American Revenant: Hometown Exodus (2 page)

Each man carried a long rifle and a
sidearm with extra magazines for each.  Though they hoped to be efficient in
their searches and return long before the appointed 5 p.m. time they knew that
they could be gone all day.  Each man carried two bottles of water and one MRE
food pouch, as well as a small package of beef jerky and two 2 ounce glucose
drinks.  Most of the two team’s member’s also carried more than one knife.  A
regular pocket knife and a larger fixed blade, though a couple of the men also
carried sword blades on their backs as well.  All items went into a small
daypack carried on their person at all times.

Although goodbyes had been said
earlier, long looks followed the men as they pedaled away.  No one spoke their
fears, hesitant to put the thoughts out into the world as living words.  Even
the loss of one would hurt the morale of the group as a whole.  They were
family, people that were close long before any disaster, brought closer still
in the aftermath of fear and the hope of survival. 

“We are going to head to the
marina, then on to Old River Road,” Gordy explained, “that will probably take
most of the day, between the two.  If we don’t have any luck there we can think
about where else to look.”

“Good luck,” Mike replied.  “Think we
will make our way to the mouth of Bear Creek, then work our way back, see if we
can move pontoons up and down it.  Water’s kind of high at the moment, should
be easy to do.”

The separate groups parted at the south-side
bridge where it crossed over Bear Creek.  Gordy and Rick’s group continued on
down Main Street towards the marina, while Mike’s group was going to go on foot
directly to the mouth of Bear Creek and work backwards.

4

Despite the need for urgency, the
men rode at a leisurely pace.  These were average people, with bad backs and sore
knees.  They were not soldiers.  Even riding slower it only took a few minutes
from the bridge to get to the marina. 

All four men came to a halt at the
four-way stop, a right would take them across railroad tracks to the riverfront,
straight ahead was downtown Hannibal. 

Through the haze of smoke and piles
of debris they could see all the way to the Tom and Huck statue at the farthest
end of the street.  Historic downtown Hannibal was destroyed.  Bullet holes
riddled the old brick buildings.  Dead bodies lay in the broken glass littering
the sidewalk from smashed storefronts.  Tendrils of smoke drifted from several
buildings. 

Mass hysteria had affected even
this small town.  In fear and rage people had smashed nearly every window,
kicked in nearly every door along the four block area from Broadway to North
Street. 

Speaking quietly, Jack pointed out
something the other men had not noticed.  “Hey guys, isn’t that Mississippi
Marketplace?”

Just past the Java Jive coffee
shop, and The Powder Room women’s store was the only storefront that had
boarded up windows and doors.  No glass or bodies cluttered the walk in front
of the store, which led the men to believe that the shop had been boarded up
prior to the worst of the looting and wanton destruction. 

“There could still be a lot of food
in there.  Might be a good idea to check it out,” Rick said.

Gordy nodded in agreement, “Yes, it
would be good idea, but now isn’t the time.  Besides that, I think
they
might have something to say about it if we decided to take a little grocery
shopping side trip.” 

Thirty or more shuffling zombies
wandered through the wreckage of the small strip of historic downtown
Hannibal.  Calvin pointed out one very notable creature standing in front of
the Hannibal History Museum.  “Holy crap, look guys, it’s Zombie Twain!”

Wearing the white coat and black
tie used in his appearances as the vaunted Mark Twain, a local actor now lurked
the streets of Hannibal, a hungry and deadly creature.  The wild unruly white
hair, and thick blood stained mustache lent the un-dead man a decidedly creepy
aspect. 

“Apparently there is nothing that
cannot happen today,” Gordy said with a smile.

The other three men looked at Gordy
a moment until Calvin said, “Really, Dad?  Mark Twain quotes?  Good grief.”  He
was smiling hugely as he said it.

“We have work to do,” Jack said, “I
say we get going.”

As quietly as they could the four
men slowly walked their bicycles toward the riverfront, Rick brought up the
rear with the silenced pistol in his right hand while guiding the bike with his
left. 

Missing the normal sounds of
everyday life, the eerie non-silence of the area gave each man a feeling of
unease, what Gordy would often call “the creeping willies”.

