Fade to Grey (Book 2): Darkness Ascending (41 page)

Estes sighed and copied the Lieutenant’s eyebrow
rubbing display. “So you actually know nothing, and are about as useless as a
duck’s umbrella.”

“I know that one of the focus points of the conference
was the human immune response to pathogens.” When nobody reacted, Lieutenant
Oakley cleared his throat and said, “There’s something else. I don’t know what
it means, but a few hours before I got the mixed up flight orders, I heard
Major Larrabee talking to someone on his SAT-COM unit. He said that we had a ‘Green
teardrop event.’”

“What’s that?” Lieutenant Pope asked.

Oakley shrugged and shook his head, “I have no idea.”

“Captain, do you want the good news or the bad news?”
The radio crackled to life with the question.

“Oh, I suppose I’ll take the good news.”

“Yes, sir. We might have a way to fix the tire on the
A3. There’s a whole logjam of vehicles up at the intersection—a lot more than I
originally thought. My count, confirmed by Bones, is over seventy assorted
civilian vehicles.”

“And that’s good news how?”

“One of the vehicles is a tow truck, and I ain’t never
seen a tow truck that didn’t have a big ol’ box of tools with it.”

“And the bad news?”

“A couple of things. First off, we’re going to have to
push, pull, or drag a lot of those vehicles to make a way past them. The
intersection is really just a road that cuts off to the left from the main
highway, but it looks like a lot of people buried their cars up to the axles in
the soft mud trying to find a way around other cars that were wrecked. Anyhow,
we’re going to have to move some vehicles if we want to go any further south.
The second thing is that when we move those vehicles, we might piss off the
goblins that are wandering around them.”

“How many are there?”

“We spotted at least fifteen moving the same time, but
from our standoff position, we can’t tell for sure. There could be ten times
that many in that mess.”

“Understood, head on back and we’ll take a look at our
options.”

“Copy that, Keene out.”

He dropped the microphone to his side, and then froze
for a moment in thought. A look of curiosity passed over his face for a split
second, and then he scooped up the handset and transmitted.
“Keene, hold up
a second.”

“Yes sir?”

“Can you see any road signs that mark that little
highway to the left?”

“Hold one, sir.”
The sergeant’s voice disappeared for a moment, and then cut back in.
“Captain,
Mr. ‘Eagle Eyes’ Bones Henry says the road is marked as Highway 704 east.”

Estes reached into his breast pocket and pulled out small
section of notebook paper. In fine, printed script was an address given to him
by the steel-eyed mystery man. He stared at the writing for a second, and then
keyed the microphone.
“Come on back Sergeant, we’ve got some planning to
do.”

*click*

Sunrise is still about an hour away, but for some
reason I just can’t stay asleep. Probably a multitude of reasons. I mean, it’s
not like the last few days haven’t been something of a tossup between dreams
and nightmares. Where to begin? That always seems to be the way that I start
these recordings, but I guess that very statement tells me where to begin—these
recordings. Obviously I have my recorder again. I’m having a hard time
remembering the last time that I actually recorded something, though. It had to
be, or at least it seems like, a lifetime and a half ago. I think it was the
night before Emily and I made it to the logging road. No, that’s not correct. I
made another recording after that . . . on Walter’s porch late in the night
after we brought my uncle, Emily, and Samantha back from the cabin. I guess it
doesn’t really matter right now. In all honesty, right now, nothing matters to
me except the “right now.” Wow, I think that was three “right now’s” in a row.
Four if you count that last one. So, to who’s ever listening to this, I imagine
you’ll want to know where here is, and how I got here from . . . there? Then?
Whatever. Let me throw a couple more pieces of wood on the fire before I start
playing catch up on my diary. It’s a little chilly, and although I know you
can’t see it, I’m outside. Be right back.

