Voodoo Plague - 01 (14 page)

Whatever Rachel
had put together for dinner smelled wonderful as I entered the cabin and sat down
at a small table that folded out of the way when not in use.  That’s when it
hit me.

“Oh, shit!” I
exclaimed, leaping to my feet and nearly upsetting the table in the process.

Rachel froze in
place with a look of barely contained panic on her face, “What?” she whispered.

“Dog,” I said,
my gut churning.  “We left him in the truck.”

The look on her
face morphed from fear to shock, then sadness.  “But… how?”

“He was in the
back seat when we bailed out of the truck.  Son of a Bitch!”

I headed back to
the open deck and started arranging the items I needed.  Rachel followed, still
holding a bowl of food she had been bringing to the table before my outburst.

“What are you
doing?”

“I’m going to
get him.  He’ll die in that truck and I’m not going to let that happen.”  I
started filling pockets and pouches on my vest with full magazines and spare
ammunition, mentally cataloging what I thought I’d need for a quick raid to
rescue Dog.

“Are you
crazy?”  There was a note of hysteria in Rachel’s voice.  “You can’t fight
through all those infected, save Dog and make it back here.  You’ll get killed
and I’ll be on my own.”

I finished
loading the vest and kept checking the loads in my pistol and rifle.  “Rachel,
this is exactly the kind of shit I trained for and pulled off for nearly half
my life.  It’s getting dark, it’s not far and I’ll be in and out before any of
the infected even know I’m around.”

She reached out
and put a hand on my arm.  I looked up and saw a tear rolling down her cheek. 
“I’m afraid,” she said in a low, emotion choked voice.

I holstered my
pistol and straightened up.  “Me too.  I’ve never been scared of anything in my
life, but honestly this whole thing scares the living shit out of me.”

Her lower lip
started trembling and I pulled her into a hug before she completely lost it.

“Rachel, you’re
smart and strong.  You survived where most people didn’t before we even met. 
But there’s no point in even thinking about that because I’m coming back with
Dog.  Now, can you help me finish getting ready?”

Rachel squeezed
me hard then she pushed away and wiped the tears off her face, sniffed and
tried to put on a smile that only half made it.  “What do you need?”

“I want to swim
to the shore.  Starting this engine will alert all the infected and I don’t
want them stirred up and waiting for me.  Can you search the boat and see if
there’s any snorkeling gear?  You know, flippers, goggles, breathing tube,
whatever you can find.  I could also use a waterproof bag and if there aren’t
any flippers then some kind of flotation device.  I’m going to be weighed down
pretty heavy with weapons and ammo.”

Now I was a
Green Beret, not a Navy SEAL.  Yes, the Army trains us to operate in water,
swim with gear on our backs and boots on our feet, but I’m not 20 anymore and
besides I hadn’t lived in the water the way SEALs do.

Rachel went into
the cabin to start searching for my requested items while I finalized my
equipment load.  A few minutes later she returned with a big grin on her face
and an armful of gear that she dumped on the deck.

I sorted through
it and was pleased to find a set of swim fins, goggles, a couple of large
rubberized canvas bags with rubber zip seals and a red buoy with a white
diagonal stripe on it.  Apparently the boat’s owner had been a diver since the
color scheme on the buoy is the international symbol used to warn other boaters
that there are divers in the water.    

I unlaced my
boots and placed them and my socks in the waterproof bag, sealing it tight. 
There were two sturdy nylon ropes attached to the bag and since I was leaving
my backpack on the boat I slipped my arms through the ropes and wore the bag
like a backpack.  I slipped the flippers on my feet and wasn’t thrilled with
the too tight fit, but beggars can’t be choosers.

Swinging my legs
over the stern of the boat I put my finned feet onto the small swim platform
and leaned down to dunk the goggles in the water to wet the inside of the lens
and prevent them from fogging up on the swim to shore.

I debated using
the buoy for flotation, but decided it would be more of a hassle than it was
worth.  I was as lightly loaded as possible for the situation I was headed
into.  I had on a pair of black quick drying compression shorts with matching
sleeveless shirt, my vest with all my spare mags and ammo, combat knife, pistol
and rifle.  I slipped the goggles over my head and adjusted them.  I have a big
head and they were too small, but again when you’re a beggar…

It was almost
fully dark when I was ready to go.  To the west the sky was a deep shade of
purple that would fade to black very quickly, but there was enough light for me
to see the heavy bank of clouds that looked to be heading our way.  All the
better.  Easier to operate under the cover of a storm.

