The Rise of Macon: A Zombie Novel (Macon Saga Book 2) Read online

  At these directions, Jasmine and Patrick both jumped up. "Please, don't hurt them, they're just kids."

  Dave gave Jasmine a mocking smile. "Of course, I'm not a monster. But you'll thank me in a minute, trust me on that."

  Jasmine sat. She didn't know what to say, helplessness hung from her and Patrick, the failure of keeping their kids safe a weight on their souls.

  The kids, now crying and reaching for their parents, were moved out of the room.

  "Now, let's get those guards down here. Can't have them wondering around on the walls, can we?" Dave gave a smirk and motioned to the smaller biker, who ran out of the room.

  The group heard the biker call out to the guards, telling them to come in for dinner and that replacements would head out. Dave moved his handgun again, reminding everyone to not say a word.

  Abe racked his brain to remember who was on watch. Zack and Edmund, if he remembered correctly. Would they leave their post with no replacements?

  A few moments later, the group heard the sound of feet heading toward the chow hall. Edmund, chatting happily, entered the room a few feet in front of Zack, who was listening to his friend.

  Edmund, not noticing the situation, walked right up to the soup line and never saw what happened next. Zack followed Edmund, walking through the open door, when the giant biker swung a fist from the interior of the room. A loud crack sounded as the giant biker hit him in the side of the head with his massive fist. The boy's head snapped violently to the side, his neck breaking instantly.

  Zack dropped to the ground, his body limp.

  Edmund turned around as shouts of rage and murder rang out. The situation almost exploded until Dave fired a shot, instantly silencing the crowd at the direct threat.

  "I didn't tell you to do that," warned Dave, looking at the biker. Dave didn't care about the kid, but the biker doing things on his own was something that wouldn't be tolerated.

  "I didn't mean to hit him so hard," explained the biker in his lumbering voice.

  "Check on him."

  "I think I broke his neck," said the big biker, checking the pulse of Zack. He looked back at Dave and shrugged his shoulders.

  Dave didn't like surprises, not unless they were his. He would have to deal with this later. First he needed to get these people taken care of.

  Dave called for everyone to get up and move outside. The giant biker moved through the door, pushing Zack's body aside like trash. He moved into the courtyard, pointing his handgun at the group as they exited the chow hall. Dave hung back, his beady black eyes following the group, watching them for a mistake. He didn't mind. He planned on teaching a lesson today anyways.

  Dave led the group to the middle of the parade ground, its brown and dying grass crunching under their feet as they walked.

  "This is far enough. Sit," Dave said, motioning to the ground with his handgun. He then nodded to his friend and said, "Go ahead."

  Abe, his blood boiling at the cold blooded murder of Zack, decided he couldn't take this anymore. He ran through options of what to do as he was grabbed by the big biker. Fear and defiance fought within him about what his response would be. Defiance won.

  Abe, being pulled to his feet, leaped up and jammed his head into the murderer of Zack. Bright blood gushed, as an audible crack came from the biker's nose. Abe didn't have time to smile in satisfaction as heard the loud shot of a gun. A hot piercing sensation stung his leg and he looked down.

  Blood.

  A dark stain began to soak the bottom of his pants leg and he realized he'd been shot. He hadn't really felt pain until he got a look at the blood, but it soon appeared, and Abe fell to the ground, his leg deciding to take a rest.

  Yells of anger and protest erupted from those sitting on the ground. Another shot rang out and Dave yelled, his voice cutting off the violence that threatened to erupt. "That was his own doing. I could have killed him, I didn't." He pointed again to the big man. "Get him tied up."

  The biker grabbed Abe again, this time with violent force, making him walk on is throbbing leg. Abe's thoughts were confused as he was stood up, and his back was put against a piece of wood that had been placed in the courtyard earlier. His hands were untied, placed behind the wood, and retied. His leg threatened to give out on him again, so he shifted his weight to his other leg and though of Kyle's many warnings not to be reckless. He wondered if this counted.

  Ten of the two by fours had been placed in the courtyard. All ten had men from the group tied to them, hands tied behind the wood, carefully watching Dave, wondering what would happen next. The rest of the group, mostly the woman and older folks, were sitting on the ground between them.

  Dave smirked at the group, slowly walking back and forth, while the other biker finished his task of making sure they were all tied properly. Finished, the big man picked up Wes, the older man's shoulders slumped, and hauled him in front of everyone, next to where Dave stood waiting.

  Dave turned to the older man, regarding him for a minute, then shook his head sadly. "At one time, you would have never let this happen Wes. You had this coming." Before he was finished talking, Dave pulled a slim silver knife from his pocket, grabbed a handful of long gray hair and brought the knife around, slicing Wes' throat. No one had time to register what was happening before the task was done.

