Fade to Grey (Book 2): Darkness Ascending (58 page)

“I’ve got nothing. No movement. What about you?”

“Negative,” I replied, “no movement, no lights,
nothing. What do you think?”

“I’d feel more comfortable,” Michelle replied, “if we
knew where Mr. ‘fall down-got the munchies’ went to.”

“Agreed. Let’s switch to radio and start the
leapfrog.” I reached down and turned on the GMRS unit, confirming a second
later that Michelle’s radio was still on the same channel and active.

My hand gripped her shoulder and squeezed lightly.
“Ready?”

“Yeah, let’s go.”

She covered while I moved forward through the
semi-soft mud where we had beached the aluminum boat a few moments ago. After a
dozen paces, I spun to the right and searched with the night scope through the
roofed over fuel depot. Nothing was moving that I could tell, so I dropped to a
knee and scanned in a wide circle while Michelle eased up to my position. When
she squatted next to me, I scuttled toward the fuel tanks. A closer inspection
showed that they were locked.

“We’re going to need a key if either of the boats need
fuel.”

“I can cover you from here,”
Michelle said,
“so go check on the fuel, and while
you’re there, see if anybody left the keys in the ignition. Maybe we’ll get
lucky.”

“What are the odds?”
I mumbled back as I half stood and paced down to the wooden dock,
stabbing through the night with the rifle scope held up to my eye as I stepped.
It was a weird feeling, like looking through a windshield with a pair of low
magnification binoculars while the car was moving. Both of the patrol boats in
front of me were similar—twenty-three foot NauticStar’s with twin 250
horsepower Yamaha engines. Originally designed for tournament fishing, they had
been modified to more adequately serve in the law enforcement role. Extended
run fuel tanks, high intensity spotlights, engine tweaks, and a few other bells
and whistles completed the package.

The first boat I came to was the one tied to the dock.
There was no key in the ignition, of course. Using the scope, I managed to worm
my way into the craft and back toward the fuel port. These boats have a redundant
fuel check system, with an electronic gauge on the center console, and a manual
float gauge on the modified tank. Without a key, I looked at the float gauge.
The pale needle that I knew to be yellow under normal light conditions appeared
off white in the scope. The capital “E” on the rotating gauge smiled up at me
as it rested midway underneath the needle. That figures.

“Boat number one has no key and no gas,”
I whispered into the microphone as I hopped back onto
the dock. Taking a moment to scan the darkness for any changes also reoriented
my sense of direction in the pitch black night, and I walked the night scope in
a slow arc from our bass boat through a two hundred degree sweep, ending at the
beached patrol boat lying partway on its side at the top of the cement launch.
Aside from the parking job, something else didn’t look right, and it took me
exactly nineteen quiet steps to get close enough to confirm.

“Boat number two is a no-go. It’s got busted props.”

“OK,”
Michelle replied,
“let’s circle the office to look for our missing friend,
and then we’ll deal with whoever’s inside the station.”

I joined her a few seconds later, pausing momentarily
by her side. “You OK?”

“Yeah, but I’m getting a little antsy, so let’s get
this over with.”

“Here I go.” I led the way to the front corner of the
ranger station, holding for a moment as I studied the corpse under the partially
shot out the window. Caucasian, mid-thirties, heavy canvas work pants and an
insulated denim jacket painted a picture that would adequately serve as a BOLO
for just about every guy in North Dakota. At least until you got to the
shredded remains where his abdominal cavity still steamed into the cool night
air. That, and the small caliber bullet hole almost dead center in his forehead.

“Our first guy is dead. It looks like he’s been shot
and then used as an appetizer. I can’t really tell his skin tone with the night
vision though,”
I whispered.

“I’ve still got a pretty wide field of fire from here,
at least if anything comes around to this side of the building.”

“Roger that. I’m going to move up and peek around the
corner.”
The loose gravel that butted
up against the block foundation scrunched weakly underneath each of my measured
paces as I stepped to the back corner. At the juncture, I lowered to a kneeling
crouch and scanned the area behind the building. The electronic green
viewfinder brought the flat landscape to light as I turned a slow swivel. On
this side of the ranger station, the gravel parking lot narrowed and morphed
into a 200 yard artery comprised of a wild variety of aggregate chunks.
Everything from sand through pea gravel, and all the way up to several dump
truck loads of bowling ball sized rocks had been piled into a slightly raised
roadbed that connected the station to Highway 19. Both the highway and the
gravel road were empty. Scanning further to the left revealed a few clumps of
low shrubs—ornamental varieties that were planted as part of a state sponsored
beatification initiative two summers ago. None of them had survived their first
North Dakota winter. I moved on through the remaining thirty degree arc, and a
blob of movement appeared in my scope.

“Damn it,”
I
hissed.

Michelle’s reply came through immediately.
“What is
it . . . did you find our friend?”

“And a few of his friends.”

