The Survivors: Book One (6 page)

Fifteen minutes later, the snow had become blinding, travel through it no longer possible on foot. Sam broke into a house set behind a thick row of trees - her hands, feet, and face burning. She grabbed a bag of treasures from the home: blankets, a man’s heavy trench coat, a pair of shoes, and a loaf of bread with only a little mold on it. Tempted to stay and enjoy some of the old comforts, she made her feet take her instead to the small tool shed behind the house. Being a girl scout had saved her life more than once in the days since the War had come and blown away everything she knew.

The shed held a small, green riding mower and three bales of inviting hay, and after putting her things inside, she opened the window and went back out into the cold. It was a struggle to close the door and lock it, the gusting wind pulling it from her numb fingers, and she tried to hurry, looking over her shoulder before climbing back into the window. Enough time had gone by for Melvin to have gotten free and started after her, and he would have his rage to drive him through the storm.

Sam closed the window, hanging her wet shirt over it, and wasn’t afraid of the pitch-blackness or the unfamiliar room. Her terror walked on two legs and she was very glad to be out of sight. She planned to lay low for a few days, then continue her solitary journey south, the Cheyenne Mountain complex housing NORAD now her goal. There was no way the compound had been breached. That bunker housed the President, the Joint Chiefs, and of course, all the records of those with a pass. All she had to do was get there.

Sam made a bed in the warm, scratchy hay and after two peanut butter sandwiches and the icy Diet Coke, she dozed. Covered in blankets and stiff garden bedding, she held a long kitchen knife tight in her grip.

4

Melvin didn’t find a knife, hadn’t thought to check his dead brother’s boots, and the wind-blown snow covered him in a very short time. His body temperature dropped steadily.

Just before dawn, as death arrived, the painter was dreaming of falling into the icy pond behind their childhood home in southern Michigan. The frigid water was suffocating, no Henry there to pull him out this time, and as his heart stopped beating in the dream, Melvin went into cardiac arrest under six inches of drifting snow. He never woke, getting off easier than he deserve. During sleep was one of the kinder ways to die in this harsh new world.

Chapter Three

January 6
^th
, 2013

Outside Williamsburg, New Mexico

1

“Who’s in here?"

The call held equal amounts of control and command, and it carried easily to the 14-year-old boy huddled miserably under the far bunk of the abandoned barracks. The teenager had been here since the War and the evacuations, and to him, it seemed like a very long time.

Moving cautiously, the Lance Corporal stepped into the oval, dorm-style room, sharp eyes going over empty footlockers, their contents scattered. Someone had been looking for food. Had he found any?

Stopping near the middle of the 30-bunk aisle, the Marine saw grit and sand, but no footprints or signs of recent life. Was he too late then? The base was mostly empty, looted. Only a few had been left behind, overlooked, or escaped being dragged below ground. He had seen some of those and was hoping the boy was one of them.

“Come on out. That’s an order!"

LC Kenn Harrison winced as the sharp tones bounced back at him from the thin walls, and his hand dropped to the nine-mill on his hip. Instinct said he wasn’t alone in the barracks.

“Charlie?” Kenn called the name as if they were at home, ignoring the gunshots still going on outside the base, and was rewarded with a small shuffling noise that made him tighten the control over his emotions. He had been sure the boy would be gone - had been forced onto one of the evacuation choppers.

The Marine slowly moved to the end of the aisle, preparing himself to react, as he read the heavy waves of the person.
Desperation… and fear.

“Come on out." Kenn forced himself to be patient. He would not have been in the past, couldn’t, but the War had already begun to retrain him with things like compassion and understanding. He watched two filthy hands emerge from under the bunk on his right. Kenn grinned, freeing his relief. The boy was here! He was alive! He was... hurt? Was that blood trickling from his ears and
Oh God! Where were his eyes?

“Sir?" The boy’s bloody, gaping eye sockets stared around, oozing crimson streams. The Marine automatically lunged forward to catch him when he stumbled, fell.

“Want... my... Mommy, Sir!" the dying child gasped, splattering them both with red droplets as he struggled to breathe. “… Mommy!"

Lance Corporal Kenneth Harrison snapped awake with a startled gasp. His eyes went to the boy who was laying close by, looking back with alarm.
It was okay.
He’d found the child in time.

Kenn began to calm his breathing. It had taken him two full days to search, the smart boy moving to empty buildings to avoid being taken, and he was still feeling the effects. The nightmare was a nasty reminder of the fear and hopelessness he’d felt when the chopper crashed into the officer’s dorm in front of him.

The darkness around them was absolute, their thick, black tent blending in well with the wet, New Mexico landscape, and that unwelcome sense of danger flared. When Charlie started to speak, Kenn shook his head, senses switching to full alert as he listened. Light rain drummed on the tarps over the truck, wind howling through the junipers around them…had that been a twig snapping?

Kenn quietly drew his M9, straining to see anything from the spyhole he had left when they made camp in the thick grove of
piñon
trees. They were too well hidden. No way was someone out there watching them, no way. He slid his wrist under the blankets to block the light, and checked the alarm console on his watch. It was armed and unbroken.

Kenn slowly settled back down. An animal? He kept his gun in-hand just in case it was the two-legged kind. Light, freezing rain thumped on the bare branches, the tent, the shed they were behind, the tarp-covered vehicle, and sleep called, seducing…

Lightning flashed, bright enough to illuminate the tent, and then there was only darkness and the heavy patter of the rain again. Kenn started to drift off while waiting for the inevitable crack of thunder.

Crunch.

Kkaaaabbbbaaammm!

Kenn’s eyes snapped open, moving to the scared teenager’s face in the darkness. Someone was out there.

