Of Sudden Origin (Of Sudden Origin Saga Book 1) Page 4

  As Jon tied the rowboat to the dock, he asked, “I know you guys escaped with just the shirts on your backs, but any chance you got any food?”

  Mark opened a pocket on his parachute pants and tossed Jon a food bar. Jon opened it with his teeth and nearly ate the thing in one bite.

  “When was the last time you ate, Dude?” asked Tom.

  “Day and a half ago. You got another?”

  Mark handed him another and then pointed back toward the mansion. "Plenty more of that on our boat over there, if we can get to it. Maybe tomorrow the fuckers will have moved on."

  Jon bit into the second bar. “Who thought it was a good idea to shoot the Fiends? You know, attracting them with the lights?”

  “The guy that owned the house. It was his setup,” said Tom. “He had stockpiled the place with food and ammo - a real survivalist dude. You know the type. He invited anybody in the area to come in, even let in a few stragglers at the end. It was the stragglers who led the Shitfobs to us.”

  Mark picked up the tale, “They were right behind them. The mansion guy had watched the Army at the Miami Wall on TV. I guess they called it Everglades for some PC reason, something about not wanting to offend Latin Americans. Anyway, they had figured out that the devils were crazy attracted to light and they could mow them down like ducks in a barrel. We figured we’d just do the same thing.”

  “Ducks on a pond,” said Tom. “Fish in a barrel.”

  “Whatever. Fuck you.”

  Jon asked, “You didn’t watch the follow up I guess. The part where Everglades got overrun? They attracted more of the things than they could handle.”

  “I guess we missed that part,” said Tom. “But this was something different. It wasn’t how many of them were out there. Fucking Roger just walked out and opened up the gate. It was like he was in a trance or something.”

  “Yeah, I saw that,” said Jon.

  “Suicidal,” said Tom. “Pretty much killed us all.”

  “Well, the whole infected population is heading north, following the healthy,” said Jon. “It was only a matter of time before they got to your door. Why didn’t you guys head for Canada like everyone else?”

  Mark said sarcastically, “Well, Tom. You were one of the ‘deciders’, why don’t you explain to him why we stayed here.”

  “Eat me, asshole,” snarled Tom. “We voted on it.” To Jon he said, “We really did have everything we needed for months, maybe even a year. We figured the government had enough trouble on its hands. Why add more refugees to the problem? We thought we could take care of ourselves.”

  Mark said, “Well we’re fucked now.”

  Tom asked, “Where’s Nikki?”

  Jon nodded toward the cabin. “She seems like she wants to be alone.”

  They let Nikki be by herself for a little while, but they all needed sleep. When they opened the cabin door, they found her curled up on one of the bunks.

  She said, “I’m almost asleep. Keep it quiet.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Shoreside

  When dawn broke they could see that the smoldering wreck of a mansion was now abandoned. A scan with the binoculars revealed a few dead bodies. Jon rowed Tom over to the dock and tried to avoid looking at the carnage that had been last night's feast. Tom hopped onto a ski boat, which started right up. They quickly threw the lines off the dock and towed the rowboat back to the island. The ski boat was full of emergency supplies and Jon decided that it was good that he had joined up with these people.

  A short while later, the four of them sat around the cold rocks of an unlit campfire eating breakfast. Tom asked, “Why do we have to be in such a hurry? We’ve got enough food for weeks. Who says the government isn’t going to send a force down here. You know, counter attack?”

  Nikki said, “I, for one, am not going to play foursome on a little island with you jerks and hoping for a rescue that isn’t going to happen.”

  Jon said, “I have to agree with Nikki, at least on substance.”

  Mark said, “We’ve got a better chance of surviving if we stay here than if we put ourselves on some Shitfob infested road." He looked at Jon. “Shitfob means Shit for brains; military speak for the diseased. You’re hanging with real honest to goodness US Marines.”

  “I’m familiar with the term,” said Jon.

  Nikki scowled at Mark. “You’re a washout like the rest of us, Newman. Why don’t you just shut it?”

