Black Tide Rising - eARC (29 page)

The minister began to cough again, and Len excused himself to assist the pastor back to the parsonage. After seeing him to bed, Len returned to the planning session.

Pete had changed the plan to one pickup truck and one ATV. Many of the vehicles that had been occupied by refugees remained parked at the camp due to the fuel shortages and missing ignition keys when the owners became Infected. However, there was a small pickup that had been configured as an “off-road monster truck” with high clearance, four-wheel drive, and oversized off-road tires. While the chromed crash bars, lights and winch were intended for show, they were fully functional. The new plan was to carry one ATV in the bed of the truck and make good use of 4WD and winch to navigate the steep trail as much as possible. The good news was that the truck would allow them to carry more tools, supplies and arms.

The day of the raid dawned clear, but with a hint of Autumn chill. Len’s team would support the larger team as they quickly checked houses lower on the hill, clearing the path to the trail-head near the highest and largest house in the gated community. There was no movement, nor survivors at the first house they encountered. Pete had divided the townsfolk into smaller teams tasked with defense, clearance or salvage. One of the salvage teams would return to check for salvage on their way back down, but they were not hopeful, as a quick survey suggested that the house had been stripped of useful items.

Shots rang out as they approached the second home. A minivan carrying one of the clearance teams had headed up the driveway before being shot at by someone at that property. The van ran off the driveway into a ditch. The riders bailed out and took cover as the shooter continued to target the van. Len heard Pete on the radio advising the other teams to bypass the house until they knew what else they would encounter in this neighborhood. The van had to be temporarily abandoned, and Len ended up with two additional riders in the bed of the pickup along with the ATV. There were no further incidents by the time they reached the trailhead near the furthest end of the development. There was one more house just past the next bend, but Len’s party would part ways and head up to the transmitters from here.

They were between the first and second switchback on the trail, a quarter mile from the trailhead, and still a half mile from Fisher’s Peak Road, when the truck began to slip. Clay Davis was driving the truck and Don was on the ATV; everyone else was on foot. Don had unreeled the steel cable from the winch and was headed uphill to tie it off to stabilize the truck. The grade was about thirty degrees, and without the line, the truck was in real danger of tipping.

Len called out, “Don! Stop!” but the ATV was too far away. He keyed the radio that they had borrowed from the Scout Camp. “Don! The truck is slipping, release the cable!”

There was slack in the winch line, so Don had it looped it over the tie-down rack on the back of the ATV and was holding the end in his hand. on the handlebar with his loosely attached to the back of the ATV. The truck began to slide, and Len could see the slack rapidly disappearing. If Don didn’t release it, it could flip the ATV over—or worse.

Clay was working the steering back and forth to try to get traction for the truck without turning sideways to the slope. It didn’t seem to be working, though, and the truck continued sliding toward the drop-off at the edge of the first switchback. Don felt a sharp pain from his hand and tension in the cable, so he turned to look over his shoulder but didn’t release his hold on the steel cable. The continued motion of the ATV caused three things to happen in rapid succession: First the steel cable dug into the flesh of Don’s hand, drawing blood. Second, the tension on the ATV caused the front wheels to lift from the ground. Third, the combination of forces on Don caused him to be pulled off of the ATV as that vehicle flipped end-for-end.

The sliding truck came to a stop partially against a large rock at the edge of the switchback. One tire was hanging out in midair and the rear axle was firmly wedged against the rock. A trickle of dark liquid started to leak out onto the rock.

Clay got out to check the truck while Len and the others hurried uphill as fast as they could. Don was lying unconscious in the trail, bleeding from hand and head with one leg caught under the overturned ATV. Frances Matthewes, the fourth member of the team righted the ATV while Len tended to Don.

“Rear differential’s cracked” said Clay as he approached. “We could disconnect the driveshaft and just use the front wheels to drive it, but that requires tools we don’t have here.”

“Doesn’t matter, now.” Len said, pointing at Don’s lacerations and the purple coloration of his leg. “We need to get Don back to the doc. Can you two get him down the hill?”