Snap!

Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.

There was an alarm for each breach, telling the Marine how many ambushers they had.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

The two males moved instantly, following the plan worked out before leaving the base ten days ago.
 
Kenn slit a long gash in the tent wall and then the thick, black tarp over the MRAP. The boy immediately began sliding their things inside, staying low in case gunfire broke out.

Footsteps came and the Marine inside took over, evaluating the threat and picking the proper action in seconds. Not rushing, but sneaking, if they were unaware of breaking a perimeter alarm, then they were not professionals….

Snap!

Moving fast instead of careful, the soft murmur of voices instead of the silence of hand signals….Kenn’s lip curled.
Boots
8
- they still had a chance.

Kenn waved the boy into the truck’s floorboard and quickly got in behind him, adrenaline was flowing in thick waves. Charlie started the engine without being told, and Kenn brought his M16 out as bright red lightning flashed in the far distance.

“They still have the truck!”

“Move in!”

“Get the boy! He’s what we want!”

Recognition came, and Kenn grinned coolly, kneeling in the seat. The tail from Ft. Defiance he’d thought they’d lost a week ago - seven moving targets in the darkness. No problem.

“You’ll have to take this instead," Kenn said as he rose up, throwing off the tarp. He fired twice, following their steps with his well-trained ears.

Charlie held the brake down with his palm and shifted them smoothly into drive, sticking to the set plan.

Men grunted, fired back in the wet, cold darkness, and the Marine slid back down.

Charlie hit the gas. The truck's tires spun, fishtailing on a patch of ice as it lunged forward, spraying mud and clumps of locoweed.

“Get the bikes! We need his blood!”

“Shoot him!"

All of the men’s eyes were vivid in the dark, not right when the lightning and gun flash illuminated them, and their movements were jerky. Desperation made them reckless and they openly charged the truck.

“Now, boy!”

Charlie slammed both hands onto the brake. As they slid to a wet, muddy stop, Kenn used the enemy’s noises to pinpoint their locations - the ploy drawing them out.

The Marine fired. Five more deadly shots in the darkness, and then there was only the quiet engine and the damp, cold wind howling by them and the adobe buildings in the distance.

“Boo-yah, baby!”

“Are they dead?”

The boy's tone wasn’t exactly calm, but Kenn was impressed with the control he had shown during the assault - his first. The Marine put it in park as the teenager moved to the passenger seat.

“Give us some light and we’ll find out," Kenn said, knowing they were. Each of them was a kill shot, but he was eager for even the boy’s approval, since there was no one else around. He was alone with the often-sullen teenager, protecting them both without doing without the attention and respect he craved. He would take what he could get.

The cadet used one of the umbrella torches they’d made before leaving the base, the glass tops giving each of the three small candles on the thin wooden board a small shelter from the elements. He held it high, taking it all in.

Kenn’s sharp eyes went over what there was to see around them. Shrubs, junipers, patches of mud, huge tire busters he would be careful to avoid, and darkness - more of that than anything else.

Stomach uneasy, but eyes wide with respect, the boy looked at the battlefield with equal amounts of comfort and guilt. The seven bodies lay in two half circles, each one a clean shot through dirty camouflage uniforms and black ski masks. Considering the darkness Kenn had been shooting through, it was amazing to Charlie. Not one miss.

After a moment, Kenn sat down on the wet, hard seat, motioning for the boy to put out the light.

“We takin' their stuff?”

“No. See the sores? They’re sick. We’ll hit the redline, make another click or two, then doze for a bit.”

“They wanted me? That’s why they’ve been following us?”

Kenn saw no reason to lie as he pulled up his hood, indicated that the child do the same. Both males heard a distant dog barking miserably, but ignored it as just another starving pet still chained in someone’s backyard.

“Yes. Probably thought your blood would heal them. Crazy shit now, and women and kids are big targets. Stay close. It’ll just get worse."

The drab truck ran out of gas an hour later, and while Kenn was sad to see it go, he knew they’d been lucky to find it at all. He still wasn’t sure why the EMPs hadn’t knocked it out too, but assumed it had something to do with where it had been parked. The electro-magnetic pulses didn’t seem to have traveled well through lead.

Kenn steered the coasting vehicle deep into a thicket of
piñon
s, glad to see the sky was beginning to lighten. The rain fell steadily, the woods dark, twisted shapes alongside the faint gray path of concrete as the two Marines loaded their things.

“All right, just like we talked about - never more than three feet away in any direction. Got it?”

Charlie nodded, still thinking about the battle that Kenn’s military mind had already forgotten - it had been justified, nothing to worry over. The boy’s heart wasn’t so clear, but he kept his mouth shut. Kenn was not his mother and he would not understand.

2

As they entered the city limits of Williamsburg, New Mexico, the sky lightened enough to really see, and the two males had too much time to dwell on each horribly vivid detail. There had never been a time for either of them (or the rest of the country) when even a single dead body had been left to decay on an American sidewalk or street. Now there were hundreds, thousands amid horrifically gruesome Christmas decorations, and if not for the constant gusts of wind, the smells would have been unbearable, even during winter.

It seemed like every business and home they passed had been destroyed or damaged, most with doors that had been kicked in. Almost nothing they passed was safe to take shelter in. That was another lesson they’d learned after Charlie had almost been stung by a scorpion when he picked up his canteen for a metallic-tasting drink of piss-warm water. They now watched out for little track marks in the dust: the indents telling them that snakes, scorpions, or spiders had taken over another of Man’s abandoned houses, driven up out of the ground months before they should have emerged. Most of these places would remain theirs forever. There weren’t enough people left to drive them out.