Whiskey Tango Foxtrot (Book 4): Walking In The Shadow Of Death (17 page)

“Look at this, Sean, how is this
guy still on his feet?” Brad said as he thrust the poker into the thing’s
chest, knocking it into the snow. The primal let out a weak moan as it fell
face first into a drift.  Sean moved up behind it as it struggled to crawl
back to its feet. Sean stepped over and used the heel of his boot to shove it
back to the ground.

“Is this a different type? Or a
progression of the disease?” Sean said. “Have you noticed we only see these
guys in the daylight, and the fast ones at night?”

The creature crawled forward again
and slid to its knees. It lifted itself up, locking eyes with Brad before
letting out another groan. Brad took the tip of the poker and stabbed it high
in the shoulder, pushing the primal to its back as it screamed at him in
response. Brad stepped forward and delivered a front kick to the thing’s chest,
knocking it back into the snow. The creature lay on its back, the fresh
puncture in its shoulder filling with blood. Sean stepped into position and
dropped the axe heavily, crushing the thing’s head and putting it out of its
misery.

Brad pointed towards the hole he
had created in the creature’s shoulder with the poker, seeing the wound begin
to fill with blood. “Are they still alive? I mean, before you crushed its
head.”

“This is crazy shit, I think we have
us some zombies?” Sean said.

Brad moved back, examining another
of the dead. “Zombies? But what about the … no … Zombies, no way, zombies don’t
have heartbeats, they can’t bleed without a pumping heart?”

“Yup, close enough. We’ve suspected
it all along Brad, but it never fit the mold till now. Let’s just get past the
elephant in the room, these are fucking zombies. I’m calling it,” Sean
declared.

“But … they still bleed?” Brad
mumbled.

“I mean yeah, before … yeah some
still run and they’re fast, even smart sometimes, and we can kill them, and
make em’
bleed
. But I don’t know, maybe it’s the cold, maybe they get
like this the longer they are infected, but look at these things, this guy’s
fucking skin is frozen and peeling off its bones. That kinda shit ain’t right.”

Sean nodded, looking down at the
things around him in the snow before continuing to voice his thoughts. “Yeah,
maybe the virus preserves the organs, keeps the heart pumping when they should
lay down and die. We already know it does something to the brain, that’s why
they are so strong, so hard to put down.”

Brad stared at the creatures,
shaking his head. “We need to get out of here, like at the crash site, more
will follow … it’s not safe here.”

“We need to figure out what to do
with Hahn … I was gonna suggest one of us stay with him while the other goes
for help, but that won’t work, especially if the Alphas show up after dark,”
Sean said.

Brad shook his head adamantly,
“He’ll walk, and when he can’t walk we carry him.”

Sean looked at Brad, nodding his
head. “Let’s go before another wave shows up.” He turned and walked towards the
cabin.

While Brad prepared Hahn to move,
Sean rummaged through the building, stuffing anything usable into his rucksack.
He located Brad’s full ruck near the bunks and carried it outside. He rushed
back to the porch to see Brad wearing the scavenged boots.

“Primal skin boots, very stylish
this time of year,” Sean said.

“Fuck you very much, you ready to
go poke ass, or you just gonna play in the cabin all day?” Brad retorted.

Within minutes they were loaded up
and ready. Hahn was on his feet. The drugs had fully kicked in. He was leaning
drunkenly against the woodpile while Sean and Brad finished suiting up. Smiling
and staring off into the distance, Hahn lifted his good arm and pointed across
the field at the opening near the road. “Ha, look at that would ya, more of
them, they just keep on coming,” Hahn laughed.

Brad stopped and turned. He could
see them, more this time, walking in a tight group and headed his way. He
lifted the rifle and prepared to fire. Sean looked at him and shook his head.
“Save your ammo, we can lose them in the trees.”

“You sure, Sean, there are a lot of
them,” Brad asked.

“Yeah I’m sure, we don’t have
enough ammo for a sustained fight. Grab your boy and move out, I’m right behind
you.”

Brad grabbed Hahn by the good arm
and pushed him ahead. Hahn stepped off, sometimes losing his balance in the
snow with his one side immobilized. When he slipped or began to trip, Brad
steadied him. They followed the cabin around to the back until they found the
old tracks leading off into the distance, the tracks the others had used to
evade the primals. Hahn was hurting but he was able to keep a good pace. Brad
and Sean had split his gear and taken his rifle to help lessen his burden.