“I’m on my way.”
A few seconds later Michelle squatted next to me and we both studied
the situation. About eighty yards past the maintenance shop was a cluster of
kneeling and crouching ghouls. At least three bodies were on the ground being
fed upon by the baker’s dozen of infected that loosely surrounded their meal.
We could see another pair of ghouls on the fringe of the group that seemed to
be ambling slowly in random directions.

Michelle was the first to speak. “They’re what . . .
about a hundred or so yards away—total distance from here?”

“Yeah.”

“Eric, we need to move right now while they’re
occupied. I mean
right
now.”

“Agreed . . . let’s go.” Both of us stood and slipped
backwards to the front corner of the building. The parking lot gravel, looser
in this area, made me grimace with each step that we took. I was in the lead,
and as we crested the body in front of the window, a large chunk of the
remaining glass shattered.

CRACK

Michelle and I hit the ground in tandem.

The gunshot, muffled by my ear protection, still rang
out in the silence of the night, and I felt a burning sting on the side of my
face. The bitter taste of coppery blood began to spill against my tongue, and I
swore out loud. The instinctive jaw motion that accompanied the words made me
wince in pain, and my hand reacted by itself, immediately searching out the
source of the discomfort. My sailor’s vocabulary got another refresher course
when I found the inch long shard of glass embedded dead center in the fleshy
fold of my cheek.

“Eric, are you alright?” Michelle’s voice was a loud
whisper.

“I took a piece of glass in my cheek . . . nothing to
worry about.” My words were spoken through winced teeth as I pulled out the
splinter.

“Who’s out there? You bastards want another dose of
lead? I’ve got enough for all of you . . . just come and get it.”

The voice—slurred, but piercing and nasally obnoxious—boomed
into the night. I knew that voice, and I whispered that fact to Michelle.

“Who is it, another wildlife officer?”

“No, it’s the maintenance guy from the main Devils
Lake ranger station. His name is . . . um . . .” I stopped in midsentence as my
frazzled mind searched its archives briefly before returning with the answer.
“Tempsee . . . Chuck Tempsee . . . he’s a douchebag.”

“What’s he doing here?”

“I have no idea.”

Cupping my hand around my mouth to give some direction,
I called out in a loud whisper. “Tempsee, stop shooting . . . it’s Officer Coleman.”

We heard some shuffling from inside the cabin, and
then the man’s voice sounded again. “Who’s out there? You dead eyes can’t fool
me. I’ll kill all of you.” Another sharp crack shattered glass, and I felt
several small pieces drop down on me.

Michelle’s hand gripped my jacket and pulled
backwards, and a moment later we got to our feet around the corner. “He’s going
to bring that whole pack down on our heads,” Michelle hissed.

“That sounds like something I’d expect from him . . .
cover me.” Without waiting for her answer, I padded away from the building
until I was on the packed and car crushed gravel of the parking lot. My
footsteps were quieter here, and I shifted direction until I gained the angle
to see past the maintenance building. The white blob of infected had altered. Most
of them now stood and appeared to be looking our way. Several others were
milling about, and I couldn’t tell which ones were the original pair that had
been walking when we first observed them.

“They’re up and looking this way.”

“Are they moving towards us?”

“Not yet.”

“I’ve got nothing from here . . . still clear,”
Michelle replied.

“Let’s wait and watch for a minute.”

“10-4.”

I stared through the night scope as the group of
ghouls cocked their heads and looked our way. Several of the pack seemed
agitated and soon began glancing in different directions. True to my
prediction, with no lights, and the stars hidden above a layer of clouds, the
pitch black night caused several collisions between the infected. It was weird
though, and something about their reactions triggered another thought in my
biologist’s mind. For now, I managed to push it back into the “think about it
later” compartment.

“Anything change?”
Michelle asked.

“Yeah, they’re up and are walking around a little bit
. . . same general area though. Hold on . . .”
As I spoke, the small gathering began to condense,
and then as I watched through the night scope, the group sank back down and
began to feed again—all except a pair that remained standing. I watched for
another minute, and then I called Michelle.

“Meet me by our bass boat.”

A minute later we were crouched together at the edge
of the lake. “OK,” I started, “here’s what I’m thinking. We need to get in that
office. But I’d rather not put all of our cards on the table, so to speak.
Chuck . . . like I mentioned . . . is an asshole, but at least he’s not one of
‘them.’” I tilted my head in the direction of the pack behind the maintenance
building. “What do you make the distance to be from the land end of the dock to
the office?”

Michelle looked through her scope again. “Straight to
the front door you’ve got maybe eighteen yards.”

I nodded, although the gesture was lost to her in the
darkness of the night. “OK then, what I’d like to do is give you the .22, and
get you in position as a sniper. You’ll have a great field of view, and your
back will be to the water. Ninety percent of any shots you’d have to take are
going to be at a max range of thirty yards—most of them less than that—so you
won’t have to adjust your aim. Just put the crosshair on their head and squeeze
the trigger.”

“And while I’m doing that, what will you be doing?”
she asked.

“I’m going to go talk to Chuck, but I don’t want him
to know about you just yet.”