*click*

OK, it was yesterday that we raided the campground.
Somehow or other we walked away from that basically unscathed. Truth be told,
though, I hurt. My body aches just about everywhere. I think it was mostly from
the ride in the trailer, although I’m sure that crashing through the tin roof
of the office porch and smashing into a huge oak tree contributed a bit to my
bumps, thumps, and bruises. Believe it or not, I think the frigid lake water at
the end of the trailer ride did some good. Kind of like bathing yourself in a
huge ice pack after getting the tar and feathers kicked out of you by a street
gang—or so I’d imagine. Doc Collins had to add a few more stitches where I tore
my ankle again, and Callie wrapped the crap out of it. It’s not near as
flexible as it was, but I suppose that they’re right and I should give it a day
or so of rest. Or at least not so much abuse. Anyhow, we made it back to the
marina in record time, and despite the tarp that we were using as a wind
shield, every single one of us that had gone swimming were chattering like
those wind-up jumping teeth they sell around Halloween. We beached the ski boat
and offloaded, and then Sam, Michelle, and the young boy got ferried up to
Walters’s house for a hot shower and a change of clothes. I volunteered for dry
clothes, hot tea—two giant-sized mugs of it—and PR duty with people at the
store that were waiting for our report. I thought about giving a “heads up”
briefing to Walter, Amy, and the others first, but by the time I had changed
into dry clothes and downed my first mug of tea, most of the people in the
store had gathered around me and were pressing for any information they could.
Ray was there as well. The long and short of it is that the child we rescued at
the campground didn’t belong to anybody at the store, and almost as soon as
that realization hit them, they were out the door, loaded up, and following the
fire truck. I guess I should also mention that two of the couples that had
originally said they were staying ended up changing their mind. By the time the
tail end of their caravan disappeared from sight, it was just a little after
noon. Amy had also pulled me aside for a little chat. It turns out that her and
Preacher Dave—Rebecca and Scott also—had decided to stay with the others at the
store. The two couples we lost had brought the numbers from ten people down to
six, and their little influx would bring it back. She also mentioned that she’d
be happy to take care of the boy we rescued. By that time, I was almost
finished with my second giant mug of tea, and the semi-warmth that was
returning to my body was fighting a losing battle against the pressure in my
bladder. I excused myself and went to the restroom in the store. It was one of
those long . . . really long . . . moments of relief that just seems to go on
forever. But hey, I’m sure you’ve been there, so I’ll try and skip over the
toilet humor for now. No promises that I won’t come back to it though. So where
was I? Oh yeah, in the bathroom. When I came out, Walter and Sam were there,
talking to Mr. Lee and the others. As soon as I shut the door behind me, Sam
came over, his gap-toothed grin leading the way.

“Hey chief, how are you doing?” he asked.

“Starting to thaw out. I’m getting kind of hungry
though, I guess the lobster is wearing off.”

“I happen to know there’s a big pot of hot oatmeal due
to arrive here in about five minutes.”

He kept his gaze tracking on me for a bit too long,
and that immediately triggered my suspicions. “What?”

“Nothing . . .”

My glare shot forward and collided with his mischievous
grin midway between our faces. In the space of two seconds, my glare had
tunneled through and kicked the stuffing out of his grin, and he broke into a
low chuckle. “OK, I’m not saying where I got this information, but the word on
the street is that you like to eat dog food.”

I rolled my eyes at the memory of the porridge-like
mystery slop that Bernice had watched me eat before confessing that it was, in
fact, meant for Max. I was about to explain that to Sam when Walter came over.

His gruff features brought a sense of familiarity and
stability to my mind, but at the same time, they carried along the vision of
Marty’s red eyes on top of the office roof. He must have recognized the grimace
that passed over my face.

“Tell me about it later.” His voice was steady and
even, but his eyes seem to sparkle with excess moisture.

I nodded.

“I’m getting ready,” he said, “to run the tractor down
here and scoop up all the bodies. For right now I’m moving the dumpster across
the road and all the way to the back of the gravel parking lot. That’s where
I’m going to put them.”

“I’ll give you a hand.”

“No, I’ve already got some volunteers.” He nodded at
the man with a braided beard and waved him over. The Asian man, Mr. Lee,
followed at his heels.

“Officer Coleman,” the pot-bellied man with a long
white beard thrust forward a hand, “We haven’t been formally introduced yet. My
name is Clark Jasinski—C.J. for short. My wife over there is Nancy.” He thumbed
toward a dark haired lady who was seated on the ground playing one corner of a
‘hand ping-pong’ square with BB, his brother, and their mother.

Still holding Walter’s shotgun over his shoulder, Mr.
Lee extended his arm as I was shaking hands with C.J. “Choon Lee.”

I shook hands with him. “Call me Eric. I’m sorry I
haven’t had the time to talk with either of you personally in the last few
days. Things have been, as you well know, a bit hectic.”

“Really? I hadn’t noticed.” Mr. Lee’s English was
perfect and without accent, but the sarcasm was practically dripping as he
smiled.

Walter cut in. “As I mentioned, I’m going to get rid
of those bodies. Most of them I should be able to scoop right up with the
loader bucket. Bernie is sending down some lunch. After you eat, I’d suggest a
hot shower and a long nap.”

