The Dead Years (Volume 8) Page 3

  “Didn’t you hear what I said? Turn it off and give me the keys.”

  William stood with both feet firmly placed on the asphalt still behind the open door. “Yes, I heard you the first time. I don’t want any trouble, I just need to pass.”

  “Well my friend that is where we’ll have an issue. My truck is having a few problems and I’m gonna need your vehicle.” Turning to his friend he continued, “Isn’t that right Erik?”

  The man in the back of the truck, now identified as Erik, finally spoke as he leapt out of the truck bed and moved in to check on their hostage strapped to the hood. “Tom quit screwing around, just take what we need from this guy and let’s go.”

  His nerves ready to explode, William steadied himself against the door as the engine continued to idle. “Hey, I got some supplies and I can give you some…”

  Tom stepped to the SUV and now stood less than twelve inches from William. “Let me explain something,” Raising the gun to the door and taping it on the frame only inches from William’s head. “You either do exactly what I ask or I blow your brain through the back of your skull. I don’t really want to do it in MY new ride here, although I will. Step out… now!”

  Gripping the cold steel of the door frame wet with condensation, William slowly shifted his weight onto his trailing leg. “Listen, you guys need to just…”

  “That’s it, I gave you a chance and you choose door number two.” Shifting his hand over the handle and his finger over the trigger, Tom dropped the barrel against the door and released hell.

  At the same instant William pushed forward, sending Tom back onto his heels. The brilliant muzzle flash and concussion sprayed glass and tiny shards of metal skyward, the bulk of which narrowly missed making direct contact with William’s face. The remaining flecks of super-heated metal glanced off his left temple as he faded to the right and ducked into the space between the door and the SUV. The side of his head felt as if he’d shoved it into a boiling pot of water, brushing at it with his hand only exacerbated the pain.

  As Tom righted himself, William leaned back into the cabin placing his feet against the door and kicked forward sending his aggressor to his back and the shotgun to the asphalt. His ears buzzed so loudly that as he stood to move away from the vehicle, the ground below seemed to sway with each step. Blinking through the pain, he rubbed at his left ear and shook his head.

  Erik moved in quickly to help his friend to his feet as William picked up the shotgun, his world still spinning out of control. He hoped his aggressors wouldn’t catch on to his current state as double vision would be the last of his concerns if they pressed on.

  “Listen,” William said. “I wasn’t looking for any trouble… I offered my help although that’s no longer an option.” He checked the weapon, although he knew by their reaction that one round still remained in the barrel. Leveling the weapon in their direction he moved to within three feet. “Get up.” Neither man moved.

  William backed toward the rear of the SUV as the two men moved in the opposite direction. “Have it your way guys,” William said. Reaching into the rear compartment, William withdrew a pair of bolt cutters and started for their truck.

  “Not gonna do you any good, the truck is outta gas,” Tom said.

  William didn’t respond. He moved to the front of the pickup, set the shotgun next to the driver’s door and cut the cord binding the Feeder’s waist to the bumper. This appeared to agitate the creature, bringing it back to life. He turned to the two men standing only feet away and said, “I’ll give you a ten second head start. Get going.”

  “Wait, what are you…”

  William turned toward the passenger side and cut the rope binding its right wrist as the Feeder struggled to get to its feet. “You have about three seconds,” William said as he turned to see that they still hadn’t moved. Rounding the truck quickly, he kept one eye on the shotgun. Cutting the last tie that bound the beast to the truck, he backed into the road. Dropping the bolt cutters, William watched as it got to its feet and started toward the men. “GO… GO NOW!”

  Focusing on the patch of roadway just in front of the two men, William fired the last round in the chamber, sending buckshot and asphalt into the men. Tom collapsed to the ground as the Feeder approached. Assured the weapon was now empty; he tossed it into the thick underbrush at the side of the road and slid back into the SUV.

  Using the shoulder to pass, William watched as the scene in his rearview slowly faded from the red illuminated glow into complete darkness as his tail lights relented to the evening sky.

  6

  The thought of accepting that those two women trapped in the helicopter were torn apart while he stood feet away was not something he was ready to do. Not today, maybe not ever. This world hadn’t changed him. It simply amplified who he was. He repeatedly attempted to redeem himself for the mistakes he’d made, most recently with this group. Randy questioned everything, sending Trina out into hell all on her own, the decision he made that cost Adam his life, not taking action earlier to avoid Karen’s death. Could he have saved Justin if he’d acted sooner? He couldn’t justify any of this. He told himself he was no good for this group and once before wanted to leave. He now knew he had to.

  Leaning against the rear wall of Building One, he scanned the grounds as night came down around the facility. The familiar crank of metal on metal told him Goodwin was about to vacate Blackmore. Randy pushed away and keeping low, ran to the rear wall as Goodwin and what was left of his team began boarding the chopper. Among the downed Feeders and the few fallen men Goodwin was about to leave behind, Randy spotted a weapon not twenty feet away. There wasn’t much chance he’d change the outcome of the day’s events, although he was willing to give it a shot.

