Black Tide Rising - eARC (28 page)

The night was dark and cloudy. Len considered the fact that in the past, such low clouds would have reflected light from Mount Airy to the north, and more distant Winston-Salem to the south. Now the dark night was lit only by the lanterns the small group had brought with them.

It was a risk coming so close to the highway, but one of the Lowgap residents had driven for the company for several years and convinced Pastor Garber that it would be worth it if they could salvage some of the tanks and one or more of the propane-fueled company vehicles. Having fuel to cook and run the occasional generator meant that they could save gasoline and diesel for the vehicles. Preserving the ability to transport food and supplies could be the difference between life and death for Lowgap.

Len sat behind the wheel of a pickup truck that had carried men and women to the job, frustrated that lingering weakness and stiffness in his left arm consigned him to be driver and lookout. Should the Zee’s appear, it would be his job to draw them away from the site with lights and noise—and hopefully get away himself. Blackened trucks, and buildings told the tale of an explosion some weeks ago. Fear of leakage and damaged propane tanks scattered over the fifty-acre facility had kept scavengers away, but he could see the dim red lights of his fellows over next to a building that looked mostly intact.

The CB radio crackled with static. “Pete, we got something here. Three tanker trucks, doesn’t look like the fire got here.”

More voices joined the conversation.

“Pete, I’ve got a truck of them little tanks you see at the gas stations.”

“There’s lots of the big tanks, but they’re all empty.”

“There’s a few cars and a pickup over here. How do I tell if they run on propane?”

“This tanker’s almost empty, that one’s better than half full, the other is full.”

“Listen up, every one.” That was Pete Long, the person responsible for this salvage party. “The little tanks are good, we can use them for cooking if they are full. Pick them up, it they weigh more than five pounds, they’re probably fresh, shine a light on the tank, if it looks freshly painted, it should be full. Take only full tanks, we can refill what we’ve got but don’t need any empties.

“Forget the empty tanker, same reason. We’ll take what we’ve got, it’s not worth turning on the transfer compressors and attracting the Zee’s. As for or the vehicles—look at the gas filler cap—if it looks funny, it’s for propane, not gasoline. Take the pickup, but we’re only interested in a car if it has high clearance or four-wheel drive.”

“How about a station wagon?” asked the voice that had inquired about the vehicles.

“Sure, good. We can use it to haul stuff.”

Len waited for the click that meant Pete had released his microphone. “Pete, it’s Len. What if you pumped propane until any Zee’s show up, then you shut down, I draw them off, and y’all go the other way back to town?”

“Too risky, we have no idea how many will show up and there’s no guarantee you can draw enough off.”

Len was preparing a retort when Pastor Garber opened the passenger door and slid into the pickup. “No, he’s right. I know you want to contribute, but your time will come. You are our miracle, and just being here gives us hope.” The dome lights had been switched so that they didn’t turn on when a door was opened, and attract…unwanted visitors. Len could see the Pastor’s face, and it was obvious from his words that the Pastor could see Len’s. “I know you don’t believe in miracles, but these people need to believe. It may be the only thing that keeps them together.”

The two waited in silence, until they heard low engine sounds and six vehicles approached out of the dark—two propane tankers, a stake-bed truck filled with cylinders, a pickup and a car that looked like a cross between an SUV and a station wagon. The sixth vehicle, Len would later learn was a half-full fuel truck that had been delivering diesel and gasoline for operating the compressors and delivery fleet.

The drive back to Lowgap was harrowing. The direct way back would have been I-74 to NC89, then the detour through the Hidden Valley checkpoint. Unfortunately, the Interstate was blocked by wrecked and abandoned cars, and it ran too close to Mount Airy for comfort. The back roads would take them through Ararat and around Dobson, turning a thirty minute trip into nearly three hours at night with no lights. The older boys that had come early and been stuck at the Scout Camp had been put to work hiking around the small towns and back roads throughout the region to gather information on the neighboring communities. Dobson was large enough to have a sizeable population of Infected, but the Scout reports said that the old Prison Camp Road would skirt the city and avoid most of the Zee’s.

