The Undead Chronicles | Vol. 3 | Dead of Winter, page 3
part #3 of The Undead Chronicles Series
“There isn’t even a store here,” Molly stated as she tried the front door on the first house, finding it locked.
Now the rain began pouring, soaking them both instantly, despite Bryce wearing a green slicker he’d found in another town. He and Molly carried a practical wardrobe with them in small suitcases, preparing them for each inevitable weather situation.
Bryce tried the front door on the second house, finding it locked as well.
“What the hell?”
Molly walked ahead, finding the third house accessible, turning the knob and beginning to take a step inside.
“Wait,” Bryce said loudly enough that his voice carried over the pouring rain.
“What?”
“Clear it first,” he said, just as anxious to escape the elements, but not willing to throw caution to the wind.
Molly knocked on the door frame several times, staying put and listening for activity as Bryce took her side. He pulled out a flashlight, aiming the beam inside after switching it on, finding much of the furniture piled to one side.
“Well, that’s odd,” he stated.
“Definitely.”
“Watch for traps,” Bryce said as he purposely stepped inside first, shining his light at the floor.
He didn’t consider the house an ideal place to stay almost immediately because the ceiling had begun to collapse, the walls were stained with several holes in various places, and the floors appeared messy. He questioned whether the house was condemned before the apocalypse, because even as an overnight squatter, he’d never perpetrated such destruction in any house.
Odors of fecal matter and urine reached his nose, and seemingly Molly’s as well, because she winced when they reached the halfway point in the first room.
“Maybe it’s time to break down a door,” Bryce proclaimed as they turned to exit the way they came, finding several undead stumbling around near their car.
Both reached for their knives, opting to deal with their slow adversaries quietly. Bryce kicked one against the car before thrusting his blade into its skull, while Molly clasped a male zombie dressed in street clothes by the throat, holding it back at a safe distance before stabbing it through the left eye. After several days in an undead state, their skulls began to soften just enough that blades penetrated them with far less effort.
Molly managed to pull the knife free before the zombie slumped to the ground, turning to face Bryce. Walking in unison, they approached the fourth house in the line and tried the front door, finding it open and far more accommodating inside.
“At least it doesn’t smell like shit,” Molly commented as she stepped inside, using her flashlight to illuminate the main room of the ranch style house.
After a few minutes, they cleared the house and shut the front door, leaving the downpour outside.
“It’s been a few days,” Molly said as they rummaged through the kitchen cupboards for food and supplies. “We need to lay eyes on Fournier.”
Bryce didn’t like getting too close to the man, for fear he might spot them and alter his course purposely. Even so, he understood they needed to make certain Fournier hadn’t caught on to them and placed the tracker on someone else, or a zombie. He might have left his pants somewhere, only to have them picked up by a different survivor. Any number of issues might lead them into danger for no reason, and Bryce could simply return to Virginia if his quest suddenly ended.
“We aren’t far behind,” Bryce said, finding a few canned goods and some boxed food inside one cupboard. “We’ll make up some miles and see if we can spot him around dusk.”
“I’m not trying to back out of this partnership, but the odds of us tracking him to some secret bunker are pretty slim.”
“How so?”
“So many things can happen to this guy, or your tracking device, along the way. I hope what’s left of our government has some kind of backup plan.”
“I’m not sure they do,” Bryce said, stuffing his finds into a backpack he’d picked up in a house a few days prior. “I wasn’t privy to whatever information they located on the hard drives we confiscated. If they even found anything.”
Both of them froze in their tracks when the sound of an approaching vehicle entering the neighborhood reached their ears. Days often passed without them encountering another human being, and the risky proposition of speaking with other survivors often weighed on their minds. Neither felt overly concerned until the vehicle stopped near the house they were currently exploring, and the motor continued to run. To Bryce, the motor sounded like a diesel pickup truck, possibly the kind farmers once drove, and now troublesome people tended to pick from the vast selection of four-wheeled transportation.
Without uttering a word, Bryce pointed to a nearby closet where he and Molly stowed themselves momentarily while the vehicle parked outside, continuing to run. Bryce and Molly breathed only when necessary, and for his part, Bryce felt guilty, as though someone outside of the house might hear him breathing and discover his location. As a rule, no one searched closets when entering a house, so he felt reasonably safe.
He heard a door open from the truck, and a few footsteps followed that, sounding rather loud, like some sort of boots. Barely audible through the rain and the open front door of the house, the noise concerned Bryce, because he didn’t particularly want to shoot someone when Fournier remained his primary concern. Apparently, the driver, or passenger, of the truck found little of interest, because the person returned to the vehicle and it drove away a few seconds later, allowing them sighs of relief.
Neither spoke a word, but the sensation of danger, coupled with their close proximity, drew them an inch or two closer before Bryce opened the door, releasing them from the confines of the tiny space. He walked to the front door, checking to make certain the truck had moved along, seeing and hearing no sign of it.
