Voodoo Plague - 01 (16 page)

It was a slow
search.  I didn’t want to go too fast and waste gas as well as alert Rachel’s
captors to my approach.  Not that the Mercury motors didn’t sound like a growl
from the hounds of hell, but the faster I went the more noise they would make. 
A couple of hours later I had lost count of how many coves I had checked.  A
couple of larger homes had boat houses large enough to conceal the cabin
cruiser and I had cautiously checked them as well.  Both were empty.

My stomach was
growling.  I’d left the boat without eating the meal that Rachel had prepared
and I’d burned a lot of energy.  Chastising myself for worrying about my own
hunger I pushed on in the dark.  Visions of Rachel at the hands of people like
the men I’d killed outside the sporting goods store made the muscles in my jaw
ache as I clenched my teeth.  Whoever had taken her was not going to have a
pleasant time when I found them.

Another hour and
countless coves later I motored around a sharp bend in the lake and immediately
slapped the throttles to idle and cut the engines.  On the north shore of the
lake, no more than half a mile away, a large house sat back in the trees lit up
like they were having a party.  In the light that spilled down to the water I
could see the cabin cruiser tied up at the dock next to a small bass boat and a
sleek ski boat. 

Water is an
excellent sound reflector and noises will travel long distances across still
water.  The lake was as still as a mill pond and I could clearly hear the sound
of an engine I guessed to be a generator as well as country music playing along
with the laughter of several men.  Raising the binoculars I scanned the cruiser
and other two boats which both appeared to be unoccupied.  The dock and lawn
were also equally empty.  No sentries?  Didn’t these guys realize what had
happened in the world?

I spent another
ten minutes watching the house, then took my time scanning the shoreline on
either side looking for infected.  None to be found.  Perhaps the house was
just too far off the beaten path.  There were no other houses on the shore for
as far as I could see with binoculars in each direction.  Just thick trees and
brush that came all the way to a thin strip of mud that was the shoreline. 

Back to the
house I spotted movement on the second floor balcony that must have had a
fantastic view of the lake.  An overweight man with long, greasy hair walked
out through an open set of French doors, stepped up to the railing and after a
moment of fumbling with his pants pissed over the rail and onto the lawn
below.  After what seemed like forever he zipped back up, wiped his hands on
the legs of his pants and lit a cigarette before going back inside.

I thought I
could identify four different voices yelling and laughing, but between the
generator noise and the music it was hard to tell.  There could have been ten
men inside and I was only hearing the ones that were making all the noise.  I
was sure there was plenty of alcohol being consumed and my concern for Rachel
ratcheted up to outright worry.

Starting the
motors I had a brief moment of concern that they would hear me, but dismissed
it as another burst of laughter floated across the water.  Moving the throttles
to their first notch I steered the boat towards the shore.  About a quarter of
a mile to the right of the house there was a very small indentation in the
shoreline where I could anchor the boat out of sight.  Cutting the motors as I
approached, the boat’s momentum carried it into the cove which was no more than
100 feet across and maybe 50 feet deep.  I anchored as close to the center of
this as I could, the boat swinging around the anchor point until it settled
fully.

I had already
reloaded my pistol after blasting my way out of the boat house, but I checked
the loads in each of the magazines anyway.  Pistol fully loaded with 16 rounds
and two spare mags of 15 rounds each.  Rifle with a full 30 round mag plus 1 in
the chamber and another 9 full 30 round mags gave me a full military standard
load out.  I checked the security of my knife and was ready to go.

Taking the key
out of the ignition I hid it under a seat cushion at the bow of the boat.  No
reason to make it too easy for anyone that happened onto the boat while I was
gone.  I planned to rescue Rachel and recover the cabin cruiser if possible. 
If not then we’d have to return to the speed boat.  I didn’t even contemplate
coming back alone.  They’d have to kill me to stop me.