A sudden quieted popping noise made
the men turn around.  Rick smiled at them. “No worries guys.  He got a little
too close for comfort.”  A body lay sprawled less than ten feet behind the
group, a neat hole in the center of its forehead. 

Quietly Gordy told him, “About time
you actually got good with that thing.  Maybe all you ever needed was a little
‘life and death’ motivation. “ 

“Still out-shoot you, diseased
zombie or not.” Rick grinned.

Everyone stifled a laugh, enjoying
the brief “like-old-times” moment.  Pushing on, they quickly made it to Nipper
Marina, a small boat slip-rental with a gas pump.  They were disheartened to
find so many vacant slips.  Of the few boats left two were modern pleasure
craft of the speedboat variety.  A small cuddy cabin and a partially sunken
bass boat took up two more of the slips.  Each of these was dismissed out of
hand, as all had newer starting systems.  While not certain of the EMP effects
on the boats, all four men agreed that it was likely their electrical systems
could have been damaged.

Returning to the bikes, the men
mounted up and prepared to leave when Jack spoke up.  “Hey guys, did we look at
that?”

All eyes followed Jack’s pointing
finger.  An old jon-boat sat low in the water at one of the furthest slips. 
The sun and the height of the slip had made it difficult to see.

Cal and Rick waited with the bikes
while Gordy and Jack went to investigate.  They found a beat up eighteen foot
jon-boat with an ancient looking Mercury out-board motor.  

“I’d bet my last paycheck that
thing starts right up.”

“Keep your money Jacko, I’m
inclined to agree.  Though I don’t think we should try it at the moment.  We
would have a zombie horde on us in minutes.”

“Wouldn’t even think of it, Gordo. 
I want to see what’s under the tarp in front.”

Jack cautiously climbed into the
boat, not wanting to dump himself into the river.  He became even more cautious
when a bloated body floated past, briefly bumping the side of the boat. 

Jack pulled the tarp back from the
bow of the boat.  He found a small box full of empty beer cans, trash, and a couple
of life jackets.  Moving this stuff out of the way he reached up under the
small space at the bow.  Fingers probing gently, he grabbed on to the handle of
something and pulled.  A black plastic case slid out, about twenty inches long
and just barely able to fit in the bow space. 

“I claim salvage,” Jack said
smiling. 

“Well drag it out of there and
let’s move on.  We still need to get down to river road and look around.” 

“What’d you find there?” Rick asked
when they rejoined the guys at the bikes. 

“Don’t know yet, gimmie a second to
open it and see.  Then I’ll stow it and we can head down the road.”  Jack
quickly popped the plastic latches.  “Looks like a couple of knives, and a
plastic gun stock.  Three of those gawd-awful MRE things you guys like.  A
flare gun, couple of extra flares.  So, throw out the plastic gun stock and
keep the rest, I say.”

Rick picked up the knives, a
well-kept Global fillet knife and a large Cold Steel Recon Scout in a plastic
sheath.  “Damn, this guy knew knives, I’d bet on it. Two really nice, not cheap
blades.  I’m surprised to find them in a beat up old jon-boat.” 

Cal took the plastic gun stock from
Jack just as he was about to leave it behind on the ground.  “Hey, Jack, you
might want to hang on to this.”

“What for?  I don’t want to pack it
around.”

Cal smiled knowingly.  “Because,
asshat, this thing is a Henry AR-7 .22 Survival Rifle.  Great little gun.  I’m
surprised as Rick that someone just left this stuff in an old jon-boat.  Hang
on to it, when we get home I’ll take it all apart, show you how it works.  It’s
pretty cool.”

Jack stowed his salvage in the bag
on his bike rack and mounted up.

5

Mike, Jimmy, and Sam had scouted
all the way to River Point, near Nipper Park.  The idea of getting any boats
down to the southside bridge simply wouldn’t work. 

Backtracking, the men now stood on
the railroad tracks, looking north towards the marina.

                “Well, I’m thinking
we load up all vehicles, drive to the southside bridge, jump onto the railroad
tracks there, a five minute bumpy-ass ride and we turn off on Broadway.  Puts
us right there at the boat ramp, we can offload right on the docks.  Thirty
minutes, maybe slightly more and we can have whatever water transport loaded,
everyone on board and be motoring down the river before anyone or anything
knows we are there.”

