustled along as the dry wind gently blew. I went over to the RV. The driver and passenger seats were unoccupied. The interior was dark. The air around me felt strange as if crackling with electricity. Something was wrong. I felt as if someone was watching me. Or someone was waiting, just waiting for me to poke my head inside.

I jacked a shell into the chamber. "Come out!" I yelled.

There was a faint scratching from within the vehicle. I circled around to the side, keeping an eye on the open door. The shotgun was ready and my finger was on the trigger. It felt slick with sweat.

I shouted, "If there is anyone in there, you had better come out or I'll fill your hide with buckshot!"

There was no response at first. And then I heard a whining noise. From out of the door leaped a dog. It was a scraggly terrier that was painfully thin. I was so surprised that I nearly pulled the trigger, but just managed to slip my finger off in time. The little dog rushed at me, his tail wagging. It looked completely normal, but I still kept my distance just to be sure. The beast thought I was playing a game and ran around me, barking.

I took the chance. "Come here, boy," I said, getting on a bended knee.

The dog ran over and began licking my offered hand.

I patted him on the head. "You must be hungry," I said. "Here, let me get you something to eat."

Returning to the truck, I began digging through the knapsack that I had brought along.

Roberts said, "I see you've made a new friend. Do you think you can afford to feed the little mutt?"

"If I can feed you, then I can feed him," I snapped angrily back.

"You mean a she," he replied sourly.

"He or she, it doesn't make a difference. It will be nice to have a dog around, just to warn us if strangers are coming. Anyway, Emily needs a companion other than me and Tanya. It will be good for her to take care of something."

Opening a can of deviled ham, I put it on the ground and watched as the dog greedily ate the sloppy meat. When he was done, I poured some water into the empty can. That was eagerly lapped up.

"What do you think she's been living on?" Roberts asked as he got out of the truck.

"I don't want to even think about it," I replied, remembering all of the available corpses. "Do you know I can't even think of the last time I've even seen a dog."

"That's because they've all probably been eaten," he said. "Though this one is skinny enough the no one bothered. Maybe she's the last one in the world." He paused, looking over the deserted RV. "So this is the spot, eh? Where do you suggest we go from here?"

"I don't know. Those two soldiers probably came from somewhere nearby," I replied. I peered over nearby fields and trees but didn't see anything interesting. "Hold on, I have an idea. I'll be right back."

This time I went over to the remains located on the shoulder of the road. I began rooting through what remained of the clothing. I felt the hard shape of a wallet. Pulling it out, I opened the cracked leather and found a military identification card inside, belonging to one Lieutenant Pete Williams. There was no base location here, but digging deeper, I found a number of tattered receipts showed he had bought several items at a gas station in Fremont, which was a small town just five miles west of our current location.

Returning, I said to Roberts, "It looks like we're going to have to do a little more driving, I found a wallet and it seems that the lieutenant had a taste for chewing tobacco that he bought at the town of Fremont."

"Come on," he said eagerly as he got back inside the truck. "I don't want to get caught out here at night."

"Neither do I," I replied.

After the shotgun had been stuffed behind my seat, I picked up the dog and placed him in the middle of the bench seat. I started the engine and off we went.

It was only a few turns later when the first signs of the town of Fremont started to appear. The outskirts were the usual collection of dusty and deserted homes and small businesses, the windows vacant and the door open. Trash littered the ground, collecting in the nooks and crannies. A few white bones of skeletons could also be seen, indicating a battle had been fought here.

As I drove deeper into town, I saw a burnt out home. And then another. A semi and trailer were stretched across the main street, the interior gutted and black; the tires burned away so only the rims remained. In spots the shell of the trailer had been punctured with bullets. From the driver's side window dangled a charred corpse, the skin baked sooty gray on the grinning skull.

"I see the People's Army made it here," I said out loud as I put the truck in reverse.

"The who?" Roberts asked nervously. His face was a mask of uneasy fear, and his hand trembled as he wiped the sweat from his brow.

I turned down a side street, taking another way into town. "Some crank took over Grand Rapids and started promoting some silly new world order. I'm surprised you didn't run into them while coming up here."

"We bypassed Grand Rapids," he explained. "No reason to take the chance of our rations getting stolen and our equipment destroyed."

"They're a rotten bunch of gangsters," I spat out as I remembered what I had seen those people do. "They were raiding town for supplies and killing off everyone as they did it. Shelby would have turned out the same if it hadn't been for the sudden attack of the Infecteds. Of course that didn't end up very well either."

Roberts merely nodded. He wasn't the sort of guy who really cared about others.

The small downtown of Fremont was a burnt out shell. I stopped the truck to survey the damage. Bricked buildings had been gutted with fires so hot that the tar on the streets had melted and run like water into the sewer grates. Remains of bodies littered the street, bleached white by the sun. A skull, somehow balanced on a window ledge above, leered down at us, the eye sockets empty and hollow. Cars and trucks, some burned and others smashed, were parked in some perverse display of chaos at work. The citizens here had put up a hell of a fight and had paid for it.

I let out a long sigh. It was then that I realized that I had been holding my breath.

"Damn," Roberts mumbled, the sight somehow penetrating into that thick head of his.

The dog nuzzled his head under my arm. I scratched her ears, wondering how man could be so cruel. Of course I had seen this type of senseless carnage before, but the past few months had been so quiet that the sharp pang of those old memories had lost their edge. What happened at Shelby came back with a rush that made my head spin.

"What now?" Roberts whispered as if afraid of waking up the dead.

"Those receipts came from a gas station on the other side of town," I replied. "We'll start there and work our way around the roads from there. If there is any base out there, we'll find it."

Roberts gave a shudder. "Now I'm not so sure if I want to. I thought this base would be a place of safety and refuge. But why didn't they come and help these poor people? They must have heard the fighting!"

"I don't know. We'll ask them if we can."

I reversed the truck until I found a clear street to drive down.
Chapter 23

I almost missed it. We had spent the last two hours crisscrossing along little dirt roads, looking for any sign of an army base. Instead we saw more old signs that the People's Army had been here – burned out homes, abandoned cars, and jumbles of bones and rags, the only signs that people once lived in the town of Fremont. It was a thoroughly depressing trip and the lifeless landscape of leafless trees and empty skies began to weigh on my mind. I just wanted to go home now and was about to say so when I saw something odd out of the corner of my eye.

Jamming hard on the brakes, the dog skittered forward on the seat, almost falling off.

"What is it?" Roberts asked in alarm. His once tired expression was now wary.

"There's something over there," I replied pointing off to the field on the left side of the road.

A good two-hundred yards and nestled amongst a outcropping of trees was a dark large object mottled with camouflage netting. It would have worked if there were still leaves on the branches, but now the shape just looked out of place. It was a good place for a guard, hidden in the vegetation, to watch the road. I ran my eye along the dust covered field and picked up a faint indentation, indicating ruts leading in that direction.

Pulling up on the transfer case lever, the truck went into four wheel drive, maximizing any grip I could purchase on the dust-covered surface. If we needed to get away fast, I didn't want to bog down in the loose gray sand. I turned the wheel and slowly nosed the truck forward. There was no reason for haste here.

We rattled along the field, every bump making the old truck shake. As we neared the object in the woods, I saw it was an Abrams tank half-buried in the sand. The camouflage netting was ragged with great open spots showing the dull tan metal underneath. The massive turret cannon was raised slightly, pointing toward the direction of the road. I stopped, half-expecting a warning shot or some type of movement from the hulking beast. Instead there was nothing but forbidding silence.

"Stay here," I cautioned Roberts as I got out of the truck. I left my gun behind since I wanted to be seen as just a curious but harmless visitor.

He nodded weakly, his eyes locked on the tank.

The dog didn't listen to the command but instead jumped out. I watched as it bounded over to the back wheel and took a leak. It then returned to my side, looking up at me. The pair of us went over to the tank, the dog's wagging tail beating against my leg. I rapped the armor with my knuckles, the metal hot under the burning orange sun above.

"Is anyone in there?" I asked loudly.

There was no reply.

Leaving the dog behind, I clambered up the side of the tank until I found the hatch on top of the turret. It was already open. Inside I could see that the ever present dust had permeated the interior. It was as empty as a tomb.

I jumped down and returned to the truck, the dog eagerly following me. Roberts was watching me as I pulled myself back into the truck.

"Well?" he asked.

"No one's home and it looks like it's been a long time since anyone has been here. But I still want to be cautious. Let's go on foot now since the sound of the engine will alert anyone listening. If anything goes down, run back to the truck. We'll meet back here."

"Okay," he agreed.

As he jumped down into the dust, I pulled the shotgun out from the back of the truck. I took the Browning pistol out from the door pocket and tried to offer it to Roberts.

He shook his head. "I'm afraid that I'm no good with those things."

"Are you sure? I can't always be there to protect you."

"Yeah, I'm sure."

I shrugged and stuffed the pistol into my waistband. It wasn't my job to keep him alive. Anyway, I felt better knowing that I wouldn't have an inexperienced gunman at my back.

Beyond the tank, the field opened up again. Here it was crowded with a half-dozen shipping containers converted to military use. They had doors, little windows, and even air conditioners. In the center of all this was a dark green Blackhawk resting on the helipad. A number of Humvees were there too, the dust pressing heavily against the oversized wheels. Around this compound stretched a tall chain-link fence that had the eastern side torn open as if a large explosion had gone off, leaving nothing but jagged metal.

Roberts started ahead but I grabbed his shoulder before he could go any further.

"Hold on for a second," I said. "I thought I saw something move."

We retreated deeper into the woods where I used the field glasses I had brought. I got down on the ground. Crawling through the dry leaves and sand, I peered through the standing trunks. I scanned along the short building, past the helicopter and concentrated where I thought I saw the movement. It was a dark green building with a white star painted near an entrance. I fought with the focus as a figure in uniform opened the door and went inside. The features had been blurry enough that I didn't make out much detail. But it did look like a soldier or someone wearing the garb of one.

"What is it?" Roberts whispered next to me.

"Someone is down there," I said. I pointed to the building with the white star. "They went in there."

"Did you see anyone else?"

"No. It does seem strangely quiet. I wonder where everyone went. I guess we have to go down and ask."

Picking myself up from the ground, I proceeded towards the building. The dog was at my side, but moved warily as it sniffed the air. Roberts took up the rear, moving at slow pace that quickly widened the gap between us. As I got closer, I saw the true condition of the encampment. Some of the buildings had broken windows and the ever-present dust was piled high on the steps and sills. The vehicles had flat tires, doors hanging open, and once again dust coated every surface. It had been a long time since this place was operational.

The building the stranger entered had a painted sign tacked near the door: _Major Arnold Whitney, 22_ nd _Special Operation Group_. A short flight of wooden steps led up to a door painted the same color as the building. Without knocking, I barged in with the shotgun leveled and ready to fire.

Inside it was dim, the only light coming from the windows that were covered with drawn blinds. At a large desk sat a fresh-faced kid with flaming red hair, a sunburned face, thin lips, and wearing an army jacket that was rolled to the elbows. He had been digging through a can of peaches but now wore an expression of shock. His eyes strayed towards the AR-4 rifle resting against the paneled wall behind him.

"Don't even try," I suggested through gritted teeth.

"Who are you?" he blurted out. There was a definite southern drawl there.

Looking for a handout, the dog was already busy clawing at the soldier's knees, trying to get the attention of this youth.

"I was about to ask the same question," I replied. "I take it you are not Major Whitney?"

The mouth broke into a nervous grin, exposing two broken rows of yellow teeth. "Nah, I'm just Private Tyler Polk, recently retired from the army. But perhaps retired was the wrong word – more like discharged due to lack of government. Mister, I sure hope you don't have an itchy trigger finger because that shotgun is scaring the hell out of me."

I let the barrel drop a few inches. "Where is everyone?" I asked.

Polk cautiously let his hand drop down to the dog, who instinctively sniffed it. He then began scratching the little beast's head, which caused her to roll over, exposing the stomach. She really had no loyalty to anyone.

He said, "I'm the last one remaining. The others either took off after the accident or were changed. I hid out until everyone cleared out. I've been here ever since."

Roberts stumbled inside, his face red with heat.

I said, "Private Polk, let me introduce you to Roberts of the CDC. He's most interested to hear what happened here. He seems to think that this was the place that some real serious trouble started. Can you tell us anything?"

The private pointed to a pair of steel and plastic chairs shoved up against the paneled wall. "Take a seat and I'll tell you what happened. I've been kind of lonely so I don't mind talking for a spell. Really, you would have never been able to sneak up on me if hadn't been so quiet lately. I just kind of dropped my guard, thinking I might be the last man alive in the whole world."

I nodded, but took the assault rifle away and placed it against the wall behind me. I added my shotgun next to it before taking my seat.

Roberts was already sitting, fanning himself with one of the scraps of paper on the floor. The entire office was a disheveled mess with strewn paper cups, open MRE packages, and dirty clothing. A faint dry breeze blew in from the small open windows, making the intolerable heat only slightly better.

Polk said, "Now that we're all settled, I'll start. By the way, do you have any cigarettes? I've been jonesing for a smoke."

"Sorry, I don't smoke."

Roberts shook his head. "Ah, that's too bad. I suppose I could walk into town and get some, but I sort of don't like leaving the compound unless I have to. Anyway, I'll tell you what happened here. It's a real interesting story.

"I got assigned to the 22nd two years ago. We specialized in transportation, logistics, and special operations that are often classified. Nah, I know what you're thinking but you would be wrong. You see, we aren't doing anything exciting like working behind enemy lines or assassinating bad guys. Instead we move sensitive material to different locations – stuff like nuclear missiles, biological and chemical weapons, and even some strange things that I don't know even what they were. The government had plenty of secrets back then, let me tell you. The worsening situation made our job even busier as stuff got shuttled all over the place depending on local security conditions.

