Steps (6 page)

Sarge performed a quick inspection of the men and waved his hand. “Moving out. Try and keep up, you lard ass puppies.” He led them double-time through the woods. Gentry fell into the rear with Goetsch, both of them struggling with their over-stuffed bags and undersized bodies. He followed Arroyo, and ahead of them he lost sight of the others. He hoped Arroyo could see the man in front of him. Every few yards, Gentry glanced behind to ensure Goetsch was still in the rear.

The ground steepened in a black rise that Gentry sensed more than saw. The dirt loomed upward, and the sounds of men in front became the sounds of men above. He crossed a shallow creek and began scaling the far bank one handhold at a time. The dirt gave way as he climbed. He skid down into Goetsch, cursing, and then with a shove from behind reattempted the ascent using more carefully thought-out hand and foot placements. He had crossed plenty of creeks and climbed plenty of muddy banks, but never with the weight of a pack on his back. It felt as if someone were tipping him backward, and he thought if he had been smart, he would have tied the pack behind him and dragged it up, rather than leaving it attached to his shoulders.

When he topped the ridge, he found himself on a mountain road. In the road were fresh-cut ruts from both the rain, and by the looks of it, mud-gripped tires. Sarge shucked off his pack and motioned for the others to do the same. “Rest while you can, boys. Let’s find our bearings.”

Gentry dropped his pack. He considered opening it and dumping out some contents, but then decided he would carry it whatever the cost. Now he was committed. He sat on his pack. “You want to stay on this road, Sarge?”

Sarge pointed down the road, then swept his finger toward where it wound up and into the trees. “Can’t go back down, boys. Mayberry’s at the head of the trail and they’ll have it blocked off. No way but up.”

Riggs shook his head. “Disagree, Sarge. I say we head down, sneak around the blocks, try to make it home.”

“There ain’t no home, Riggs.”

“Moot point, Sarge. We done been exposed, and the clock’s ticking. We have maybe a week, maybe a day, then we’re red-eyed buggers like the rest. If we head up, we die on the mountain. Or we die down low. Least I’ll die on the road headed home. Either way, we die.”

“Don’t say that,” Gentry said.

Riggs raised a middle finger. “Piss off, Genny. Only reason I ran is ’cuz I don’t want to die in quarantine. You don’t got nothing to go home to?”

“I have a home.”

Sarge lifted both hands. “We all miss home, boys, calm down. Riggs, take a seat and hush up. I can still put my boot up your ass. You want to go down, fine, but let’s get our shit together before we proceed. Take some inventory. Be smart. Now listen, we ain’t dead. We brought our rifles and some supplies. Nobody’s injured. This here’s a good team of guys, so as far as dying on the mountain, I don’t see that happening for a while at least. As for the bug, we may or may not have been exposed. No way to tell but time.”

“Yeah, that’s great, Sarge,” Riggs said. “And by the time we figure shit out, it’ll be too late. Besides, you want to be around when Billings goes red?”

The men fell silent. They sat on their backpacks with rifles between their knees, and all of them stared at Billings.

Billings rubbed his knee, the one that had not been blown off. “Hell, Riggs, I don’t want to be around when I go red. You both make a point, though. Die high or low, that don’t matter. All that matters is whether we caught the bug. The rest we can deal with.”

Gentry, along with the others, nodded his head, and they all faced Sarge and waited.

Sarge said, “Look, boys, I think we all done a lot of thinking about home. None of us heard from nobody for a while, not a peep. Complete blackout so as we keep focused. The body count blew up and we dug them trenches wider and deeper, and we all watched for familiar faces. But I don’t figure home’s an option right now. You can try if you want, but put your head on. Riggs, how far is home for you?”

“No idea. Where are we?”

“Southwest Arkansas, best I can figure. Anyone else?”

The soldiers shook their heads.

“There it is, boys. We’re in Southwest Arkansas, and that’s assuming we have our bearings. We could be in the Appalachians for all I know. I just know this ain’t the Rockies. Riggs, you’re from Kentucky, right?”

“Yeah, Sarge. This ain’t the Smokies. That’s for sure.”

“There it is. Now how far you think Kentucky is from lower Arkansas? In miles, I mean.”

Riggs shook his head. “Dunno, Sarge. Couple hundred miles, maybe.”

“Four days a hundred, Riggs. That’s eight days humping, and that’s on flat ground with supplies. You just said we have a day or two at most, maybe a week if we’re some of the harder ones to kill off. So how do you figure you can get home in time? You ain’t even got a map or food.” Sarge swept a finger around at the rest of them. “Ain’t none of us from Arkansas, or Oklahoma, or anywhere near here. And we’re in the goddamned mountains, boys. Ain’t like you’re humping flat ground.”

“What if I ain’t infected?”

