After: Whiteout (AFTER post-apocalyptic series, Book 4) Page 4

An owl hooted in the high trees, a harbinger of sunset.

  The hoot was echoed in the distance.

  “That’s a good sign,” Hilyard said. “If anything big was moving around, it would have spooked the owls.”

  Yes, Rachel thought. That’s a very good sign.

  Because those aren’t owls.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  When DeVontay awoke, he thought he was sleeping under the stars.

  But the air was warm and still, although the stars danced like the universe had kicked into a carnival waltz, whirling and spinning to a tune beyond the range of human hearing. Then the tiny sparks slowed, and Lt. Hilyard spoke.

  “It’s one,” he said, his face thrown into stark shadows by a dim glow below him. “Your turn as sentry.”

  “Your wristwatch works,” DeVontay said, his throat cracking from dryness. They both talked in low tones, aware of the others in the lean-to.

  “I had it with me in the bunker. Luminous dial. We had some flashlights and spots, but this is all I had with me when they attacked us.” When Hilyard let the dial go dark, specks of light still floated across DeVontay’s vision—even in his glass eye, as if some memory had been triggered there.

  “I’d forgotten what artificial light is like.”

  “I keep it covered unless I’m inside. Not that time matters anymore, but it’s kept me connected to the real world while I’ve been playing Robinson Crusoe of the Blue Ridge Mountains.”

  DeVontay had slept heavily, with cluttered dreams whose residue haunted him. Hilyard sat by the lean-to’s opening as if he’d been awake for years. DeVontay reached beside him in the dark, first feeling Rachel’s hair and then the boy’s. Stephen snuggled against her, breathing steadily, his body still.

  Rachel didn’t stir at DeVontay’s touch, but he was struck with the impression that she was awake. He listened to her breath for a moment, but it didn’t alter from its slow, shallow state. He rolled away from her and crawled past Hilyard.

  “Here,” Hilyard said, bumping him.

  DeVontay reached out in the dark and took a slender cylinder. “What’s this?”

  “Orion flare for emergencies. If anything happens, you might be able to see well enough to run for your life.”

  “Or blind the people that want to kill me?”

  Hilyard chuckled. “That, too. This is a handheld flare, so pop this cap and yank this thing here at the bottom.” He guided DeVontay’s hands along the flare. “It’ll burn for about three minutes.”

  “Heard anything from Campbell?”

  “I went out to check on him at midnight. He was shivering and pissed off, but he was awake. I told him the cold was a blessing.”

  “He’s pissed off in general, as far as I can tell.”

  “I picked up a little tension between you guys. What’s that all about?”

  “Nothing.” DeVontay was suddenly eager to be out of the lean-to. Even in the dark, claustrophobia squeezed at him from all sides.

  “I need to know what I’m getting into here, DeVontay. I didn’t have to take you people on.”

  This is silly. Like high-school bullshit. “He wanted to play white knight for Rachel, but…she already had a black one.”

  Hilyard sighed. “The world ends and people are still people. The human race never had a chance, did it?”

  “Sure, we did. It’s slim, but it’s all we got. And I notice you haven’t surrendered yet.”

  “I don’t like to lose.”

  “Neither do I.” DeVontay gripped the officer’s muscular forearm in the dark, squeezed it, and crawled through the opening and outside.

  The air was clear and cold, tiny bits of frozen blue light jabbed into the curtain of night. The pale wedge of moon was barely visible through the nearly bare branches. The ground felt heavy and sodden beneath his feet, as if autumn had downshifted into winter while he slept. He carried the flare in one fisted hand, the other resting on the butt of the knife Hilyard had given him.

  The moon provided enough illumination for him to backtrack to where the horses were tethered. He assumed Campbell would be standing guard there, and he gave a low whistle as he approached. He didn’t need Campbell panicking and shooting him in by mistake.

  Or on purpose, either.

  Campbell didn’t answer. The forest was silent, except for a soft whinnying from one of the horses. DeVontay pressed himself against a tree and peered toward the animals. All he saw were the broad, dark flanks of the animals, their necks bent low.

  “Psst. Campbell?”