"With the way things were going last year, we were asked to temporarily move some experimental ordinance to a safe location. Since Grand Rapids was getting worse and worse, the powers that be thought it would be safer if said weapon didn't get into the wrong hands. So we loaded it into a two-by-six truck with a convoy of Humvees and even a tank that was trailered. We came to Fremont via the back roads and setup camp here. The buildings and fence were already here along with plenty of chow. It was a pretty plum assignment since there wasn't anything here to worry about except what was happening at home. We just ate and tried to enjoy the weather. Of course Michigan isn't exactly my thing since it gets too damn cold here in the winter."

"Where are you from, soldier?" I asked.

"South Carolina," he proudly replied. "I wish I could get back there but it's too much of a risk to travel. So I've been sticking it out here since there is no danger of the food running out anytime soon."

"What were you carrying in the truck?" Roberts asked impatiently.

Polk made a face. "You Yankees are always in a hurry. Don't worry, mister, I'm getting there. Now where was I? Oh yes, we got here and set up a watch on the goods, keeping out any nosy locals. It was quite boring and there isn't much to do in town, not with only two bars to visit. But a couple of the local girls were happy to see the rations we were willing to share with them. Nothing really exciting happened here until the day of the accident. That's when everything went to hell.

"You see the thing with experimental weapons is no one knows how to treat them. Since these were loaded in normal artillery shell casings, we didn't worry how they were handled. Now don't get me wrong, we weren't tossing them around like footballs or anything like that, but we weren't treating the shipping crates like newborn babies either. I was there when it happened and frankly I'm lucky to be alive."

He stopped, his expression set in a stony silence.

"Go on," I said quietly.

Polk finally blurted out, "Corporal Chaffee was always a klutz. We were ordered to move some of the ordinance to another building. There were a dozen of us carrying the boxes one at a time like we were supposed to. We were outside when that damn Chaffee let one slip. I saw it happen myself. The box hit the ground but didn't explode or anything like that. Artillery shells aren't that touchy or else there would be even more accidents. I thought everything was okay until he went crazy."

"The casing of a shell could have cracked," Roberts suggested. "There must have been some sort of pressurized gas inside. It would release the nanobots directly into the nose and lungs where it could gain access to the bloodstream."

He said, "I don't know what was in there, but Chaffee rushed right at Sergeant Hoag and bit the bastard right on the neck. In seconds the sergeant went crazy too, attacking the nearest man with the same madness. I ran for it before someone broke out the weapons and opened fire. Because I didn't want to get caught in the crossfire, I went to the woods and hid there, watching.

"The funny thing about a military camp is the lack of available weapons. They are only to be used when necessary – it isn't like we walk around all day toting a rifle. Whatever madness overtook Chaffee spread quickly. It took a few minutes before some of the boys broke into the gun lockers and started firing back, but it was too late. There were a few explosions – a real big one by the fence - and plenty of gunfire but things quieted down real quick. After it was done, the remaining crazy bastards gathered together in a big crowd and huddled. It was a strange sight, let me tell you. There was no talking or anything like that, but then they separated, heading off in pairs."

"Interesting," Roberts commented.

"You didn't do anything to stop them?" I asked.

He made a disgusted face. "What could I do? I wasn't about to join them so I stayed hidden in the bushes. A few of them walked right by me but I could tell there was something wrong with my friends - it was those black eyes and red faces."

"What about that Abrams tank?" I protested. "You could have gone and gotten help from them."

"The crew in there didn't know what was going on either. They got curious, came out of the safety of the hull, and were attacked. What would you do?"

"I don't know," I replied.

"Look, mister, I've been here ever since, trying to think of a way to get home to my family. There isn't enough fuel left here to drive there, so I've been hunkering down, biding my time. You two are the first real people I've seen since that terrible day. The fuel for the generator is gone, so I'm not sure what I'm going to do when winter comes. I'll think of something."

There was a silence as Roberts and I digested this information. I had a hundred questions but didn't expect this Polk character to be able to answer any of them. He was just a grunt and couldn't know much about the origins of this strange ordinance.

Roberts cleared his throat and said, "Based on the story from this soldier, I have to assume that these nanobots are better programmed than I first assumed. Their first job, upon taking over the human host, is to spread quickly at no consideration of their own survival. After the base had been taken over, it was interesting that they paired off and left, perhaps further disseminating in a method that would ensure a spread of the nanobot."

"Since two attackers could easily overpower one defender?" I suggested.

"Correct. And what you witnessed at Shelby shows the Infecteds did not attack until they had the numbers to be successful. That is planning beyond some mindless zombie-like attack. Such a weapon could bring an enemy to their knees in a matter of days. It's no wonder the Army wanted to move it somewhere safe."

Polk looked between the two of us, keeping his mouth shut. But I could see his keen eyes were interested in Robert's musings.

I was skeptical. "Are you suggesting these creatures actually communicate with each other?" I asked. "There has been no sign they can even talk. What are they using? A built-in radio?"

With a shake of his head, Roberts began laughing. "And I thought you were the system designer. Imagine a program that just does certain actions based on conditions. For example, if you are outnumbered, then don't attack. Or stay in a group until it is safe to disperse to find new targets. It would lead to some ad hoc results but such a series of simple commands, especially if implanted in many expendable hosts, would still give the desired outcome of destroying a population. I just wonder what will come next."

"You think there could be some further program? Some further set of instructions?"

"Next?" Polk blurted out before Roberts could answer my question. "I just know those things aren't going to get me." He pointed to the papers strewn around the floor. "I haven't spent all of my time just sitting around and eating. I've been going through these reports trying to figure out what happened that day."

"Well why didn't you say so?" Roberts snapped.

The soldier gave a half-hearted shrug. "I just wanted to hear what you said since I didn't understand all the lingo in those papers. But I do know one thing, it is possible to get an injection and then those things, those Infecteds as you call them, can't give you the disease. If you care to read them, it's all there in black and white – something about a blocker trace element."

Roberts slowly nodded. "There had to be some safety mechanism built in to stop friendly soldiers from being infected. A small trace of a radioactive compound could provide a signal to the nanobot to not reproduce or even destroy itself. This is the solution I was looking for!"
Chapter 24

As we drove home in the dark, I rubbed my shoulder. It still ached where Roberts had plunged the hypodermic needle. I thought he had done it with rather more force than necessary so perhaps my dislike for the man was a two-way street. But still, I was now forever inoculated against becoming an Infected, which was a relief. I only had to return with the drug and then Emily and Tanya would also be safe from becoming one of those things.

As for Polk, he wanted to stay at the base, since there, as he explained, he was free to do as he pleased. I had no reason to add yet another hungry mouth to my retinue, so I did not put up much of a fight. But he did give me a box of MREs, two AR-4 rifles, a box full of ammunition, a crate of grenades, and enough syrettes to inoculate a hundred souls against the Infection. These were better gifts than I expected. If I was going to move my adopted family up north, some firepower and food could come in handy.

With the dog sleeping next to me, the truck rattled on for some time before Roberts spoke. He looked the way I felt: bleary-eyed and pale. He said, "You know that this is only an inoculation, not a cure."

I replied. "You mean it will only stop it from spreading further?"

"Yes, there is no cure once the cells have been mutated. The damage has been done and there is no coming back from such a dramatic change. I would hate to see what this inoculation would do to an Infected. So if you have the idea of curing some friend or relative who had become Infected, then you must know now that there is no hope. Without the nanobots to regulate the system, it will most certainly lead to death."

I thought of Emily's parents and all the others that had been Infected. "Do you see any chance for a future cure?"

He shrugged. "Perhaps, but only if someone could modify or replace the existing nanobots so the mutated cells could be changed back to normal. But I'm not sure if such technology still exists, especially these days. If anything, we are headed towards a new dark age. It will be a wonder if the flickering candle of humanity doesn't finally extinguish itself."

The headlights bobbed over the dark, empty road. I could feel the strong wind buffet the truck causing me to constantly correct the steering wheel. I just hoped that the dust would stay settled since I wanted to get home as soon as possible, not battle a storm. I was looking forward to a good night's sleep, and perhaps some time alone with Tanya. It was then time to prepare for the trip to Canada where we would finally find peace and safety.

After a few more miles, I took a turn onto the main road leading to my driveway. I was driving by instinct now, too tired to use the normal care. I didn't notice the dark figures on the shoulder until it was too late. The crimson orange of a shotgun blast lit up a spot before my eyes. The windshield on the passenger side shattered, sending pieces of glass flying everywhere inside. A blossom of red exploded next to me. Roberts was hit and gave a blood-choked gurgle. At the same time I felt a powerful kick in my right arm. I spun the steering wheel, trying to desperately dodge the next shot.

As I slid by one of the attackers, another load of buckshot hit my door with a metallic rattle that sounded impossibly loud. I lost control and went into a slide, the rear tires breaking loose. With a crash, the truck clipped a tree and then we ran head first into a thick pile of bramble. The front wheels dipped downward and the truck fell into a shallow ditch and suddenly stopped. I was thrown hard against the seat belt. I felt dazed. The dog was now on the floorboards, whining. Roberts was quiet. From the splash of blood on the back window, I could tell he would never move on his own power again.

Browning in hand, I opened the door and rolled out. The ground felt as hard as a rock.

"Get! Get!" I shouted at the dog. I wanted the poor beast to escape before the attackers got to it.

The dog stood inside the truck, staring at me as it wagged its tail.

"Go on! Get out of here!" I said, waving my hands. My upper arm hurt where I had been hit by a lead pellet. I could hear running footsteps moving towards me. It wouldn't be long before my attackers were here.

My words finally reached the little brain and the dog took off with its tail tucked between the legs. She disappeared into the bushes.

I could now hear distant voices.

"I told you not to kill him," one of them said, the voice cold and distant.

The reply was equally unemotional. "It is difficult to stop a moving vehicle."

"Next time shoot out a tire," the first voice said. This talker sounded familiar but I couldn't quite identify who it was.

I could see the men coming now. There were five of them, each holding a rifle or a shotgun. With the headlights on behind me, I was an easy target for anyone who cared to shoot. The question was why did they want me alive?

"Don't come any closer!" I warned them, keeping my pistol leveled in their direction.

"Hello, Brent!" the one in the front answered. "It's me, John Rhode."

Taken by surprise, I lowered the Browning. "Why did you shoot at me? You just killed someone!"

"It was just a mistake," Rhode said. "I just wanted to stop and talk to you."

His voice was smooth and placating, but underneath the surface there was a sense of detachment. It was strange considering he was normally such an argumentative man. Of course at this stage of the game I had every right to be suspicious. I had seen this man kill Sheriff Snyder in cold blood and knew what he was capable of.

"What did you have to say?" I asked.

"Why I wish to talk of the future, of course." His tone was half-mocking as if some great cosmic joke was about to be played on me.

"What are you getting at?"

He laughed coldly. The men near him did likewise. I just barely stopped myself from pulling the trigger and testing the odds. I could have killed two or maybe three of them before I went down in a hail of bullets. The laughter then died as quickly as it started.

Rhode said, "We have that woman and that little girl held back at your home. Two men are guarding them. Now I just want you to drop that pistol of yours and come with us. If you don't, well, I should hate to have anything happen to you right now but I won't have any compunctions in doing so, got it?"

"You had better not hurt them!"

"Don't worry, they are perfectly safe – for now."

I cursed myself for not leaving my home sooner. I could have at least abandoned my house and taken up somewhere nearby, but pride and comfort had kept me in place. It made sense that a remaining local would know where I was living, but I had thought they were all dead. Now I was paying for my rash decision. With a scowl, I put the pistol on the ground.

I watched as Rhode stepped into the yellow reflected light of the truck headlights. He was wearing a dark dirty jacket, blue jeans, and a pair of white tennis shoes. The skin of face was bulging with red veins and the eyes were blacker than the sky above.

"You're Infecteds!" I spat out.

I was about to make a grab for my pistol but the shotgun pointed at my head stopped any movement.

"Infecteds?" Rhode asked. "What a quaint concept, but I'm afraid you're the abnormal one now. You see there aren't many of your type left. We're the new normal while you are just the remnant of a dying species. There isn't much time for your kind."

This was one possibility that Roberts did not consider: once the Infecteds had gained dominance, then they would revert to some sense of normality. I wondered what new programming had been instilled into the brain by the nanobots.

I asked, "But you can talk and act like a normal person."

"I'm better than before. After the People's Army attacked Shelby, I managed to get away. But I couldn't move fast enough. I was hunted down and bitten. It was a life changing day when I joined my brothers and sisters on the hunt. It was like a blur as we moved from house to house, city to city, and made new converts to the cause. Many of us died from bullets and starvation, but each day we grew stronger and stronger in numbers as you normals got weaker and weaker.

"And then one day, I found that I could speak again. We met and discussed, but still talked with one voice. New plans were laid: to gather food, repopulate the old towns, and to breed. We have dispersed into large groups to do so. When we are ready, we shall soon have the rest of the world at our command. You will be happy to join us. We are going to make a new community here in Shelby but outsiders such as yourself aren't welcome. You shall, of course, have to be converted. You are doing valuable work here and once the worst part of the infection has passed, you will be reborn and ready for the community. But first, I just want the food you have stored here. We need to build our supplies up even more than they already are and don't have time for you to go through all the stages of your rebirth."

I feared I was too late to use the inoculation. "What about Tanya and Emily? Have you hurt them?"

"No, not yet. But we will if you don't show us where you had hidden your food. We have searched your house everywhere and only found a few cans. There has to be more."

"I've already taken what food I can from the area," I protested. "What you found is what I've got." I waved my hand. "You've seen what has happened to the land. We'll all be starving soon enough."

"Don't lie to me," he snapped. "Now come with us."

I stood, the motion enough to make a wave of dizziness pass from the bottom of my feet to the top of my head. I took a step, stumbled and nearly fell again. I was soon surrounded by them. I was herded over the road, through the woods, and towards the cottage. There was a Chevy Suburban parked here, the enormous bulk taking up enough space that we had to pass by it single file. If I didn't have Tanya and Emily to worry about, I would have made a dash for it here. Instead I meekly followed my captors inside the house.

A cheery blaze was going in the fireplace, a welcome relief compared to the cold night air. On the sofas, sitting across from each other, were Tanya and Emily. They both looked up when I arrived, but the mutual expressions betrayed nothing. Their guards were standing by the door, keeping a steadfast eye on the prisoners.

