Sometimes We Ran (Book 3): Rescue (22 page)

“We'll wait a bit till the streets get a little more deserted. Then I think we can take a stroll to the other end of the Fort and find out what happened to our van.” I patted the inside pocket of my jacket. “I've still got the keys. Maybe there's a gate or something down there. We'll drive right out.”

Claire looked a little skeptical. “What do we do if the van has been stripped, and spread all over the ground?”

“We'll go down there and scout it out. If the van is torn up, I'll find something else with wheels. Got to be something we can steal,” I said.

“That's it, everybody. Closing time!” the bartender called out. The remaining customers began to stumble outside into the chilly night. The bartender stepped close to our table, and said, “You guys ready to settle up?”

I took a mental inventory of what Claire, Lyle, and I had to trade, and it wasn't much. Looking at the large, imposing bartender with my best innocent face, I said, “Caught me short. I don't have much to trade. Sorry.” I stared down the large man to see what he would do.

“Figures,” he said, with an annoyed tone in his voice. “Nobody has nothing these days. I guess I'm running a charity.” The bartender turned around, and started back to the makeshift bar on the wall.

“Wait,” Claire said. She rummaged around in our survival bag, and produced the opened bottle of cheap liquor. There was still about half of it left. Claire waved it in front of the bartender. “Will this do?”

The barkeep took the bottle from Claire's hand, opened it, and took a whiff of the contents. He screwed the top back on, and swirled the contents around while looking inside the bottle. Then he rendered his verdict. “It's pretty damn cheap, and it would be better if it was unopened, but it'll do.”

Claire, Lyle, and I started for the door. The bartender stopped us for a quick chat. “Just wanted to warn you guys. Keep an eye on each other. People that come in from the road have a way of disappearing around here.”

“Disappear?” I said.

The bartender smiled. “Let's just say food, water, and liquor aren't the only things being traded inside the Fort. Good night, strangers.” He turned, and faded into the darkness of the bar. “And good luck,” the bartender added before turning off the remaining lamps in the bar.

We stood there for a second, the bartender's words sinking into our tired brains. “Don't like the sound of that.” Claire asked.

“Maybe all is not well at the Fort,” Lyle said.

We stepped outside into the street. While we were inside, the sun had gone down, and night was breaking across the Fort. Small streetlights, powered from some unknown source, began to wink on from poles and the sides of some of the buildings. They were a bit weak, and dropped yellow cones of light across the ground. Most of the residents were moving along seeking shelter from the frigid breeze. Other people stood around the trashcan fires trying to warm their bodies.

Me and my crew found an unoccupied fire near an alley between two buildings. This particular trashcan fire had been set with a heavy fuel that filled the air with dangerous chemical smells. I took a deep breath, and got an instant frontal-lobe headache. Lyle leaned in with some news.

“I overheard a few conversations from people who aren't too pleased with the current management. I think a mutiny is being planned. You know, one of them actually asked if I wanted to join,” said Lyle in a low tone.

Having no desire to be swept into a revolution so far from home, I said, “One thing at a time. Let's complete our mission first.”

The trashcan fires died down, and the winter breeze began to get stronger. My two companions and I stepped back into the shadows and waited. We waited until the warming fires went to embers, and the residents of the Fort left Main Street. The cold chased the rough looking, armed men and women inside, and soon, the streets were deserted. It was time to move.

“Okay. Let's go,” I said to my team.

We began our trek to the end of the Fort. Lyle led the way. Claire, her ankle still hurting, was in the middle so we could keep an eye on her. I brought up the rear. We moved silently like ninjas from one dark place to another. We had to rely on only our eyes and Lyle's sense of direction. No flashlights, or someone might see us moving around. We paused only to check our progress, or to avoid being discovered by the occasional resident on the street. So far, no one had seen or heard us. We walked this way for about twenty minutes or so. It seemed like forever in the inky blackness of the streets.

“Not long now. Just a couple of blocks more,“ Lyle whispered to Claire and I during one of our safety pauses.

“Good,” whispered Claire. “My ankle is screaming.”

