Fade to Grey (Book 2): Darkness Ascending (63 page)

*click*

Hey, sorry for whispering, but Michelle is still
sleeping. I wish that I was, but I’ve been up for the last hour or so. Dawn is
still about ninety minutes away, and I’m hoping that the cloud cover keeps
retreating and lets the sun warm us up. It was cold last night, even for two
people that are used to the North Dakota weather. A lot of our discomfort was
due to being on the water. Michelle was able to scavenge almost two dozen life
jackets from various compartments. Most of them we keep on hand to give out to
families on the lake during the summer tourist season. It’s a goodwill gesture
on the state’s part, and the family has the opportunity to avoid a ticket—and
the fine that goes along with it—by turning in the life jacket at one of the
ranger stations when they get off the lake. Hold on a minute . . .

OK, I’m back. Actually, as you probably know, I didn’t
stop recording. It was just a quick pause to stick my finger in the cup of
water that’s heating up on my backpack stove. Anyhow, where was I? Oh yeah, cold.
Like I said, Michelle gathered up a bunch of life jackets and spread them in a
layer between the two bench seats. It made a thick, bumpy mattress, but it was
a whole lot better than trying to sleep directly on the deck, and it kept us
down below the level of the constant breeze. Even so, the cold radiating through
the hull made for a fitful night’s rest. The blankets didn’t help much when we
tried to cover both of us at the same time . . . they were just too small . . .
so, we ended up splitting the blankets between us and attempting to snuggle
together as best we could. At first it seemed to work somewhat, at least until
the warmth of the ramen soup wore off. Of course, that was shortly after we
fell asleep for the first time. After that, both of us fought against the
cold—and the shifting, lumpy mattress—for the rest of the night. I think part
of the problem is that we actually got to bed way too early. Anyhow, I kept
four of the coast guard blankets, and then piled the rest of mine on Michelle
when I got up. My water is just about heated through, and I’m going to have at
least two cups of hot tea as I sit here and run the numbers. Back in a minute.

OK, back. I’ll admit it; I’m feeling a little down. It
seems like everywhere, I mean
everywhere
we go is overrun by those
things. We literally can’t get a break. I mean, really . . . an out of the way
ranger station on an obscure piece of swampy land with only one remote highway
as access . . . all of it located in a state that has a total population of
less than the city of Columbus, Ohio. And when we get there, at least a dozen
infected—and apparently more that we didn’t see—are in the area. Assuming we’re
able to find the cabin, anybody that we bring back with us is going to be at
risk no matter where we go. Heck, so are we for that matter. I’m trying not to
get ahead of myself, but for some reason, that little bridge we went underneath
in the bass boat is weighing heavy on my mind. I’m almost positive I don’t want
to just motor upstream when we make our return trip. Notice that I’m trying to
stay positive, and I didn’t use the words “if we make our return trip.” I wish
I felt that confident inside. Oh, I forgot to mention the big news. Well, I
guess I classify it as big news. Last night, as Michelle and I were slurping
down the last of our soup, several flights of helicopters passed overhead. They
were pretty high up, but Michelle was almost positive she counted seven of them
in the first wave, and then two more waves came trailing behind the first group.
Each of those had maybe four or five birds, and they were all heading almost
due west. Well, I’m about ready to fire up my insides with some hot tea, so
I’ll update some more later. I hope.

“I’m almost positive that’s it,” Michelle said we
drifted several hundred yards offshore from a series of cabins that lined the
bank in front of us. As was typical, most of them had a small dock that jutted
out into the lake, and several had boats—usually flat bottom jon boats or
canoes—turned upside down on the shoreline near the dock. “We’ll have to move
in closer for me to be sure, though.”