With a wave of his hand, Rhode shooed the other men outside, leaving just the guards and himself. I thought this was a good thing since it would be a lot easier to handle just the three of them.

As the door shut, Rhode said, "Now, Brent, tell me where the food is hidden."

"It doesn't matter what I say," I protested. "You're going to infect all of us anyway."

"True, but why fight the future?"

I pretended to give the matter some thought. I had to let him think that I was beaten. With a deep sigh, I finally said, "There are several spots out back that are marked with sticks marked with red paint. The food is wrapped in plastic and is buried a few feet down." Of course that was a lie.

"Good. Very good. Now if you would like to say any goodbyes, this will be the time. After you have been transformed, you will have no need for such individual emotions anymore. You will learn to live for the collective instead of your own personal wants or needs. It will be a reawakening and a chance to become reborn into a whole new life."

I walked over to Tanya and sat next to her. She took my hand and squeezed it. Emily joined us on the sofa. There were tears in both of their eyes.

Tanya said, "Are you okay? That arm looks pretty bad."

"I'll live," I replied in a low voice. I wish I could have told her that I was immune to the Infection, but that was still my ace in the hole. I still had to protect the both of them from being bitten by these freaks. No inoculation could save them if that happened.

Emily whispered, "I'm scared."

I replied, "So am I."

Glancing up, I could see Rhode watching us. His black eyes had the same interest of a spider watching a fly trapped in a web. A smirk on the corner of his lips betrayed that some minimal emotions still existed there. It wasn't sentimentality, but a cold detachment as if he was watching some strange experiment that he found impossible to comprehend. But nonetheless, he was faraway enough that I could try to pass a message to Tanya.

I turned and hugged her. I then leaned over and kissed her on the cheek. I quickly whispered in her ear, "When I move, I want you to take out the guard on the right. Just don't get bitten."

She nodded minutely before kissing me on the mouth.

"Are you through making your affectionate displays?" Rhode asked.

"Yes," I replied. I slid my feet back on the floor and arched them, ready to pounce forward.

Rhode bared his teeth and took a step towards us.

Before I could attack, there was a scratching at the door.

Rhode stopped. Without removing his gaze from me, he snapped at one of the guards. "Who is it?"

"I don't know," the man replied as he peered through the split glass windows mounted on the upper half of the door. "I don't see anyone." He opened the door.

The dog ran in, wagging his tail in a friendly fashion.

Distracted, Rhode turned his head to see what was going on.

I took this chance to attack. Instead of swinging my fist or giving a kick, I used my body to ram into Rhode. I caught him completely unaware and like a football player, slammed my good shoulder into him. The impact was brutal. We both went flying into the doorway where the guard was standing. The violent collision sent this man headfirst into the window set in the door. The glass shattered. His shotgun clattered to the floor. Both Rhode and I ended up on the ground, flailing at each other as the dog ran around us and barked.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Tanya was having a go at the other guard.

The glance in that direction had taken too much time. I had let my defenses down for just a brief second too long. I felt a bright burst of pain on my right wrist. Rhode had bitten me. He pulled back with a triumphant grin. I smiled cruelly back and threw my entire weight into a punch that connected on the side of his face. He collapsed.

Pushing myself up, I ran over to assist Tanya. She was battling like a trooper but still couldn't match the superior strength of the other guard. He was on top of her now, going in for a bite on the neck. I gave the man a swift kick in the side of the head. He groaned and tried to pull away from me. One more kick and he fell to the side, unconscious.

"Are you hurt?" I asked Tanya as I tried to gain my breath back.

"No, I'm fine," she gasped.

I looked at Emily. She was still on the sofa, her eyes wide.

"Come on," I said. "Get the dog. We have to get out of here before those other Infecteds come back."
Chapter 25

With one of the guard's shotgun in my hand, we left the cottage with the dog trailing behind us. I would have liked a chance to say goodbye to the old place, but there wasn't any time for such sentimentality. I just knew I was going to miss this little cottage since it had so many memories. There also wasn't time to collect clothing or additional food. We would have to do with what was in the bed of the truck and scavenge on the journey north.

The murmurs of the other Infecteds could be heard. They were somewhere out there along the driveway, probably waiting near the Suburban. My only job was to get Emily and Tanya past them, all while staying alive myself. The former was a necessity while the latter was only a hope. I was willing to sacrifice myself provided they could go free.

"Take to the woods," I quietly told them. "When you get to the road, you'll see the truck crashed in the trees with the headlights still on. Go there. The keys are still in the ignition. Pull up on the transfer case – that will lock the hubs and let the truck get enough traction to back out."

"Where is Roberts?" Tanya asked. Her voice sounded like she was clenching her teeth.

"He's dead," I stated.

Emily let out a gasp as if such a thing was impossible.

"I'm sorry to hear that," Tanya said. Once again the tone of her voice sounded strained.

"Are you okay?" I asked her.

"Yeah, yeah," she replied. "I'm just feeling a little out of sorts. I haven't felt this frightened for a long time. I guess I was getting too used to the soft life."

"Don't worry," I said as I took her hand and squeezed it. "We'll get somewhere safe soon enough. Now I'm going to go cause a distraction so you two won't be heard running through those dry leaves. I want you to stay here until you hear some shooting. Then take off and keep going until you get to the truck. I'll meet you in another minute."

Letting go of my hand, Tanya wrapped her arms around my neck and kissed me on the mouth.

"Be careful," she whispered into my ear.

"I will," I said as I pulled away. I then tousled Emily's hair. I picked the dog off the ground and placed the little beast in her hands. "Here, your job is to look after her, okay? Hold her tight." I then strode away without looking back. I felt like I was going to my own funeral.

The road was dark and the moon was nothing but a sliver in the sky above. Through the empty branches, I could see the red glint of Mars and the steady light of Jupiter. The shapes of the trees in the gloom had no definition but were just ghostly gray outlines against a black backdrop. The wind rustled strongly, scattering leaves along the ground. I moved slowly, using the edges of my feet to stay quiet as possible on the gravel-laden driveway.

The Chevy Suburban was ahead. In the dimness it was just a hulking shape. I heard the crunch of a foot shifting on the gravel and then low talking. Their voices were monotone. I kept going – slowly, slowly, slowly – until I was only twenty feet away from the hood.

"What's taking so long?" one of them asked.

"Patience," someone else counseled. "Rhode will make sure we get the food. Then they can be changed into one of us. They will be happier once the transformation is complete."

"That is true," yet another one added.

Dropping slowly and steadily to one knee, I leveled the shotgun in their general direction. The best part about buckshot is the lack of precise aiming required. Sure, it would have been nice to sight down the barrel to get the best effect, but at such a close range I was bound to hit something made of flesh and bone. These inhuman creatures could still bleed and die. Taking a breath, I gently squeezed the trigger. The gun went off with a satisfying bang, blinding me with the muzzle flash.

There was a momentarily silence of shock and then a chorus of pained screams. I racked up another round, fired, and then fell off to the side, using the front of the truck as partial cover from any immediate response. I didn't know how many I had hit or how wounded they were, but I knew there was going to be plenty of trouble coming my way.

In the darkness, I saw orange flashes as the remaining Infecteds fired back. They had picked the spot I had been crouching at, sending ricochets of lead whining along the gravel. I rolled further off to the side, using the sound of the gunshots to hide my movement. I was soon in the woods, crawling on my belly until I reached a particularly large tree. There I turned, racked up another shell, and waited.

Someone turned the headlights of the Suburban on, flooding the road with yellow light.

"Where did he go?" I heard a voice ask.

Running down the road, the remaining men rushed past my hiding spot. I had the urge to fire into their retreating backs but instead decided to run for the Toyota. I stuck to the woods, dodging through branches and over fallen logs. The dead leaves crunched loudly underneath. My breath was hard and fast. I could only hope that my progress wasn't overheard, but I was counting on their movement to cover my own.

When I reached the road, I stayed on the shoulder so I could easily find cover. Ahead I could see the glimmer of the truck headlights, shrouded by the little hill that I had run into. Perhaps Tanya had been unable to free the truck or maybe they were recaptured by some unknown guard that I had not seen. I broke into a run, taxing the last of my energy reserves.

When I got within fifty yards, I suddenly stopped. The truck wasn't running. Tanya was there but was clambering on the hood, reaching through the hole of the damaged windshield.

"Hey!" I said, trying to keep my voice as low as I could.

Upon hearing my voice, Tanya abruptly turned, jumped to the ground, and started running full-speed towards me.

No! No! It couldn't be. She said she was okay. Tanya couldn't be Infected! Those thoughts ran through my head at an alarming speed. I still had plenty of time to bring the shotgun up and fire, but I just couldn't do it. Here was someone that I loved and now I had to kill her? I wanted to howl at the world. I wanted to scream. I wanted to cry. It was unfair that I had come so far and lived just to see someone that I loved become an unemotional monster.

Her body hit me like a runaway train. The collision was enough to make me stumble backwards and fall on my side. The shotgun fell out of my hands and hit the ground. It seemed like a split second of time and then Tanya was on top of me, using that hidden tap of Infected strength to wrestle with me. But I was too numb to fight, too hurt inside to really care what happened. I would have gladly died right there or joined her in becoming an Infected. And then she bit me on the shoulder. And then my left arm. And then on my right one.

The pain finally pierced my muddled brain. I felt the cloud of despair temporarily lift. I had to think of Emily and her future. With that thought, I felt a surge of strength course through my limbs. I pushed Tanya off to the side, dumping her off into the weeds. I rolled to my side and grabbed the shotgun as I stood up. Tanya, or what was once her, rushed at me again. In the dim moonlight, I could see her normally dark brown eyes were now pitch black. I brought the gun up and put my finger on the trigger. It was better if she died.

At the very last moment, I wavered. Instead of firing, I swung the butt of the shotgun up into the side of her head. She dropped to the ground, unconscious.

I gave her one long look before rushing over to the truck. Emily was inside, her hands cupped to the driver's window as she looked out. When she saw it was me, her taut face relaxed. The door opened and she jumped out to run into my arms. The dog bounded down and ran a circle around us.

"Tanya!" she sobbed. "She's one of them! We got to the truck and then she attacked me. I got inside and locked the doors. I thought I was going to become one of them."

"I know, I know."

"But what are we going to do?"

"We are going to get in that truck and drive out of here," I replied with as much conviction as I could muster. Now step aside."

Using the door switch, I unlocked the passenger door. I could see the corpse of Roberts inside, his demolished face staring sightlessly ahead. It must have been horrible for Emily to have been locked inside with a dead man. Going to the other side of the truck, I opened the door and dragged him out. I never liked the man, but would miss his keen insights. I roughly pulled him deep into the underbrush and scooped a pile of leaves over the body.

When I returned to the truck, Emily was already inside with the dog on her lap. She looked sick to her stomach. It was no wonder with the blood and gore splattered on the seat and back window. I clambered in and turned the key, hoping that the battery hadn't been drained from the headlights being on for too long. After a few weak turns of the starter, the engine caught. I let out a sigh of relief before pulling up on the transfer case lever. When it engaged, I stuck the transmission into reverse and gently tried to back out. With all four wheels turning, I was soon up and out, and on the road.

Emily gave a little yelp when she saw the form of Tanya lying on the road. "Is she dead?"

"No," I answered. "Not yet." I stopped the truck. "I want the both of you to stay here."

Emily nodded, her expression unfathomable.

Taking some rope from behind the seat, I got out of the truck, leaving the door open. After opening the tailgate, I went over to Tanya. Over the idling sound of the engine, I could hear her breathing. It was quick and raspy, her chest moving up and down like bellows. I tied her ankles and wrists together. With some difficulty, I was able to lift her off the ground. With her slung over my shoulder, I staggered back to the truck. I dropped her in the back, closed the tailgate, and got back inside.

"What are you doing?" Emily whispered. Her voice was choked with emotion. It filtered into the space between us like an empty dream.

I shook my head and did not answer.

We drove for a good couple of miles before pulling off on a dirt road. The heavy silence between Emily and I remained unbroken. It was slow going here, the trees nearly pressing against the body of the truck. When I reached a field, I stopped and killed the engine. The headlights were still on, breaking through the leafless trunks and branches. I had been here before. Once, when my parents were still alive, I had thought of building a little cabin here, but the asking price for the land had been too much back then. But I still remembered it as a pretty little spot. It would be a good spot to take the long sleep.

Reaching back into the extended cab, I grabbed an army satchel which I slung over my shoulder. I opened the door.

"Stay here," I said to Emily. "I won't be long."

She didn't answer, but I could see a glint of tears running down her cheeks.

I gently shut the door, feeling empty inside. It was hard to say goodbye to the woman I loved. Going to the back of the truck, I let the tailgate drop. The sound startled me like a gunshot. Still resting inside was Tanya. She was conscious now, fruitlessly struggling to free herself. I grabbed her by the wrists and gently eased her out of the bed. At no time did she give up thrashing about, with the mouth snapping audibly in my direction.

When I had her on the ground, I pulled her along until we were off to the side, the illumination of the headlights enough that I could see what I was doing. Moving like an automaton, I went opened the bag and pulled out a syrette that inoculated against the Infection. I plunged the needle into Tanya's twitching arm and squeezed the plunger down, praying against all hopes that Roberts had been wrong about the lack of cure. Perhaps the Infection hadn't gone far enough to permanently change the body.

I waited. Gradually Tanya's violent motions began to subside. And then her eyes began to flutter open. They looked normal again.

She spoke softly as if coming from a faraway place. "Where am I?"

"Don't worry," I whispered in her ear. "You're with me."

"I'm so cold."

I laid down next to her and wrapped my arms around her shivering body. "You'll be okay," I said.

"Are we still going to Canada?" she asked. The voice was now a scratchy whisper. I could feel the shivering began to subside and the tightness along her shoulders relaxed.

"Yes," I said. "I've got Emily waiting in the truck. Once you're feeling better, we can go. You'll be happy there. We'll all be happy there."

Tanya took a deep breath and then let out a long sigh. I could feel the life drain out of her and sink into the cold ground. I stayed there for a little longer, running my hands through her hair and along her long neck. When I was sure that she was truly gone, I gave her a kiss on the cheek. I then removed the bonds and straightened out her body so she was lying on her back, facing the stars above. I closed her eyes.

