Fade to Grey (Book 2): Darkness Ascending (30 page)

Eric nodded, “Like you said, there’s a lot of things
that we need to cover tonight. One of those things is whether or not we’re
going to try a run at Ravenwood.”

“Do you know for sure if there is a reason to go
back?”

Michelle kept her voice neutral as she replied, “We’re
in the process of weighing the risks.”

“When would you go?”

“I don’t know. Like I said, we’re in the process of
deciding ‘if’ we should go.”

“Well, when are you going to decide that?”

Michelle and Eric exchanged glances. After a moment,
Eric answered, “Tonight.”

The stocky EMT crossed his arms and frowned in
concentration for a moment. Finally, he turned back to the audience, stopping
first to meet the eyes of the still standing man with the braided beard. “I don’t
know your exact situation at the campground. Unfortunately, the council has not
authorized me to assist in any rescue effort. However, I believe that in the
interest of shelter Yellow, I can delay our return for a few hours in order to
give you time to attempt whatever action you think is necessary.”

The muted
crack
of a rifle shot echoed through
the building. Both Eric and Michelle’s hands went for their radios as
Thompson’s voice came through
. “This is crow’s nest. That was not us.
Repeat, that shot was not fired by us, it came from behind the fire truck.”

“10-4. Sam, are you and the lieutenant OK?”

“Roger that. It looks like one of the firemen located
a walker coming up the road.”

A few seconds later, the radio on the paramedic’s belt
crackled to life and confirmed Sam’s observation.

“I’ve got something else.” The bearded man extended a
chunky hand skyward. “You said once we get to the shelter, we go into
quarantine.”

“Yes, that’s correct.”

“And we’re kept in cement tanks, handcuffed, with a
rope around our necks.”

“Yes, that’s right.”

“And those tanks are outside, and have no door.”

The paramedic nodded, “Yes.”

“Well, I’m just wondering what happens if a few dozen,
or a few hundred of infected people come waltzing down that slope toward the yellow
door.”

“There’s an eight foot tall chain link fence that runs
around the quarry. Anything that gets past that . . . well . . . like I said,
almost the entire contingent of the Richland Sheriff’s Department is there.” He
looked around the room for more questions, but nobody else had a hand raised.

Turning to Eric, he said, “Well, it looks like you
folks have some talking to do and decisions to make. I’m going to head back to
the truck and get buttoned down for tonight. Tomorrow morning we’ll talk again
and you can let me know what you decided.”

Eric nodded and reached for his radio.
“Hey Sam,
have you escorted the lieutenant to the fire truck yet? I’ve got another one
that’s getting ready to come out.”

“We’re still looking at this winch. It looks like a
lot of salt spray and corrosion are up in the motor.”

“Well just leave that for now. I’m going to bring Ray
outside, and we’ll all head up to their truck. Crow’s nest, did you copy that?”

“10-4, crow’s nest copies.”

Few words were said between the four of them as they
walked back toward the fire truck. At the roadway, Eric stopped and extended
his hand toward the paramedic. “Thank you for going through all the effort to
reach us here. I’m sure we’ve all got a lot of things to discuss tonight, so
I’ll keep this short. And hey, I hope you understand that I was only doing my
job with the citation. I still don’t remember what it was for, but we give out
so many, that doesn’t surprise me. No hard feelings, OK?”

Deep set dark eyes on the bearded face regarded Eric
cautiously. Behind them, a lone wood frog began calling from the wind and
weather scavenged reeds near the lake. This time of year, especially with the
mild temperatures they’d been experiencing, it should’ve been a deafening
chorus.

With a barely perceptible nod, Ray took Eric’s hand
firmly and gave it two quick shakes. “No hard feelings.” He released Eric’s
grasp and walked toward the idling fire engine. Lieutenant King turned and
followed.

After they disappeared into the glare of the fire
truck’s headlights, Sam turned toward Eric, “That guy is bad mojo, and you’re a
crappy liar. You know exactly what you popped him for.”

“It took me awhile to figure it out, but yeah, I
remembered. And you’re right, he is bad news.” With a sigh that seemed to
convey more tiredness then he actually felt, Eric finished, “Let’s head back
inside and make some decisions.”

“I feel guilty, sort of.” Michelle said as she popped
the top on a can of diet soda.

Walter cracked another tab loudly and chimed in, “Also
guilty of sodafacation.”

They were in Walter’s office. Preacher Dave and his
son Scott were manning the crow’s nest, and Leonard and his wife Glenda had
volunteered to stay inside the store. Five minutes ago they had separated
themselves from the campground residents to focus on a single question—the
issue of a return to Ravenwood. Much to Eric’s dismay, the crowd at the store
had elected Diane to function as their speaker. It wasn’t unanimous, and those
who voted against her were firm in their opinion. But they were still in the
minority. Just like Eric’s group, Diane’s crowd was deciding a single question—would
they go to shelter Yellow or stay at the store. Before their groups separated,
Walter had spoken one final time.

“Ladies and gentlemen, I understand we’ve all got to
come to some decisions. Let me throw this out there so you can factor it in to
your resolution. My offer still stands whether you stay or go. It’s the
Christian thing to do, and I’ll still hand out whatever food and gas that I
can. But you need to know this—this store . . . this property . . . does not
have a revolving door. If you leave, you won’t be coming back. If everybody
leaves, either tomorrow or in the future, then this store and the area
surrounding it becomes part of the ‘no man’s land’ that I spoke of earlier.”