  The pilot as well as Dalton and the other men stood near the open door of the chopper and were listening to directions barked by Goodwin over the whirl of the blades. With their attention momentarily diverted, Randy sprinted for the weapon. Focused on the other end of the yard, he narrowly avoided slamming into Travis, who’d been hidden in the trees since Mason left his side. Snagging the TEC-9 semi-automatic handgun obviously left behind by the Goodwin’s fallen soldier just feet away, Randy held his finger to his lips and motioned for Travis to follow him back to the wall.

  As he expected, their movement caught the attention of the men near Goodwin’s helicopter and in racing back to the wall, they were chased by a barrage of gunfire. Randy crossed into the rear yard, narrowly avoiding harm and bringing up the rear. Travis was caught just before he came in behind Randy. Taking a round to the right shoulder, Travis’s body twisted violently to the left and slammed hard into the grass, although he retained a firm grip on his weapon. Randy dropped to a knee and turned to assess the danger heading their way.

  . . .

  At Goodwin’s command, his men tore across the field. Weapons sighted and headed for the opening in the wall. The remaining pair moved as a unit toward their target. Underbrush tossed into the air by the spinning blades, the men hurried through the damp field without a wasted step between the two, intent on complete destruction. For the first time today, their actions caused Goodwin to smile. “TAKE THEM OUT, ALL OF THEM THIS TIME!” He yelled above the spinning rotors.

  Sitting in the doorway, navigating through the video feeds within Blackmore, Dalton turned his attention to his boss. “Mr. Goodwin sir, were you aware that they had a young boy inside Building One who’d been bitten, but hadn’t yet changed? It appears they were trying to bring him back.”

  “That is of no concern to me, also not even remotely possible without the antigen. With Lockwood gone, this generation will never see a cure. If it were possible, I would have been the one to bring it to the world before today.”

  “Sir, the video shows…”

  “Dalton, remember your place here boy. Everything you need to know I’ll tell you. Now, those men may need your assistance. Get over there and do what you can to help.”

  “Mr. Goodwin, I don
’t have a weapon or the proper training to even begin to help. I’ll just be in the way. You hired me to…”

  “The world has changed and so have our needs. If you think you can survive in this hell without learning to be a man, you’ve got more than a few problems ahead of you.” Handing Dalton the pistol he’d just executed his former business partner with, Goodwin pointed to Blackmore. “Go... prove to me that I shouldn’t shoot you where you stand.”

  The lump in his throat began to solidify as he watched the pair of soldiers descend on the rear wall and into the darkness. His breathing shallow and fast, Dalton turned to Goodwin, slid the tablet into his coat and reluctantly accepted the handgun.

  . . .

  With the two men rapidly approaching on the opposite side of the wall, there wasn’t time for indecision. Randy smashed his fist into the ground, started for Travis and was instantly pushed back into his spot. Muzzle flash out of the corner of his eye followed by multiple rounds exploding along the landscape and into the block wall, he was forced to stay put. Randy cursed himself for not reacting sooner and leaving the kid out there alone. “TRAVIS, GET UP NOW! THEY’RE COMING”!

  Travis lay on his side, centered between the two walls, where the gates would normally come together. Through the darkness, the only thing that stirred in the area was the steam rising from his body. He hadn’t moved since coming down face first and didn’t appear to hear Randy’s request.

  Releasing the extended magazine from the TEC-9, Randy held it skyward, pleased to see that it still housed over thirty rounds. The helicopter’s flood lamps blasted to life, blanketing the terrain in a brilliant glow that found its way to the treeline, revealing the de facto graveyard for hundreds of Feeders that once occupied Building Six of Blackmore. The pair of men cast shadows that extended into the courtyard as Randy slid quietly against the six foot block wall.

  Only twenty feet separating them, Randy chose to back into the darkness afforded by this side of the wall and use the only thing at his disposal. The men would figure he’d rushed back into the building in an effort to avoid the same fate as Travis, who they now stood over. As Dalton approached, out of breath, doubled over and dry heaving, the others shouted obscenities at him. The larger of the two turned his attention from Travis and pushed Dalton to the ground. He struggled to get to his feet as Travis rolled onto his back, and to the surprise of all three men as well as Randy, he squeezed off nine rounds, wincing in pain as the weapon bucked with each shot.

  As the slide locked in the empty position; Travis dug his heels into the soft grass and pushed backward, sliding away from the two soldiers he’d just drained his nine-millimeter into. Attempting to roll onto his good side and stand, he was reminded of why he was down in the first place. The vibration of white noise moving into his ears was followed by his slowly fading vision as he fought to remain conscious. The bullet entered just below his shoulder, although no exit wound was evident. His began to lose sensation along the right side of his body as he spat a mouthful of blood and tried to calm his breathing.