  No answer. He might have made a circumference of the camp, making sure nobody approached from high ground. But Hilyard said the craggy terrain would inhibit advance from any direction but downhill. Given the officer’s tactical training, DeVontay believed it. However, Zapheads probably hadn’t read any manuals on military strategy and didn’t seem to care if their bodies were torn and broken by sharp rocks.

  DeVontay checked the horses to make sure they were okay. They seemed to be drowsing on their feet. Nice survival trait. You can break into a run if necessary, or kick at any predators.

  Then he noticed that Campbell—or somebody—had loosened the halters. The animals were free but hadn’t wandered away. That’s odd. We’d talked about releasing them but Campbell shouldn’t have made a unilateral decision. I don’t like this.

  If Campbell had wanted to break from the group, he would have taken one of the horses. With a horse and a rifle, he’d have a decent chance to reach the valley and hole up in an abandoned house. But Campbell had never expressed a desire to go solo. He wouldn’t leave Rachel, not while he’s still got that goofy crush on her.

  DeVontay took an oblique angle back toward camp, figuring he’d see Campbell before he reached the lean-to. If not, he’d keep going to the stacked wall of granite behind them. Campbell might be stubborn enough to think he could climb it and view miles of surrounding ridges.

  DeVontay considered alerting Hilyard and then discarded the idea. The man already felt burdened by them, and any extra drama might be enough to push him over the edge. Besides, the man needed rest if he was going to help them. DeVontay was pretty sure Hilyard would join their journey to Franklin Wheeler’s compound at Milepost 291, and another competent ally would be welcome.

  He called Campbell’s name several times in a loud whisper, carefully navigating the gaps between trees. He was two hundred feet behind the lean-to when he nearly bumped into the silhouette standing beneath the scraggly limbs of a gnarled oak.

  “Shit, Campbell, you nearly gave me a heart attack,” DeVontay said. “Why didn’t you answer?”

  The silhouette said nothing and didn’t move from the shadows. Then a branch shifted and glinted in the moonlight.

  No, not a branch, the barrel of a gun.

  “My watch,” DeVontay said, determined not to let Campbell intimidate him. “Go on down and get some sleep.”

  “Sleeeeeep,” Campbell said, only it wasn’t Campbell.

  At first DeVontay thought this must be one of the rogue soldiers from Hilyard’s unit. So much for Campbell’s prowess as a sentinel. But the man spoke as if he were drunk. Then other voices came from unseen mouths around him.

  “Sleep, sleep,” they said, imitating DeVontay’s stage whisper.

  “What the hell?” DeVontay wondered if he should shout and warn the others. He might get shot because of it, but they might have a fighting chance. And he was probably going to get shot anyway.

  “Sleep,” the man with the rifle said, and then DeVontay saw the glints of yellow dancing above the source of the words.

  Zap.

  DeVontay lunged toward him, bracing for the sting of hot lead in his guts. But the figure didn’t react as DeVontay slapped the weapon from his hands and knocked him to the ground. DeVontay had never seen a Zaphead with a firearm, and this one apparently didn’t know how to use it.

  DeVontay crawled atop the Zaphead and grappled for his throat, intending to choke until the larynx popped like a persimmon. H
is other hand, which still held the flare, clubbed the man in the temple. The man sprawled passively beneath him for a heartbeat, and then exploded into a flurry of flailing fists and wild kicks.

  Someone else climbed onto DeVontay’s back, putrid, metallic breath strafing his neck. He bucked to throw his new assailant but only succeeded in getting more entangled with the man beneath him.

  He landed an elbow in the ribs of the attacker behind him, eliciting a decidedly feminine grunt. Sharp fingernails raked across his cheek and brow. Hot fluid poured down his forehead, and he wasn’t sure if his scalp had ripped or if somebody’s knuckles had split open.

  “Sleep,” said the female clinging to his back, only she delivered the word like a curse. DeVontay rolled free of the man beneath him and slammed backwards, driving the wind from the woman’s lungs. She released her grip but the man was already in attack mode, wet clicks rising from his throat and his eyes glinting like a furnace.