“Then we’ll find out in a couple of days, and we can move out in orderly fashion. They’ll have the roadblocks lowered in a week or two. Hell, they may have a vaccine by then. We just need to blend for a couple of weeks, see what’s what, and we can head down. Boys, we’re deserters. We’re liable to be shot on sight, or executed when caught, and we’ll damned sure be in quarantine. You’d best think about that.”

“We’re fucked, ain’t we, Sarge?”

“Now you got it, Riggs. Uncle Sam put the bone up us soon as that boy snuck into our tent. We’re in better shape than our buddies back in camp because they’re on their way to the nearest Q-Zone. We got freedom on our side. Just depends on how you want to spend it.”

They fell quiet again, and finally Billings spoke. “Hey guys. Duck crosses the road to reach to a pond. But why does the chicken cross the road?”

He stood, shucked his backpack onto his shoulders, and pointed his rifle up the mountain. “Because he’s fucking the duck. Come on, bros, embrace the suck. Got to be something up here because there’s a road. Let’s find shelter and nest up for a bit.”

Chapter 12

Shots Fired   
(Edwin)

T
he squirrel tumbled from the limb as the shot echoed through the forest. Edwin shucked another round into the chamber and listened. After a few minutes, the chirping returned to the trees, but he located no more moving limbs.

He found the squirrel, gutted it, and roped its tail through his belt. He traced the same trail he and Perry had used, and found Amalie and the children in the back of the cabin. The children were throwing a rubber ball against the side of the cabin and catching it. Amalie sat on the porch with her feet on the railing, staring into the treetops.

When Perry saw his father, the boy lowered his head, ambled up the steps, and disappeared into the cabin. Shelly Lynn glanced at him and went back to throwing the ball. Amalie did not appear to notice him at all.

“Shot a squirrel,” Edwin said. He unhooked it from his belt as he neared the porch. “Amy. Amy.”

His wife puckered out her lower lip and wiggled her toes. Her eyes remained fixed on the trees.

“Amy,” Edwin said. “Baby. You need—”

“Just leave it on the rail,” Amalie said. She sniffed, wiped her nose, stood, and called to their daughter. “Shelly Lynn, come on inside.”

“I want to play outside, Mommy.”

“We’ll do something inside, baby. Come on.” As she ushered Shelly Lynn through the back door, she said to Edwin. “Stay away from my children.” She closed the door and locked it behind her.

Edwin marched up the porch steps and splayed the gutted squirrel on the railing. Amalie could skin it herself. He leaned his shotgun against the arm and sat in her chair. It was still warm from Amalie. The air felt charged from that last glare she gave him. Either the ground or his nerves shook the porch. He forced himself to lean back and unclench his teeth. He had been grinding them all morning, and his back molars were beginning to ache. He rubbed his jaw and searched the trees where she had been staring. He spied a hawk in the distance at the top of a dead pine standing like an obelisk amid the living forest.

“Oh, you bitch,” Edwin said. He whispered a few other curses under his breath just this side of silent, and then put his head between his knees and knuckle-punched himself in the temple. It didn’t stop the mounting anger, and he stood, stalked to the back door, and rapped on it with the heel of his palm. “Amalie!” he screamed. “Open the door! I’m not sleeping out here again!”

He heard muffled words in response, too low to make out but the intent was clear. He sucked in a breath, held it, beat his hand against the door, and stalked back to the chair on the porch.

The hawk spread its wings and dropped, glided over the trees, and the sound of gunfire rose up from the mountain. This was not a hunting gunshot, which spoke in single, well-spaced notes, but the rapid, overlaid bursts of multiple people firing multiple weapons, the claps and cracks dulled by a distance of a mile or two, as best Edwin could guess. Amid the bursts came the answering thump of a shotgun like the kick of a bass drum, slow and steady.

By the time he reached the far side of the porch, Amalie had appeared behind him. She listened with him as the gunfire slowed into single notes, and then silence.

“What was that?” Amalie said.

“Somebody’s having a bad day sounds like. Worse than mine.”

“Whatever. I swear, we should have left. We should have—”

“We can’t leave, Amalie!” Edwin faced her and clasped one shoulder in his hand. All he could think of was protecting her and the children, how he had failed them, and what further failure meant. He envisioned them burned in the driveway and shucked off the image.

“I’m sorry, Amy. I’m trying.”

“Our son killed a boy because of you. I can’t just get over that.”

“You have to. We’re not alone anymore.” He pointed his shotgun toward the trees where the gunshots had come from, up the mountain. “There were tracks in the road, Amy, heading farther up. If I hadn’t blocked the driveway that might be us. It still might be. They hear my shots when I hunt, just like I hear their shots when they hunt.”

“I haven’t heard any shots.”