Before leaving, I had to know what had happened to her. I pulled up the sleeves of her shirt. It took me a moment to find the faintest of marks on her left arm. It was a bite that had barely punctured the flesh. This was the point that the Infection had entered her body. The delay of her transformation must have been the result of the smallness of the wound, only allowing a minimal number of the nanobots to gain entry. I should have never have told her to try and take that guard on. Numb with grief, I returned to the truck.

Opening the door, I saw that Emily was in the same position that I had left her. The dog gave a little whine. I got inside and started the engine.

"Where are we going?" Emily asked, her voice a whisper.

"North."
Chapter 26

The wind whistled through the broken glass of the windshield. We were headed toward the highway. Emily huddled on the seat, crying. The dog nuzzled against my arm but I ignored it. I was too wrapped up in my dark thoughts. I wanted revenge on the fools that invented the nanobots and the idiot army that had unleashed it on humanity. Because of them I had lost the one woman that I loved and even my home. Now I was left with a little girl, a battered truck, and only enough military rations to last a few weeks. We would be lucky if we could reach Canada unscathed or even half-starved.

Without a word. I jerked the wheel, taking a road that led away from the highway.

"Brent, where are you going?" Emily asked.

"To Shelby," I muttered.

Her voice rose with doubt, the words tumbling out in a torrent. "But why? You'll become an Infected. And then so will I. Just because Tanya is gone doesn't mean we have to give up now."

"Someone has to pay for what happened to Tanya." I pulled my sleeves back to show the marks on my skin. "I've already been bitten by Tanya. But I can't be changed into one of them. And once you receive the drug I got from the military base, you too will be safe from ever becoming an Infected."

"So Mr. Roberts was right?"

I nodded. "It's a damn shame that he had to die. And it's a damn shame that I didn't get back in time to give the inoculation to Tanya before she was bitten. If I had come home sooner, then she would be alive."

"Don't feel sorry yourself, Brent," was all that she could say. "You can't be there for everyone all of the time."

"I know," I admitted. "But it still doesn't take the pain away."

Turning the headlights off, I drove along the southern edge of town. It was quiet here, but further north, where the downtown was, I could see an orange light filtering through the trees and buildings. When I got to the packing plant, I turned inside the parking lot. It was crowded with trucks, the leftover remnants of the People's Army. Earlier in the year I had already looted them for fuel and even found a few cans of food tucked away. I parked next to a trailer and shut the engine off.

Turning to Emily, I said, "Keep the dog here. I want you to stay inside while I take a look around. But first I want to give you a little shot. It's the drug that will protect you from becoming an Infected."

She shook her head. "I don't want it."

"Why? What are you afraid of?"

"I just don't want it."

I checked the frustration building inside me. "Look, Emily, you are like a daughter to me. I already lost Tanya. Don't you understand that I can't lose you?"

"Then let's leave now!" she angrily shot back. "Tanya will understand. You don't need to pay anyone back."

Slowly shaking my head, I said, "You don't understand. At this rate the Infecteds are going to take over the entire world. We won't ever be safe up in Canada, not as long as they are around. When they get low on food, they are going to be on the move again, and then someone, perhaps even us, could be the next victims. I want to put a stop to them here and now."

"What, you're going to personally kill every one of them? There must be thousands of Infecteds and who knows how far they've gotten already."

"I know that," I said. "But I have to do what I can here. If humanity has any chance of surviving into the future, then there must be countless battles fought by men like me. We may lose some and may even get killed trying, but one can't go through life cowering from your enemies. I hope you understand that."

Emily rolled up her sleeve and nearly shoved her bare arm into my face. "Give me the shot," she said quietly.

Pulling a syrette out from the bag, I took the protective cap off and then gently slid the needle into her skin. She didn't make a sound as I pushed the medicine into the veins.

I left the keys in the ignition. Making sure the dog stayed inside the trick, I stepped outside and threw the empty syrette on the ground. I put the tailgate down. Stepping up on the bed, I began going through the supplies from the army base. In one narrow wooden box was an AR-4 rife, which I opened and put to the side. In another crate was the supply of grenades, safely tucked inside a sectioned box with padding. I took two out and stuffed these in my jacket pockets. After loading up four clips of ammunition, I poked my head back inside the truck.

"You okay?" I asked as I pushed the dog back. I didn't want the little mutt to join me on my little side trip.

Emily nodded. "I think so."

"Remember what I said about staying here. No matter what happens, don't come looking for me. I just want to see how much food they have stored away. I'll get back here as fast as I can. If I don't come back, I want you to take the truck and head to Ludington."

"But I can't drive all the way there by myself!"

"You'll have to, there's no other way. Just remember what I taught you and you'll do fine. When you get there, I want you to find your uncle's next door neighbors, that little old lady."

"You mean Gwen?"

I nodded. "Yes, that's the one. She's probably still there in that bomb shelter with her husband. They will take you in if you bring the guns and rations in the back of the truck. You will be safe there."

"I would rather help you."

I smiled at her. "You can help me get some gas out of the tank."

"What are you going to do?" she asked as she got out of the truck and closed the door on the whining dog.

"I would rather not tell you. This is something I need to do alone. Anyway it will be quicker that way."

"Okay," she agreed, but I could tell she didn't like it.

As I ran the hose into the tank, Emily held the gas can. I got the pump going and kept at it until I had the five gallon plastic container was filled. It would put one hell of a dent on my driving range, but it was the surest way of doing what I wanted to accomplish.

Before she could protest further, I gave her a quick wave and then strode away. I was soon lost in the shadows, surrounded by stacked wooden fruit crates that were cracked from the continual dryness. I went this way for a while, slowly working my way towards the center of town where the light was coming from. When I got to a low retaining wall, I stopped, looking over the area that had been attacked by the People's army only a few scant months before.

A bonfire had been built in the center of town. The flames were consuming a large pile of timbers. The light from the display threw ghastly shadows. I could see hundreds of the Infected, busily moving through the street. Each was carrying a container, some wood, or a tool. They were repairing the damage caused by the battle. With their robotic movements I was reminded of the workers at a beehive. On each corner stood a guard, a rifle hanging on the shoulder. In front of what was once a little Mexican grocery store stood a knot of men, each with a gun at the ready.

As I watched, a red Chevy Suburban drove up and parked near the ditch. It looked to be the same one that was at my house. When the door opened I saw John Rhode step out. To my satisfaction, I saw that he was moving stiffly, obviously still hurting from our brawl. Several other men rushed to him and they began listening as he spoke. Of course the distance was too much for me hear any of the words, but I had a hunch they were discussing me. It would have been foolish for them to start any sort of manhunt of any sort, not when there were more pressing issues at hand. For one, there was that buried food left behind on my land. There wasn't enough there to feed all these Infecteds for long, but it was still more important than finding a single man.

I needed to find where they were warehousing their current cache of food. Keeping low, I circled around this scene of activity, staying far away from the light. I was soon amongst the little homes located to the back of the western part of the downtown. The streets here were covered with garbage caught in the thick dry weeds. Parked cars dotted the driveways. Dark empty windows and open doors leered at me like freshly dug plots of a graveyard. I suppressed the childish urge to run in fear, since any incautious movement could lead to my discovery.

When I thought I was out of view from any of the posted guards, I headed straight to the back of the buildings that ran down the main street. With the moon high in the sky, I could make out the remnants of that long ago battle: the rags of a decayed corpse, glinting shell casings, and the blackened personnel carrier that I had incapacitated with a Molotov cocktail. I reached the loading dock of the grocery store without any cry of alarm. Next to this was a door that gave access to the interior. I stood still and listened, expecting the worst.

After a minute of hearing nothing but the faint sound of the activity going on in the nearby street, I tried the door handle. It was locked. My next move was sheer bravado, or stupidity, depending on one's point of view. I put down the can of gasoline and knocked.

The response was surprisingly quick. The man on the other side must have been posted here to guard this rear entrance. With no reason to be cautious, he opened the door a crack, perhaps expecting a delivery of food. I leaned back and gave the door a kick. There was now enough room that I could slide through.

On the other side was a man wearing ripped jeans and a grungy t-shirt that may have been white at one time. His scraggly beard and long brown hair outlined a pair of big protruding eyes, the pupils black. He had his hands up to his face, trying to staunch the flow of blood from his nose. Next to a chair, a hunting rifle was leaning against the wall. Before he could open his mouth and give the alarm, I bowled him over like a running back. He fell backwards, right into a stack of cardboard boxes with the label of some off-brand soup. Before he could rise, I swung out the AR-4 and planted the butt of the rifle into the side of his head. He went limp.

I stopped to catch my breath and examined my surroundings. I found that I was in a tightly-packed backroom that was normally used to hold grocery items. As part of my search for food, I had actually been here some months ago. Back then there wasn't anything left to eat, unless one had an appetite for lozenges and eye drops. Now the place was stacked to the rafters with boxes of food. Rhode and his little army of Infecteds had certainly been busy.

A swinging door with a window led to main part of the grocery store. I peered through the opening and saw even more boxed food. Through the front display windows stood the guards and the street, crowded with workers. I knew what I had to do. I went back outside and retrieved the can of gasoline.

Starting with the backroom, I used half of the can of gasoline, pouring it over the assembled cardboard boxes. The smell of fuel made my senses swim. The next part was a little more risky. I gently opened the swinging door and crawled into the main part of the store. I had to stay low to remain undetected. Staying on my knees, I went down the aisles and began slopping the remaining gasoline wherever I could, all while keeping one eye on the guards standing outside. With their attention fixed on the street, they didn't even bother to see what was happening inside.

When I finished, I had an empty can of gasoline and a set of clothing that was heavy with fumes. I began my retreat to the swinging door that led to the back room. I got about half way when the front door opened with a clang, the bell above still operational.

A voice said, "Hey you!"

I was spotted. Using my free hand, I took a grenade from my front pocket. Feeling like I was in a war movie, I pulled the pin with my teeth. My hands shaking, I threw it into the middle of the room. I turned and ran it. Before I dove through the door, I turned my head to look at the front entrance. It was John Rhode, his already distorted features now a mask of rage. He had recognized me but now there was very little he could do about it.

The grenade exploded just as the swinging door snapped shut. In the confines of the room, it must have been a terrible blast. I could feel the shockwaves roll through my hands and knees. I staggered to get up. Pulling the last grenade from my pocket, I ran past the unconscious man before stopping. I pulled the pin and then chucked the explosive in amongst the remaining supplies. I was already through the backdoor and down the little flight of stairs when it went off. The explosion blew the dock door off. It rattled to the ground.

What was darkness before was now lit up by the inferno of gasoline and cardboard shining through the open dock entry. For cover, I headed toward the houses again. I lost myself in the shadows, stopping to watch the result of my handiwork. My wait wasn't long, for soon enough a group of Infecteds came to investigate. One tried to enter the back room but was beaten back by the flames. Their sense of mindless uniformity seemed shaken by this unplanned attack. They began to mill around, as if wondering what to do. It wasn't until the arrival of John Rhode – I was amazed to see that he was still alive after that explosion - that some semblance of order returned. He began pointing in my general direction, yelling out a series of orders that I couldn't hear because of the distance. The group broke, marching in a rough line toward me.

Their unfailing direction felt uncanny until I realized this was an obvious route to escape. I had to get moving before I was discovered. Hunkering down, I slipped around the corner of the house. Once I was on the street, I went running, forgetting all ideas of stealth. Now I just wanted to put as much distance from them as possible since there were too many to fight. It didn't take long before someone with keen eyes saw me in the brief moment that I appeared between houses.

Down the line, a shout went up and the crowd began to converge on me. Though the Infecteds now had the power of speech, they still had the same strength and boundless energy as before. It was amazing how fast they could run. I wondered how their bodies could handle such constant stress. Surely it must limit their lifespan and increase their calorie intake to the point where constant consumption would be required to keep going. I had no further time for this line of thought since with their better speed, the Infecteds were closing the gap. There was no way I was going to make it to the fruit packing plant beyond.

Turning, I dropped to one knee and pumped round after round from the AR-4 into the rushing crowd. Sure, it dropped a few, but the Infecteds just kept on coming, oblivious to the damage I was inflicting on them. They didn't seem to care that I was killing them but instead only ran on, hoping to get at me. With an unnerving series of clicks, I realized I was out of ammunition. One, a small man with gray hair, got too close. He tried to grab me by the sleeve, but I turned and twisted away from his grasp. I was up on my feet again, fumbling for with a clip for the rifle. A blow to my back sent me stumbling ahead, making me drop the gun. I left it behind and kept on going. I could hear their running steps getting closer and closer.

Someone grabbed me by the ankles. I got tripped up and fell. Within seconds I was on the bottom of a pile of bodies, fighting for my life. I got bitten on my legs. I got bitten on my arms. It was so painful that I screamed. A blinding light seemed to flood my vision. I couldn't see anything but a momentary release of pressure let me retrieve the Browning pistol in my jacket pocket. Even though I wasn't shooting at any particular target, I began pulling the trigger as fast as I could. My ears were greeted by a series of screams as the bullets tore through the mound of flesh. A bloody roar filled my ears as I began crawling and shooting away.

"Brent!" I heard.

I shook my head, looking about in a daze.

"Get in the truck!" It was Emily's voice.

With a jolt, I found myself looking at the side of the Toyota. A pile of bodies was at my feet. She had driven across the field and cut the Infecteds off, but they were already working around the side of the truck. Using the last reserves of my strength, I vaulted over and into the bed. I rapped the window.

"Go!" I shouted.

She hit the gas, pushing through the mass of inhuman creatures. The truck then broke free.
Chapter 27

With the breaking of dawn, I found myself sitting in the passenger seat. With the dog sitting in her lap, Emily drove. She was doing a fine job of it. Emily kept to a steady speed and only needed a few reminders on how to slow down and take a turn. Of course such suggestions just annoyed her but the point had to be made if she wanted to learn how to become a good driver. My own father did the same for me even though it drove me crazy.