  “Food is definitely an issue,” said Tom, trying to steer the conversation back. “We could raid the few houses along the shore as needed. There’s got to be tons of canned stuff out there. There’s also a small town around the next bend. Probably lots of prepackaged food there.”

  Mark nodded in agreement, “Yeah, we’ve got plenty of firepower. We can certainly make quick excursions ashore, cover each other, scrounge for what we need and get back. It’s easy enough to sit out in the boat and make a careful observation before docking or whatever.”

  Nikki said, “What part of, I don’t think so, are you guys not getting?”

  “So what? You gonna bug out on your own, Nikki?” asked Tom.

  Jon stood and paced, “The roads are tough without a car. Got a few million infected coming this way. If we don’t get out now, we probably won’t get out.”

  “Exactly,” said Nikki.

  “So what makes you the expert, Mr. Washington?” asked Tom.

  “I’m not, really. I’ve just spent a lot of time running from the things. From the Orlando Wall on, I was a reporter assigned to an Army platoon. They’re all dead or infected now. I was the only one to get away. We got as far north as Atlantic City before we got overwhelmed.”

  “Damn,” said Mark.

  “We were bringing up the rear of the final retreat. It was an all-volunteer force. Everyone knew it was a long shot. I got away in a dead cop’s car and promptly shredded the tires going the wrong way through a spiked parking lot exit. It seemed like a thousand of them were chasing me. There was a Jeep with a dead guy pulled out of it, three Fiends busy feeding on him. I ran past them and jumped in, barely got the door closed. I made it here on two tanks of gas then ran dry.”

  Tom perked up, “Where’s the Jeep?”

  “Bottom of the lake. Another story. The point is, we hang out and it’s only a matter of time before it goes bad. There’s too many of them and they’re like machines. I know they sleep, but they don’t seem to stop, night or day.”

  “I’ve seen them sleep. They do sleep,” said Mark.

  “I guess I'm saying I’ve got my rowboat. I’ll find a way. I’ll just ask for a little food, a weapon and some ammo. Nikki, you want to come, that’s fine with me.”

  Nikki said, “That might work.”

  Tom mulled on it, ignoring Nikki. “I don’t think we can do that, Jon. If we’re staying, we’ll need all the food and weapons we can keep.”

  “If I stayed I’d be eating the food anyway. Shooting a gun anyway.”

  “Yeah, but in defense of all of us.”

  “I gotta agree with Tom on this one,” said Mark.

  “Oh, fuck you guys,” said Nikki. “Two want to go, two want to stay. We split the food and weapons. Simple.”

  Tom and Mark ate silently. Finally Mark said, “Okay. Maybe it makes sense to git while we still can.”

  “You’re such a pussy,” said Tom.

  Jon said, “Unless we find a vehicle, we’re not going to make it far. I found a Volvo over that way, but the battery is dead. We should cruise the lake, find another house.”

  They scanned the shore were the burned house was and saw no activity. They gave Jon Bob’s pistol, an Army issue 1911 Colt 45, and some ammo. When they were all geared up, they climbed into the boat and slowly cruised across the lake. Jon's helmet and shotgun were the first priority. The aimed for the burned house and as they got close Mark let the boat idle and drift slowly toward the dock. As they passed over it, John could see his Jeep resting down in the murk below.

  Whe
n it was close enough, Jon stepped off the bow, scanned the woods and walked as fast and as quietly as he could to the garage. His helmet was there, but no shotgun. He was sure he had set the shotgun down next to the helmet. He gave the area a cursory search and then looked back at the boat. Tom stood with his arms out wide with what the fuck drawn across his features. The hair on Jon’s neck was at full attention, his leg muscles jittering. Frustrated about the gun, but not wanting to spend any more time on this shore, he jogged back to the boat.

  “My shotgun’s gone.”

  “Don’t know what to say about that,” said Tom. “Get in the boat.”

  Jon climbed back aboard, slipping on his helmet. He immediately felt more secure. The thick padding felt good surrounding his skull.

  After a couple of bends they could make out the top of a ham radio tower poking through the trees, then a small house about forty yards inland. They stopped the boat well back from the house’s dock and scanned the shore. They could just make out the front end of a minivan poking past the backside of the house.