“That can’t be good,” Molly said, joining him at the door.
“They might have spotted our car and stopped for a look.”
“In that case, we should get moving.”
“Yeah,” Bryce agreed.
A few minutes later they cautiously stepped outside, hearing the truck in the distance moving slowly along a parallel street.
“They must be looking for something,” Bryce commented, assuming the driver’s seat.
Over the course of the past week, he and Molly had collected a number of firearms and boxes of ammunition during the times they stopped to raid homes or businesses. He felt confident that shooting the front of any truck with a shotgun would disable it, hoping to avoid any shootouts with random strangers.
Although they managed to leave town without encountering the person or people inside the truck, the close call reminded Bryce that he wasn’t the only person on the road, and other people could impede his mission to track Fournier. He also knew the lengths he would go to just to ensure his mission didn’t fail.
Later that evening, the heavy rain let up to a steady drizzle when they stopped half a mile short of where the red beacon led them on the tracking device.
“See him?” Molly asked as Bryce peered through a set of binoculars at a house down the road where a red Mazda car of some kind was parked.
Fournier opted to take a state highway, rather than the occasionally impassible interstate, which suited the lieutenant commander just fine. Bryce found a small hill just high enough to overlook the houses while providing cover.
“Not yet,” Bryce answered. “I think he went inside. He might be holing up for the night.”
Based on the red dot’s movement on the screen, the pair knew Fournier must have been driving, and not walking, which indicated he, or whoever wore the pants with the tracking device, was indeed alive.
“When we finally get answers about Fournier what the hell are we going to do with the information?” Molly asked.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean neither of us is a pilot, we don’t have a sat phone, and the postal service isn’t exactly operating these days. It could take a month or more to get any information back to Virginia.”
“I have some ideas about that. We may still have some allies in New York who can help.”
Molly was about to inquire further about his statement, but both heard the sound of a vehicle approaching. Bryce felt certain the truck that stopped outside of the town they scavenged took the same route, because the engine sounded much the same. He didn’t feel as though they were followed, because they had been settled into their position for nearly half an hour. He did question, however, if someone in the truck knew Fournier, or put him at risk, which endangered everything Bryce wanted to accomplish at the moment.
Fournier hadn’t been stupid enough to leave a vehicle parked out front, so if the truck parked at his location, he likely knew the person, or possessed the worst luck known to man.
Feeling his body tense, Bryce stared through the binoculars, hoping the truck simply passed by, alleviating both of his potential concerns. It slowed down, as though the driver was looking at the houses, possibly for somewhere to bed down for the night.
“What the fuck do they want?” Molly questioned aloud.
“Hard telling. We can’t have them hurting Fournier, though.”
“Helping the man out would pretty much ransack our stealthy efforts.”
“A dead Fournier is no use to us. We’d have to switch to Plan B at that point.”
Both watched momentarily as the truck’s brake lights went dim and the truck moved down the road. Bryce remained concerned that they hadn’t laid eyes on the man since their arrival, but a few minutes later, Fournier poked his head out the front door, like a groundhog making certain every predator had left the area.
“Our target is alive,” Bryce said, handing Molly the binoculars.
“Let’s hope he stays that way.”
“Well, now that we’ve verified Fournier’s well-being, it’s time for us to find shelter.”
“Those houses a few miles back looked decent.”
Bryce groaned, knowing that checking a house for zombie activity after dark wasn’t an ideal situation. Sleeping outside felt less appealing, so he stood from his spot on the hill, remaining hunched so Fournier didn’t spot his silhouette if he nervously peered through a window.
“I’m sure you remember how brisk autumn in New York can be,” Molly said. “Any shelter is good shelter if it gets close to freezing, because we aren’t that far removed from the Great Lakes yet.”
“Oh, I recall,” Bryce said with a sigh, thinking back to what seemed like mountains of snow in the Buffalo area during his childhood. “Let’s hope Ohio is accommodating during our housing search. We’ll fall back tomorrow and track Fournier from a distance while we start getting winter supplies.”
“We need a hybrid,” Molly suggested, “so we don’t have to keep switching vehicles.”
“We’re going to need a snowplow before long. Hopefully Fournier doesn’t drag out this little adventure too much longer. I’d like to get south before the lake effect snow hits.”
Molly grinned.
“In that case, you’d better hope he’s heading to Indiana, or we’re going to be adding snowshoes to our shopping list.”
Three
Dan Metzger couldn’t believe he was standing beside virtually everyone he cared about at one time. When he left his friends to stay on a military base with his brother, he figured his chances of seeing them again were remote at best.
Unfortunately, time wasn’t on his side, because he’d left the base with his sister-in-law, nephew, and a Navy captain who agreed to fly them to New York to find his brother. Colby Sutton, an ally from his former group, coaxed him into leaving before Isabella, his sister-in-law talked him into fleeing the base for a different reason.
Because Metzger remained under the watchful eye of military personnel at all times, they didn’t exactly walk through the front gate with the blessing of the military brass.
