The Remaining: Refugees (45 page)

Mike’s eyes were incredulous in Harper’s rearview mirror. “You know, I’m usually on board with whatever the captain has for us, but this seems a little far-fetched. Jacob, is there any realistic basis for thinking there are dens of females out there, and that they might be pregnant?”

Jacob gave
Harper a sidelong glance and looked uncomfortable. “Well, uh, yes. In fact, there is.”

“So…”

Jacob
studied
his dirty fingernails. “The FURY bacterium did its business already, eating through the brain. We already know that it didn’t leave behind much—just enough for basic primal functions. We’ve grown accustomed to considering these…people…to be hyper-aggressive. But much of the hyper-aggression was simply a byproduct of the plague’s effect on the brain during the primary stages of infection, and I believe most of what we see now isn’t mindless aggression, but simply the drive to hunt for food.

“Another primary instinct for survival is the act of procreation.
P
rimal instincts are primal instincts, and sex is one of them. We think of it as separate, because we like to romanticize
it
, but it really is just a basic, biological function in order to ensure the survival of the species
.” Jacob looked back at three faces that looked extremely uncomfortable. “Other basic functions are maternal instinct, a very powerful instinct, mind you. And a male’s instinct to protect. So no, I don’t think it’s far-fetched to believe that they are mating, procreating, and protecting the pregnant females. It actually makes perfect sense, from a biological perspective.”

The interior of the truck was silent for a long moment, everyone digesting this latest bit of bitter truth.

Torri looked distraught. “So what are we going to do if we find them?”

Harper pointed towards Jacob with his thumb. “That’s why I brought Jacob along with us. It’s his deal to catch one of ‘em, so that’s what we’re going to do. Captain Harden has reason to believe that the pregnant females might not be aggressive…”

“Yes, about that.” Jacob smiled, hesitantly. “We shouldn’t expect that. If they hold as true to biological nature as they’ve done in the past, then what we’ll see is the same thing we see in other pregnant females of the animal species. Namely, up until the point of giving birth, they will avoid a fight at all costs, but if you corner them, or get too close, they’ll definitely attack. This i
s true of almost every animal.
What we don’t want to do is enter a den where perhaps they have already given birth, because I believe we will find the females to be even more aggressive than the males in that situation.”

“You don’t think…” Harper took his eyes of the road for a moment. “But it’s only been four months since the outbreak!”

“Some of them could have been very pregnant when they were infected,” Jacob observed. “Whether or not they could maintain a viable pregnancy after that is
a point of speculation. Another thing to think about is the gestation period. We already know the plague causes massive increases to the metabolism, and that affects a whole slew of other biological functions, including aging. It’s possible that the gestati
on period grows shorter
.”

They drove the rest of the way in relative silence.

It was just after seven in the morning when they pulled up to the back
lo
t of Outpost Lillington. Harper ha
d radioed ahead the previous night to let them know they would be arriving in the morning, but still the sentry regarded them with suspicion. One of Old Man Hughes’ people, he believed. Harper rolled down the window and felt the cold wetness on his arm as he hung it out the window to display
his
yellow armband.

Still, the sentry approa
ched with caution, trying to pee
r through the rain-mottled windshield at who was inside. When he finally looked in the open window, he immediately recognized who he was dealing with.
His face became sharp and urgent.
“Mr. Harper! I’m glad you’re here. Something bad happened. I think some of our people got hurt. You’
ll have to talk to Prof
essor White.”

Well isn’t that just fucking dandy.
Harper pursed his lips. Always a goddamned emergency.

The sentry ran back and he and his partner pushed the car they used to barricade the entrance out of the way—Harper supposed they kept it in neutral so they could roll is back and forth with relative ease. When the car was clear of the little alley, Harper goosed the gas and trundled noisily into the parking lot where he parked in the center, angry and a little concerned, and not really worried about where he parked his truck.

He had barely put his boots to the muddy gravel ground by the time he heard someone shouting his name. He looked up and found Professor White running towards him, his face twisted in panic, and Old Man Hughes trailing closely behind. Unconsciously, Harper slid his hand onto the grip of his rifle.

“Harper! Harper!” Professor White wailed. “Thank God you’re here!”

Harper couldn’t help himself, the guy brought out the worst in him. He extended his hand swiftly and stopped the professor’s forward progress with a palm to his chest that nearly knocked him over. “Calm the fuck down, Professor.” Harper nodded politely to Old Man Hughes as he plodded up in his dirty overalls. “Now, what’s the problem? Why are you running up on me like that?”

