Fade to Grey (Book 2): Darkness Ascending (54 page)

“Not really,” I said, “but it may come down to that if
we can’t figure out a better way to stay safe.”

“I almost feel like I’m waffling,” Michelle mumbled.

“Why?”

“Because I’m the one who always seems to be screaming
at you to ‘shoot-shoot-shoot,’ only now it feels like I’m telling you to wait.”

“That’s totally different. You were telling me to
shoot in situations where we knew the person was infected and I was hesitating.
Right here we have no clue whether they’re sick or not.”

“Crap . . . I was hoping to get through tonight with
no drama,” Michelle sighed.

I nodded silently in agreement and picked up the
radio.
“OK Sam, as much as I hate to do this, I think we’re going to have to
put a light on the target. Does Thompson still have it in the scope?”

“He said it’s shifted a bit, and he can see maybe a
little less than half of it.”

“OK, I need a judgment call from you guys then . . .
if we were able to hit it with a spotlight from up on the deck next to you, and
somebody was looking through binoculars, do you think they’d have a clear
enough view of the target to tell if it’s infected?”

“Maybe.”

I look at Michelle and shrugged. “What do you think?”

“I’m all for not going outside if we don’t have to.”

“Agreed.” I keyed the radio,
“Walter, can we make
that happen?”

“I’m on it.”

About five minutes later, Mike’s voice came over the
radio.
“OK everybody, the target is still in the same area, and we’re ready
to go—Sam’s got the spotlight and I’ve got the binoculars.”

Uncle Andy’s voice crackled,
“Thompson, give us
another look around with the starlight scope just to make sure the rest of the
area is clear.”

A minute passed before Mike confirmed no other
sightings.

“Alright, here we go,”
Sam said.

I locked eyes with Michelle and waited, visualizing in
my head the swath of light glaring off the deck and anticipating the heavy
thunder of the .30 caliber rifle. After a solid forty-five seconds, it didn’t
come. Another partial minute slipped by quietly before the radio came alive.

“OK,”
Sam
said,
“here’s the story. We can see the figure—partially, at least—down in
the woods. We think it’s female, probably an adult. She is either crouching or
leaning against the base of a good sized tree, but there’s a fair amount of
other trees, branches, and whatnot that are blocking our view somewhat. She has
blood on her . . . that much we can tell for sure, but from our angle and
distance, we can’t give you a hundred percent certainty of her infected
status.”

“Did she react to the spotlight?”
Walter asked.

“Not that we could tell.”

I look toward Michelle again. “Are you feeling lucky?”

She gave a halfhearted smile, “I feel tired.”

“Me too, and I’d be happy to offer to switch you out
with Sam or Thompson, but I don’t think you’d accept, and tired or not, you and
I could probably use the teamwork practice before we head to Devils Lake.”

“Agreed. How do you want to do this?”

“Out this door and to my truck. You grab one of the
AR’s, and I’ll take the .22. We stay in radio contact with Sam for any changes
in the target, and we work our way down until we’re close enough to make the
call. If it’s a bad guy . . . or girl . . . I want to try the .22 first. Does
that sound about right?”

“Lead the way.”

Michelle and I geared up with the headsets, and then
radioed in our plan. A few seconds later, after another “all clear” from
Bernice, we slipped out the door. In less than a minute we were armed and
padding down the driveway.

“I see it,”
I whispered as I slid around the trunk of a medium sized ash a dozen or so
paces off the driveway. Michelle had ghosted to the edge of the gravel and
crouched—ready to provide additional firepower if needed as I crept forward.

“Be careful.”

The bright spotlight from the porch deck was throwing
long, confusing shadows in the corner of my eye as I took another pace. I
clicked on the weapon light attached to the silenced .22, and began quietly
sidestepping to the left.

“Sam, cut off the spotlight,”
I said.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, my light is plenty bright enough for this; just
be ready with the spotlight in case I need it.”

The big light shut off immediately and the bright,
semi-flood radiance of my weapon light took over as I continued circling for a
better view. Another two steps took me around the loosely attached bark of a
dead oak tree, and the reflected radiance of my light displayed an eerie tattoo
of woodpecker holes that decorated almost every square inch. I slid around the
oak and braced—ready to fire if needed as I studied the crumpled form that
quivered against the base of a giant elm. Dirty white sweater, ripped and torn
slacks, missing a shoe . . . patches of blood covered scrapes visible on the
back of her hands. I couldn’t see her face, though. A matted tangle of hair
fell across her cheek, blocking my view. I grimaced through the reflex site as
I continued to circle. Six more steps put me almost square in front of her, and
brought a familiar sense of unease as I held the sight locked on her head.
Risking a quick glance downward, I stooped and picked up a short length of
rotten wood. From my distance I could see what looked to be spasms passing
through the woman, and I stood back up and took a few breaths to steady my
nerves, and then tossed the stick at her. My aim was for her torso, but it
thumped directly into her chin before bouncing across her shoulder. She began a
low, halting moan and her head tilted sideways, leading the way for the rest of
her body as she slumped onto the ground. My stomach flip-flopped in both hope
and apprehension as I recognized the form of Doc’s stepdaughter Francis. She
was Walter’s niece . . . and sister to Marty—one of the many ghouls that I blew
the head off of during the rooftop battle at the campground. Her body still
quivered as her eyes fluttered, and she reached for me feebly with pale white
hands. Not gray. I swore under my breath and crept forward. Her breathing was
shallow and rapid, and I hesitantly reached out a hand and touched her forehead.
It was ice cold. I swore again under my breath, and then after a moment’s
indecision, covered her with my jacket and backed away.