Now the two reunited factions stood in the middle of a highway, mere miles from the Navy base Metzger chose to leave behind.
“Where’s Juan?” he asked aside to Jillian Varitek, who stood beside him.
“We ran into a group,” she replied. “He didn’t make it.”
Metzger hated hearing that one of the people who helped him survive the trek from New York to the base in Norfolk, Virginia hadn’t survived. He’d already seen what the current worldly situation did to the living, either taking their lives, or transforming them into monsters. He felt lucky to have found a group of good people who leaned towards mercy and compassion, though they weren’t afraid to do battle with anyone who threatened their lives.
“I hate to break this up,” Scott Timmons said, taking Metzger’s side. “It won’t be long before the guards realize you’re gone, so we need to form a plan and keep moving.”
Metzger realized his straightforward plan suddenly became more complicated. Sutton wanted him out of the base to help mend fences, because Sutton had gotten himself excommunicated from the group. Isabella and Timmons wanted to fly him to New York to search for his brother, which immediately became his personal priority. He still wasn’t convinced, like Isabella, that Bryce might still be alive, but it wasn’t as simple as picking up a phone to find out.
“Sounds like we’re parting ways again,” Sutton said, somewhat deflated. “I have to keep looking for my boys.”
Jillian didn’t speak a word, but Metzger could tell she was still fuming over whatever rift he created between them. To hear Sutton tell the tale, he hadn’t committed a heinous crime against humanity, but Metzger knew the man acted abrasively at the worst of times. His decisions sometimes saved the group, and almost nearly as often led them into hazardous situations.
“I have to put my family first as well,” Metzger said to everyone around him. “And, unfortunately, that means we have to travel light on our way to New York.”
“You’re going back there?” Gracine Tucker asked, not bothering to hide her surprise.
“I don’t have much choice,” Metzger replied. “My brother didn’t come back from a mission up there, and we have to find him.”
“A lot’s happened in two weeks, apparently.”
Metzger forced a grin.
“More than you know.”
He turned his attention to Jillian.
“Do you want to come with us?”
She glanced at the group, obviously torn about parting ways with them, but she couldn’t stand the thought of traveling with Sutton, or forcing the group to take sides.
“Yes,” Jillian answered before turning to the others. “I wish you all the best in your travels, and hopefully we’ll meet up again.”
“We will,” Metzger said assuredly. “Do you still have the sat phone I left you?”
“Yes,” Jillian answered before digging in her pack and producing the phone Metzger found shortly after the apocalypse at the home of his parents.
“Take this,” Metzger said, tossing it to Sutton. “I found another one, so this way we can keep in touch.”
“Him?” Jillian questioned, openly unhappy regarding his choice of a responsible party to carry the phone.
“If anyone’s going to survive, it’s him,” Metzger answered just above a whisper.
“You know the number?” Sutton questioned.
“I’ve got it memorized. Just keep everyone else safe until we get back.”
Sutton nodded, his dog Buster taking his side, wagging his tail and looking happy to be around so many friendly humans.
“I have to admit, I was expecting more of a happy reunion if we found one another,” Luke Johnson said.
He stood beside his adopted daughter, Samantha, who appeared a bit sad that the adults were parting ways almost immediately.
“We’ll be back,” Metzger promised. “We’re going to find Bryce, and hopefully we’ll get some answers about that douchebag Fournier.”
“Who?” Luke questioned.
“The guy who tried to run us down at the airport in Lancaster.”
“He’s alive?”
“Not only that, but he’s tied in with the guy who started the apocalypse.”
“All the more reason to hate him,” Sutton stated.
Timmons cleared his throat, indicating their short conference in the middle of a highway needed to wrap up soon.
“We really have to go,” Metzger said to everyone before him. “You guys need to make yourselves scarce as well, because the military will surely be on the warpath.”
“Why?” Gracine asked. “What did you do?”
“It’s not what he did,” Isabella said. “It’s what they want from him.”
“Which is, exactly?” Metzger asked, because a sequence of events had kept her from disclosing the full truth about his use to the military, and why she believed his brother was still alive.
“We’re among friends, obviously,” Isabella said, clapping her left hand into her right. “You and Bryce both have immunity to whatever virus turns the rest of us into the undead.”
“What?” Metzger asked incredulously, knowing in the back of his mind his blood might hold some importance, but never suspecting full immunity to the contagion.
Everyone else appeared stunned as well.
“He could hold a cure to what’s going on out there and you’re whisking him away?” Luke asked, directing his question at Isabella.
“There’s no cure once you turn,” Isabella answered. “They were working on a vaccine to slow or stop the disease altogether once someone was bitten.”
She opened a pouch and produced several vials, handing two of them to Gracine, who stood the closest to her from the faction that wouldn’t be traveling to New York. Gracine accepted them, eyeing them momentarily before placing them in a bag already lined with a few clothing items.