  “Jack-pot, first try,” said Mark.

  “Looks quiet enough,” said Tom.

  Jon held his binoculars to his eyes, “Don’t count on it.”

  Tom said, “Okay, let’s just sit here for a while and keep watch.”

  Mark turned off the boat’s engine. Small lapping waves and a light breeze slowly pushed it toward the dock.

  Jon listened for birds and heard none. “I’ve also learned, and it doesn’t necessarily mean anything, but when there aren’t any birds singing, no insects either, it’s generally not good.”

  They all listened. Mark said, “That’s definitely unnerving.”

  Nikki sniffed the air, “I’m smelling something rotten.”

  Jon looked at the breeze on the water, “The wind’s shifted. That’s all of the corpses over at the mansion.”

  Tom reached past Mark and turned the engine back on. “Maybe all of the birds have flown upwind to get away from the stink. It seems quiet enough. I say we dock, listen some more and then check it out.”

  No one objected so Mark pulled up to the dock, turning the boat around to face outward for a quick getaway. Tom hopped out and tied off. They stood still again and listened.

  As the breeze swayed the trees, insects started to hum, thickening up the air with a steady sawing sound.

  Tom said, “Bet it was just us keeping ‘em quiet. The van keys are probably in the house, hook near a door if we're lucky. Mark and I will do a sweep around the house. Make sure the other side is clear. If there’s a back entrance we’ll enter there and signal for you to come up, Jon. Nikki, you’ll stay at the head of the dock and protect our escape route.”

  Nikki smiled, “Whatever you say, cowboy.”

  Tom turned back to her, exasperated. “Look, I know you’re combat, but with the recall, I'm still technically your superior so I want your good aim covering us from here. Am I wrong?”

  “Murphy’s Law says it doesn’t matter, but aye aye, Skipper.”

  “What does that fucking mean?”

  “If it’s going to go wrong, Tom, it will. Your plan seems fine.”

  “Well, why didn’t you just say that?”

  Jon said, “Um, can we do this thing?”

  Mark and Tom set off and then split up to walk around each side of the house.

  Jon loudly whispered, “Check the van itself. Keys might as likely be there.” He dropped the visor down on his riot helmet and snugged up the chinstrap.

  Tom and Mark disappeared around the other side of the house. Jon and Nikki could hear them trying the mini-van doors. A minute later, Mark opened the lakeside door from the inside and waved for Jon to come up. Jon walked forward noting that the birds, if there were any, continued to stay silent, but the insects were busy.

  When Jon got to the door, Mark pretended to close it in his face like Jon was a salesman, saying, “We don’t want any.” He chuckled and let Jon step inside. “No car keys so far.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  Nikki

  While she stewed over being ordered around by a dolt like Tom, Nikki wanted a smoke so badly that she felt her gut twist with the craving. She’d had a carton of Camels back at the mansion and now she didn’t even have a used butt in her pocket. Crappy time to go cold turkey. Cigarettes… dishonorable discharge – she and the knuckleheads inside, and of course, Bob. They’d all been part of the same supply company. The black market for cigarettes in Sudan was intense, particularly for American brands. Amazing how the cowboy image could still push tobacco. She’d had a successful career as one of the first frontline female shock troops in the US Marines. The supply company had been a disciplinary measure - an incident with a local tribal leader sending her career to the shitter. She’d pulled force security duty, and in the middle of a meeting between her battalion commander and some asshole chief, the smarmy prick had boasted about the literally hundreds of woman and children he’d supposedly raped. She asked the fat bastard, with his thick eyebrows and food stained beard, to stop talking about it. He simply smiled at her and started another story about three little girls and their mother. She then yelled at him to stop, and her commander ordered her to step out of the tent. Just before she was out the door, the chief raised his voice, telling the colonel that he would love to taste Nikki’s sweet camouflaged cunny. She didn’t hesitate. With what she would later describe as a reflex, she drew her sidearm and shot the pig between the eyes.