We were now well north of Baldwin with a few gallons of gasoline left. With thousands of acres of farmland, this area was much more desolate than even the woods of Shelby. Accordingly the houses were far apart and only the main roads were paved. It must have been a lonely place back in the days when the winters were long and filled with snow. Now there was only dust. It was so thick here compared to near the shore. I supposed the hard winds blowing off the lake must have helped. But further inland, it looked like a wasteland. Luckily using the fence posts as guides kept Emily from steering off into the ditch.

I thought about the trip ahead of us. From Michigan there are three ways to get to Canada. Two of them required traveling through major cities – areas that were surely heavily plagued by the Infecteds. Such routes didn't even cross my mind since they were unsafe and required extensive driving which in turn would burn through even more gasoline. With that in mind, I decided to try the northern and most direct route by going through Mackinaw City. That meant that the bridge to the Upper Peninsula would have to be crossed. There was always a chance that way was barred, but perhaps a boat could be found to cross the straits there. Of course if we did that, then the Toyota may have to be left behind.

With the natural wear and tear plus the recent damage, I didn't expect too much more out of the old truck. My only hope was that it could make just one more trip and carry us safely up north. Since there is no direct highway from Shelby to Mackinaw City, we would have to take several country roads, crisscrossing west and north. It would mean slow going and a few stops to hunt for water and fuel. Luckily we had plenty of food in the bed of the truck, but that meant nothing if we didn't have gasoline to travel or something to drink.

"We have to stop and get some sleep," I said out loud.

Emily cast me a glance before returning her concentration to driving. She looked tired, smudges of dark shadows under her eyes. The both of us had been going full tilt for far too long. It was time to rest.

Pointing, I said, "Look, over there. Pull over."

It was a two-story outbuilding made with tan sheet metal. It had a large sliding door that was visible from the road. These structures were now more common than barns but hardly as picturesque. Next to it was a burnt out mobile home and a brown Ford pickup with four flat tires. The place certainly looked deserted.

She shook her head. "Let's find somewhere a little nicer looking."

"Come on, just pull over. You're getting too tired to drive and I'm not feeling the best either. Don't worry, we've put enough road between us and Shelby. I'm sure those Infecteds won't be able to find us here. Anyway, we're miles from nowhere, practically adrift in a sea of sand."

"So we're castaways then?" she asked glumly as she pulled off to the side of the road.

"If you want to call us that. We're certainly homeless. You don't like being out here, do you?"

Her answer started slow, but finished with a rush of words. "No, I don't. I guess I'm thinking of the time that Tanya and I got lost out here in the country. This building reminds me too much of that awful time we were kept in pens by that cannibal. I thought we were going to die. Tanya was so brave then, keeping my spirits up. I miss her."

"So do I," I freely admitted. A feeling of deep sadness that had been held back by the recent fight now came flooding back.

"Did you love her?" Emily asked as she gave the dog a pat on the head.

"Yes," I replied quietly. "Even as the years pass by, part of me will always love Tanya. With you and her around, we had something special, like a family. I still can't believe that's she gone."

"Neither can I," Emily agreed.

"Well we don't have time right now to sit here and mend our broken hearts. Go ahead and pull behind that barn. I'll go scout around and make sure no one else is here."

After Emily had parked the truck, I opened the door and slowly eased myself down to the ground. That fight in Shelby had weakened me to the point that I felt older than my years – frail like crystal glass.

With the shotgun cradled in the crook of my elbow, I began looking around. The mobile home could hide nothing now. It was just a destroyed burnt mess of aluminum and charred wood. The truck was covered with a thick layer of dust, enough to hide any occupants inside. I tried the door and it opened. My nostrils were assaulted by the smell of decay. Inside were the remains of a man wearing a jean jacket and brown pants. He was so far gone that only a thin layer of gray skin covered a teeth-baring skull with hollow sockets. I had seen enough of these horrors so that any sense of revulsion was now long gone. I searched his pockets and the rest of the interior but found nothing except for an empty bottle of prescription sleeping pills, a set of keys, and a pile of receipts. Looking at the remains of the house and the dead man made me wonder what little drama had played out here. It was probably the same story as everywhere else once food became more and more scarce.

Limping over to the outbuilding, I tried the entrance set on the side instead of the main sliding door. It opened easily enough. There was a faint odor of animals inside. The light streaming from the doorway revealed fenced partitions, a thick layer of straw on the floor, hanging bridles and even a saddle. The wall was adorned with framed pictures of horses and a large blue ribbon indicating that first prize in some contest had been won.

I returned to the truck where Emily was waiting.

She rolled down the window. "Does it look safe?" she asked.

"Yes," I replied. "No one has been here for a long time. And I think you will like the barn. Now let's get some food in our stomachs and then get some sleep."

From the extended cab of the truck, I took out the canteen and duffel bag that I had brought on the trip to the military base. The latter wasn't much more than a change of clothes and a first aid kit. The canteen was half-full. Pulling myself up on to the bed of the pickup, I picked out a few MRE packages from the shipping container - one beef stew, one spaghetti, and two chicken breasts. I made a face. I had a feeling we were going to get sick of this food real quick. At least they provided the needed calories, but with a dwindling supply of water, the included powdered beverages would soon be useless.

We went into the outbuilding together, Emily trailing behind me. Her fear immediately gave way when she saw the pictures of horses on the wall. She rushed over to study them while I busied myself setting up a place to rest. The dog just sniffed around with interest, trying to find the source of all those smells. I found a few horse blankets in the rear, and then pushed up two straw piles to use as beds of sorts. When I was finished, I sat down and removed my shirt. My arms were bruised with bite marks but none appeared to have broken through the skin. Sliding up my pant legs, the story was the same except for one nasty gash on my right calf that was still slowly oozing blood. Using the first aid kit, I sprayed on some antiseptic and then wrapped a bandage tightly around the wound. Next I taped up my shoulder where I had been hit with the shotgun pellet the night before. It would take a bit of surgery to get it out but I was too exhausted.

As I put my shirt back on, I said to Emily, "Do you want chicken, spaghetti, or beef?"

"Spaghetti," she replied as she went over to sit the bed of straw that I had made for her.

Pulling out a MRE, I began to prepare it using the heater included in the packaging. I said, "I know we've been living on canned food for a long time, but don't expect much from these military rations. They're made for soldiers on the field, not for civilian use."

"It can't be that bad," she said with a half-hidden smile. "I've been eating your cooking and I'm still alive."

"Very funny," I shot back. "Do you want fruit punch or the cocoa?"

"Fruit punch,"

After the food was heated and drinks mixed, we began to eat. The dog stared at us, waiting for any leftovers. I had the chicken which was dry and extremely salty. The crackers were also dry. It took all of the cocoa and a few swigs of precious water to choke everything down. I could tell by her expression that Emily wasn't enjoying her meal either. But still, it was calories.

"What do you think?" I asked her as I watched the dog lick the remnants from the pouches.

"It tasted like sawdust. I take back what I said about your cooking."

I laughed. "Apology accepted. Maybe in the future we can find something better to eat. But for now, I want you to get some sleep. Don't worry, I'll stand guard."

"Don't fall asleep, okay?"

"If I start to, I'll make sure to wake you up."

"Gee, thanks," Emily said as she plopped down on the straw. The dog joined her. Before heading outside, I threw a blanket over the both of them. Emily smiled at me and then turned over, trying to find a comfortable spot on her strange bed of straw. I gently shut the door behind me.

I returned my attention to the Ford. Since it was still intact than perhaps there was still some fuel in the tanks. I wrapped my hand under the rear bumper and gave the tank a tap. My ears were greeted by a dull thud. Returning to my own vehicle, I pulled out the empty gas can and hand pump. Sliding the pipe into the Ford's tank, I began transferring the gasoline into the tank.

The wind from the west was beginning to pick up. Along the horizon was a thick band of gray, indicating a coming dust storm. I quickly finished up my work, netting two gallons of gasoline. In the truck, that mean another thirty or forty miles of range. As I was dumping this precious liquid into the tank of my own truck, the storm hit with a ferocity that took my breath away.

The world became dark. The wind was now moving sideways, picking up the dust that had already been deposited on the ground. I was blinded by the particles. Staggering, I headed toward the barn. With my arms outstretched, I ran straight into the wall. I felt along the metal exterior until I got to the door. Quickly opening it, I slipped inside. It was pitch black in here. Somehow I managed to find my bed.

"What's going on?" Emily mumbled, her voice barely audible over the shrieking wind. The dog let out a little whimper.

"Nothing," I replied. "It's just a wind storm. Go back to sleep."

She mumbled something else and then didn't say anything.

I was resting on my back, listening to the wild storm outside. The building shuddered and groaned along with the ebb and flow of the wind. In the quieter moments, the sound of the dust striking the western wall sounded like sandpaper against wood. However, even with all the noise, I found my eyelids drooping further and further. No matter how I fought to stay awake, I just couldn't beat back the sleep that I desperately needed. I had done too much and pushed my body too far. My mind slipped into darkness.

When I finally awoke, it was quiet. I opened my eyes and saw sunlight filtering through the cracks of the doors. The storm had passed. Looking over at Emily, I could see she was still sleeping, her chest gently rising and falling with slow regularity. I felt angry with myself for falling asleep but relieved that nothing bad had happened. That feeling only lasted until I heard the sound of an approaching vehicle.

It was an engine, the volume increasing as it drew nearer. Jumping up, I grabbed the shotgun and ran over to the door to look. It was clear out, the sun just beginning to touch the horizon. The dust was now even thicker than before. Staying in the doorway, I saw it was not only one vehicle, but a whole caravan heading north. The source of most of the noise came from a lead truck with a high off-road stance. There had to be some powerful engine with headers and open exhaust in there.

I wasn't sure if they were Infecteds or normals, so I remained hidden, thankful that the dust storm had covered our tracks from yesterday. I watched as vehicle after vehicle passed. There were many cars, only a few trucks, but the majority of the vehicles were buses. It was a wonder how they could keep so many of them on the road. The answer to this was the tanker truck driving in the middle of the pack. There had to be hundreds of gallons of gasoline in there, more than enough to feed the multitude of thirsty engines.

"Who are they?" Emily asked, standing next to me.

"I don't know," I replied, but then gave a start when I saw the answer to her question. Taking up the rear of this caravan was a vehicle I recognized. It was the same red Chevy Suburban that I had seen John Rhode use. I took a step back inside, pulling Emily with me.

They were Infecteds. There were so many of them in the caravan that not all could have come from Shelby. The question was why were those things heading north? It couldn't be because of me. I had a sudden thought that Rhode would be suspicious that that Infection had never taken hold of me. I had obviously been bitten on more than one occasion, but yet I was able to escape without being transformed. Were they fearful that there was some way to stop their spread? Or perhaps they were even more afraid that a possible cure existed, one that could put a stop to the Infection forever. I wondered how the programming of the nanobots would handle that idea.

But the more I thought about it, the idea of being the center of such a manhunt was preposterous. Rhode had no idea I was heading to Canada. And anyway, a search for me would have been wide, consisting of multiple small groups, not a single large one. That meant the Infecteds were countering a new threat, but what could it be?

"Are you okay?" Emily asked, breaking into my thoughts.

I slowly nodded. "I'm just planning our next move."

"So what are we going to do?"

"Don't worry, Emily, nothing too exciting. For now, we'll keep heading north, but we will have to take it nice and easy. You saw that Chevy SUV in the back, didn't you?"

"Yeah."

"Well I've seen it before. It's used by Rhode, that Infected who was giving all the orders back at the house. You remember the guy who tried to bite me? That's his truck."

Her eyes got wide. "Are they after us?"

"No, I don't think so. But something has to be bothering the Infecteds for them to move so many at the same time. That means they're afraid of something and maybe that something could help us. We'll have to go and find out."

Using the last of the water, we ate supper. The beef stew I had was even worse than the previous meal. This time we didn't talk much, but instead concentrated on finishing the meal as soon as possible. When we were done, I took the horse blankets with us since they would provide some comfort when lying on the ground at the next camp site. After everything was packed away and we were inside, I started the truck up. After Emily and the dog settled down, I put the truck into gear and pulled out on to the road. I turned north, following the tracks laid by the convoy of Infecteds.

It was dark out now, the headlights bobbing over the dusty landscape. The music of Adrian Borland seeped quietly through the speakers. It was going to be a long night of traveling
Chapter 28

It was still dark outside, but the eastern horizon was already growing lighter. Along the side of the road, it was thick with ghostly white trees, the branches bare, the bark stripped clean, and the leaves on the ground swept away by the wind. They stood like gravestones, mute witnesses to a dying world.

We were going up a hill when the motor died. The low gas indicator had been on for the past hour so it was really no surprise. I immediately pulled over to the shoulder, coasting to a stop.

"It looks like we're walking now," I said to Emily. "The last sign I saw a way back said that Mackinaw City was only five miles away, so we'll be there soon enough."

"Okay, Brent," she said resignedly.

In the dark I began going through everything both inside and in the bed of the truck, deciding what could be managed on foot. When I had finished, there was a small pile of MREs, an empty canteen, two sleeping bags, the first aid kit, the syrettes, the remaining AR-4 rifle, my Remington shotgun, enough ammunition for a small firefight, and the gas can, now filled with nothing but vapors. I split everything up into two bags, the heaviest one I took for myself. Emily got to carry the empty gas can while I shouldered the two guns.

Before we left the truck, I gave the old thing a pat on the hood. "I'll be back for you," I said, wondering if I could keep my word.

We began walking, staying on the shoulder of the road where the surface was softer. The dog stayed close to Emily. I could tell that the little beast had taken a liking to the girl.

"Are you okay?" Emily asked.

"I'm fine," I replied.

"You sound like your best friend died."

"The Toyota? Well, it was a good truck. It never left us down, but oddly enough, I feel like I failed, letting it run out of gas."

"Don't worry," she said cheerfully, "we can always find some more and come back for it."

"Yeah," I said uncertainly.