As she spoke, another burst of gunfire cracked across
the lake. It was sporadic and distant enough to not cause me any immediate
concern, but it still brought with it a reminder of the barrage we had heard
when we passed the town of Devils Lake. Whatever was going on there included a
lot of ammunition. It had taken us a little longer than I expected to find a
secure place to stash the bass boat, and we ended up pushing it into a marshy
finger of reeds that were dotted with several low mounds of muskrat houses.
Dried cattails were scattered across it to aid in camouflage, and as a
precaution, I removed the sparkplug and tied it to one of the aluminum supports
underneath the seat. I left the wrench with the boat, however. We beached the
patrol boat a few miles later near an overgrown sandbar, and I hopped out and
re-zero’d the reflex sight on the silenced .22. After that we double checked
all of our gear, reloading magazines where necessary, and then pulled back into
the lake and dropped the hammer. The NauticStar leapt forward, and I guided it
on course for about thirty minutes. Thank goodness for the full windscreen or
we both would’ve been popsicles. Anyway, I kept it about 400 yards offshore,
and we had no issues until we began to pass by the outskirts of the town of
Devils Lake. The sound of gunfire—a lot of gunfire—was evident even over the
roar of the Yamahas. I cut back the throttle to get a better idea of what was
happening while Michelle began to scan with her binoculars. Volleys of
explosions—some small, some not—were echoing through the town, and we got maybe
a twenty second “look/listen” before the first bullet zinged past us. That was
enough for me, and I pushed the throttle to full and zigzagged further out into
the lake. It only took us about ten more minutes running full out to get here.
The big question is if “here” is the right place.

“OK, I’m going to bring her in closer to shore. If
anything rings a bell, just let me know.”

Michelle nodded and I eased the craft forward, holding
steady directly toward the middle of the long line of cabins. One hundred yards
from shore I throttled back and dropped the boat into neutral while Michelle
searched through her binoculars.

“I don’t know,” Michelle called over to me, “I mean it
looks like what I remember, but so do a few other cabins. And several of the
docks have those ‘neighborhood watch’ signs attached to them.”

I dug through my pack and retrieved my own set of
binoculars, joining her in the scan. I saw no movement, but I did note
something that got filed in the “damn it” folder.

“Look to the left—about ten o’clock—near the beached red
and white canoe.”

“I see it,” Michelle replied, “and there’s several
more a little bit past that . . . underneath the yellow porch awning.”

I shifted my binoculars and followed her directions,
easily locating the bodies that lay there. “So much for this area being clean,”
I said.

We put down our binoculars and looked at each other
for a minute; neither of us speaking while we concentrated on the options
available. Not too distant gunshots egged us on, and Michelle went first. “I’m
not really sure that I’ll be able to pick out the right one from here. But I
may have come up with a thought that will help. It’s going to require us to
land, though.”

“We’d have to land eventually anyhow,” I replied,
adding “What’s your idea?” as I brought the binoculars up to my eyes again.

“All of these cabins look similar, right?”

“Yeah, that’s the way they build them a lot of times.
Some contractor or corporation will buy a strip of land and have
duplicates—sometimes hundreds—of the same blueprint put up. It’s supposed to
save them money and time, I guess.”

“Yep, and then they rent them out to tourists or
fishermen . . . or sell them to people like my dad. Anyway, I may not be able
to give us an exact location from here, but if my mom made it here, her car
should be in the driveway of the correct cabin.”

“Do these cabins have garages on the other side,” I
asked.

“I don’t think so. At least, I know dad’s didn’t.”

“OK, what’s your mom driving these days?”

“She just bought a dark blue Subaru Outback last fall.”

“Alright, we’ve got about two dozen cabins on this
stretch, right?”

“Yeah,” Michelle replied, “but I don’t think it was
near the end. I think dad’s cabin was somewhere closer to the middle.”

“Fair enough then . . . we’ll head straight in and
back the boat into one of those docks in front of us. Hopefully we won’t stir
up anything. There are four keys on the ring that will work for this patrol
boat. Let’s hide one onboard just in case, and then I’m going to give you your
own copy . . . just in case.”

Michelle frowned, but after a moment she took the
offered key and I continued. “From there, we need to run the same way we did
last night. I’ll lead with the .22, and you provide cover with each leapfrog
that we do. Assuming we make it between the cabins and out to the road, we’ll
look for your mom’s car, and if we find it, head that way.”

“What if we find her car and it’s six or eight cabins
away. Are we going to come back and move the patrol boat?”

“Maybe, but for right now let’s just see if we can
even locate the correct cabin. Are you good with that plan?”

The sound of her dropping the bolt on a freshly inserted
thirty round magazine in her AR was all the answer I needed, so I geared up,
and after another scan that located no movement, idled the boat forward.

“Clear.”
Michelle’s voice came through my headset as I melded my back into the rough
sawn boards that served as exterior siding on the cabin.

“Remember our spacing. We don’t want to get so tight
that we can’t provide fire support for the other person without bouncing our
brass off of their forehead.”