I slipped over
the side of the boat into the water which was still over my head.  Treading
water I called softly to Dog who whined but finally came over the side as well
and started paddling to shore.  I followed, feet finding the lake bottom half
way to shore.  Wading out of the lake I paused to make sure my weapons were
drained of water.  Satisfied with their readiness I stooped over and grabbed
handfuls of mud which I smeared on all of my exposed skin.  I hadn’t worried
about white skin showing when I was battling infected, but I didn’t want to
give these guys any more of an advantage than they already had with sheer numbers.

Dog and I headed
west towards the house, following the shoreline as we moved.  The closer I
approached the house the slower I moved until we melded into the trees, cutting
through the forest at an angle that I calculated to bring us to the lawn at the
side of the house.  Pausing to listen every few yards I was glad to note that
the tone of the party hadn’t changed.  They had no idea death was coming for
them.

Reaching the
lawn I dropped to one knee, Dog flattening himself on the ground next to me. 
His ears were at full attention, his nose twitching as he sampled the air.  He
stayed silent and I took that as confirmation of my assessment that there were
still no sentries on lookout and no infected in the area. 

Across a long
stretch of lawn a large diesel generator purred away.  It was obviously built
into the house and I couldn’t tell if it was the only source of power or just
for emergencies.  Next to the generator was a door that I suspected opened into
a shop area where maintenance supplies for the house were stored.

The house was
two stories with a patio and covering balcony on the lake side that ran the
length of the structure.  I took a guess that the home was close to 6,000
square feet which meant a lot of rooms to clear once I got inside.  It was
relatively dark on my end of the house and I moved at a quick jog across the
open space to the wall.  Pausing between the generator and the door I reached
out and tried the knob, not surprised when I found it unlocked.

It turned easily
in my hand and I opened the door a crack, just wide enough to peer inside the
room.  My guess had been right.  A large workshop with an epoxy coated cement
floor and walls covered with peg boards that held a vast assortment of tools. 
No one was inside and there was no other door, so no access to the house from
this room.  I reached in and fumbled around for the light switch, found it and
turned it off.  I would leave the workshop door ajar in case I needed to
retreat to somewhere defensible and I didn’t want to be silhouetted by the
light when I opened the door.

Creeping along
the wall of the house to the front side, the side away from the lake, I peeked
around the corner.  A sleek Mercedes S Class sat in a circular driveway made of
crushed stone.  Surrounding the gleaming car like a pack of hyenas sat six mud
splattered 4x4 trucks.  Two of them had Confederate flag license plates on the
front and all of them were obviously brush beaters.

Slipping around
the corner I checked the closest truck and found it unlocked with the windows
down.  The keys weren’t in it, but that didn’t matter.  I didn’t plan to steal
it.  Dropping to the ground I slid under the truck, risked my flashlight for a
moment to locate the correct wire, and then used my knife to disable the
truck’s starter.  I repeated the process with each of the other trucks.  When
done with them I looked at the Mercedes and realized I wasn’t going to be
crawling under it.  Instead I settled with flattening two of the tires.  Now no
one was going anywhere that they didn’t walk unless they were on a boat.

Returning to the
side of the house I made my way to the back and peeked around the corner. 
Still no sentry, and the party sounded like it had shifted into a higher gear. 
I rounded the corner and crawled to a well-lit window.  Raising my head an inch
at a time I finally got a look inside the house.  A large room held three sofas
placed along the walls.  A pool table occupied the center of the room and seven
men lounged on the sofas watching two others shoot pool.  The fat man I’d seen
take a piss earlier tried a shot that missed horribly to the delight of all the
others who hooted and laughed like it was the funniest thing they’d ever seen. 

Empty beer cans
sat on just about every available horizontal surface, many more dribbling onto
the expensive looking carpet.  Several empty whiskey bottles lay on the floor
and cigarette butts were everywhere, apparently just crushed out underfoot on
the carpet.  All of the men were armed with holstered pistols, several of them
with hunting knives strapped to their muddy boots.  None of them looked like
they’d seen a shower or a razor in at least a couple of weeks.