We walked a little more, fumbling and sneaking around on Main Street. The cold chill of the air was beginning to soak into my skin and bones. I swore to myself that if I got home, I was going to get a blanket, invite Karen to join me, and wrap ourselves up until winter was over.

When I get back, not if. Even in my mind, I corrected my “if” to “when.”

Junk cars and trucks too damaged to venture outside the walls stood in piles ahead of us on the road. They had been placed, along with broken concrete barriers, wood, and other debris in criss-cross patterns on the street. It was a simple barricade.

“We must be close. I remember passing this junk on the way to town,” said Lyle. He scampered onto a large piece of concrete and looked down the street. “There it is,” he said pointing into the gloom. “It's the wall of the Fort.”

Claire and I looked to where he was pointing. Even in the dark, I could make out the huge presence of the wall, a few hundred feet away. I could also see some small lights here and there near the base on a few poles. And then there was the best sight of all: a few rows of vehicles in storage. They were parked all over the street, and in nearby parking lots and grassy yards. We had found the Junkmen's vehicle stash. Lyle jumped off his perch, and we approached the wall. An old magnolia tree, with branches spread along the ground like a wooden octopus, provided a good hiding place. I pulled out my binoculars to take a look.

I swept the glasses from the front rows of stored vehicles to a small storage shed that I assumed was a guard shack or an office. The front rows were lit by weak, sputtering lamps on weather-beaten poles scattered around the area. The poles got fewer and fewer toward the back of the storage area, until it faded into almost total scary darkness. The Junkmen did not discriminate. The yard contained a wide variety of vehicle types and sizes. Trucks and buses were the favorites. Light was coming from the small shed, but no guards walked the storage yard.

“Do you see the van?” said Claire.

“Not yet.” As if someone heard my silent prayers, the shiny black flanks of Monique the van slid into my binoculars. The van was parked between two other small trucks, almost out of sight. A quick look showed no external damage. “I can't believe it. There it is.” I pointed in the van's direction.

Lyle practically started to vibrate. “Looks like it's intact, at least from the outside. The Junkmen moved it since my escape. I got out near the shed.”

I handed the binoculars to Claire, and stood up. “Now we just have to figure out a way to drive out of here.”

“Not going to be easy. May have to shoot our way out,” Lyle said.

“John...look at the road.” Claire handed the binoculars back.

“What am I looking at?” I asked.

“The mud. Look at the tire tracks,” Claire said.

Scanning the road, I followed the twin tracks on the street. They went up to the edge of the wall, then disappeared underneath. Claire had discovered the back door of the Fort.

“It's a gate,” I said. “Just like the other side.” I looked around for guards, but came up empty. They were probably inside getting out of the cold, or guarding the wall somewhere else. This might be our chance to escape. I gave the binoculars to Lyle so he could look.

“What are you thinking, John?” said Lyle, as he peered at our potential route to freedom.

“I'll check out the van. You and Claire go to the gate and get it open. There's got to be a latch or something. I'll drive around to pick you guys up, and get out of here.”

Claire and Lyle nodded in agreement. “If we do it nice and quiet, we might just pull it off,” said Claire.

“Yeah...quietly. If it goes bad, everybody find a hiding place,” I said.

We stepped out from behind the old magnolia, and jogged down the small hill towards the vehicles. None of us made a sound as we came to the front row. Lyle and Claire gave me a wave, then disappeared among the parked vehicles on their way to the gate. I listened for a few seconds for any guards. There was nothing but the wind blowing through the trees.

Using the darkness as much as I could, I headed for the van. I reached it without incident, and ran my hands down the dark flanks confirming no serious damage. I grabbed the plastic handle of the driver's door and gently pulled. The door unlatched, squeaking on dry hinges. When no Junkmen came running, I opened it fully and climbed inside. The inside smelled a little musty, and someone had used it to eat some lunch, but everything looked okay. Fishing the keys out of my jacket, I jammed them into the ignition, said a quick prayer, and turned.

Nothing happened. Our luck had run out.

We may have been too late to save our van. I exited, pulling the hood release on the way out. Even in the dark yard, I could see the Junkmen had worked our poor van over. The battery and most of the top-end parts of the engine had been removed. Wet fuel dripped from cut rubber lines and the filter area. Our van was done. The Junkmen had used it for spare parts for another vehicle. We would have to find another way out of the Fort.