Clay was a big man, the caricature of a mountain man now that his beard had grown out, but Frances was the slim runner type. Her looks were deceptive, though, since she used to help her husband install home air-conditioning units before he became Infected. She nodded, as did Clay. “We’ll rig a sling. I can carry him on my back, and Frances can belay me with the ropes in the truck. What are you thinking?”

“Pastor’s right, we need the radio. It looks like the ATV’s not too bad. I’ll lash the tools to the rack and head on up myself. If the worst comes, I’ll walk.” Putting actions to words, Len checked the ATV to make sure it would function.

“Pete’s not going to be too happy—you off on your own.” Frances pointed out. “Besides, I’m not sure we should move Don.”

“Yeah, well, I’ll deal with Pete when I get back.” Len stopped, and considered his friend’s injury. “You’re probably right. Someone will have to stay here, and the other one can go get help.”

“I’ll go,” said Frances. “I can run faster than Clay and I’m used to cross-country.”

“Good. Clay, watch Don, but don’t move him unless you absolutely have to.”

“Got it. Good Luck”

Len strapped some tools, a shotgun and spare ammo to the ATV while Frances headed back down the trail. Soon he was past the switchback and climbing the mountain with the roar of the engine in his ears. He never heard the sounds of disturbance coming from the trail behind him.

* * *

He slept fitfully on the bare concrete floor. In his dream he was back on the pickup running from the crowd. He saw too many familiar faces behind him, twisted by disease and hatred. Sally, Sean, Garrett, Pete, Don, Frances, Clay, his parents. They were reaching for him and they were gaining. The truck was just not fast enough.

“You must give them Grace,” said Pastor Garber, suddenly looking up at him from beside the pickup. “Cleanse them, they are impure.”

Now Len was standing at the door to the transmitter, he was looking in the direction of the town, but all he could see was columns of smoke rising from somewhere in that direction. He looked down at his hands, there was a flame-thrower, but he didn’t recall picking it up or where it came from. He heard Garber’s voice. “It is the only way.”

* * *

Len had seen no one since the roadblock at the switchback of NC-89 coming down off the Blue Ridge. The semi-tractor trailer truck loaded with granite blocks and gravel had been overturned right at the point where vehicles descending the road would have to slow down for the tight turn. Don had told him that they didn’t want to risk anyone picking up speed on the downhill and ramming the roadblock on the north end of town.

He had expected more than just a single guard, and a barely out of teen-age boy at that. It wasn’t someone that Len recognized, and the young man wasn’t too talkative, just waved him on after he showed identification. It was still two miles into town, and Len had been gone for five days. It was only ten miles by road from the transmitters, but he’d only been on the road for the last mile. The Parkway was a dangerous place these days.

The town was quiet. There were a few people out, but they avoided him. Considering his torn clothes, dried blood and limp, he was surprised he wasn’t greeted with gunfire. He limped on, carrying only a long branch that he’d had to use as both cane and club.

With approaching dusk, he saw no movement or light in the parsonage, with pale candlelight coming from the lower level of the church. As he opened the door, he was assaulted by the smell—blood, vomit, feces and antiseptics. He stopped and stared at the row of cots filled with broken and bandaged bodies. A woman he barely knew from town meetings came up and guided him to a chair next to Pete Long’s caught.

“Len. You made it.”

Pete’s head, chest, and arms were bandaged, one eye was also covered.

“Well, you may be figuring out now that it was a trap. We lost …” Pete coughed. He raised a bandaged hand to wipe his mouth. The bandages were red with blood, whether from his wound or coughing, Len couldn’t tell. Pete coughed several more times, and the familiar-looking woman sat him up to give him water from a hard plastic cup.

“The houses were booby trapped. There was still someone living in one—you saw that one—but the others had mines. We tripped them when we started to search.”

“What about Don? Frances? Clay?” Len started looking around the room looking for other familiar faces.

Pete was grimacing with pain. Len was getting a stern look from the woman. She was Pete’s wife, he remembered, now. He’d only been introduced to her when he first bought the property. She and Sally hadn’t gotten along—not that that meant anything now.