  The realization washed over Travis like a warm wet blanket. The round he took minutes ago was lodged somewhere deep within his chest cavity. He could feel death beginning to take hold.

  7

  He had to force himself to remain still through the intermittent gunfire and remember that his main priority was the women in this room. Separate video feeds randomly blinked to life across the multiple monitors, before seconds later flickering into grey static. The images were neither logical nor were they coherent. Whatever opened Blackmore to the rest of the world must have also disrupted its entire security system. Images appeared from the first moment the group touched down in the courtyard and then as if going back in time, the feed transitioned to the first day of the outbreak two weeks before. Mason watched as Major Daniels entered the facility that day and amid the chaos, saved the lives of six of his staff members holed up in the Command Center.

  Much of what played out before his eyes convinced him that although he’d seen the faces of hell multiple times in the past two weeks; the people who lived and died at this facility had witnessed atrocities much worse than anything outside these walls. The Feeders that ran through this place within the first few days of the infection not only attacked humans, but also at times each other. They seemed to be cognizant of one another and appeared to become more self-aware as the days passed. In one of the clips from what looked to be Building Six, a group of four Feeders deliberately cornered one of the larger beasts and systematically eliminated the more dominant creature.

  “These things were actually capable of thought,” Mason said under his breath.

  Shaking free from this realization, Mason was startled by the last monitor on the left. His son, back in the room with Tessa, stood on his own two feet. He turned to April, still silently rocking back and forth in her mother’s arms and then back to the monitor. Tears began to run down his face as the video ended with the door to The Cage opening and Justin stepping out. Mason raced to the large window at the end of the Command Center, and craning his neck could make out that the door was still open, although nothing beyond that was visible. “April…”

  She remained silent.

  “April… Where is our son?”

  . . .

  The two lane mountain road had long since become a single lane and was only partially paved as it shifted into the higher elevations and dense forest. Thirty foot spruce and pine trees lined the shoulder as the road narrowed, pushing him forward. The GPS sitting atop the dash was now just a blank screen. The flashing red light had vanished altogether within the last few minutes, although he had a general idea of where it was originating. Each time the pavement ran into dirt, William feared the trail would end. Engaging the external trail lights rectified the situation, if only temporarily. One hundred feet ahead, a small structure positioned beside a gargantuan entrance gate came into view. “Mason I’m here.”

  Pulling to a stop, William extinguished all interior and exterior lights. He let the engine quietly idle as he set the parking brake and reached into the rear compartment, fishing through the multiple bags of gear before finally withdrawing the night vision scope. Sliding back into the driver’s seat, he powered up the scope and clearly made out the single placard positioned dead center on the gate.

  BLACKMORE RESEARCH FACILITY

  His friends were here, although their current condition was anyone’s guess. He must have been at least six hours behind them and with what he’d seen earlier today, he prayed it wasn’t for naught. The helicopter Mason and the others left the airfield in was just barely visible above the gate at this distance. The surrounding tree cover, obviously tortured as they put down just inside the gate offered a grim scenario of their early moments here. Why this place? How’d they find it? Are they even still here? Blackmore hadn’t appeared on his GPS as a location even from the start, although William was certain this wasn’t an accident.

  Pulling the scope away, a dim grey outlined figure moved in and out of view before he could get a handle on what exactly he’d seen. It was too slow to be an animal, and far too fast to be human, especially moving in complete darkness. Recalibrating the scope, William followed the path the figure took and as the image came into view, he dropped the scope into his lap and peered through the few shards of glass still clinging to the driver’s side window. “That can’t be a Feeder… they don’t move like that.”

  It appeared to be chasing something, although raising the scope once again, William began entertaining the idea that sleep deprivation was playing games with his mind. The Feeder he watched race off into the thick underbrush was in rapid pursuit of another of its kind. They moved much quicker and with increased agility, like that of a football player in the midst of a record breaking run. They padded off into the thick night air and out of sight. “What is this place?”

  . . .

  Randy quickly covered the ground to the wounded man as Dalton moved in, pistol in hand quivering from
both the night air and the thought of having to kill another human being. His feet slapping at the wet grass as he accelerated, Randy lowered his shoulder and collided with Dalton in an explosion of flesh sending both men to the ground, a crumpled mess. Immediately rolling to his left and retrieving the TEC-9, Randy moved in and pulled Dalton to his feet. “Who are you? Why are you still here?”

  Without making eye contact and unable to support his weight with his left leg, Dalton said. “He wants you dead… All of you!”

  “Marcus Goodwin?”

  “Yes,” Dalton said.

  “And he sent you to execute this order?”

  “Well, yes and no.”

  “Then he’s trying to get you killed as well.” Randy said as he watched the little man in front of him, no longer interested in the conversation, pull out some sort of electronic device and check it for damages.