We came to the top of the hill which only remained level for a short spell before dipping back down. When I saw the distant lights of the town ahead, I halted, holding out a hand to stop Emily from going any further. At first I thought the lights were an impossibility, the once normal view of a city asleep for the night. And then I realized they were a series of fires strung around buildings and laid out across fields and along the streets. I pulled out the binoculars from the breast pocket of my jacket. Sweeping them across various points of interest, I saw many vehicles choking the roads and dark shadows huddled around the fires.

It was the Infecteds. It had to be. There must have been thousands upon thousands of them. The question was, why? There surely couldn't have been enough food to feed such a horde for long. So there has to be a reason why those things had congregated here.

"Why are those lights on?" Emily finally asked after I had pulled the glasses from my eyes.

"Those are only fires," I explained. "The Infected got here before we did. For now, I don't really care why, but we will still have to find a way to get across that bridge. We'll have to scout our way along the edges and see if we can find a way clear. If not, then I'll damn well row us across."

We plunged into the forest, stumbling over roots and fallen branches. It wasn't long before the sun rose, casting long strange shadows in the trees. After an hour of fighting the bramble, we were suddenly faced by the back of a house. It was a little ranch home with white aluminum siding. A rusty swing set creaked with the blowing of the wind. The windows here had been broken and the sliding door was open to the elements. There was an overturned chair resting next to an tipped over dining room table. Both were covered in the ever-present gray dust.

"Let's take a look inside," I suggested.

Emily didn't look so sure but followed me inside. The presence of the dog walking at her side seemed to have bolstered her courage. The interior was chaos with broken cupboard doors with empty shelves. Even the refrigerator had been tipped over as if some angry looter had expected to find some hidden cache of food behind it. I tried the faucet, but as expected, no water came out. The pumps would have stopped working months ago.

"Why don't you take a seat while I take a look around," I suggested.

"I would rather stay with you," Emily said. "This house is spooky."

"Okay, but I'm going down to the basement. I want to see if there is anything left in the hot water tank."

I found the stairs behind a door in the kitchen. They descended into the murk below. Holding my hand, Emily and I slowly took each step together. My ears strained to hear anything out of the ordinary, but all I heard were are own footsteps and the clatter of the dog in front of us. It would be hell if we were caught down here with nowhere to run. The basement was unfinished with a bare concrete floor and rows and rows of wooden shelves that were empty. Lying on the ground was a baked bean label from a can. It appeared as if the homeowner had stockpiled their food down here, only to be taken by some enterprising thief.

In the corner was the hot water tank. I went up and rapped the exterior. To my relief it sounded like something was inside. I gave the release valve a twist and out came a thin stream of brown water. The dog began lapping it up from the floor. I let the water run until it cleared. I then filled up the canteen. Emily and I both drank until it was dry and then I refilled it again.

"Come on, let's go," I said, glad to have washed away the dust.

Back upstairs, we went through to the living room. A sofa was here, the fabric shredded to ribbons. The television had been smashed in and even the carpet was pulled up in some vain search for food. Through the front window, miraculously intact, was a long lawn that was now nothing but dirt, and a narrow street lined with trees. Across the way and behind a line of bare bushes, was another house. I had Emily wait with the dog in the hallway while I went to investigate the two bedrooms. There was nothing here but mattresses that had been torn off the frames. The bathroom also revealed very little but a few still wrapped band-aids which I tucked into the first aid kit.

"Brent?" I heard Emily say, just barely loud enough to hear. Her voice high with fear.

Instead of answering back, I ran back down the hallway and into the living room. Emily had moved, and was now standing off to the side, well away from the front window. She put a forefinger to her lips, indicating that I be quiet. I stopped in my tracks. From where I was standing, I saw a shadow move across the glass. And then there was the sound of someone turning the handle of the front door. I waved Emily to come over to me. With a dash she and the dog made it to the hallway just as the door opened.

Clutching Emily, I took a step back, dragging her into the hallway. Whoever it coming in moved without fear for their footsteps were hard against the floor. I pulled the shotgun off of my back and stepped around the corner, ready to drive the butt of the gun into the face of the intruder.

It was a boy. I stopped the downward motion of my attack.

"W-w-who are you?" he stuttered out, his hand reaching for a pistol tucked in a holster that was held in place by a belt. The view of the shotgun was enough to stop that movement. The normal looking brown eyes indicated he was not an Infected. He was a teenager, perhaps fifteen, with long jet-black hair that fell on his shoulders. The skin was of an olive complexion indicating an Italian, Greek, or perhaps even a Spanish descent. For clothing, he was wearing a black t-shirt, blue jeans, and a pair of blue sneakers. Though on the thin side, he didn't look starved.

"I'm Brent," I finally replied. "And that's Emily."

With the dog at her feet, she took a step forward from the hallway. She blushed and gave the youth a shy smile.

He let out a sigh of relief. "I'm Peter. I thought you were one of those creatures, a Black Eye."

"I haven't heard that name yet," I said. "I call them Infecteds. Where are you from?"

He pointed north. "From St. Ignace, across the bridge. It was yesterday when it happened. I was over here on this side of the bridge, looking through houses and stores for food which is something I normally do. There isn't much left here, but it doesn't hurt to poke around. All of a sudden the place starts filling up with Black Eyes. I went into hiding in a basement. I waited until dark and tried to make it back to the bridge but it was too late. There was no way I could get across, not with the barrier up and all the Black Eyes in the way. So I headed this way instead, looking for some food and water."

"How many of you are over in St. Ignace?" I asked.

The youth shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe two hundred or so."

"These Black Eyes, you had problems with them before?"

Peter nodded. "It was last year when they first struck. Mackinaw City was wiped out. Things were getting bad here already, but the Black Eyes just finished the job a little quicker than expected. But a few people from town escaped across the bridge sounded the alarm. We managed to stop the rest of those things from crossing into St. Ignace. It was a nasty fight. I shot two of 'em myself." He said that last part boastfully.

"So you're saying the Infecteds have been stopped from reaching the Upper Peninsula? That area is safe?

"Well I really can't say what's going on beyond St. Ignance. But no, we haven't seen any Black Eyes there."

I paused to mull this new information over. The news was better than I expected but still serious. Perhaps it was possible than an area could be defended against the monstrous hordes. Of course this safety was gained before the Infecteds regained their intelligence. Now they had weapons and sheer numbers on their side. They could afford to lose thousands while us normals would slowly be diminished by each wave of attack. Unless St. Ignance was incredibly well defended, then the outcome was certain: extinction.

"Do you have any idea how to get back over without using the bridge?" I asked.

Peter made a face. "The reason I came to this part of town was to try and find some gasoline. You see there is a dock just north of here and I know there are some boats there. The water is pretty low across the straits, but it's still deep enough to motor across. I wasn't looking forward to dragging a boat across the mud leading up to the water, but it's still a better than the risking the bridge."

"Are there any sailboats there? That way we won't need any gasoline."

"Well I guess I don't consider myself much of a sailor," he admitted.

"Neither am I," I said. "But I'm willing to give it a try."

"I can, I can," Emily blurted out, happy that she do something that we couldn't.

"Really? And just how did you learn that?"

She said proudly, "I learned from my uncle up at his cabin. He had a little Sunfish that we used to take out on Lake Michigan. I can get us across to the other side."

I nodded. "When we get to the docks, we'll see what we can use. If there is a sailboat there, we'll make you captain, okay?" I then turned to Peter. "We're in your neck of the woods. I suggest you lead the way."

"Okay," he agreed. "But stay low and out of sight. I've seen Dark Eye patrols everywhere."

Taking Emily's hand, I followed Peter out of the front door. He had a funny way of moving, like a cat afraid of it's own shadow. We went across the street and past the house nestled in the trees. From there he led us to a rough trail that sloped downward. The trees here were close together, and if it wasn't for their lifeless condition, the ground would have been completely hidden by the sun. This soon broke into a field of dirt and matted dead weeds. I saw the back of a long, low building with loading docks and stacked pallets.

"What's that?" I asked.

"Just a store," he replied. "But it's been looted so many times that nothing is left but empty shelves."

We went past this store and were soon walking on the dirty black and yellow striped asphalt of the parking lot. A few cars were here, the tires flat and the windows thick with dirt. They looked lonely and uncared for. Across the street was an apartment complex. Half of the building was burned away while the other section had signs of past looting: open doors, smashed windows, and personal belongings that had been baked by the sun and strewn by the blowing winds. Moving quickly past, we plunged into the woods beyond. Compared to the signs of civilizations decay, even the dilapidated forest seemed like a haven of peace. Once again the trail took a downward slope, but this time of a more extreme nature. As we carefully made our way down, I could see through the tops of the trees the distant waters of the Straits of Mackinac, the sun glimmering along the tops of the waves. We had to be getting close to the docks now.

This area was much more posh than the previous. The houses were large and ostentatious but the lots were still jammed closely together. I never understood why anyone would pay so much to live in such an area where privacy was so minimal. Who want to hear your neighbors as they back up their car or have friends over for a barbeque? It's worse than living in the suburbs.

Crossing the street, we came to another building with an empty parking lot in front. The sign indicated that this was the Greenhill Marina and Bar. With the artificial Tudor exterior, sweeping stone-lined entrance, and massive wooden deck hanging on the side it looked like the sort of place that rich yacht owners once swapped stories about their latest naval adventures. Now it just looked tired. The painted woodwork was peeling and the deck was sagging. The main front window had been smashed.

"The dock is in the back," Peter said.

I was about to say something in return when I heard the sound of an engine. We were still in the middle of the street. Before we could find cover, a car shot around a nearby corner and headed straight towards us.

"Run!" I shouted.

Emily and Peter headed past the deck, their feet hammering on the wooden boardwalk. The dog chased after them, barking like it was a game. I pulled the AR-4 rifle from my back and dropped to one knee. Coming down the road was a small foreign compact, the driver and passenger only dark shadows against the reflection of the beating sun. Like an predator hot on the scent of prey, the car sped up. I squeezed the trigger, sending a burst of lead into the front grille. The bullets tore into the radiator. A cloud of steam billowed into the air. The next burst I fired was a little higher, this time raking the windshield with enough firepower that it disintegrated into shards of breaking glass. Everything was moving so fast that I didn't have time to see if the enemy were hurt. Instead, in order to stop from being rammed, I rolled to the side, skinning my elbow on the hot pavement.

The car careened past me. It was so close that I could smell the rubber and heat on the blue painted body. The vehicle skidded to a stop. By then I was up on my feet, running. Turning around, I gave the car another burst of fire, striking the driver's side door. All four doors opened, spilling out men. Then I was around the corner of the marina building. I could see Peter and Emily far ahead with the dog. They were stopped at the end of the dock. A forest of masts were to their left and right.

"They're coming!" I shouted. "Get in a boat!"

They turned to face me. As I drew closer and the fog of battle cleared, it dawned on me that there was a distinct lack of water around us. And instead of the lapping sound of waves, there was silence. The ground below was brown rocky dirt. The water of the lake was now a good distance away, leaving everything here high and dry. We were trapped.

A bullet struck near my foot, creating a shower of dry splinters. Another bullet went by my ear with a distinctly unnerving humming sound.

"Get down! Get down!" I shouted.

Instead of dropping to the wooden planks, Peter jumped off the dock, disappearing from view. With one last plaintive glance towards me, Emily scooped up the dog and leaped over the side. They were being smart, getting out of the way of any possible fireworks. And there were going to be plenty of them. I pivoted around, pulling the trigger as soon as the turn was completed. There were four of them. The shower of bullets hit the lead man who fell to his knees, clutching his gut. The rest kept on coming with the cold and silent determination that marked the Infected.

I saw that the pursuers were carrying a motley assortment of rifles and pistols.

I wasn't too worried about the latter since the distance was still large enough for them to be largely ineffective, unless some modern day Buffalo Bill was squeezing the trigger. Instead of fighting, I turned and jumped off the dock crashing into the top deck of a stranded sailboat below. It was a expensive little craft with teak decking, an exquisite helm, and a small set of steps that led down to the cabin below. That was the only look I got before vaulting over the side of the hull and into the dirt.

I sank up to my ankles. There was still apparently enough moisture in this lake sand to keep a memory of the old water levels. Nearly falling over, I managed to right myself before continuing to run towards the end of the dock where I last saw Emily and Peter. A shot rang out, striking the boat I was next to. I fell on my knees, seeking cover. The hull thudded as a few more rounds came my way. Though ruthless and only stoppable by death, these Infecteds weren't very good shots. I took this moment to quickly change clips on the AR-4. I then planted this butt down and leaned it against the boat. I pulled the shotgun off of my shoulder, preferring the effect of the buckshot when fighting in close quarters.

Above me there was a thud. I glanced up and saw one of the men, a brute of a man with a scarred face, draw a bead on me with a little revolver. His eyes were empty and black. I had the shotgun up in a second but was too slow. We both fired at the same time. I felt a burning slash along the side of my scalp. My enemy felt something worse: a ragged hole in his chest that gushed with blood. The man gave a weak cough and then tumbled backward, the pistol slipping from his grip. That left only two more of them, but this was no time to get cocky. This last attack had only been a decoy. I was just lucky enough that he had moved in fast instead of letting his comrades get into position.

Ignoring the pain from my aching head, I turned to the left and right, looking for the next source of trouble. It came from both directions at once. From the prow came an Infected with a hunting rifle. His companion rounded the end of the stern. He was gripping a large Colt semiautomatic pistol. Both of them were dirty and wearing clothes that were torn.

"Put your hands up," the one with the rifle said.

I smiled at him and then turned while falling to my side. I shot the other Infected with a blast of buckshot that tore off his arm. He crumpled over, screaming in agony. I heard the sharp crack of a bullet escaping the barrel. I jerked involuntarily, expecting the bullet to strike me in the back of the head. Instead the sound was repeated once again. I turned my head and saw Peter with his pistol in hand, standing over the other Infected, who was dead on the ground.
Chapter 29

It was Emily who made the discovery. On top of one of the larger yachts there was a small wooden lifeboat, still covered with a rainproof tarp. Inside was a pair of oars and an emergency supply of food and water. Peter and I managed to wrestle it off the deck and over the side, where it fell into the dirt below. From there we all pushed and pulled the little craft over seemingly countless yards, the prow dragging a furrow in the sand, until we reached the edge of the straits. The dog appeared to enjoy the free ride inside the boat. A mile or so to the west was the Mackinac Bridge, a massive span of white painted steel and suspended cables. In normal times, it would have been a stunning view, but now we were just concerned about reaching the other side.