I turned to
Rachel who stood on the deck watching my preparations.  She had a look of worry
that reminded me so much of my wife that for a moment my heart ached that I
wasn’t in Arizona to take care of her. 

“Leave the
emotion behind, soldier.  Emotion distracts us.  Emotion gets us killed.”  The
voice of my favorite instructor from the land warfare school at Fort Bragg was
so loud in my head I almost looked to see if he was standing behind Rachel.

Suppressing the
feelings that were running through me I gave Rachel my best, brave smile. 
“I’ll be back.  With Dog.  But, if I’m not back in 24 hours you need to move on
without me.  Understand?”

Rachel nodded,
stepped forward and leaned over the rail to kiss me on the cheek.  “Come back. 
I’ll be waiting.”

I squeezed her
hand, turned and slipped into the dark water of the lake.

The dock was
still swarming with infected.  Either side of the dock the shoreline was
heavily forested except for occasional breaks where large homes had been built
and lush green lawns ran all the way to the water’s edge.  In my survey with
the binoculars before the sun went down I had noted that all of the lawns close
to the dock had also been swarming with infected, but there were less and less
bodies milling on the grass of the houses along the shoreline to the west of
the dock.  This was also the right direction to come ashore as close to the
truck as possible.

I had chosen a
particularly large mansion that also sported its own dock and boat house for my
landing site.  I had a good third of a mile swim ahead of me, but the lake was
calm and the water warm.  I started kicking, careful to keep my feet below the
surface at all times so as not to make any splashing sounds that would alert
the infected to my approach.

One third of a
mile doesn’t sound like much, but when you’re not accustomed to swimming that
far with over forty pounds of weapons and ammo on your body it takes a bit of
time.  Forty five minutes later I made it to the boat house without incident. 
I stood in chest deep water, silently surveying the area for any sound or
movement.  I gave it ten minutes before moving into shallower water.

Moving carefully
to maintain noise discipline I approached the boat house from the lake side. 
The boat house was large, basically a floating building anchored to the shore
and open underneath so all I had to do was duck under the wall and surface
inside the house next to a speed boat.

Again I stood
perfectly still, only this time in waist deep water, and listened for any threat
as it was pitch black in the boat house.  After a few minutes of silence I
carefully moved between the speed boat and its access ramp, slowly pulling
myself and my gear out of the water and onto the ramp.  I immediately went to
one knee and raised my rifle to scan for threats. 

When nothing
materialized I removed the swim fins and swapped them in the waterproof bag for
my socks and boots.  The goggles joined the fins in the bag and a couple of
minutes later, feet dry, I was ready to go.

Silently stepping
to a small window that faced a lawn and massive home with white clapboard
siding I paused to survey the area and again saw no sign of infected.  I moved
to the door and froze as it emitted a loud squeal as it swung open.  It sucks
getting old.  Twenty years ago I would have anticipated this and been
prepared.  Leaving the door a few inches ajar I searched a small work bench in
the boathouse, finally finding a rusting can of WD40. A few squirts on each
hinge and I went back to the window to watch while the chemical lubricants had
time to do their job.

Five minutes
later I was able to swing the door open with only the faintest of sounds,
closed it gently behind me and headed up the lawn.  I moved at a fast walk,
rifle to my shoulder at the ready, and angled across the hundred yards of green
grass towards the right side of the house.

Approaching the
house I quickly changed direction and put my back against the wall when I heard
the sound of a shoe scraping against the ground from around the corner.  I had
my rifle at the ready then thought better of firing off a shot unless I had no
other choice and risk alerting every infected around the lake that I was
available for dinner.  Lowering the rifle and letting it hang from its sling I
silently drew a Ka-Bar fighting knife with a wicked eight inch blade and moved
to the corner of the house.

Peeking around I
saw an infected male stumbling around a large patio area.  He was dressed in
what I suspected were once natty boating clothes but were now a muddy and
bloody mess.  I took my time to scan the area for any more infected, and when I
felt it was clear I stepped around the corner and moved quickly behind the male
and drove the Ka-Bar into the soft spot at the base of the skull where the
spine meets the head.