Hahn suggested they leave him
behind, that he would only slow them down. Brad encouraged him not to quit.
They both reassured Hahn that he didn’t have to outrun Brad and Sean, only the
slow-moving primals. Brad’s fear was that more of the fast movers would show
up, or even worse, the Alphas. He wanted to push as far away from the cabin as
possible before the sun went down.

19.

The men followed the tracks across
the field and into the trees. The snow here had grown wet and heavy, making it
easy to see their friends’ tracks, and also the tracks of the primals that had
followed them. Even with Hahn’s constant coughing and unsteady feet they were
able to move along the trail at a steady pace and break contact with their own
batch of following primals. They moved through a band of thick trees and along
a high bend. Here the trail broke and ran parallel with the top of the
ridgeline.

The top of the hill was slippery,
and Brad could see where several of the pursuing primals had lost their footing
and fallen down the far side of the ridge. He moved closer to Hahn and kept a
close eye on him, worried that he may also fall down the steep slope. Ahead the
ridgeline faded and the trail cut sharply to the right. Brad moved ahead of
Hahn and rounded the blind spot first.

Brad slowed and raised his rifle as
he stepped around the blind corner. Farther down the trail he saw several
bodies lying face down in the snow. Brad stopped and probed the scene with his
rifle’s optics. Hahn and Sean slowly moved up behind him. Sean tapped Brad,
signaling for him to patrol forward. As they got closer they could clearly see
that the bodies in the snow were all primals dressed in random arrangements of
civilian attire.

They moved beyond the bodies and
saw patches of packed down snow where the soldiers had hidden. There were small
piles of brass along the trail and then more tracks that led away. Only now
there were only boot prints; no more primal footprints trailed the path of the
fighters.

“Smart. They set an ambush and cut
down their pursuers here,” Sean said.

“What about us, should we think of
doing the same thing?” Brad asked.

“I don’t think so, like you said
this is like the crash site. I fear we will have these slow movers on our trail
until we manage to lose them. Good thing is the slow ones don’t seem to be good
trackers.”

Brad nodded his agreement and began
to step forward when he heard Hahn fall to the ground behind him. He reached
down to help him to his feet, but Hahn just looked up at him, his face pale and
dazed. Brad grabbed him under the shoulders and lifted him up. Hahn grunted and
with his head down slowly began marching forward, following the boot prints in
the snow. Brad looked down at his hands and could see they were covered in
bright red blood.

Brad showed his hands to Sean. Sean
nodded, “He’s bleeding badly. I don’t know what to do.”

“Maybe a tourniquet on that arm?”
Brad suggested, keeping his voice low as they trailed Hahn.

“I already did that, I tried
loosening it earlier but he started bleeding again. I think we’re going to have
to remove the bite shirt and really get at the wound, I just don’t want
contaminated clothing touching the wrong thing,” Sean said.

“As soon as we can find some
shelter we will clean him up and peel off the shirt. We’re going to have to
risk exposure to the infection. If we don’t, he’s going to bleed out,” Brad
whispered.

The trail continued downhill and
slowly the terrain opened up. They found themselves walking along a high fence
row. Brad had moved out front taking point, keeping Hahn behind him with Sean.
The terrain had softened, some of the snow even dissipating, exposing long
treks of green grass. Brad continued to patrol forward and spotted a road ahead
in the distance. He halted and waited for Sean and Hahn to catch up to his
position. 

Brad watched Hahn stagger forward.
His head was hanging low, and Sean was holding him under his good arm, guiding
him forward. When they moved up next to Brad, Sean dropped his pack near a
fence post and slowly lowered Hahn into a sitting position. Hahn rested and
leaned back deeply against the post, his head swaying side to side.

Sean looked up at Brad and shook
his head, his face grim. Then he walked past Brad, stepping towards the road
and signaling for Brad to follow him. They moved down towards a tall pair of
trees.

“Hand me the spotting scope.”

Brad removed it from his pack and
handed it over. Sean used it to scout the road. “Hahn is in bad shape, only
thing moving him now is raw guts,” Sean said. Keeping his eye to the glass.

“I know.”