My head ached something terrible and even with a t-shirt wrapped around the wound, blood still trickled down my cheek. I needed to get stitches but there wasn't enough time to stop and do it myself. We had to get across. I could worry about my health later.

When we hit the water, I had everyone else enter the boat. I then pushed while Peter and Emily rowed. Once the keel was out of the shallows, I clambered aboard with my pant legs soaked to the knees. Through their clumsy movements, the boat slowly progressed across the low waves that were thick with brown algae. We were heading against the light wind, cutting a diagonal course towards the bridgehead on the northern shore where St. Ignance was, and hopefully freedom.

After Emily tired out, I took her position on the hard plank seat. With Peter and I working together, we were able to make better speed. As we drew closer to the bridge, I heard the crackle of gunfire coming from above. It's funny how sound travels across water – though the action was hundreds of yards away, one could easily hear the shouts of pain, the snap of bullets, and one explosion that sounded so loud that I thought I would go deaf. On the shoreline under the bridge, it was nothing but bramble. To the left and right was a dense mass of young leafless trees, now drooping sadly as if the life had been sucked out of them. Any number of people could be hiding in there.

As the boat dragged on the bottom, Peter was first one out.. He waved his hands over his head. "Don't shoot! Don't shoot!" he shouted. "It's me, Peter!"

Stepping into the water, I exited the boat and lifted Emily and the dog out. Together, we slogged to the shore where we joined our companion.

From out of the leafless foliage stepped a man wearing a camouflaged jacket with a matching hat. He was holding a rifle loosely in his grip, the strap dragging on the ground. His face looked like the sort that was normally friendly, but the corners of the mouth were set with a hard determination. He said to Peter, "We thought you were dead. Who are your friends?"

"Hello, Tom. This is Brent and Emily. Don't worry, they're normals like us."

He grinned with crinkles of laugh lines. "Well I didn't think you would come back here with a pair of Black Eyes. Tell me, how many of them are over there?"

Peter replied, "I don't know. Lots of them."

"Thousands," I added. "I saw them with my own eyes."

Tom said, "They've been pretty hard pressed up on the bridge. I was told by that bastard Klein to come down here and watch for a naval assault." He pointed to bushes behind him. "I've got a half-dozen men there ready to shoot anyone who tries to make a landing here. You're not the first boat to come this way, but we've taken care of any Black Eyes that have tried to cross. You're just lucky that I recognized Peter or else we would have opened fire. But you had better go up top and report what you've seen to Klein. I'm sure he'll want to know."

"What about the girl?" I asked. "She's seen enough trouble and I would feel a little better if she was somewhere safe."

Emily, who had been holding my hand, dropped it. She said, "I'm not going anywhere! I'm staying with you!"

"You can't," I said firmly. "It will be dangerous."

"I only feel safe when you're around," she said. "For all the bad things that happened, you were always there. You can't send me off like this. Not now."

I shook my head. "But if anything happens to you, I don't know what I'll do."

"The bridge is no place for a child," Peter interjected.

"You're not much older than me," Emily protested. "You said you've fought on the bridge, so why can't I?"

"Can you handle a gun?" the youth replied angrily.

"Yes, I've shot Infecteds," she replied nastily.

I put my hands up, signaling my surrender. "She can come along with me," I said. "I'll see that she doesn't get into any trouble."

"Very well," Tom said.

We followed Peter up the embankment. The dog ran ahead, sniffing the ground. Lost in the midst of the woods were men, sitting with their backs against trees. Each had a rifle nearby. Their faces were grim and voices silent.

Reaching the top of the hill, I could see where the road met the steel structure of the bridge. It still looked new, which was surprising, considering the age and environment. The rivets were placed with precision as if done my machine, not the industrious hand of man. I wondered if such mechanical edifices would be ever built again, or would they just end up as silent and decaying reminders of an age that had been lost. Rome had once ruled the known world, but look what happened to them. They had decayed from within; destroyed by their own greed and the belief that their civilization was eternal. Nothing lasts forever, and perhaps fate, strengthened by the ill timing of the Infecteds, had decided to teach Mankind a lesson in humility.

We were on the bridge now. I could see the two long and thick steel cables curving up, impossibly high, reaching the tall towers above. It was a dizzying sight. On the road were pockets of cars parked together to make temporary defensive positions. Behind each of these barricades stood two or three men with rifles in hand. They looked to be waiting, but kept their eyes locked to the action ahead. Midpoint on the bridge, across each side of the road, was a semi trailer that had been somehow wedged into place. Underneath the long aluminum shell was a row of sandbags. I could see the backs of men here, their attention on the approaching enemy. Every few minutes, a wave of gunfire - a fusillade - would break the stillness. It was a strong defensive position, safe from any firing from the shore that could tear into the flanks. It also forced the enemy to attack on a narrow front, minimizing the numbers they could use. It would only take a handful of men here to defend against many.

As we drew closer, Emily grabbed my hand and held on tight enough that I could feel my knuckles grind together. Peter led us to a man, presumably Klein, who was standing between the two trailers where a pile of sandbags had been erected. He was watching the spectacle beyond through a narrow opening. Turning to face us, I could see his features for the first time. He had fair hair that was beginning to thin, creating a pronounced widow's peak. The gray eyes stared at us intently, unblinking and shining like a religious zealot. The mouth was well-formed, as was the jaw, but the head was larger than the body it supported, giving a slightly comic effect. He was wearing a thin vest that was popular with sportsmen but had a slight military air to it. Underneath that was a denim shirt that matched the color of his jeans. His feet were shod with heavy brown work boots with tan soles. Strung over his shoulder was an honest to goodness Springfield rifle – the sort that my great-great grandfather would have used in the trenches of France.

He looked at the dog as if surprised to see that such a creature still existed. Then he said to Peter, "Ah, I heard you were missing but now you're standing in front of me, apparently unharmed. Who are these two?"

Peter quickly recounted how we had met and our quick voyage across the straits. When finished, he added, "Tom said you would want to see him. Brent here saw how many Black Eyes were camped out in the city."

I nodded, eager to help these people out, though I felt a little unnerved by the strange eyes staring at me. I felt as if I was under a microscope. I said, "There are thousands of them out there. I'm from Shelby, a little place down on the coast. I saw those things wipe out the entire town. They can do it here too."

Klein nodded. "We had our troubles with them, but the problem seemed to have gone away until recently."

"That was my feeling too," I agreed. "I was planning to hunker down and wait things out, but the food was running low. I thought it better to head north where it could be cooler." I looked up at the blazing sun above. "It does feel a little better here. But we can't keep running. Those things will follow us until the ends of the earth."

"You're not the first normal to come this way," Klein said. "Others have made the journey to cross the bridge and head towards Canada. We've let them pass unharmed. Perhaps they are right. Maybe Canada is in all of our future, but we've been holding out here pretty well until now. We kept the original wave of Black Eyes out of our town, but never expected them to come back with such force. They're different now, using tools and guns, working together in a way that would make any army envious. Just watch this next attack of theirs." He handed me a pair of binoculars.

I put the glasses to eyes and stared down the length of the bridge which was littered with hundreds of dead Infecteds. Beyond this gruesome sight, on the very edge where the span began to curve downward, I could just make out a long line of some hundred men, women, and children. Their formation had an unnatural uniformity to it – perfectly straight and disciplined. They were on the move, no one person walking too slow or running too fast.

"They're like bloody machines," Klein said in my ear. The Infecteds were closer now. His voice then bellowed out a command. "Fire!"

The rifles to the left and right of us opened fire as one, cutting cruelly into the ranks before us. Bodies fell, washing the road with fresh blood. But this slaughter did nothing to stop the remaining attackers. They kept on coming, even though their only weapons were bare hands with not a gun to be seen.

"Fire!" Klein shouted out again. Once again a chorus of gunfire erupted, sweeping away the enemy so that only a handful remained. These Infecteds were now close enough that I could make out their individual features. Their black eyes shone and the sun above made their red faces glow with a burning fury. A few more scattered shots from the defenders and then these remaining creatures joined their dead comrades in the eternal sleep.

I handed the binoculars back to Klein.

He said, "It's been like this all day. The Black Eyes line up and we cut them down. For what reason, I cannot tell."

I looked back across the bridge where I could see the Infecteds forming up once again to attack. I said, "If you ask me, it's fairly simple. Whatever emotions they once had are long gone. They think for the collective, not for the individual. To these creatures, it's a simple matter of math. Since they cannot bring any sizable firepower to bear on your flanks, then all they can do is to keep attacking using their sheer numbers until you run out of ammunition. How much longer will that be?"

Those odd eyes finally blinked, momentarily revealing a hidden weakness. He admitted, "We only have enough ammunition for a few more attacks. After that, we'll have to fall back and run for it. I already have everyone packed up and ready to go with a fleet of cars and trucks standing by. I'm afraid that they will hunt us down if we try to run for it. But the way things are going, we don't have much choice."

I dropped my knapsack down on the ground. I said, "It's a long story, but I have a drug here that can inoculate against the disease. There is enough of it here for almost a hundred of your people. I'm willing to give you the drug if you grant me one favor."

He eyed the bag at my feet. "You said inoculation. There is no cure?"

I shook my head. "I'm afraid not. I tried it on someone I know who was bitten." I swallowed hard with the memory of Tanya. "She died. But I do know that this drug does work. I've been bitten several times with no ill effects."

"I see," Klein said. "What favor do you ask for this drug?"

I pulled Emily close to me. I said, "This girl, when it comes time to leave, I want you to take her with you. I want to be part of the rear vanguard."

Emily took a step back from me and said, "Brent, I want to be here with you. You promised!"

I got down on one knee so I could be at her eye level. I said, "As I told you before, you're like a daughter to me. Your safety is my first and only concern."

"I'll take the girl with me," Klein said. "It's a promise. But we will need to buy some time so the people here can make their escape. What do you have in mind?"

"You have dynamite?"

Klein squinted at me. "Plenty of the stuff. You don't mean to blow the bridge, do you? It's impossible." He stamped his foot on the metal grating underneath as if to prove his point. "Those cables are bundled steel. This structure has withstood terrible storms and chilling winters. No simple explosive could take it down. We tried cutting it, blasting it, but the damn thing is too strong. We don't have the tools to do the job."

"I can do it. If you can buy me another hour, I'll give you the time to make the escape. The bridge will be cut and your people will be safe."

"No!" Emily said.

"I'll give you that hour," Klein said
Chapter 30

If you want to destroy a large steel structure, the best way is to use a shaped charge to destroy the most vulnerable points. However, to cut the two thick steel cables of a suspension bridge would take military ordinance which was not available here. The other option, and the one I favored, would be to make it hot enough that the metal of the bridge would bend and collapse under its own weight. But without the ability to make thermite, a concoction of metal powder and manganese oxide, this meant I had to use something more primitive, like a very large explosive device using common materials. It was a chancy operation but it was the only solution I could come up with on such short notice.

"What will you need?" Klein asked.

I replied uncertainly as I checked off a mental list. "A few hundred feet of rope, a blasting cap, the detonator, the wire, and a few sticks of dynamite. And most importantly, I will need a lot of fertilizer and a tanker truck filled with gasoline or diesel."

Klein slowly nodded. "I can see what you're getting at. You're making a gigantic bomb, aren't you? We've thought of that idea too but I still don't think it will do anything to the bridge but make a big mess."

"Yes, but this bomb is something special since the fuel with the addition of fertilizer, should make a very powerful explosive. Terrorists have used such a device to take out tanks or even buildings. It hopefully should be enough to buckle the entire structure, and then the bridge will collapse."

"You said hopefully. Have you ever made such a bomb before?"

I smiled weakly. "No, I haven't, but in theory it should work."

"I don't like theories, but I'll give your idea a go. It's better than being overrun. We do have a tanker full of diesel available. It's part of the remaining fuel taken from all the local gas stations. I was hoping to use it for the trip up north, even though we only have a few vehicles that drink the stuff and any tractors we may use in the future."

"I'm afraid the diesel will have to be put to another use."

"A rather wasteful one at that," Klein said dryly. "As for the fertilizer, with the weather and all, there hasn't been much use for it. There still might be some at the feed store."

I nodded. "Don't worry, you'll have nothing to lose since by the time the explosive goes off, you'll be driving north with the rest of your people. I'm the one who has to put my life on the line. I'll make sure you have enough time to get away. I just want Emily brought somewhere safe."

"You have my word," Klein stated. He extended his hand and we shook on it.

As he returned his attention to the attacking Infecteds, I saw that Emily was standing off to the side, her eyes not making any contact with mine. Instead she was staring at the ground, tears rolling down her cheeks. The dog was sitting next to Emily, looking up at her as if wondering why she was so upset..

"Are you alright?" I asked.

She cried out, "You said you cared about me. Then why do why are you doing this?"

"I'm doing it so you will be safe. I'm doing it so the people here will have a chance to get away from those creatures out there. Your job is to take the dog here and see that she is safe, okay? But I promise that I will return to you."

Emily wrapped her arms around my stomach and gave me a hug. "You had better!"

"I told you not to worry," I said. "Now dry those eyes of yours."

She let go of me and then gave a few half-hearted sniffles.

I turned to Peter and then said, "Okay, let's get to work."

We started by going to St. Ignace. Running down the middle of the main street was a long line of cars and trucks, each with a driver and stuffed with passengers, boxes of food and ammunition, plus clothing and other trinkets. It looked like a gypsy caravan. I brought Emily to the man in charge there, a lanky fellow who was at the head of the procession. He was busy giving orders and seeing that the rations were evenly distributed, but promised to find Emily a berth on one of the waiting vehicles. After a short and tearful moment, I said goodbye to her and the dog. I only hoped that I could see Emily's face again.

On a nearby street was the tanker. It was a large one with pipes mounted on the side to be used for pumping fuel into underground tanks.

"Do you know how to drive one of these?" Peter asked.