He dropped like
a puppet with its strings cut, my knife pulling out of his skull with a wet,
sucking sound.  I bent and wiped the blade clean on his clothing before
re-sheathing then brought my rifle back to the ready and moved across the patio
and into the woods that had been neatly cut back from the lawn.

It was dark in
the woods.  Back in the day I would have had night vision to help, but
unfortunately the gun shop I had raided either hadn’t had any or they had
already been taken.  I had to move slowly to maintain noise discipline as well
as not stumble upon an infected that just happened to be standing there.  I
didn’t really expect to meet any in the woods, but at the same time I wasn’t
going to take any chances.

It took me an
hour to navigate the woods at my slow and cautious pace.  My face and arms were
scratched from vines and small branches I couldn’t see in the dark and it felt
like a family of mosquitoes had taken up residence on every inch of exposed
skin.  Ignoring the discomfort I stopped when the woods ended at the road where
we had abandoned the truck.  To my left the road rose up and disappeared over a
rise, and if my navigation was good that would be where I would find the truck.

I waited, hidden
in the brush, watching and listening.  Even though I knew the world had changed
it really didn’t hit me completely until that moment.  I was on the edge of a
major city with probably the busiest airport in the world, and the night was
primeval quiet.  There was the sound of crickets, owls and other nocturnal animals,
but there wasn’t a single modern human noise to be heard.  No big diesel truck
slowing on the freeway, no rap music blasting way too loud from a car that
probably cost less than the stereo system in it, no sounds of airplanes,
nothing.  Just the quiet that had been here hundreds of years ago.

Refocusing on
the road I took my time scanning the pavement and the opposite tree line.  I
didn’t see anything and the only sounds were small nocturnal animals moving in
the underbrush.  After a full fifteen minutes of watching I decided to move. 
Drawing my knife I stepped out of the woods and started walking along a narrow
strip of mown grass that separated the tree line from the edge of the asphalt. 
My steps were nearly silent to my own ears so I knew the sound wasn’t carrying
more than a few feet.  My rifle was slung tight under my left arm, ready for
use, as I approached the top of the rise.  Slowing my pace I eventually dropped
to first my knees then my belly to crawl the last few feet to the crest so that
I didn’t create a silhouette on top of the rise.  I had to worry about more
than just the infected.

A couple of
hundred yards down the road the truck sat sideways on the pavement, gleaming
faintly in the moonlight.  I was relieved to note that the doors were closed,
so at least the infected hadn’t had easy access to make a meal out of Dog. 
Unfortunately there were close to fifty infected, both males and females,
surrounding the truck and in the open bed. 

Different plans
swirled through my head and were quickly discarded.  I couldn’t take on this
many infected single handed.  If they had all been males, perhaps, but even
then I would have to use the rifle and the sound would draw every infected
within a half mile radius.  I needed to find a way to draw them all away from
the truck so I could make a mad dash and rescue Dog.

I was
concentrating so hard that I almost failed to note the sounds of shuffling foot
steps behind me.  Spinning around I saw a large male only a few feet away. 
Damn it!  Either I was slipping in my old age or he was one stealthy son of a
bitch.  I launched off the ground, leading with the Ka-Bar as he lurched
towards me, mouth open as he started to let out a gurgling snarl. 

Coming off the
ground I drove upwards with my legs, the blade held straight out in my right
hand like a spear.  The tip met the soft tissue under his chin and I kept
shoving until it punched through his mouth and up into his brain.  It was like
turning off a light switch.  A strong, animated opponent suddenly went as limp
as a sack of rice and collapsed.  Unfortunately he collapsed on top of me and
pushed me to the ground, covering me with blood.

Cursing silently
I shoved the corpse off of me and pulled the knife out of his head with a
slightly nauseating sucking noise.  I wiped the blade on his clothes, but
couldn’t do anything about the sticky blood that coated my hand, arm and
chest.  It would have to wait until I got back to the lake and swam back out to
the boat.