  As it turned out, the tribal leader had been playing the US, feeding the Marines with bits and pieces of intel while actually delivering massive amounts of critical data to the enemy. It was that twist that kept her out of Leavenworth, and instead, into the supply company. The black market bust was just bad luck. She knew it was going on, but chose to say nothing, look the other way, try to get along with her new platoon. When the contraband turned from cigarettes to heroin and the law was laid down, her silence made her an accomplice. She was washed out along with the jerks now ransacking the house. Hell, she was over it by then anyway. Combat was her thing; delivering port-a-potties to rear echelon pukes was about going nowhere fast.

  Crack, she heard a twig snap, somewhere up the hill, deeper into the woods. She felt her skin tingle with energy and her eyes dilated into black saucers as she scanned the trees past her gun sight. Woods were noisy places all by themselves. Trees constantly rained leaves or sap and shed old branches. Birds, squirrels and other animals made all sorts of ruckus during their constant foraging. She listened for a moment longer, but heard nothing unnatural so she slipped back to imagining a cigarette between her lips, the smoke gently flowing out of her nostrils and curling up around her head. God, she needed to get her hands on a pack. Maybe there were some in that house. Then something curious happened: She felt a strange sensation, a buzzing in her head, vague but jumbled images tumbling through her thoughts. She couldn’t control them, couldn’t stop – God, the smells, tastes – body odor and mossy forest and…blood. She shook her head, losing focus and just as suddenly, it was gone.

  “What the fuck?” she whispered to herself, rubbing her eyes, trying to re-focus on her surroundings.

  The house was full of flies. Rotten fruit sat on the counter. An unfinished rotting meal for two sat on the dining table. The fridge stood open with more rotting food inside. The smell was overwhelming.

  Mark said, “There were skid marks in the driveway. They must have had another car. Bugged out in a hurry.”

  In one corner there was a desk with a ham radio set, a computer, printer, and a small stereo. The printer had something freshly printed in its tray. It was a news article from Reuters. The headline stated: New England overwhelmed. Cain’s Infection reaches Southern New Hampshire and Vermont.

  Jon flipped the paper around and read, “It’s dated May 23rd, three days ago.”

  Tom came out of the laundry room, “No keys in there.” He pushed past Jon and sat at the desk opening drawers.

  Mark said, “Cozy
place, huh? Too bad we can’t just crash here tonight.”

  Jon said, “Enough talk. I’m surprised we haven’t been attacked already.”

  The three of them started working the cabin over in earnest. The keys had to be somewhere.

  Higher up the hill there was movement in the woods. The One that the Others mostly followed crept forward toward the shelter that the Fresh Ones had gone into. The Fresh ones made lots of noise, which helped mask the Other’s approach. Another group of Others approached the Fresh One that kneeled down near the water. There were perhaps thirty Others in all. Some were full and tired from killing and eating the many Fresh Ones who had hid in a different shelter only just this morning. Their hands, hair, faces and tattered clothes were covered in gore.

  The One that led them was perhaps forty-years old. It crawled to a stop at the edge of a rise, some part of Its mind acknowledging the pain in Its knees where the flesh was scraped off. Wearing what was left of a tattered skirt, It had skinned its knees bare as It skidded across gravel and tree roots in the early morning assault. The fat little Fresh One had been trying to crawl under the shelter that the other Fresh Ones were hiding in. While Its companions had attacked the small home from every angle, It stood back and watched as the pudgy little one climbed out a window and crawled for a gap under the foundation. It had screamed with glee as It ran and dove on top of the squealing thing. Its triumphant howl was only dampened when Its mouth clamped itself on the Fresh One’s fat little neck. It had laughed through the bubbling hot blood and then tore at the young one’s windpipe, ending its screeches.

  Watching the new prey in the house below, It signaled for the Others to stop crawling up from behind. It held Its infant close and watched the baby’s huge dark eyes zero in on the Fresh One by the water. Then It laid the baby down and sucked in a breath full of the damp leafy ground, feeling the baby send its signal of desire to the Others, the killing fever rising within the group. It was patient. It would wait for the perfect moment to make the assault.