  DeVontay wedged his knee between his body and the attacker, gaining enough space to maneuver his other hand to the flare. He twisted the cap free and worked the ignition as Hilyard had instructed, and the flare erupted with scalding red light and sputtering sparks.

  The brilliant cone of illumination revealed DeVontay’s attacker as an older man, maybe in his sixties, although his strength and ferocity was that of someone half his age. With his rounded features and toothless mouth, he might have been someone’s grandfather mere months ago. But now he was a savage killer, his vocalized clicks become mushier as he forced a word with great effort. “Sssshleep.”

  As the man bent DeVontay’s leg forward, closing the distance between them, DeVontay jammed the signal flare forward until its frothing tip penetrated the man’s mouth, shutting him up. But he didn’t scream as sizzling nitrate and sulfur dribbled from his lips. DeVontay pulled the Ka-bar knife from his belt and shoved it in the mutant’s heart. The creature jerked and spasmed for a few seconds and then lay still with a final gurgle.

  The female rolled to her hands and knees and scuttled towards DeVontay. He yanked the flare from the dead Zaphead’s face and waved it at her, hoping it would keep her away. But she seemed to make no connection between the pyrotechnic device and her own vulnerability to its heat. She was clad in a cotton dress that bore rips from hem to neckline, filthy bare flesh flashing in the gaps. Her eyes looked even wilder as they reflected the flare’s burn, like a gasoline slick blazing on a dark lake.

  DeVontay sensed movement along the edge of the flare’s reach, and he wondered how many Zapheads were in this pack. He was going to need help. “Hilyard!” he yelled.

  Hilyard’s name was repeated across the forest—three, four, maybe five voices. DeVontay had no spatial sense. His world was the dimming circle of light extending from the hissing tip of his Orion flare and the Zapheads closing in on him.

  DeVontay held out his knife. Just before the woman reached him, something swung from behind her and struck the back of her head with a moist thwack. Campbell stepped over her fallen corpse, holding his rifle by the barrel, blood dripping from the plastic stock.

  “Why’d you have to raise hell?” Campbell asked. “You made me miss my nap.”

  “Where were you?”

  “Something was kicking up leaves and I went to check it out. That’s my job, right?”

  DeVontay turned in a circle, holding the flare above his head. Its fading light barely penetrated the trees and boulders around them. “Did you see any others?”

  “No, but I heard them. I don’t know how many, but they’re out there.”

  As the flare burned out, dying with a final sputter and arc of a few sparks, DeVontay stepped over the corpses and picked up the rifle the first Zaphead had dropped. “It was carrying a gun.”

  “Good thing for you it was too stupid to shoot.”

  The residual light of the flare left him temporarily blinded. But his tactile examination of the weapon confirmed it was similar to the one they’d found in the woods earlier. That means it had likely belonged to a soldier in Hilyard’s unit. “This one must have seen those soldiers shooting each other. How long can we count on them staying stupid?”

  “So, they’re adapting. They still die, though.”

  “Did you hear them talking? They said ‘sleep.’”

  “They didn’t mean anything. They just repeated what you said. We already know they’ll mimic us. Damn, DeVontay, you sound like you expect them to turn into The Incredible Hulk or something.”

  DeVontay’s eye had adjusted to the darkness again. He fumbled for the gun’s safety and found it was released. The Zaphead had been carrying a live automatic weapon. Could have made chocolate Swiss cheese out of me.

  He slid his knife back into his belt and headed toward the lean-to.

  “Where do you think you’re going?” Campbell asked behind him.

  “To check on the others.”

  “The lieutenant can protect them. If you go down there, the Zapheads might follow you right to them.”

  “We’re all in danger if there’s a bunch of Zaps around.”

  “You forget one thing, DeVontay. We’re adapting, too.” Campbell came out of the shadows into a shaft of moonlight. The night mist swirled above the forest floor, like the movie set of a dark fantasy land. He held his firearm to the sky, Zaphead blood dripping from his elbow.

  “I guess I owe you thanks for saving my life. And thanks for saving Rachel, too.”

  “Well, don’t get used to it.” Campbell headed toward the rocky terrain to the west of camp. “I gotta finish my rounds.”

  DeVontay felt a flush of shame at thinking Campbell had abandoned them. “I’ll relieve you after I check the camp and warn Hilyard.”