“That’s because you’ve been holed up in the cabin. I heard one this morning. Woods aren’t crawling with people, but we’re not alone. Dale was right. Folks are heading to the high ground.”

“Dale is dead because you killed him.” Amalie crossed her arms and glanced back at the cabin. “We need to get out of here. I don’t care what you say, Ed, we need to get out of here.”

“You can’t. Dale’s truck is blocking the driveway. Walk down the road a ways and you’ll see how deep them ruts are. They’re about to my calf. Even after it’s completely dry the Tahoe won’t make it down.”

“Then I’ll take Dale’s truck.”

“And you’ll die of infection.”

“Then I’ll take the Tahoe.”

“You won’t make it. Amalie, you’re not listening to me.”

Amalie’s lips tightened. She sucked a breath, held it, and chewed her bottom lip. When she spun back to Edwin, her hand came up and slapped him on the cheek. For a heartbeat both of them stood there stunned, and then her hand slammed into the side of his head, close-fisted.

A string of curses rose from her mouth amid the spittle of uncontrollable, hysterical rage, and Edwin ducked and covered his ears as she hammered the back of his head, shoulder-blades, spine, kidneys, the base of his skull.

When she stopped, he became aware of screaming behind his wife, and both of them saw Shelly Lynn on the porch wailing and red-faced.

“You bastard,” Amalie said. She lifted Shelly Lynn and carried her into the cabin. Perry’s face appeared in the bay window, and then was gone.

Edwin said nothing, but wrung his hands around the shotgun and wrangled in what thoughts he could. After he calmed down, if he could call it that, because his head was full of buzzing bees, he stepped off the porch and stomped up the mountainside toward where the shots had come from.

His blood pumped heavy and dense, but as he marched, his thoughts settled into the concentration of the present moment, where to place his feet, could he see movement, why did the shots stop.

When he heard footsteps, he crouched and listened. They were the slip-slide scuffles of someone tumble-running down the mountainside. Flashes of a woman appeared through the trees, and Edwin moved closer. Her hair trailed behind her. She ran topless and shoeless, wearing only a pair of pajama pants and a pink bra. Mud or dirt or blood, something black covered her face and streaked her chest. She swiped a stick in front of her and screamed a string of unintelligible words.

She ran at a slant toward Edwin. Behind her, farther up the hill, two men in desert-brown soldier field dress gave chase. One of them raised his rifle, fired, missed, and ran on with the other.

A third soldier appeared flanking Edwin, steadying himself from tree-to-tree in a controlled, rapid descent. When he discovered Edwin, the soldier dug in his heels and roped one arm around a tree to stop himself. His eyes darted from Edwin’s face to the shotgun and back again, and he said, “You all right? You good? You ain’t infected?”

Edwin shook his head.

The soldier raised his rifle, steadied it, and fired. The woman’s body tumbled down the slope like a chucked doll.

One of the others followed the woman’s body downhill. The soldier stared at her in silence and fingered his rifle. He searched the forest, rolled his eyes up to the sky, back to the woman, and finally said, “She’s down.”

The other two soldiers noticed Edwin, and one of them hollered out. “Genny?”

The soldier beside Edwin held up a thumb. “No signs of infection. He’s lucid. White eyed.”

“You good?” the soldier said, this time directed at Edwin. The soldier’s hands tightened around his rifle, and his eyes remained fixed on the shotgun.

“I’m good,” Edwin said. He released the shotgun’s stock, raised his left hand, and offered a thumbs-up. He flicked on the safety and lowered the shotgun, moving slow as he had always instructed Perry when faced with armed and armored individuals. He had meant police officers, and taught Perry to treat them as you would a wolf. One quick move, one slip, one challenge, and the teeth come out. Edwin had no intention of provoking them. After a few beats, the soldier seemed to sense this and lifted his finger off the trigger.

They all rested in silence, listening, and Edwin listened with them. When they heard about thirty seconds of nothing, the soldier said, “How many are you?”

“Um. Four. Me, my wife, two kids.”

“Seven of us. You seen anyone else out here?”

“Not really.”

“Yes or no, sir. You seen anyone else out here?”

“No. I heard other shots, though.”

The soldier held up four fingers and yelled. “Got four!” Then to Edwin, “Where is your camp? Down the hill a ways?”

Edwin nodded.

The soldier pointed down the slope. The other two soldiers made their way to Edwin and introduced themselves as Riggs and Fletcher. The one beside him said, “I’m Dillon Gentry. Got four more of us back at the cabin, up the hill a ways. Found a family up there. It’s, well, what would you call it, Fletch?”

“A butchery.”

“Yeah, that’s a good word. Butchery. She was the last of ’em, I think.” Gentry, Fletcher and Riggs fell silent, and Edwin stared with them at the woman’s body lying on the slope.