I was still bent over in the engine bay, when I felt the cold steel of a rifle barrel on the back of my neck. My hand jumped to my gun. “Hold it!” I heard a young, female voice call out near my ear. I stood, still facing the van, with hands up. Hands began searching my waistline and pockets for weapons. My handgun disappeared out of  my holster.

The owner of the rifle grew tired of going through my pockets and grabbed me roughly by the shoulder. I was dragged to the nearest pole with one of the weak lights shining down, and flung back first into the rough wooden surface. The scent of creosote filled the air.

I recovered a bit, and lifted my head to look at the owner of the rifle. It was a young girl in a filthy high school letter jacket. She threw my gun to the ground, and aimed an automatic rifle at my chest. Her long, slender finger was off the trigger as she walked slowly towards me. This was no amateur. She knew how to use that rifle.

The young lady spoke first to break the silence. “Who are you?”

My hands went up. “I'm new in town, and I think I might be lost. I was looking for a place to bed down.” I shot a glance at her feet. Her shoes were worn out, and gray tape covered the holes. She took a couple of steps closer, and I noticed my gun was at her feet.

Out of reach.

“Bullshit!” She spat the word at me. “No one's allowed back here.” She got close enough for the barrel of the rifle to touch my chest. A shot at that range would gut me like a fish. “I saw you under the hood. I oughta shoot you dead right here.” The girl's finger went to the trigger.

“Hey, look. I was just trying to find a place to sleep,” I said, trying to keep my voice from cracking. “You mind pointing that thing away from me? Someone could get hurt.” In the distance, Claire peeked around one of the vehicles, ready to charge. I waved her off with a finger, as she was outgunned for the moment. Claire crouched behind the car with a concerned look on her face to watch for her opportunity to strike. But no one in the yard that night would have guessed in a million years what was going to happen next.

The wind shifted once, then again. The second time it shifted, the wind was now coming toward my face. As the harsh breeze ran across my face, it carried a heavy scent. It lingered around the pole and light, and threatened to sweep us all away into the night. It seemed to rise and fall as the wind moved throughout the yard. It was a familiar, animal scent that I knew all too well.

It was the scent of death, and it was carried by a dog. A dog that was a Red-Eye zombie.

It came out of the dark, and was on the girl with the rifle in a flash. All flying fur, red eyes, and animal growls. The dog caught her in the left shoulder and neck and bit down hard. Blood immediately started flowing out of the wound. The poor girl in the worn-out high school jacket let out a scream that raised the hair on my arm as the monster dog dragged her to the ground. It continued to attack her, as she waved her arms to ward it off with no effect. She tried crawling away, but the zombie dog grabbed her by the arm. She was pinned to the ground as the dog continued its attack.

I was paralyzed, but only for a second. Instinct took over, and I went for my gun, lying on the ground a few feet away. The dog saw me, and let out a terrible growl. It jumped over the whimpering girl and took a defensive stance to protect his future meal.

I dove the final few feet to reach my gun. The dog stepped closer, and then broke into a slight trot to intercept me. When it got close enough, it would leap on my back and take a bite out of my neck. Every step it took, I could hear its breath, hear the growling, that would be in my ear.

Without taking time to stand or aim, I grabbed my gun and took it off the muddy ground. Pointing it in the general direction of the rampaging monster about to maul me, I managed to get off two shots from a kneeling position on the ground. Hopefully, one of the bullets I let fly would catch the bastard in the skull.

The dog pulled up, and made a yelping sound like it had been hurt. It circled around and took off to one one of the dark corners of the storage yard. It was limping and howling as it ran away. One of my poorly aimed shots had found its mark. The zombie dog wasn't going to die, but at least it slowed it down and sent it away.

Looking around the yard, I saw that Claire had left the scene. I holstered my weapon, and turned to melt back into the darkness. My plan was to find Claire and Lyle, find something with wheels that ran, get to the gate, and take our chances outside. I did not want to hang around with a dog loose in the area. After one more look around, I turned to run, but a terrible noise came from behind me. I knew what it was, and turned back around.