The panic in
Professor White’s face
disappeared for the briefest of moments, and Harper saw a flash of irritation—and what was that, a bit of hatred?—before the needy fear reasserted itself.
He stammered to get the words out: “Four of our people were just kidnapped!”

“What?” Harper looked at Old Man Hughes like White had just spoken a foreign language, and the old man was going to translate it.

Hughes nodded. “Five of his kids went out to do some scavenging. One of them just came back, beat to a pulp. Said the other
four got jumped and kidnapped.”

Harper took a second to absorb this information, his eyes bouncing back and forth between Hughes and White. It appeared they were deadly serious. He turned to his pickup truck and handed the keys in to Nate. “You guys continue on without me. I’m gonna figure out what the hell is going on here.”

***

They were back at the high school by what Lee supposed was daybreak, although there was no definitive point in time when the sun shone through the dreary sheen of clouds. Deuce was willing
enough to climb in the Humvee
but when
everyone else began to pile in,
he retreated to the rear of the vehicle and hunkered down there for the ride.

T
hey rolled
slowly
through the break in the barriers that surrounded the
high school complex, and came
to a stop amid the dead bodies
and ravaged crates of supplies.
Lee stepped out, keeping his eyes on potential hiding places while he walked to the back of the Humvee and opened the rear hatch. Deuce was huddled there against the tailgate and tumbled out
as soon as
the fastback was open. He jogged a short distance away, taking occasional glances
back
towards Lee while his nose worked the air.

Lee watched him for a moment, but the dog didn’t seem to react to anything. “I think it’s all clear for now.” He patted the side of the Humvee and the others stepped out.

The drivers stayed
inside their Humvees
.

T
hey made their slow and
cautious
progress across the high school’s parking
lot
. The rain turned from a cloying mist to a drizzle
, and then tapered off again.
The Humvees
followed
behind
and
stopped short of the
jumbled collection of abandoned military equipment
. Lee and LaRouche jogged forward slightly, doing a quick sweep of the undercarriages and all around and behind the trucks before waving the two Humvees in.

The two LMTVs were desert tan in color, both equipped with cargo beds. Along either side of each bed were fold-down benches so that the 2.5-ton truck could serve as a troop transport, or carry cargo and equipment in its hold. The cab was a two-seater with a little more room on the interior than the Humvees.

The HEMTT was of a similar construct, but wider and longer,
and painted olive drab. In place of the cargo bed, there was a long
,
oval tank that extended the length of the machine from the cab on back. It was less than a commercial 18-wheeler would
carry, but still plenty of fuel
.

They flipped the switch in the diesel vehicles and crossed their fingers as they waited for the ignition light to go off. Maybe they waited longer than normal, or maybe it was just that the wait seemed interminable, but they rejoiced in a stroke of good luck when the little orange lights went off and a press of a button brought the big machines to life. Further inspection of the gauges
revealed that all three had more than a half a tank of fuel, and that the HEMTT’s tanker still contained three quarters of its payload.

They fueled the
ir
two Humvees, which were down to
less than
a quarter tank. Lee kept an eye on Deuce as he explored the
area with a relaxed familiarity
. He trotted around the perimeter, like a guard dog, constantly sniffing, his nose up high
,
testing the wind, then down low, searching the ground.

They split their nine people up into two man teams—a driver and a gunner—with the odd man out being Jim, who volunteered to drive the HEMTT, stating he had some experience driving bigger
vehicles
. In the Humvees, the extra passenger
would
man the gun
, and in the
LMTVs
he would simply ride shotgun with his rifle out the window. Lee would drive, and LaRouche would be on the gun
.
T
hey would take point. Julia volunteered to drive the other Hu
mvee, with Wilson in the turret.
T
hey would bring up the rear of the column. Jim in the HEMTT would
be
in the center of the convoy, with an LMTV and
a
Humvee
behind him and in front of him
.

It wasn’t ideal, but limited
manpower
demanded some sacrifices.

They loaded everyone up
and
managed to convince
Deuce
to get in Lee’s Humvee
again.
Then
they formed into their c
olumn and made for the exit
.
They left the high school behind them without spotting a single infected
, or any other suspicious person that might have been gunning for Lee the previous day
. The roads stretched before them, empty and abandoned, and apparently safe for passage.

In the rural area outside of Sanford
,
the scenery looked
like every other country road
in central North Carolina
—two-lane blacktop that had been neglected even before the collapse, with pot holes deepening, and the painted lines fading and cracking. Now, with no traffic to keep them down, weeds had grown in the cracks and the narrow grassy strip to either side had begun to encroach on the cement. Beyond that,
the forest ros
e up in gray streaks of timber.