Here were nine
drunks, but no Rachel.  I dropped back below the window and crawled on to the
edge of a set of French doors.  Peeking around the corner I saw a large kitchen
filled with commercial grade appliances and a large oak table in the middle of
the room.  Two more men sat at the table, drinking and smoking.  Rachel stood
at the stove cooking something while they watched.

Rachel was
completely nude.  Her back was to me and I could see angry red hand prints on
each of her ass cheeks.  When she turned to bring the food she was preparing to
the table I could see more marks on her face, neck, thighs and breasts where
she had been grabbed and slapped.

She looked up as
she walked across the room, spotting me and almost faltering in her step, but
she recovered smoothly enough for the men to not notice.  At the table she
shoveled scrambled eggs out of a large cast iron skillet onto the waiting
plates and was thanked with another hard slap on the ass.  The other man
reached up and grabbed her right breast and squeezed it hard enough to make her
flinch, but she didn’t try to pull away. 

Rachel kept her
eyes on me while the men groped her, then the breast squeezer dismissed her
with another slap on her bare ass that was hard enough to make her stumble. 
She recovered and quickly moved away to the safety of the stove.  The men dug
into the eggs, eating like they hadn’t had food for days.

I looked at
Rachel and used hand signs to tell her I counted eleven men, then raised my
eyebrows questioningly.  She understood and without raising her hands very
carefully extended all ten fingers then two more.  Twelve.  I had spotted
eleven.  Where was the twelfth?  I pointed at the room with the pool table and
held up nine fingers.  Rachel nodded subtly enough to not be noticed.  I
pointed at the two in the kitchen, then raised my eyebrows again.  Rachel
shrugged her shoulders no more than a half an inch, but enough for me to tell
she was saying she didn’t know.

Shit.  The odd
man out could ruin my day.  Surprise and sobriety were on my side.  I was
confident I could take the two in the kitchen with my knife, then the nine with
my rifle.  The problem was getting blindsided by the missing man while I was
finishing off the room full of drunks. 

I made a calming
motion with my hand to Rachel and moved away from the edge of the door before I
was spotted.  Dog was next to me, flattened to the ground and as alert as
ever.  I was glad to have his nose and ears to keep an eye on my back.  I guess
even Dog isn’t perfect because by the time he growled it was too late. 

“Don’t fuckin’
move,” A male voice with a thick accent said, accompanied by the unmistakable
sound of a shotgun being racked from the darkness at the corner of the house.

It has always
amazed me how the mind speeds up in high stress or high danger situations.  I
know what it’s like in combat and I’ve heard professional athletes try to
explain the same phenomenon.  The body will dump a massive amount of adrenaline
into the blood stream and the brain immediately goes into hyper speed.  Your
senses and reactions are so enhanced that everyone and everything else around
you is in super slow motion and super HD clarity, your analytical and decision
making processes going into warp drive.  This is an incredible edge in combat,
or on the field, and not many people can do this.  Special Forces operators and
pro athletes that play at a high level typically have this ability and it’s
what lets us get to where we are in our chosen profession.

A fraction of a
second after I heard the voice start to speak the world around me slowed down. 
I realized that if I was captured I’d be dead and Rachel might as well be. 
Fighting was the only option that gave us a chance at survival.  This thought
went through my head and the decision to fight was made in less than the blink
of an eye.

My rifle was still
slung and would take too long to bring to bear, but my pistol was inches from
my hand and ready to go.  Launching myself towards the voice with a mighty push
of my legs I drew the pistol as I twisted to get into a firing position. 
Shotguns at close range are devastating weapons.  If it was twelve gauge loaded
with 00 buck shot it was essentially the same as firing eight .38 special
pistols at the same time, each of the shot pellets being about the same size as
a .38 bullet.  As I pushed off my hope was that my assailant didn’t really have
the shotgun pointed directly at me as most people rely on the intimidation
factor rather than expecting to actually have to shoot.