“We never saw her. Frances. Clay came back into town the next day, carrying Don.” More coughing. There were tears coming from the unbandaged eye. “He was too far gone, he never woke up. Clay stayed all night, and when Frances didn’t return, he carried Don back down the mountain. It was too late, though.”

His eye closed and he lay back down. Pete’s wife started to make her patient comfortable, then turned and gave Len a look that told him it was time to leave.

Clay met him on his way across to the parsonage. “They told me you were back. Please tell me you were successful.” He sat down on the steps to the back door of the building, effectively blocking Len’s entrance to the residence.

“I did it. I have the access frequency to the transponder, and it’s powered…for now.” Len sat on the step beside Clay. “But the Blue Ridge is dangerous. There’s gangs up there on the Parkway. It took me days to work my way around them.” He paused a moment in memory. “And you? Tell me what happened.”

Clay sighed. “Don didn’t make it. I waited all day and all night. I didn’t move him, I kept him warm, but he never woke up. When Frances didn’t come back I knew something was wrong. I could smell and saw what looked like a brush fire, so I knew I had to move. I put Don in a fireman’s carry and headed down the mountain, right into the aftermath of Pete’s raid. Apparently Frances ran right into it as it was happening. We didn’t find her body for another two days.” He put his head in his hands. “It’s been bad. We lost too many people. I don’t know whether we’ll make it.”

Len hung his head. Don had been a good friend and neighbor. Len had never quite come to terms with the fact that he still hated Don for Sally even once he understood the necessity. They had worked together these last months, but it was never the same. Still, now that he was gone, Len felt an empty place inside.

He stood and moved toward the door. “Pastor will know what to do. I need to tell him about the transmitter.”

Clay put a hand on Len’s arm to restrain him. “Len, wait.” Clay’s face showed more pain and emotion. “He’s…not well. This has been hard on him, and his age is catching up. He should be happy to see you though, he was very worried when you didn’t return.”

Len entered the parsonage. The back door led into the kitchen. It had gotten completely dark, so he navigated to a drawer by memory, pulled out a candle and matches, lit the candle and placed it in a disk on the counter. He moved over to the radio further down the counter, lifted the box controlling the relay and set the transponder code to match the one he had seen in the small concrete room at the transmitter tower. He switched on the radio, and got the usual static, then turned the tuning dial. More static, but then music and a voice: “This is the voice of Free Texas…”

It worked. I hope it was worth it.

Taking the candle he made his way through the darkened main level to the stairway. He could see the dim flicker of candlelight coming from the pastor’s room. Garber was propped up in the bed, reading. He put down the book, looked up and smiled at Len’s approach. “These are dark days, my son. It is a blessing to see you again. Does it work?”

“Yes, Pastor. At least it receives. I checked it a few minutes ago.” Len sat down in the chair by the bed. It will break his heart to hear the rest of it. “The transmitter still has power, so as long as that lasts, it will work. There is a generator, but someone had stolen the fuel.”

“It lifts this old heart to hear your news, Brother Leonard, but you seem troubled. Surely as long as the power is on, we can send messages…and with your return, we know that it is possible to go up and back. We should be able to take fuel to the generator if needed.”

“No Pastor, I am afraid it is not that simple.” Len had trouble meeting the elderly minister’s gaze, and when he did look up, it was to see a worried look in his eyes. “There are bandits, Pastor Garber. When I found that the generator tank was empty, I went out on the Parkway to see if I could siphon fuel from some of the abandoned cars. I had to hide from armed men several times, they call themselves the Blue Ridge militia. I saw them do…bad things, and I fear that if we draw their attention, especially after what happened…”

Garber’s expression faded, and with it most of the color in his face. It was clear that the confidence and energy he had held in reserve was failing. The Pastor looked old…showing his age and then some. He leaned back into the pillows and whispered. “Brother Leonard, you must! People need to know that God has a plan, they need to know that they can come here and be safe.”

His voice grew faint.

“You are our blessing.” His eyes closed and his breathing stilled.

* * *

People at the church heard the anguished screams and the sound of breakage. Clay had briefly gone inside the parsonage, then come back out to keep the others away.