Sean continued to scan the far off
road before pausing and turning a dial on the scope to bring some far off
object into focus.

“Brad, from here it looks like
there may be tire tracks down there on that road.”

“No way?” Brad said, surprise in
his voice. Sean passed the scope to him.

Brad focused on the twisting line
hundreds of yards off in the distance. Much of the road was still covered with
snow. There were spots where the wind and drifts had swept the road clean,
leaving black patches of exposed asphalt. Brad steadied himself against one of
the trees and traced the road with the scope. He could make out a pair of cuts
through the snow. It could definitely be tire tracks, or just sets of
footprints running side by side.

Sean disagreed on the footprint
theory as the tracks were too uniform, and said they must be from a
four-wheeled vehicle. Either way, they agreed that they needed to get Hahn to
the road and to shelter quickly. There were only a couple of hours of daylight
left. One thing they did know, the primals were still more active at night and
they wanted to be secured before then.

When they moved back to Hahn they
found him unconscious. Brad felt his neck and checked for a pulse. “It’s weak,
Sean, we need to treat these wounds.”

“Not here, not now,” Sean answered.
“Let’s get moving to the road. We’ll follow it north, roads will have
structures sooner or later. We’ll stop and clear the first thing.”

“Hahn might not make it that far.”

“Brad, if we start exposing him out
here in the open he won’t make it anyway. I’m not a fucking doctor, but I’m
sure if the hypothermia don’t get him the blood loss will.”

“Fine then let’s move, I’ll carry
him first.”

Brad tightened the straps on his
pack, then moved in front of Hahn. Sean lifted the unconscious man to his feet
as Brad took his good arm and hoisted him to his back in a modified fireman’s
carry. “Damn, he’s heavier than he looks,” Brad said.

“I’ll lead the way. I’m going to
set a quick pace, I’ll trade off with you as soon as you need it.”

“Just go,” Brad grunted, trying to
adjust the man’s weight on his shoulders.

Sean had told the truth, he stepped
off fast, leading the way to the road. Brad marched forward, focusing on the
ground in front of him and coordinating every step with the heavy load on his
back. He began to feel the burning in his quad again. With all of the abuse his
body had taken over the last few days he had begun to forget about the old
wound. Brad welcomed the pain, it gave him something to think about beside the
ache in his back and neck.  

Sean made it to the road, scouted
ahead, then ran back to help Brad lower Hahn to the ground. They checked his
vitals. He was still breathing, and still had the faint pulse. “They are
definitely tire tracks, looks like a large truck, and they’re fresh too,” Sean
said.

“What do you think?” Brad asked.

“Doesn’t matter at this point.
We’ll stay north, sticking to the road. You take point, I’ll carry for a
while.”  

They traded off Hahn, Brad helping to
situate him onto Sean’s shoulders. Brad stepped off first, moving out ahead and
taking point on the right-hand side of the road. Sean allowed him to get
several meters ahead so they could react to any threats. The road traveled
through high country. To the right the land sloped up and away into rocky
wooded terrain. The left sloped down along a wide open meadow of sorts before
being met by the heavy forest.

The road traveled gradually
downhill, with the high ground to the right. The way the terrain lined up it
allowed for an expansive view of the road ahead and the surrounding
countryside. Brad continued marching forward, stopping often to look back and
make sure Sean was still behind him. Brad stuck to the right side of the road,
trying to stay on the dry pavement to avoid leaving tracks.

Brad saw that Sean was falling
behind, so he walked to the center of the road and looked closer at the tire
tracks while waiting for Sean to catch up. They were deep treads like you would
see on a large truck, possibly military. The vehicle had a wide wheel base, and
was probably heavy with the way it cut through the larger drifts. But most
importantly the tracks were clear and fresh, probably less than eight hours
old.

He stood from the road as he saw
Sean approach. “You need to trade off.”

“I’m good, keep stepping,” Sean
said back.

Brad nodded and continued his march
down the road. He studied the wide open terrain. It would be hard for a primal
to sneak up on them out here, but there would also be no place to hide if the
Alphas came after them. The thought gave Brad a shiver as he tried to get his
mind back to the road. As he marched he began to take note of his situation. He
was no longer moving tactical, his rifle was hanging from its sling, his arms
crossing his chest with his fingers tucked into his vest.  The days of
living on edge had taken a toll on him; his body and mind were ready for a
break.