The convoy mostly encountered isolated Zee’s on the road, easily outrun, or dispatched by men armed with hunting rifles that rode in the back of the pickups. Maneuvering trucks along the twisting country roads was a constant worry, but the only incident occurred around the half-way point near Dobson. The back road joined Old US-601 at an acute angle, and the fuel truck nearly jack-knifed on the turn. The lights and noise necessary to get the truck unstuck attracted a mob of Zee’s out of the town of White Plains. Len had to drive his truck—with most of the shooters—closer to the mob to keep them away from the men struggling with the tanker. By the time the word came over the radio that the convoy was ready to move, Zee’s were grabbing onto the tailgate. Fortunately, they had about three miles of good road on 601 to get up to speed and lose the Zee’s before turning on the Prison Camp road toward home.

The sky was beginning to lighten as the convoy returned to Lowgap. The propane, like the food supplies that had been obtained in other “salvaging” expeditions (Pastor Garber refused to allow them to be called “raids”) was delivered to the Lowgap Grocery where they had a tank that could be filled from the trucks and a compressor for refilling the small cylinders. Last night’s haul should suffice until winter, and surely the disease would run its course and allow recovery efforts by then.

* * *

He dreamed that night that he was back on the road. Len was driving the truck and being chased by Zee’s. He tried to step on the gas, but the truck just wouldn’t go any faster. The Zee’s were gaining on them while Pastor Garber and Don Collingsworth stood in the bed of the pickup throwing things at the approaching mob.

The pastor was throwing some sort of liquid that burned the Zee’s when it touched. Garber turned and grinned at him. “Holy water,” he said, “They need to be cleansed…”

“…with fire,” said Don, throwing propane canisters at the crowd and shooting them with a rifle to make them explode.

The truck was still moving, slowly, but now Len was standing in the back holding a flame thrower. The approaching mob was engulfed in flames. He could see Sally, Garret and Sean in the mob, mouths red with blood, eyes dead, festering sores all over their bodies. They were zombies and needed to be cleansed.

Cleansed with fire.

* * *

Running out of ammunition was an unknown concept to a mountain community. Unfortunately, few of the residents had thought to stock enough ammo for a Zombie Apocalypse. The “salvage runs” had become even more risky since the trip to the propane facility. There were ammunition stores in Mount Airy, Elkin to the south, and Galax to the north up over the Blue Ridge. For that matter, there were National Guard Armories in Winston-Salem and Charlotte, but they might as well have been across the ocean for all the good it did the increasingly isolated community.

The church now served double duty as a de facto Town Hall, with the basement converted to storage of essential supplies now that the initial spread of the disease had run its course. Len sat quietly as Don and Pete Long argued the pros and cons of sending a “salvage team” to the gun shops in Elkin and Rural Hall.

“It’s too far, and too risky!” argued Don.

“What of it?” countered Pete, “Compared to the risk of running out of ammo and having the Zee’s overrun us?”

“The Camp has ammo, right Dave?” Don looked over at his neighbor Dave Wright, who was one of the year-round staff members at Eagle Point Camp.

“Well sure, we’ve got a conex full…” Dave began before being cut off by Pete.

“It’s bird shot, Dave, Don. You know that won’t do a damn bit of good against the Zees!”

Who would have ever thought that a Boy Scout camp would have a shipping container’s worth of ammo?
Len thought to himself.
Well, maybe the same folks who think that it’s still not enough.

He continued to listen with only half of his attention as Don started to argue with Pete about converting the shells by recasting the lead shot and reloading the shotgun ammo; meanwhile Pete argued for the need to gather additional powder, bullets and brass casings.

“Damned risky!” both Don and Pete yelled at each other until Pastor Garber finally stepped in to calm the men down before the argument got worse.

“Brother Leonard, you have been awfully quiet,” the Pastor said, sitting down next to him as the two former combatants retreated to opposite sides of the sanctuary, each surrounded by friends trying to either reinforce or dissuade them from their stated positions.

Len sighed.

“I don’t know. I just don’t understand how we’re going to make it at all, Pastor. If we’re not fighting Infected, we’re fighting each other.”

“Yes, my son, I know. That’s why I wanted to talk to you about the radio. I know you don’t want to hear it, but the people in this surrounding areas need to know that we alive, we’re surviving, and there is Hope. God has a plan, for you, for me, for all of Mankind. We are here to be his Witness…”

“That’s it! Witness Hill!”