Sam kicked his feet up on the corner of Walters’s
desk, earning him a puckered brow and pointed finger from the owner.

“Let me get this right. We’ve got about ten minutes to
decide ‘if’ we’re going to make a run at the campground. If we vote ‘yes,’ we’ll
have to figure out the details later tonight. Am I correct?”

“Yep, that’s right,” Walter chimed in as he puffed a
double ring of the aromatic tobacco smoke toward the stationary ceiling fan,
“but before we vote on this, and no matter which way it goes, there’s still a
lot of things that need to be said tonight. Just not here.”

Several heads nodded, but no one spoke. Finally, Amy
stood up and looked around the room. “Three of us sitting here have a direct,
personal stake, or link, to the campground. Doc is missing his wife Sally and
his two stepchildren. Walter, Sally was your sister, and the kids were your
niece and nephew.” She stopped and looked out the darkened window toward the
lake. “And I’m missing my mother and father.”

“Amy,” Michelle stood and laid a hand on her shoulder,
“why didn’t you say something earlier?”

Still looking into the gloomy darkness beyond the
glass, Amy said, “They’re gone, both of them. I watched my dad, eighty-one
years old and in failing health, trying to fight off a teenage boy with red
eyes. My mom was already on the ground screaming at me to run. She was covered
with bite marks. So I ran.”

She turned and looked around room again. “I can’t
believe—I won’t let myself—that they’re still alive. Still human. Doc, you said
that you saw your wife, Sally, coming up out of the campground with one of the
waves as we were leaving. So, by my math, the only two people that we have a
direct, personal link of attachment to are Marty and Francis. That’s one thing
we have to consider. The other thing, from my line of reasoning anyhow, is
where our other responsibilities to act are guiding us. Eric, Sam, Michelle . .
. do you feel an obligation from a law enforcement standpoint to return to the
campground?”

Sam started to answer, but Amy waived him off, “Hold
that thought for a moment.” She turned to face Thompson. “And you, Mr.
Thompson, is there a military code of honor that might be guiding your actions
in this matter? What I’m getting at is that each of us have a responsibility,
not only to the people over in the store, but to ourselves as well.”

She turned to face Walter. “Do you have a little
tablet of paper and a few pens?”

“Why?”

“So we can vote.”

“I don’t need paper. I’ve got no problem with
everybody seeing how I vote.”

“Fair enough. Is everybody else good with an open
vote?”

Callie raised her hand. “What exactly are the
qualifications to vote? I mean, I’m not very good with a gun, so I doubt if I’d
be involved in that capacity. Do I still vote? And while I’m on a roll, are we
going with a majority decision that everybody has to follow, or does it have to
be unanimous?”

Silence filtered across the room as they considered
her words. Doc Collins broke the stillness a minute later with popping bones as
he stood and stretched. “I’d feel the most comfortable if everybody in this
room got a vote, and that our decision to go must be unanimous.”

“I agree,” Thompson said, “and for the record, Preacher
Dave told me to tell you that if you’re giving him a vote, he votes ‘yes’ for a
rescue mission.”

Mike cleared his throat, and then followed it with a
swig of soda “Just so I’m clear, we’re only voting about a trip back to the
campground. A rescue mission.”

Everybody nodded.

“OK,” he continued, “I’ve got a suggestion. Let’s do a
preliminary vote right now. Just to get a feel for where we stand.”

“All in favor?” Eric said.

“Wait, are we voting on the rescue mission right now,
or on whether we want to do a preliminary vote?” Sam crinkled his face as he
asked.

“Holy crap, I feel like I’m in a sorority. The next
thing you’ll want to do is to have a show of hands on who’s in favor of Buffy
going to the prom with Stud McMuscles the hometown football hero.” Walter blew
out a dragon breath full of light gray, cherry apple smoke as he stood. Three
quick steps into a half circle later, he kicked Sam’s foot off the corner of
his desk and perched down in the vacant space. “This is a preliminary vote.
Right now, all in favor of going back to Ravenwood on a rescue mission . . .
raise your hand.”

Walter, Eric, Callie, Amy, and Thompson raised their
hands.

Doc dropped his forehead and rubbed his eyebrows. “I
just don’t know . . . I just don’t know.”

Sam looked around the room, stopping at Thompson. With
a shake of his head and a sigh, Sam’s hand crept up to join the others.
“Somebody has to keep Thompson out of trouble.”

Mike stood and rolled his thick, muscular neck. “I’m
not a coward, and yeah, I like a good fight. But can any of you tell me what
we’re really fighting? Don’t get me wrong, I’ll bop heads ‘till the cows come
home, but if I walk off that field of battle with another mark in the ‘win’
column, am I going to die because I got some little speck of blood on me during
the fight? You know, a lot of people look at me. They see the tats, the crew
cut, the crowbar . . . I practically scream ‘roughneck’ from every angle. But
that doesn’t mean I’m an idiot. I don’t want to throw away my life needlessly.
So convince me.”

Michelle stood and walked toward the door that led to
the hallway. “Eric, can I have a word with you?”

Eric stood to follow and Sam hooted out a catcall.
Thompson, chuckling, said “Maybe she lost another contact.”

The mostly empty diet soda can ricocheted off the wall
inches from Thompson’s head just before Michelle turned the corner.