I gave a shrug. "Don't worry, I can figure it out. Where's that feed store that Klein mentioned?"

"A few blocks away," he replied.

Opening the driver's side door, I pulled myself up into the seat. The keys were in the ignition. I started it up. The engine caught right away giving the familiar clack of diesel power. After Peter had clambered inside, I put the truck into gear and clumsily pulled ahead. After a few rough stop and starts, I managed to follow the boy's directions. Soon enough we were in front of the farm supply store.

It had been largely untouched by past looters. I guess the urge to steal farm implements and supplies was pretty low, though someone had taken all the corn feed. After a few minutes of searching, it was Peter who found the fertilizer. It was located outside in a fenced off yard that filled with bags of wood chips, bricks, and rotting bales of straw. There were several different brands and types. I began to examine the labels.

"What are you looking for?" Peter asked.

"Not just any fertilizer will work," I explained. "It has to have ammonium nitrate. We'll be mixing it directly into the diesel inside the tank, so I hope there is enough for our purposes."

There was. Stacked on three pallets were many fifty pound plastic-wrapped bags. A weathered piece of paper warned the seller that a special permit was needed to purchase this type of fertilizer. Some government regulation or another was cited which was hardly a surprise considering the type of damage these chemicals could do if in the wrong hands.

Working together, we ferried the bags over to the side of the truck. After that task was completed, I went up on to the top of tanker and opened one of the access lids. With the sunlight from above, I could see it was half-full of diesel. With a tank of this size, it would be some five or six thousand gallons of the stuff. That, especially mixed with the ammonium nitrate, should put a sizable dent in the bridge. I just hoped it would be enough. One by one, each bag was hoisted on my shoulder and carried to the top. There I cut the top and dump the contents inside. With the beating sun above, it was grueling work. But when we were done, the fuel inside had taken on a transformation: the fluid inside now looked like thick sludge and gave off an awful odor that made my nose cringe.

"Do you think it will work?" Peter asked doubtfully

I replied, "I don't know, but there is only one way to find out. Come on, we're almost running out of time. Let's get back."

As I drove towards the bridge, Peter began talking in a hurried fashion. "I can't believe you're going to stay behind and fight the Black Eyes. Do you think I could help? I'm a good shot."

"You've already done enough." I paused to shift up a gear. "Anyway, I want you to look after Emily in case I don't make it."

Peter fell into an uneasy silence. I could tell he wanted to say something. Only after we hit the edge of the bridge and began to work slowly through the parked vehicles did he begin to speak again. "Look, what you're doing is stupid. I mean this bomb, if it goes off, is going to kill you. I'm sure Klein will understand if we just pull everyone back, blow it up now, and then escape before the Black Eyes know what hit them."

I laughed at the folly of youth. "I'm afraid there wouldn't be enough time to set everything up, pull everyone away, and then detonate the explosive. No, someone has to make a rearguard fight so the others can escape. I know it is going to be dangerous, okay?"

"I said I'm willing to help. Why can't I?"

"You're just too damn young. It's people like you and Emily that have to make a new start with this world. We - and I mean the adults - made a mess of everything. You have a fresh chance of doing it right this time."

"What are the chances of that?" he asked sarcastically. "Now who is being foolish?"

I shrugged. "I didn't say your generation would necessarily succeed, but it's still a chance that I'm willing to make. I was told once that second chances in life are rare. You got to take them when you can."

In the corner of my eye I could see him working himself up to say something in reply. Instead, to my surprise, he just shook his head and kept his mouth shut.

The gunfire here at the middle of the bridge was still going on with the regularity of clockwork. But from the way the men were casting their eyes back towards St. Ignance, you could tell they were getting ready to run for it. I pulled up, stopping the truck on one roadway, edging close to the concrete embankment that bordered the other. Peter and I then jumped down and ran over to Klein, who was still at the post between the two buses. As I came up, I saw him check his watch.

"Not bad," he said as if discussing the weather. "That only took you fifty-five minutes."

"I'll need that dynamite."

"I'll get it for you." He caught the attention of the closest shooter and after a few words, the man headed off to the nearest car where he opened the trunk and began rooting through the back.

Klein said, "You mean to go through with this?"

"Yes," I replied, trying to keep my voice steady.

"Good. We're almost running out of ammunition. After this next wave, I was going to give the order for the men to do a slow retreat."

"Go ahead and give that order to retreat, but have them immediately move on to the convoy and leave. They will have to clear as much distance between the tanker as possible. It's going to be a big explosion."

"I hope so. Is there anything else I can do for you?"

"No, I don't think so. Just make sure Emily is looked after in case I don't make it back." I then motioned toward Peter. "And also make sure this boy here doesn't come running back to help me. It's going to be tricky enough without having to look after him."

"I'll see to it," Klein said.

I could feel Peter's hatred for being treated this way. He glared at me and then without saying a word, he turned and sulked away.

The man came back with a packed duffel bag which he dropped by my feet. A long coil of rope was dropped next to it. He then stared at me for just a moment before returning to his position at the barrier. As far as he was concerned, I was a dead man walking. And perhaps I was.

Dropping to my knees, I unzipped the bag. Inside was the detonator, the type that required the user to manually charge by quickly turning a handle that was connected to a dynamo within. There was also a long length of coiled wire and a roll of electrical tape. On the bottom of the bag were a half-dozen sticks of dynamite. In the front pouch were the blasting caps. I would only need one. Taping the dynamite together, I used one of the caps, inserting it into the central stick. When I was finished, I had a primitive little bomb that would hopefully have enough energy to set off the fuel and ammonium nitrate mixed inside the tanker.

Another crash of rifles made me lift my eyes and look toward the barrier. I could see the men were standing up and leaving. Klein waved his hands and began shouting, ordering a general retreat. His soldiers were out of ammunition and he knew they couldn't keep the tide of Infecteds back any longer. That was my job.

I ran over to the tanker with the bomb in my hand and the duffel bag slung over my left shoulder. The shotgun bumped against my back, reminding me that no matter what happened, this gun was going to be my last defense. I lifted myself up onto the tank and removed the top cover, and gently dropped the dynamite into the sludge below, the wires trailing. It sunk down into the mixture. I turned my neck and looked from side to side. The barrier was now unmanned, except for Klein who was still standing at his post. He was looking at me, his expression empty. This one was a real stoic.

Myself? I was feeling sick to my stomach but the thought of Emily escaping to a new world kept me going. Jumping down, I began to quickly trail the wire away from the tanker. With each unwinding of the loop under my arm, I knew I was going to be too damned close when the bomb went off. If the explosion didn't kill me outright than the resulting ball of fire would be sure to finish the job.

As I reached the end of the wire, I ducked behind a large Ford pickup truck, hoping the metal behemoth would afford some protection from the coming blast. Placing the detonator on the ground, I ran back to gather the rope. Klein was walking calmly towards St. Ignace, heading along the same path I was taking.

He said, "They're coming. Nothing left to stop them now, except for you."

"You better had get that convoy going. I'll catch up as soon as I can."

"I'll leave a car waiting for you," he said. "Good luck." And then he was off.

I found the rope where I had left it. Gathering it together, I ran past the detonator until I reached a car that was a suitable distance away. There I tied one end of the rope to the trailer hitch and the other end I looped round my waist. This was my safety harness. If the bridge collapsed as I predicted, then this bit of rope should stop from falling into the water far below. I hurried back to the detonator.

A noise caught my attention. From the direction of the barrier came an inhuman roar. I peered over the truck where I was hiding. It was the horde of Infecteds. Having discovered that the barriers were unmanned, they now moved with a surprising ferocity, devoting all of their numbers to the final assault. The sandbags were torn down and then the attackers crawled underneath the semi trailers. This time there were hundreds of them, streaming towards the prize of the town. I had to make my move now or else it would be too late to stop them.

I reached for the detonator and lifted the plunger up. I gave the dynamo a quick charge by giving the handle a spin and then pushed down on the plunger. There was an explosion, but the effect was much smaller than I expected. With the amount of homemade explosives I had made, it should have rocked the very road I was resting on. Instead there was only a minor tremor and a flash of light. I took the chance and looked. What I saw made my heart sink. Instead of a twisted metal and an explosive fireball, the tanker had a hole in the side of the aluminum body that was leaking a torrent of burning diesel that flooded the roadway and spilled off on the sides and into the water below.

A handful of the Infecteds were caught in the burning inferno, but the majority had pushed on, ignoring the plight of their comrades. Many were now past me, heading into town. I swore to myself, and fought to remove the rope that I had tied around my waist. I had to get out of here, but the knot was too tight. I began plucking helplessly at it until I realized that I still had a pocket knife. I reached into my front pocket and opened the wicked little blade. I began sawing at the tightly-wrapped strands, but it took too long. I was spotted. A group of them charged at me.

Dropping the knife, I brought up the shotgun and fired. The buckshot tore onto the oncoming group, incapacitating the two nearest Infecteds. I racked up another shell and another, as I fired a barrage of lead into the attackers. But I was now surrounded by hundreds of them and there was nowhere to go. Instead I turned to run, trying to gather a few more feet of breathing room.

With the rope still tied around me, there was only so far that I could go. I pivoted, dropped to one knee and fired the remaining shells at the closest Infecteds. When I was out of ammunition, I tossed the shotgun to the side and tried to grab the pistol out of my waistband. It was too late. With their black eyes shining, arms reached for me. I was in a sea of legs and arms, all trying to tear at my clothing. I saw a flash of teeth and then I was bit on the neck. A series of other bites engulfed me. A wave of pain wracked my body. I let out a scream.

As I caught my breath to let out another wail, I felt the asphalt underneath my body give a tremble that shook me straight to the spine. I felt the weight of bodies on me ease as the Infecteds drew away, perhaps fearful of this unexpected sensation. With a crack, the world gave away to emptiness. I fell. Bodies, cars and road spiraled down towards the water below. Some hands scraped at my flesh but soon parted. With a sudden jerk, the rope snapped taut and held. I felt as if my body had been thrown against a brick wall. As I swung helplessly in the air, I watched as the Infecteds and debris fell.

It was my failed bomb. The heat from the tanker fire must have caused the bolts of the anchors that connected the main cable to the body of the bridge to give away. It worked! I felt a wave of elation sweep over my body, numbing the pain that I felt. Now I only had to climb back up and find that car that had been left for me. It would only take a few minutes to catch up to Klein and his people, and then I could be reunited with Emily.

My thoughts were cut short by the tugging I felt on the rope. By craning my head, I was able to look upward. I could see John Rhode on the edge of the destroyed roadway. He was standing by as some other Infecteds hoisted me upward. I hadn't stopped all of them.

*

This ends the narrative of Brent Cohen, the last of the old breed of mankind. Even after a year of study and successive tries, we still have been able to convert him. His refusal to believe that he is the last normal man in the world is strange. The several attempts at escape have forced us to keep him confined. For now we have decided to keep him alive. Maybe someday we can figure out how to change him. But for now it is safer for the collective that he remains hidden.

###

Connect with Paul Westwood Online:

Blog: <http://ofghostsandgunpowder.blogspot.com/>

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The Other Works of Paul Westwood:

**Horror America** : Move over Sherlock Holmes! When the supernatural game's afoot, helpless people call on the good Dr. Townsend to save them. Ghosts, the undead, werewolves, and more horrors that man was not meant to see are loose in 1870s America, so it's up to Captain Parker, a gunslinger for hire, and Dr. Townsend to stop the horror. Yet when Townsend's beautiful daughter falls under the spell of a mysterious suitor, their fortitude will be tested in a battle like no other. Written in a series of connected short stories narrated by Parker, this novel will keep you turning pages late into the night.

**Headline** : 1977. A ruthless serial-killer is stalking Bay City. His purpose is unknown, but the dismembered victims are always young and beautiful. In order to find the perpetrator, Police Detective Markus has to set aside his personal troubles, and pull the evidence together before panic sweeps the city. His only ally is a reporter with a tortured past and the chance to break the biggest story of her career.

**Malediction** : Two centuries after the Final War, civilization struggles to rise from the ashes of the new Dark Ages. An innocent man turned outlaw is forced on a journey across a desolated landscape, risking his life to deliver a warning to the growing rebellion. The message he carries will change the balance of power, and with it, the hopes of humanity.

**Murder at Zero Hour:** William Grant, an American, joins the British Army during the Great War. He is posted to France, where he witnesses the horrors of war on the front line. During a dangerous night patrol, a captain is murdered, leading to a series of unanswered questions. With only his wits, Grant must solve the mystery while keeping his own skin intact. Will he be a victim of war or just another victim?

**At Harper's Ferry** : The book that started it all. Jack Blackwood is a lonely drunk who starts a detective agency in the heart of Washington DC. As Fort Sumter is attacked, he and his partner Ezra are embroiled in a case that could change the very course of the war: the son of a retired congressman has gone missing, along with military papers outlining the Union's Anaconda Plan. At the heart of the matter is a beautiful prostitute, a trail of dead men, and a spy who will stop at nothing to deliver the plans to the Confederacy.

**At Bull Run** : The second book in the Blackwood Series. A wealthy man hires Jack Blackwood to find the murderer of his only son, who had recently joined a newly-formed Union cavalry regiment. In a city crowded with temptation, the investigation uncovers a killer who is targeting prostitutes and soldiers alike, causing panic in the ranks. Only Jack's wits and the power of the Colt can put a stop to the killings.

**At Shiloh** : The third book in the Blackwood series. As Grant's Army marches through Tennessee, it is beset by guerilla fighters led by the traitorous Major Gardner. An invaluable shipment of gold is stolen from the Union and must be retrieved at all costs. Posing as a guntrader, Jack must not only complete this impossible mission, but survive the perils of battle and the amorous advances of a widow trapped in an unfriendly town.

**The Blackwood Trilogy** : Jack Blackwood is a widower and a drunk. Ezra Miller is an ex-slave in a white man's world. Together, they run a detective agency in Washington DC. As the Civil War rages, they are involved in a series of cases that will change the very course of the war. This anthology collects all three adventures – At Harper's Ferry, At Bull Run, and At Shiloh - at one low price.

