Human Extinction Level Loss (Book 3): Liberation (9 page)

Beverly’s eyes rimmed with tears as she looked at her son.

“Tommy, baby… This time Daddy’s not coming back. He did what he had to do to keep us safe, but-”

“No, Mom! You’re not listening!. You’re wrong!” Tommy shouted. He took a breath to begin his argument anew when Jacob interrupted from the driver’s side. So involved was she in the heart wrenching conversation, Beverly looked over at Jacob as if he had appeared out of thin air.

“Is that real?” Jacob asked.

Beverly blinked at Jacob and Tommy turned and looked at him.

“That radio broadcast, is it real? I… was in a house once and the TV came on, but I didn’t…”

Beverly wiped her eyes, frustrated at the interruption, wanting and not wanting to have the talk with Tommy.

“Yes, it’s real. You think we would be out here if it weren’t? How long have YOU been out here?” Beverly asked.

Jacob stared at her over his shoulder. Before he could answer, Tommy interjected.

“You think my Dad’s coming back, right, Mr Miller? You’re like a policeman, so you know, right?”

Jacob looked down at Tommy, who stared back with the same hope filled eyes.

Beverly sat up, apprehension seizing her, sensing the delicate place her son was in and not trusting Jacob to understand that. Her fear was realized when Jacob’s face bore a flat expression as he gazed down at Tommy.

“If your dad was in that tunnel, he’s dead if he’s lucky, and one of those things if he ain’t.”

Tear filled defiance flared in Tommy’s eyes as he stared at Jacob.

“You Lie! You’re both lying!” Tommy screamed.

Beverly stared daggers through Jacob.

“You bastard!” she hissed and appeared ready to lunge at Jacob.

Her attack was forestalled by Tommy climbing over her and out of the Jeep. He slipped into the gathering dark. Beverly tore her eyes off of Jacob and went after her son, leaving Jacob sitting alone.

Thirteen

Beverly sat on the rock and hugged her knees. The day was nice, not hot, not too cool. The green trees and gray rocks were in sharp relief and seemed to reach for the sky, a sky so blue it almost hurt her eyes.

In the valley below, they moved, an ebbing and flowing river of death that cascaded over the landscape and under the watchful eye of Jacob Miller. Like the horde moving through the canyon below, Beverly felt the misery coursing through her. They had set out to find a better place. The broadcast had seemed a beacon of hope for all of them, but now they were only two. Beverly thought the risk they had taken did not seem worth the cost, not by a long shot.

Next to Jacob, Tommy played with the binoculars. He had not said a word since last night. Beverly knew he had shut down, that he wasn’t processing. She hated Jacob, not for what he said, but for the way he said it. She remembered some of the training her husband had received from the Police Chaplain, about how to break the news to the families of the fallen. Telling someone their loved one was dead was like handing them a boulder. You did it slowly, passing it on with care and deliberation. It was good advice and what she was trying to do with Tommy. What you didn’t do was throw it at them. That would only crush them under the weight of it. What Jacob had done made her furious, made her want to get away from him. The fact that she felt trapped only added to her frustration. They couldn’t strike out on their own, the threat was too real. She had tried to steal Jacob’s Jeep, but he had thwarted that and probably would again. Then what, back to being zip-tied in the Jeep, if they were lucky? She felt powerless and it was a feeling she hated, almost as much as the emptiness that spread through her soul. Jacob said he was heading West, and he was, but all she could do was wait while he tried to silence his demons, one shot at a time. One of those shots rang out and scraped at her already raw nerves. She pulled her knees tighter as Tommy scanned the valley, trying to locate the fallen.

“Which one did you get, Sheriff Miller?” he asked, keeping the binoculars pressed to his eyes. “Tell me which one you are going for so I can see it.”

Beside him, Jacob did not acknowledge Tommy. He put a line through a name, then went back to staring through the scope. Tommy lowered the binoculars and looked over at Jacob to see if he had heard him. When he got no response he too went back to scanning the horde. Beverly looked down at her son.

“Tommy, come over here, son. You don’t need to see what’s down there,” she said.

Tommy lowered the binoculars and looked at his mother, rolling his eyes.

“They’re just zombies, mom,” he said, turning back to the valley. He looked through the binoculars and scanned the horde.

Beverly wiped a tear from her eye, having not the strength to make her son obey her.

The progress of the horde below seemed to match the slow march of the sun as it moved across the heavens. Still, all Beverly could do was wait, wait and hope that what Tommy said was true.

Above them, the sun began its descent. Below them, the horde began to thin. Jacob had not taken another shot and the intervening hours midst the warm breezes had eaten away at her resolve. Beverly lay on her back and dozed. It was not a shot from Jacob’s rifle that brought her back, but the sharp intake of breath from Tommy. It was the sound a mother responds to, no matter how asleep she is. Beverly opened her eyes and sat up. She looked over at Tommy and saw that he was frozen still. He seemed to stare at nothing in particular, the binoculars neither to his face or set down, held only in the intervening space between. Beverly was not even sure she heard what she did. She looked over at Jacob for some kind of confirmation, but he only stared through his scope and waited. She brought her gaze back to Tommy. He was breathing. His breath was not the gentle respiration of a resting ten year old, but the rapid hyperventilation of someone afraid, someone who was only just now realizing their life had come apart. She watched in rapt horror as Tommy shook, struggling to get the strap of the binoculars from around his neck.

“Tommy, baby-” Beverly began, but her words cut short. Tommy freed himself from the strap and shoved the binoculars away. He got to his feet and turned, but did not come to her, did not look at her, did not see anything but the blinding vision below. Beverly reached out for him as he passed her, but he broke from her grasp and ran. Beverly jumped to her feet and pursued. Sensing the disturbance, Jacob looked away from his scope and watched the two go.