She didn’t reply, but a sideways glance showed that
Michelle was still crouched next to the rusting barbecue grill that decorated a
small cement pad near the dock where we had anchored. I was about sixty feet
from her, working my way through the narrow tract of land between two cabins
and heading for the road. Five more feet and I’d be able to peer around the
corner of the cabin. I crouched down and slunk along the wall, deliberately
choosing clear spaces to set my boots in as I stepped forward. At the corner, I
eased my nose around and looked to the left. Nothing. Well, nothing with
snapping teeth and rage-fueled eyes anyhow. My view of the road was partially
blocked on both sides by the metal rectangles that held the HVAC units for the
cabins, so I dropped to my belly and used them to conceal my movement as I
crawled for a better angle.

“Are we still clear Michelle?”

“I have no movement, but just remember, I also don’t
have many options if something comes into the gap between the cabins where you
are. It’ll be like shooting down a pipe for me.”

“As long as nothing comes from my six we should be OK
. . . Shit.”

“What,”
her
voice whispered through my headset.

“I have movement. One of the cabins across the
road—the blinds just pushed to the side for a second.” I backpedaled on my
stomach until I was behind the HVAC, acutely aware that most of the components
held within would offer little protection from any projectile larger than a BB
gun. A brief flash of one of my firearms instructors from the academy came into
mind as she pointed at a series of large holes in the abandoned car that had
been positioned at the state range.
“Most of the people you’ll have daily
dealings with,”
she said,
“will be armed with calibers capable of
handling animals the size of a moose. If you think you’ll be safe in your
truck, think again. You need to always remember that there’s a huge difference
between cover and concealment.”

With that thought in my mind, I unzipped my jacket
partway and withdrew my compact binoculars. A moment later I was peeking over
the sheet metal enclosure and looking at the cabin across the road. The blinds
were pulled aside again, and I saw a pair of binoculars looking back at me. I couldn’t
tell who was behind the binoculars, though.

“Um, I’m looking at someone who is looking back at me
through their own binoculars,”
I said
to Michelle.

“In the cabin across the road?”

“Yeah.”

“Wave.”

“What?”
I
asked.

“Wave to them. Let them know you’re not infected.”

“I don’t think many ghouls hide behind air
conditioners and use binoculars.”

“Wave anyhow—show them you’re friendly.”

I half stood and gave a brief wave. Across the road,
the blinds closed. I radioed that to Michelle.

“Are you ready for me to transition?”
she asked.

“Let me crawl back out and take a look first, I didn’t
really get a chance to do that a minute ago.”

“OK.”

I dropped to my stomach and crawled out past the HVAC,
scanning the yards on both sides as I went. A low hump in the landscaping was
blocking part of my vision, so I wormed forward a few more feet until I had a
clear view. When I halted, I noticed that the blinds were once again held
partially open. Movement attracts vision, but I risked another small wave
before raising my binoculars. I started from the left and walked them a full
180 degrees, pausing momentarily to make contact and give a little head bob to
the pair gazing back at me.
“OK, good news-bad news.”

“Give me the bad news.”
Michelle’s voice was guarded.

“Why do people always want the bad news first?”
I asked.

“Eric, just tell me—do you see mom’s car?”

“No.”
Through my headset I heard a deep sigh followed by silence. When Michelle's
voice came back it was tinged with anger.

“We need to get out of here. It was asinine for me to
even think she might have made it. I’m sorry for dragging you along on this
wild goose chase Eric, but we should go.”

“No, not yet.”

“Why? Her car isn’t here, and we’re not even sure
which cabin is dad’s anyhow. It’s not worth the risk.”

“Not even for your dad?”
I knew Michelle's family situation, and I kept my
tone neutral.

Silence.

In the distance, a quadruple series of small caliber
gun shots rang out, and as they faded away into the cold morning air, Michelle’s
soft whisper came through.

“No.”

I let her answer echo down to silence in my headset,
and then waited for her to say something—anything—that I could interpret as a
grasp for hope. After thirty seconds of stillness, it came in the form of a
question.

“Eric, what are you thinking?”

It took another scan with the binoculars as I
answered.
“Several things, actually. The first one is that I know both of
us, and neither you nor I will get a peaceful night of sleep for the rest of
our lives if we walk away without knowing for sure. Back at my uncle’s cabin, we
both promised to give this our best effort, whether we succeeded or not. My
opinion, take it for what it’s worth, is that we need to follow through with
that promise.”

Michelle started to interject something, but then
checked herself into a hesitant silence, so I continued,
“I don’t see your
mom’s Subaru, but something to consider is that not every cabin has a vehicle
parked in front of it. The cabin across the road where the blinds are moving
has no car in the driveway. There’s something else also.”