  “I’m not sleepy anyway.”

  DeVontay slipped through the trees, listening for unusual sounds, but all he heard was the soft creaking of trees and distant birds. He checked the horses once more and backtracked to the lean-to. Hilyard was asleep, although still sitting upright. It was too dark to see the others.

  He gently shook Hilyard by the shoulder. The officer awoke with a start, bringing a pistol-wielding hand toward DeVontay’s face before recognizing him.

  “Zaps,” DeVontay said. “We got two of them but there’s probably more.”

  “Damn.” Hilyard rubbed sleep from his eyes but the gesture removed none of the accumulated exhaustion from his face. “We’d better be ready to run if it comes to that. Wake your crew.”

  Hilyard activated the battery-operated light on his wristwatch. The boy stirred, but the blanket beside him was empty.

  Rachel was gone.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  “Hard to tell from these tracks,” Hilyard said.

  Dawn had just broken, morning mist wreathing the forest floor and trees rising from it in dark lines. DeVontay had wanted to search for Rachel in the night, but Hilyard forced him to wait. A search would be pointless and dangerous, and they’d be far more likely to run into Zapheads than Rachel. DeVontay reluctantly agreed.

  “I don’t know how you can tell which tracks are hers,” Campbell said.

  He still carried the rifle he’d taken on patrol, apparently claiming it as his own. DeVontay didn’t care. He was too worried about Rachel to focus on protecting them anyway. Besides, somebody had to look after Stephen, who busied himself leading the two horses. The animals were laden with their gear and Hilyard’s remaining food supplies.

  “You said you killed two Zapheads last night?” Hilyard said.

  Campbell pointed the muzzle of his gun up the trail. “Yeah, right up there.”

  Hilyard swept one boot across the damp leaves. “Too much traffic around the camp. No telling which way she went.”

  “If she even went anywhere,” Campbell said.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” DeVontay asked.

  “Maybe she was taken. Maybe she stepped outside to do her business and got snatched by Zapheads.”

  Stephen pressed his face into the neck of the nearest
horse as if unwilling to confront the possibility. DeVontay shot Campbell a harsh glare and said, “You were the one on watch when it happened.”

  “Hey, I can watch twice as good as you. Or does that glass eye give you X-ray vision?”

  DeVontay balled his fists, knowing his anger was mostly driven by helplessness. But he welcomed the anger regardless. The world with its unseen threats was too big to fight, but at least it would feel good to punch this asshole.

  He took three strides forward, and Campbell didn’t flinch, resting one forearm on the butt of his rifle.

  Hilyard’s commanding voice broke the pastoral silence of the morning. “Are you guys going to kill each other before Zapheads, Sarge’s troops, or starvation can do the job? God’s already made a fuck-up of this world. I wouldn’t be in a big hurry to see what surprises He has waiting in the next.”

  Stephen’s shoulders shook with barely controlled sobs. DeVontay nodded grimly at Campbell—Your time will come, asshole—and went to the boy, giving him a manly hug. “Be strong, Little Man. We’ll find her.”

  The boy looked up, eyes and nose moist. “I’m not sure I want to.”

  DeVontay knelt in the mud so they were eye level. “She’s still Rachel. Don’t forget that.”

  “She’s one of them.”

  “No, she’s not.”

  “Maybe she is,” Campbell said. “Hell, for all we know, she went with them voluntarily. Did you notice that her eyes start sparking whenever some of them are around?”

  “That’s enough,” Hilyard said. “Conjecture won’t get us anywhere. We need some facts. Let’s go check those dead Zaps.”

  Campbell shrugged and headed toward the giant tumble of boulders, whose gray faces looked like slabs of ice on an alien ocean. DeVontay helped Stephen guide the horses forward, and then fell back with Hilyard, who scanned the fog on all sides.

  DeVontay lowered his voice so Stephen couldn’t hear. “So, you’re sticking with us. Nobody would blame you if you left us on our own.”

  “When I was commissioned as an officer, I took an oath. I swore to support and defend the Constitution of the United States against all enemies, foreign and domestic. I assume that includes Zapheads, too.”