“Sounds do-able Jimmy,” Mike said. 
“Or we could simply go straight down main, to Broadway, at the dock in two
minutes.”  He could see Jimmy giving him a funny look out of the corner of his
eye. “I know, that draws a lot of attention, just trying to give options.”

“Having options is great, but
seriously guys, either way we run it the whole thing is high risk.  All the
gear, and people.  Loud vehicles, doesn’t matter if
people
are noisy or not, clanging and banging
just getting to the offload point.”

Mike and Jimmy looked at Sam in
silence, waiting for more.  They knew he was right, so they would have to
figure a way to minimize contact with the walking hordes of dead that would be
drawn straight to all the noise they would have to make.

“I’m not sure about you guys, but I would much rather sit in
comfort and brainstorm this than standing out here in the open.  Feel like I’m
waiting for a bite or a bullet to come out of nowhere.”  Sam began to walk the
half-mile back to their bicycles, Jimmy and Mike following close behind.

                Walking in silence the men were left to
their own thoughts on how to move everyone to the docks. 

                They had hidden their bikes behind a large
vacant storage building that sat right next to a paved foot and bicycle path. 
After rounding the bend in the railroad tracks they were directly across from
the building, behind a screen of trees.  Their bikes were on the other side of
the creek, behind the building, where they heard at least two men talking.

                “Come on Ham, no time to dick around.  Ain’t
nothing here to speak of other than the bikes, you want to take ‘em let’s take
‘em and get going.”

                “Don’t rush me old man, there may be
something else layin’ around.  Don’t know who left these bikes here but, yeah,
we gonna take ‘em.  Tell you what, you start loading them up while I look.”

                “I’m not your bitch, Ham.  Load the bikes up
your damn self.” 

                “Put the bikes in the truck, or I put a
bullet in your useless fucking head, right now.  Pick one Gramps.”

                Sam, Mike and Jimmy had slowly been making
their way across the shallow creek throughout this exchange.  Coming up the low
bank on the other side they all drew a weapon.  Jimmy had a small Kel-Tech 9mm,
Mike had his much larger caliber Springfield Armory 1911 Series .45.  Sam unslung
the suppressor equipped DPMS Oracle AR-15 he had carried over his shoulder.

                The men drew close together, Sam whispering,
“Mike, you go left, around the building quiet as you can.  Jimmy and I will go
around the front; maybe we can surprise these guys and end this without firing
a shot.”

                Mike nodded and moved towards the left side
of the building in a low crouch, pistol up in the ready position.  Sam and
Jimmy stayed low, moving quickly towards the front of the abandoned building. 

                At the front of the building both men stood
up, backs to the wall, though not directly against it.  Sidling slowly towards
the far corner they were surprised when someone pushing one of their bicycles
came from around the corner.  Jimmy got a good look at him from the side, even
though the man was scowling, Jimmy recognized him instantly.  Leaning in to
Sam’s ear he whispered, “That’s fucking Grinny, from the shed.”

                That was all Sam needed to hear. He waited
until the crusty old man stood at the side of a battered pickup, presumably the
same one he had been driving the day of the incident at the shed.  The same day
he and his men had murdered two close friends of the group.  As Grinny hoisted
the bicycle up Sam soft-stepped up to him quickly, placing the barrel of his
rifle against the back of the filthy, graying head.

                “Fuck you, Ham.  I’m loadin’ the damn
bikes.  Quit fuckin’ with me.”  He finished speaking and turned around staring
directly into the dark tunnel of the suppressed rifle.  A tiny squeak escaped
from his throat.

                “Uh, hey fellas, these your bikes?  Sorry,
no idea.  Let me get ‘em for you.”  He started to turn around when Sam jammed
the rifle barrel into his face, pushing his nose flat. 

                “I don’t want no trouble with you boys, “his
voice nasally, “I’ll give ‘em back.”

                “Will you give our friends back?  The ones
you and your sick-fuck friends killed at the little shed.  They were good
people.  Their kids are now orphans because of you, you piece of shit.”