Crouching, I
scanned the area and it appeared clear.  It had seemed clear earlier but this
big fucker had surprised me and almost ruined my evening.  Making a mental note
to keep scanning my immediate surroundings very frequently, I turned my
attention back to the truck.  It didn’t look like any of the infected had noted
the brief scuffle.  Good.  Now, how to distract them long enough to silently
run two hundred yards, get Dog out of the truck then disappear into the woods
without unwanted company.

An idea took
shape, I tried and found about a dozen holes in the plan, but couldn’t come up
with anything better.  I began digging through the other waterproof bag, while
scanning my surroundings.  Inside were three reactive targets that I had
grabbed when I looted the sporting goods store.

Reactive
targets, also called exploding targets, are a binary explosive.  They are
plastic containers about the size of a squat pickle jar that contain ammonium
nitrate and powdered aluminum in separate packets.  When the two substances are
mixed and the container is struck with a high velocity rifle slug they react
very violently and create a very loud blast and lots of smoke.  They don’t
burn, so no worries about setting the forest on fire.  My problem was how to
shoot them with my rifle to get them to detonate without giving away my
location to the infected.

Remembering
something I’d been taught in the military I started scouting along the
roadside.  It took nearly half an hour but I finally found what I was looking
for.  I had collected two 2 liter plastic bottles, Pepsi and Mountain Dew if it
matters, and one large Arrowhead plastic water bottle.

An instructor
I’d known at Fort Bragg had called these Hillbilly Silencers.  Put the muzzle
of your weapon into the mouth of the bottle, tape it on good and tight, and you
had a one use poor man’s sound suppressor that would reduce the report of the
rifle firing by almost 80%.  The down side was that each bottle only worked for
one shot as it would get pretty well torn up by the bullet and the gasses
expanding out of the muzzle of the weapon.  If you needed a second or third
quiet shot you had to take the time to remove the remains of the current bottle
and tape a new one on in its place.

My hope was that
the bottle would reduce the report of my rifle enough for the sound not to
carry the 200 yards to the infected, or at least not to carry well enough for
them to identify my position.  Pulling the plastic tabs on each of the
containers that kept the two ingredients separated during shipping and storage
I shook them to get them ready, then placed each one back in the waterproof
bag.  Shouldering the bag I crept back into the woods.

My plan was to
work my way past the infected and place the targets on the side of the road
about 100 yards beyond the truck.  I would then return to my current position
and put a round into the targets, hoping the resulting explosion and smoke
would draw all the infected away from the truck.  There were several holes in
that plan.

First; I had to
make my way silently through 300 yards of forest, place the targets, and then
retrace my path without alerting the infected.

Second; assuming
I successfully placed the targets and made it back I then had three tries to
make a 300 yard shot in the dark.  Granted, the target containers were
fluorescent orange, but they weren’t significantly larger than my fist in
profile.  I would have three opportunities at best before I ran out of
Hillbilly Silencers.

Third; I was
counting on the plastic bottles to muffle the report of my rifle enough to not
draw infected to my position, and…

Fourth; the
infected had to be attracted to the explosion in sufficient numbers to allow me
relatively free access to the truck.

Fifth; I had to
get to the truck, get Dog out, and disappear without being spotted.  I was
confident I could easily outdistance the males, but if several females got on
my trail they would run me to ground very quickly.  And they were damn STRONG.

There were
probably about a dozen more problems with my plan that ran through my head as I
worked through the brush, but I put them aside so I could concentrate on noise
discipline and scanning for any infected that might be loitering in the
trees.  

Twenty minutes
later I had covered the 200 yards and was parallel with the truck.  In the
faint moonlight I counted 50 infected around and on the truck, then quit
counting and guessed the number was close to 70.  About fifteen of them were
females.  More than enough to form a hunting pack, run me down and rip me to
shreds.  I was glad to note that the wire mesh I had covered all the truck’s
glass with was still intact.  Other than scared, hungry and dehydrated, Dog
should be OK.

Moving slower
because of my proximity to the infected I kept on, taking another twenty
minutes to go the final hundred yards.  Stopping on a small hump in the terrain
I belly crawled to the shoulder of the road and placed the targets on the edge
of the asphalt.  Every movement was slow and deliberate, bringing sweat out as
I concentrated on not making any noise.  The mosquitoes that had found me in
the forest had stayed with me and the only positive news was that malaria and
yellow fever didn’t exist in Georgia.  Regardless I’d look like a pin cushion
for a few days.