“We need a stretcher down here . . . she’s alive and
as far as I can tell, not infected.”
I kept her identity to myself for a second as I continued with the vials.
“White
female, semi-conscious, cold and clammy skin, several visible abrasions on her
face and hands. Possible hypothermia . . .”

My voice was cut off by Sam.
“Michelle . . . Thompson
has two figures at the edge of his vision on the driveway by the lake, can you
confirm?”

“Negative, there’s a pretty thick tangle blocking my
view through the woods. I’ve got a clear line of sight for about forty yards
down the first switchback of the driveway, but practically zero straight down
the hill.”

Walter’s heavy voice came across the radio.
“She’s
right . . . from her position, the only open view you’ll have is if they stay
on the gravel and come up the driveway.”

Sam cut in again.
“He just lost them. Repeat, we
have no visual on the approaching targets.”

This time my curses consisted of several
multi-syllable words strung together. When I finished venting, I quick-stepped
toward Michelle, cutting off my light when I got close. As I hunkered down next
to her, I hit the mute button on the radio and whispered to her. “It’s Francis.
She’s still alive, and as far as I can tell, not infected. It looks to me like
she’s suffering from exposure, but I don’t want to risk any more people out
here until we take care of this.” I pointed down the road. The occasional
moonlight was defusing from behind the increasing cloud cover, and I could see
the lighter gray of the driveway stretching out in front of us. My night vision
was still recovering from its conflict with a bright weapon light, but I
noticed Michelle’s slight nod as she also held the mute button on her radio.

Mute didn’t stop several other people from asking
about our status all at once, however, and I let go of the button.

“Everybody hold on a minute. Wait on the stretcher and
keep everybody inside. Sam, have Thompson keep sweeping the area with the night
scope. Let us know if you can pick them up again, and keep the spotlight ready.”

“10-4.”

I turned to Michelle. “If they come through the woods,
we should be able to hear them in plenty of time to adjust our field of fire,
if necessary. If they come up the road, we should see them long before they see
us, and if Sam kicks on the spotlight, it will be at our backs but in their
eyes. Win-win.”

“What if they cut through the woods and somehow end up
near Francis?”

“Then we shift over and protect her.” She nodded and
lifted the scope to her eye, sweeping in slow arcs across the gravel.

We waited . . . it didn’t take long. Less than ten
minutes later, Sam called out a glimpse of both figures on the gravel halfway
up the driveway. A minute after that I could hear the soft
crunches
of
their footsteps. Another few moments passed and then Michelle whispered. “I’ve
got one . . . now two . . . figures approaching. They’ve just cleared the bend
of the last switchback and are walking this way. The one on our left looks like
it’s dragging its ankle.”

My night vision was keen enough to pick out their
approach, although not with anywhere near the clarity of the generation three
scope Michelle was looking through. At thirty yards, she called out softly.
“I’m almost sure they’re infected.”

“Let them get a little closer, and then we’ll hit them
with our lights.” I unmuted my radio and told Sam to get ready. At twenty
yards, Michelle gave the quick count. “3 . . . 2 . . . 1 . . . Lights!”

Both of us flipped the switches on our weapon lights
and lit up the targets. Two men, both immediately and overwhelmingly
identifiable as infected, froze in the shocking radiance. “Hold your fire for a
second,” I said to Michelle as I lined up the glowing red crosshair of the
reflex sight on the right hand ghoul’s forehead. My finger brushed the target
honed trigger once and the ghoul dropped to his knees, teetered for a split
second and then slumped backwards. I shifted to the limping creature—his gaze
was looking almost curiously at his fallen companion—and I touched the trigger
twice . . . a double tap that sent two, sixty grain lead projectiles smashing
into his temple. The muted
clack-clack
of the silenced, semiautomatic
.22’s action accompanied his collapse.

We killed our lights and waited. After several
minutes, the only sounds that returned were the call of an owl and a slight
uptick in the breeze. Without my coat, it sent the beginnings of a chill
through my body. That, in turn, brought my focus back to Francis.

“We’ve got two down. No more hostiles in sight. What
about you Sam . . . anything?”

“Negative.”

“OK,”
I
replied,
“we need a stretcher and a couple of strong backs. Tell Doc to get
a bed ready.”

*click*

So anyhow . . . as I was saying, that was the other
good news. Francis had somehow made it back from the campground, and as far as
we can tell, she’s not infected. She regained consciousness once—briefly—before
falling back into a heavy slumber. Doc is fairly certain that she’ll pull
through from her exposure to the elements, and if her prognosis is correlated
to the amount of hot packs and warm water bottles used to bring her temperature
up, then she’s almost guaranteed success. Hold on another second, I want to
scan again with the night scope.

*click*

OK, I’m back. Nothing to report. Where was I? Oh yeah
. . . Francis. Anyhow, both Walter and Doc are stepping a little bit lighter
with her return, so it’s all good. What else can I say right now? Not too much,
I guess. I’m going to spend a few more minutes out here, and then head back to
the tractor shed. When it gets light out, Mike and I are planning to take the
speedboat back to the campground and pick up the bass boat, and then once we
get back, we’ll load that on the trailer behind my truck, and then Michelle and
I will be heading out the door toward Devils Lake. By the way, the temperature
is still dropping, and I just felt a few drops of cold rain. Wonderful . . .