Len’s sudden outburst silenced the room. He realized belatedly that he’d jumped up and much to his chagrin, had hit the Pastor in the jaw at the same time. By the time he’d sat back down, apologized and checked Pastor Garber for injury, the rest of the men had gathered around.

“Witness Hill is a myth. An urban legend,” said an unidentified person in the room.

“No, it’s real,” said Don. Pete and Dave both nodded agreement. He continued, “My cousin did some home renovation work up there. One of the houses even had an elevator down to a cave outfitted as a safe room.”

Witness Hill was the local nickname for an unnamed gated neighborhood high up on Fisher’s Peak, northeast of town. The town rumor mill had decided that the anti-social residents of those homes were either in the Witness Protection program or retired spies—or even crime lords. The fact that the residents were never seen in town coupled to the fact that it was a gated community in an area where the mountains and sparse roads made gates unnecessary, served to further the rumors. Whatever the truth of these mysterious neighbors, the few facts that were known suggested that they had very good security. In the mountains of North Carolina, security meant guns, and guns meant stocks of ammunition.

As the conversation turned to plans to “search for survivors and supplies” on Witness Hill, Len became aware that Pastor Garber was still waiting attentively at his side. With a sigh, he turned back to the minister. “Pastor, I’ve told you repeatedly, I’m not that type of engineer.”

“Nevertheless, Brother Leonard, you have a greater appreciation of electronics than anyone else since Sister Tracey left us.”

“You still don’t have an antenna!”

“Ah, but we do. The Good Lord has provided.”

* * *

Just two miles northwest of town, but nearly a thousand feet up on the Blue Ridge, was Fisher’s Peak, one of the many peaks and ridges comprising the Blue Ridge and the scenic Blue Ridge Parkway National Park. Parks and community facilities along the ridge received power from a grid that included hydroelectric, solar, nuclear and fossil fuel power plants throughout North Carolina, Virginia, and Tennessee. Lowgap residents could look up the mountain and see that the navigation lights were still lit at the four television and radio broadcast antennas on Fisher’s Peak. Occasionally a car would slowly make its way down the switchbacks on NC-89 and tell of mountain farms and communities that remained relatively free of Zee’s.

Pete Long prepared a group of residents to raid Witness Hill, while Pastor Garber and Len planned for a smaller group to attempt a more difficult sortie up Fisher’s Peak. Ordinarily, repair crews serviced the antennas via a long access road originating on the north side of the Blue Ridge. Even though Lowgap and the transmission antennas of Fisher’s peak were both south of the Blue Ridge Parkway, there was no direct road to the facility. There was, however, a steep, narrow trail running leading from the top of Witness Hill to the end of Fisher’s Peak Road about three-quarters of a mile away and five hundred feet uphill. The trail was barely navigable by four-wheel all-terrain vehicles uphill to the gravel road, but would likely be too steep for the downhill return. Therefore Len, Don and two other men would accompany the larger group to Witness Hill, then begin the climb to Fisher’s Peak. Once their task was completed, they would decide whether to risk the downhill trail, abandon the ATVs and climb down on foot, or take the greater risk of following the access road through areas with uncertain conditions and suspicious residents.

“I still don’t understand how the ham radio is supposed to connect to the transmitter.”

Len was going over final plans with Don, Pete Long and Pastor Garber. Pete was primarily in charge of the team that would inspect and salvage ammo and supplies from the fortified homes on Witness Hill, but he was in overall charge until Len, Don and the rest of their team started up the trail. For once, Pastor Garber had been overruled and would be staying behind; the elderly minister had developed a deep cough the past few weeks, and all of the residents feared for his health.

Garber tapped a dusty, leather bound book on the table in front of him.

“Sister Tracey found my son’s radio log. In it he talks of the Ham Club repeater installed at the Channel 12 antenna. With our tall aerial broken, the radio will only reach a few miles and is affected by the mountains. The club installed the relay to assist members with limited funds and low-power. Once you make certain that the repeater is on and powered, set the frequency, and we will be able to broadcast and listen from here.”