“I’ll take the lunch, but give my hot shower to them.”
I nodded toward the playing children.

Walter kept his expression neutral as he replied,
“Just wait until after lunch before you turn down the shower.”

I nodded slowly but said nothing, and that must have
sparked his curiosity. “You’re not going to take a nap, are you?”

“There’s something else I have to do.”

“Right now, or are you going to wait until after
lunch?”

“I’m going to eat first.”

He nodded, holding my eyes with his for an extra
moment before turning and heading outside. C.J. and Mr. Lee followed at his
heels.

My five minute wait for lunch turned into about twenty
minutes, and then both the tractor and the Mule showed up outside. Bernice,
accompanied by Glenda, brought in one of the cast iron Dutch ovens and set it
on the stove. Several bowls appeared, and in short order I was working on my
second helping of maple syrup drenched oatmeal. There was still plenty left in
the pan, and by the time I had washed my bowl in the sink, Walter, Mr. Lee, and
C.J. had finished up with the tractor and were back inside. All three of them
made a beeline for the oatmeal. After they’d eaten, Walter called Thompson and
Rebecca down from the crow’s nest.

“No guards?” My raised eyebrows accompanied the
question.

“Scott and Dave are out there.”

I closed my eyes and tried to sort through the myriad
of upcoming preparations, but had hardly gotten started when Walter cleared his
throat. “I’ll make this short and simple. I’m shutting down the store.”

Several looks of confusion and disbelief flooded onto
some of the gathered faces, mine included. Before I could say a word, Walter
shook his head and continued. “Now hear me out for a second. Yesterday we had a
lot of people here . . . most of ‘em only stayin’ until something better came
along. Leastwise something that they thought was better. I don’t think it was,
and judging from the fact that you’re still here, neither did you.” He looked
around the room, stopping his gaze on BB’s mother. “Ma’am, I’m sorry to say
that I don’t even know your name.”

“My mom’s name is Leah,” BB answered, “she can’t
talk.”

BB’s mother flashed a series of hand gestures—sign
language—toward her son, and after a moment he spoke again. “She says that
she’s very thankful for all that you’ve done for her family.”

Walter nodded at the boy and said, “Tell her that . .
.”

BB shook his head and sighed, “She can hear fine, she
just can’t speak.”

Walter paused, and then nodded again in their
direction. “Sorry, my bad.” He looked around the room, stopping briefly to pass
some unspoken communication to Bernice before continuing. “As I was saying, I’m
closing the store. We just don’t have enough people to keep posting guards up
on the roof, and that’s not fair to you—or to the people who would be pulling
that duty. So, if you don’t mind, I’d like to invite you . . . everybody . . . to
stay up at the house.”

“I thought you said there wasn’t room . . . or enough
food, sir.” The question came, surprisingly, from BB.

“Well, we’ll have to make some changes in where
everybody will sleep, but I believe we can do it. And besides, young man, if I
didn’t extend this invitation, my wife,” he inclined his head towards Bernice,
“has promised to use my skull as a testing ground for her rolling pin.”

Leah signed again and BB translated. “My mom says she
is very grateful for your offer, but she doesn’t want to be a burden.”

This time, Walter looked directly at Leah as he spoke.
“Ma’am, I’m not the most eloquent speech maker in history, but I’m pretty sure
that I know good people when I see them. You would be doing me a favor by
staying at the house, and I’d appreciate it if you . . . all of you . . .
accepted my offer.”

They did, and as soon as Thompson had finished
scraping the last fleck of oatmeal from the bottom of the Dutch oven,
preparations were made to shift everybody up to the house.

I was still squatting against the wall trying to force
my mind into organizational mode when Walter tromped over.

“Got a minute?”

I pushed off the floor and stood. “If you don’t mind
talking and walking, I’ve got several.”

He dropped his arm and gestured toward the door. “Lead
the way.”

I walked outside and turned left, heading for the
office. When I got there, I unlocked the door and went inside. A click behind
me told me that Walter had relocked it.

“Going to see your hairy monster?”

“Yeah. That and to try and get my head straight.”

As we passed by the old refrigerator, he opened it and
grabbed two bottles. I went down the hall and through the door to the executive
conference room. Max was standing on top of the picnic table, eye level with
me. The body language in his posture said that he wasn’t happy—at all—with his
recent and frequent confinement. I couldn’t blame him, and spent the next few
minutes rubbing his cheek pads and ears, trying to convince him that it was
going to change. I’m not sure that either of us were totally convinced by my
words, though.