Gentry said, “We been putting ’em in the ground for weeks, now. You hear stories about how nuts it is back home, and you think you’re kinda calloused against it. But you don’t get it until you see it. I mean, I ain’t never killed nobody. Only two of us seen combat. Guys, help me out here.”

“There ain’t no words, bro,” Riggs said.

“No words, bro,” Fletcher repeated.

“I mean . . .” Gentry said. “Whatever it does to people, it ain’t right. Can you stay here, sir? I need to report back to my team. Fletch and Riggs will keep you company. That all right, guys? Good. You all hang tight ’til I get back with Sarge and them.”

Gentry left Edwin alone with the other two soldiers, and Riggs said, “You keep that thing off me. You copy?”

He pointed at Edwin’s shotgun. Edwin nodded at Riggs’ rifle. “Likewise.”

The corner of Riggs’ mouth creased, hard to tell if it was a smile or a frown. Edwin borrowed a phrase from Dale Lincoln and added, “We’re friends here, ain’t we?”

“Yeah,” Riggs said. “But don’t expect no backrubs. Come on, Fletch. Let’s find a little high ground. What’s your name again?”

“Edwin.”

“Well, Eddy-boy, you keep that rabbit gun off me and we’ll be your best buds.” Riggs and Fletcher paced off a ways, still in view but beyond casual speaking distance. Both of them crouched and scanned the woods. Neither of them ever faced completely away from Edwin.

After about half an hour, Gentry reappeared up the slope, this time with a rucksack and three other soldiers in tow. One of them limped enough that Edwin sensed an artificial leg, and each face possessed a pale afterglow of spent adrenaline. They collected themselves around Edwin, made their introductions, and the one named Sarge said, “Can’t go back up there, boys. That place is no good.” He stared at Edwin. “You have a place? Is it clean?”

He didn’t want to answer, but after a few seconds Edwin said, “It’s my wife and kids.”

“I understand,” Sarge said. “But this ain’t Mayberry.”

“Damn right it’s not Mayberry.”

“I don’t mean like the show,” Sarge said. “I mean Camp Mayberry. That was our base down the mountain.”

“Go back to it.”

“There’s no going back. Not for us.”

“Why not? What happened?”

Sarge pursed his lips, and when none of them answered, Edwin pressed on. “It’s my family. I don’t want to expose them. You all go back up there or something. I’ll go back and we’ll all be good. That’s how it works.”

“Look, we’re all exposed. We’ll stay away from your wife and kids. Ain’t that right, boys?”

They answered with a cacophony of “Yes, Sarge,” responses.

“There you go, Ed. We’ll be good. Don’t none of us want to bring harm to you or yours, but we’re gonna be up here for a while, all of us. We need to stick together.”

“I heard that before,” Edwin said. When Sarge asked, Edwin explained about Dale Lincoln and his family. He finished by saying, “We’re all in The Club Nobody Wants to Join. I had to kill two of ’em. I couldn’t protect my family like that again. I mean, I could, but not from you all. The fella who built my cabin nearly killed my son, and he wasn’t trained like you all. And there wasn’t but one of him with a bolt-action rifle. You hear what I’m saying?”

“Boys,” Sarge said, “what did we discuss on the road?”

The artificial leg soldier, Billings, answered. “We punch out, Sarge.”

“You understand what that means, Edwin?” When Edwin shook his head, Sarge said. “Means first sign of infection, we punch out. Fever, redness, bleeding, anything suspicious, and it’s game over, ain’t that right boys?”

Sarge motioned with his hand between him and Edwin. “You realize what happened here, don’t you? You done been exposed to us, and we were exposed to that family up there, and to another one down in Camp Mayberry. I don’t think you appreciate how contagious this bug is. I bet we buried close to a million bodies down the hill that didn’t do nothing but pass through the same air as one of them buggers. It’s all or none for you and your family, Edwin. Either you is or you ain’t. Don’t slam the barn door on us, ’cuz that horse done left, my friend.”

“Yeah, I get it,” Edwin said. He understood it all right, but in the stubborn manner of a patient receiving bad news from the doctor. In a dark corner of his mind he had been pondering the large footprints he had found, the face Dale’s son had seen in the truck, and how they were not so alone in these woods as they had thought. His eyes skipped from one rifle to the next, then to the faces, all of them watching him and waiting. If he did not need them now, he might later, and he could do worse as far as comrades went. In any case, they seemed not to be waiting for his approval, but his acceptance of the reality of the situation, which meant he would not be returning alone to the cabin. He stood, stretched his arms, and cracked his back. “I get it. All right, come on.”

Edwin paced ahead of them and tread more carefully now that he walked down the slope, rather than up. He thought how easy it is to climb up a cliff, and how precarious it is to climb back down.

When the cabin came into view, Sarge said, “Is that it?”