“What?”

“I can see at least fourteen corpses scattered in the
vicinity, including three that are crumpled near the porch of the cabin across
the road. I can’t really make out any wounds on them from my angle, but there’s
another one sprawled in the middle of the road about forty yards to my right.
He’s shirtless, and his skin is definitely gray . . . and,”
I finished my observation,
“it looks like he’s
been shot—a lot.”

“How does that help us? What you’re really telling me
is that this area is just as infested with walkers as pretty much every other
place we’ve been.”

“Yeah, but right now I don’t see any moving, so maybe
there’s still some people nearby who’ve been able to make a stand. For all we
know, there could be fifty armed people spread out in these cabins who can take
down any ghoul that shows up.”

“And using your own logic, do you feel safe walking
out onto a road where fifty potentially trigger happy, scared people might be pointing
guns at you?”

“Not particularly, but I don’t really think that’s the
case. What I’m trying to say is that it looks like somebody made a stand here,
so the area might be fairly thinned out of infected.”

As I finished my sentence, fate jumped in to convince
me that, as usual, I had spoken too soon.
“Wait, I have movement now—coming
from my left. Reassure me Michelle.”

One of the things that I had always loved about
Michelle was that she knew exactly when to be serious. This was no exception,
and any thoughts of her missing mother evaporated in an instant, leaving behind
a crystal clear, no nonsense tone.
“I have no movement on this side, repeat,
I have no movement on the side. Your six is clear and I’m standing by, over.”

“10-4,”
I
replied in a hush as I shifted the binoculars and looked down the road. A pair
of kids, probably in their early teens, walked along the edge of the road. They
were heading this way, dragging something through the gravel behind them as
they approached. At about thirty yards, I could tell they were infected. The
“thing” that one of them was dragging was an old, military style rifle,
complete with a full length wooden stock and bayonet. Part of an olive drab,
canvas sling was still looped around one of the boy’s wrists, with the
remaining length unfolded and trailing at his heels. The end of the canvas sling
passed through a slot in the wood near the butt plate of the rifle, giving just
enough reach to elevate the wood off of the ground. A narrow, jerky channel was
being gouged in the gravel by the rifle’s bayonet, and intermittent gaps
corresponded to where the butt plate kicked off against the boy’s ankle with
every other step. I dropped the binoculars and slowly pulled up the .22.

“Two targets, closing slow from the left, definitely
infected. They’ll pass too close to me for safety if I don’t take them out.
Getting ready to fire.”
My finger
brushed the trigger, settling in to a practiced feel as the red crosshairs in
the holographic sight merged with the forehead of the one dragging the rifle.

Ca-thack.

The impact of the sixty grain lead slug was true, and
the boy staggered momentarily before falling to the ground and spasming
violently. His partner twisted sideways, almost in slow motion as he passed the
one I just shot, finally halting with his back to me as he looked down at the
still kicking form of his companion. I sent another round into the soft spot at
the back of his skull, and he collapsed forward and lay still, partly across
his thrashing companion. I had a clear shot, so I sent a third bullet into the
temple of the one I had dropped first. He stopped moving.

“Three shots, two down.”

“Still clear on this side.”

“Let’s give it a few minutes to see if anything else
shows up.”

“10-4.”

In less than a minute I had to repeat the scenario
with a single ghoul that wandered in from the same direction.

“That’s three.”

“How much longer do you want me to wait before I move
up?”
Michelle asked.

“I think ten minutes with no encounters should be our
thermometer.”

“Understood. Waiting and watching.”

The next ten minutes passed uneventfully, and Michelle
moved up and got in position at the corner of the cabin.

“What do you think?”
I asked.

“I think we should get back in the boat and get out of
here.”

“No you don’t. Not really.”

“Well then tell me what I’m thinking Eric.”
Her voice was soft, but her inflection had a hard
edge to it. I could tell she was disappointed, and the razor of anger was her
way of dealing with the sadness and loss she was feeling.

“I think . . . that you’re thinking . . . that we
should go to the house across the street.”

“What? I’m not thinking that at all.”

I turned my head toward Michelle just in time to see
her flick a marble-sized rock at me. My cheese eating grin doubled the effort
she put into her frown, and I turned back around to look through the binoculars
as I spoke.
“See, I was correct. You’re obviously trying to get my attention
so you can tell me that whoever lives in that house might know the precise
location of your dad’s cabin. I happen to think that’s a wonderful idea, and my
only regret is that I’m not the one who thought of it.”