Brad continued to walk the road and
began to daydream of marches back at Fort Benning, the drill sergeants yelling
at them to keep their rifles up, forcing them to hold the weapon just off of
their chests until their arms burned from the strain. No breaks, overstuffed
packs, eating MREs on the side of the road, then spending the night in a
shallow-dug hole or ranger grave. The long forced marches were a rite of
passage back then, a requirement to pass and become a soldier. A feat of mind
over matter, putting one foot in front of the other until it was over.

Those marches had taught them not
to quit, that they would always eventually cross that finish line. That was
then; now he was beginning to lose thought of that finish line, that feeling of
accomplishment. This just seemed to be another endless hike down a long, long
road. Looking deep in the distance he began to see a glimmer of movement or an
object. Brad was unsure if it was a mirage from staring at the same terrain for
so long, it could just be a glimmer of sunlight off the melting snow. He
hesitated to call a halt, waiting to give warning to Sean.   

The road dipped ahead of him and he
watched the object fade. It took his fatigued brain a moment too long to
register what he was observing. The wasted moment took away his advantage.
Quickly Brad turned behind and yelled for Sean to get off the road. Brad spun
back forward just as a large blue truck came back into view as it climbed out
of the dip. The truck was moving fast down the center of the road. As it got
closer, Brad at first considered raising his rifle but fought the temptation.
He did not want to appear a threat to people that may be able to help them.

The truck maintained its speed and
continued on in the center lane. Brad took a step back towards the shoulder of
the road, still staring at the truck. He could make out two figures in the cab
and another man in the bed of the truck standing over the cab with a long gun
in his hands. The truck continued closing the distance. As it passed Brad, the
driver turned his head to look at him. Brad saw the man’s eyes go wide with
surprise. At the same time the man in the bed of the truck began slapping the
roof of the cab.

The tires squealed on bits of dry
pavement and the truck skidded to a stop, then backed up until it was even with
Brad. He stood, watching the men as the truck’s window lowered. The man in the
back turned to face Brad. The driver was no more than a teenager, and the one
standing guard in the back looked even younger. The driver looked at Brad with
a smile and yelled to him. “Wha’dyat? I thought you was a creeper!”

Brad, still puzzled and surprised
to see the vehicle, found himself at a loss for words. He took a half step
forward and began to mumble.

“Are ya okay, friend?” the boy in
the bed of the truck shouted with a thick accent, joining the conversation.

Sean continued walking towards
Brad. As he got closer he knelt down and slowly lowered Hahn to the ground. He
dropped his pack and used it to prop up Hahn’s body. As Sean finished he joined
Brad by the side of the road, slapping Brad on the shoulder then looking to the
truck. “I think we’ll be okay now,” he said, smiling.

“You Americans?” the boy in the
driver’s seat asked.

“Yes sir we are,” Sean answered.
“Where did you all come from? We haven’t seen anyone alive in days.”

“Your man … is he bit? He looks
about as bad as a boiled boot,” the boy asked, ignoring the question.

Sean shook his head. “No, hurt bad
though, do you have a safe place to go?”

The boy began to speak as the other
man in the truck’s cab grabbed his shoulder. Brad could make out the sharp
words of an argument. The thick accents made it difficult for him to follow the
conversation. Brad looked back to the bed of the truck and made eye contact
with the guard. He was very young, barely out of his teens. He held a pump
shotgun loosely in his hands, the gun old was battered, a stretch of black tape
looped around the stock to repair a large split in the wood. He didn’t hold the
weapon in a threatening way, but where he could still quickly bring it to
action. By the way the gun rested in the pocket of his right arm, the boy
looked like he had used it before.

Brad smiled and nodded to the
boy-guard in the back, who smiled and returned his nod. “Are you soldiers? I
never seen uniforms like that, but I have seen them kinds of guns before, on
games and such.”

Brad considered the question; he
was wearing the canvas coat from the old couple’s closet and his filthy
Multicam uniform trousers; the shemagh had been tied around his head and he was
wearing the leather primal skin boots. He no longer looked to be any kind of
conventional soldier.
I must look like a real shitbag to these strangers,
he thought as he tried to conceal his laughter.