My body reached
full extension and as I twisted I started firing the pistol at the spot where
the voice had come from.  After my second shot sounded the shotgun boomed and a
tongue of flame lit the corner of the porch like a strobe light.  I felt
something tug my left arm and the left side of my chest, but it didn’t hurt so
I ignored it.

The flash from
the shotgun firing gave me an aiming point and as I landed on the porch in a
fully prone position I quickly put six rounds into the spot where I’d seen the
flash.  I was rewarded with the sound of a body hitting the ground and a
shotgun clattering to the porch.  Without pausing I dropped the pistol
magazine, popped in a fresh one and holstered it, then swung my rifle around as
I leapt to my feet.

The rifle I’d
looted from the sporting goods store was most likely illegal as it was a
military version of the M4 with a selector setting for Semi Auto and Burst. 
Semi means for every pull of the trigger one round, and one round only, will be
fired and another loaded into the chamber.  Burst will fire three rounds for
every pull of the trigger.  I thumbed the selector to burst and stepped in
front of the window that looked into the room where the men were playing pool.

I couldn’t begin
to guess how much time had elapsed since I’d fired the first round from the
pistol, but it couldn’t have been long as the nine men in the room were still
basically where they had been, not having reacted to the firefight yet.  I was
sure the alcohol they had consumed contributed to slowing them down, but I was
moving at warp speed and they weren’t.

Aiming through
the window I pulled the trigger and three rounds shattered the glass and
punched into the chest of one of the pool players.  Before he had time to fall
I adjusted slightly and sent three more rounds into the second player.  Now I
had their attention.

Shouts and curses
sprang from them and they all started moving.  In slow motion I saw three of
them reach for their pistols.  I targeted each of them, putting each down in
turn so quickly none of them had time to get their pistols up and into action. 
I shot two more as they tried to scramble across the floor and out the door
that led to the kitchen.  The remaining two were in opposite corners of the
room but I had to swing my rifle to my left when the French doors leading from
the kitchen burst open.

One of the men
from the kitchen rushed out the door, pistol up and ready but before he could
even spot and target me I put a three round burst into his head.  I spun back
to the rec room but only one of the men was visible.  Three rounds in his back
put him down, then I had to move as bullets started punching out through the
wall right next me.  Someone was firing blind and hoping for a lucky shot.  I
didn’t know if it was the other man from the kitchen or the last man from the
rec room that I’d lost sight of.

I quickly changed
the magazines in the rifle and fired five bursts back through the wall towards
the most likely location of the shooter.  The shooting from inside the house
stopped and I moved to the kitchen doors, nearly shooting Rachel as she stepped
into the doorway.  Without a word I grabbed her arm and pulled her out of the
house and past me as I moved into the kitchen.  The second man I’d seen eating
was lying face down on the floor, the handle of a rather substantial butcher
knife sticking out of his back.  I made a mental note not to piss Rachel off in
the kitchen.

The only man not
accounted for was the shooter that I thought I’d gotten when I shot through the
wall.  I briefly debated the wisdom of just getting out of there, but if he
wasn’t dead I didn’t want to leave him behind to get pissed off, find some
friends and come after us.  Pushing ahead I kept the rifle up and ready.

Moving quickly
but cautiously I entered the rec room, scanning with the rifle for any
threats.  The room was a slaughterhouse.  The stench of blood, voided bladders
and bowels and the overlaid haze of burnt gunpowder was a familiar smell that
had a strange calming effect on me.  I went to each body, counting as I went
and making sure each was dead.  When I found the one who was shooting through
the wall I was pleased with my response.  I’d fired five bursts, fifteen
rounds, back through the wall and I counted thirteen holes in the body. 

The adrenaline
was quickly draining off and the post combat letdown started to set in.  With
it came the pain.  Then I realized I was having a hard time breathing.  I
stumbled back to the kitchen and out the door to the porch where I would have
fallen to the ground if Rachel hadn’t rushed forward and wrapped her arms
around me for support.