Beverly was afraid that Tommy had run into the woods, would keep running and become lost in the trees. She came up short as she saw him. He leaned against the side of the Cherokee, his face buried in the crook of his arm, the wailing and tears flowing freely. Beverly raced up to her son and grabbed him. She spun him around and clutched him to her. Sensing his mother, Tommy threw his arms around his mother’s neck and buried his face in her shoulder. Beverly stroked her son’s hair and rocked him.

“Tell me what you saw, baby. What was in the valley below, please…”

Tommy’s breaths came in gasps. He raised his head and through tear filled eyes gave witness to the truth he wanted desperately to deny.

“Daddy wasn’t lucky, mom! My daddy wasn’t lucky!”

Fourteen

Night settled upon them and no one spoke. Each moved in the solitude of their own mind. Beverly kept an eye on Tommy, but he would not look at her. When Jacob presented their cans of stew, he did not eat. Beverly too found that she had no appetite. Only Jacob ate, off to the side, by himself. When the time came for the nightly broadcast, Beverly had hoped it would be a brief respite from Tommy’s emotional exile. It was not to be. Knowing that there was no chance his father would hear it, left Tommy disinterested in the prospect of a future that the messages offered. When it was too dark to do anything else they tried to sleep, but sleep did not come. Tommy lay in his blanket, his back to his mother. Beverly caressed his hair and tried to comfort him. Tommy had tried to close his eyes, but when he did, he only saw his father, so he kept them open, staring into the black void of the night.

The next morning Beverly was on a mission. She had resolved she would do what she must to get Jacob to take them to Colorado. When she woke and saw that Tommy had not moved, only continued to stare out into nothing, she knew that they must get off the road, away from the endless pursuit of death. If Tommy was going to have any chance at all it would have to be in a place where there was some hope for the future, not out here trying to silence the past. To that end she was willing to beg.

“Please… I know that what you are doing… that your work is important to you, but I must get my son to Colorado. He can’t be out here… surrounded by all… all of this…”

Jacob, who had his back to Beverly and was checking his gear in the Cherokee, turned and faced her. His face showed the struggle between stoic resolve and compassion. He opened his mouth to speak, but was silenced by the soft insistent voice of Tommy.

“We can’t go to Colorado. Not until we free my Dad.”

Jacob looked up and Beverly turned, both fixing their gaze on the small figure standing before them.

“That’s what you are doing, isn’t it Sheriff Miller? Freeing them? Making it so they aren’t zombies anymore?” Tommy said.

Beverly’s heart was breaking. She had to get Tommy somewhere stable. It wasn’t only the road, it was Jacob. He was a man trapped in his own hellish misery. He felt compelled to cling to the Dead, to devote himself to them, maybe out of guilt, she wasn’t sure. What she was sure of was that she could not allow her son to sink into that morass, but as she stood looking into the pleading eyes of her son, she knew that the decision was taken out of her hands. Jacob’s words only highlighted her futility.

“The next vantage point is four hours. We leave in ten minutes.”

Beverly sighed and her shoulders slumped. Tommy turned and began to roll his sleeping bag.

It was Jacob’s least favorite vantage point. The window of opportunity was small on account of the town. Perched on a spot high above in the hills, Jacob set up and settled in. The spot overlooked a two lane road that led into Centerville Township. The horde was funneled into the road which ran between a series of hills. Between the hills was nestled the town of Centerville. Behind him, a railroad track curved into the distance, then swung back through the town. As the horde would pass, He had just a scant few moments to locate his target before they would become obstructed by houses, buildings, and interlacing streets.

Jacob lay prostrate, his rifle in position, scope on the road. Beside him, his ledger was opened to the back page, a blank page. A pen rested there. Without taking his eye from the scope, Jacob gave Tommy instructions.

“Write your father’s name on the page. It’s important that you do it… that you have a record… so that later you will know and have no doubt.”

Tommy took his eyes from the binoculars and looked at Jacob. Jacob kept his position. Tommy reached over and took the pen in his hand. At the top of the page, in his best handwriting, slow and careful, Tommy wrote,

Officer Mark Sanders

Tommy looked at the name for several seconds, then made a decision. Next to the name he wrote,

My Dad

Tommy placed the pen back on the page and slid the book back to Jacob. He picked up the binoculars and, together with Jacob, kept unflinching vigil on the stretch of road leading into town. Beverly stood with her back to them. She stared down the long stretch of railroad tracks with her arms wrapped around her, feeling a chill despite the warmness of the day.

The horde appeared an hour later. It covered the width of the road. Those on the extreme edges collided and careened off the steep embankments of the hills on either side. Some stumbled and fell in gullies, only to rise and shuffle forward. They filled the vision of both scope and binoculars.

“Call out to me when you see him,” Jacob said.

Tommy, unflinching in his survey, answered.

“I will.”

The day wore on and Jacob had taken two shots. Two more names from his own book. Always Jacob flipped back to the last page, the name
Officer Mark Sanders
uncrossed.

Finally, the rearguard of the horde began to appear, stragglers, made so by the marks of their initiation, too damaged and worn down by the constant friction of decaying flesh and asphalt. Still Tommy scanned, his hope sinking even as cold panic began to rise that he might not see his father, might not be given the opportunity to sing out, might not get to free his father from the walking death. His own mind and body began to become an enemy. Having kept focus for so many hours, he grew tired. His eyes played tricks on him.

Was that him?! No, wrong color shirt. What about him? No, my Dad never wore those pants…

Tommy lowered the binoculars for just a second, rubbed his dry, weary eyes. Beside him, unflinching, Jacob gave his warning.

“Keep your vigil.”

Tommy placed the binoculars back to his eyes and scanned. He moved down the road and followed a small pack.

No… No… No… Wait! There!