  Abe watched as Rich threw his body forward, his long muscular arms bulging and straining at the rope holding him. He let out a scream of pure desperation that filled Abe with dread. Rich thrashed at the rope, his hands turning bloody as he pulled to get free. He pleaded, begged for his father. Dave turned his eyes toward Rich and laughed. Rich desperately called to his father to hold on, to look at him. The old man, hazy and confused, looked at his son as his eyes lost focus, his life blood pouring from his body.

  Abe, shocked into dumbness, watched as the old man jerked a final time, then fell face forward onto the ground, his body making a sickening thump when it hit the ground. Blood poured out of the wide cut in this throat, the dry, cold ground of Macon eagerly absorbing it.

  Chapter 13

  Kyle was cold. Though being cold wasn't the least of his problems, as the three of them made their way through the inter-costal, back around to the ocean and down the coast to fort Macon. The small boat rode like a mustang at the vet. In truth, the ride or the boat weren't that bad, but every jostle sent pain coursing through Kyle's broken rib. He was ready to be back at Macon.

  The small boat was a 33 foot, Special Purpose Craft-Law Enforcement craft (SPC-LE), or as Grace called it, a rigid hull inflatable. To Kyle, it looked like an aluminum square box, surrounded by an orange balloon, the kind clowns make into animals. The balloon side was actually hard, hence the rigid part. To Kyle's surprise, it had three, 300 horse power engines and could fly through the water. They decided to go slow, to scout the land around them and scavenge if they could. They had no luck.

  The beaches, both on the inter-coastal and on the ocean side were crawling with diseased. Kyle and James's effort to bring all the diseased to the far side of the island had been wildly successful and there they stood, walking aimlessly. On the ocean side, they passed a boat drifting out in the ocean, its passengers dead or diseased. After seeing that no one could possibly be alive on the boat, they steered away from it. They were taking no chances.

  The cold and constant arm of the ocean punching him in the ribs didn't annoy Kyle as much as the conversation going on between Grace and James. The two seemed to, despite all the odds, have hit it off. Though mostly Grace did the talking and James answered in mono-syllable words. Still it annoyed Kyle, who sat in one of the shock-mitigating seats, a hand over his ribs to keep them secure.

  "So everyone calls him the 'professor'?" Grace asked, throwing her head back and laughing at the nick name.

  "Most do," answered James from behind the wheel of the small boat.

  Kyle frowned. "I don't call myself that, nor did I ask to be called that. I just used to teach at a college before I worked at the plant.
"

  Grace turned towards him, pushing back her red hair, being whipped in her face by the wind. "But you got fired."

  "Not fired, laid off."

  "That's what you say," she said, raising an eyebrow.

  "Because that's what happened," growled Kyle. "Ask James."

  James turned his head back towards them. "I didn't know you then Kyle."

  Kyle almost stood up, "That's what you decided to say, you hulking mute. Anyways, it doesn't matter, ask Abe when we get back, he'll tell you."

  James gave a small grin, something he seemed to do more with Grace around, and turned back around. She smiled at Kyle. "I'm just saying, it's not like we can go check out your story with everything that's going on. Mighty convenient if you ask me."

  Frustrating. That was the nicest word Kyle could think of to describe this girl. Was she just joking? "I don't think anyone did ask you," he said

  "Mighty defensive isn't he James?" Grace said laughing again.

  Kyle shook his head, he'd had enough and this caused Grace to just laugh more. "He's kind of a moody guy isn't he?"

  "That's what Abe says," responded James, not turning his head.

  "Damn it James, go back to steering the boat," Kyle yelled over the wind. This caused Grace and James to laugh harder. Kyle sat back looking defeated, but silently he fought the temptation to smile. He wasn't really frustrated at all, he knew the game she was playing and didn't mind having the fun. He was fine with friendly banter and there was no need to spoil their fun. Though he did decide it would be good to get away from these two for a while. Ok, maybe not Grace.

  The trip was slow, the sun making its long journey down, by the time they neared Macon. They decided to beach the boat on the ocean side, farther from the fort, but safe from the river's current.

  The rumbling engines, though idling, sped the light boat at a decent speed as it hit the beach and slid up the dark sand. James jumped out and hit the beach, carrying a line to anchor the boat to the sand. Kyle followed more slowly, carefully dropping into the water, and grabbed a second line. They both pulled the boat farther up the beach and nailed long spikes into the sand to keep the tide from pulling it out to sea.

  Grace killed the engines and began to hand the three large black bags to James and Kyle, who laid them farther up the beach. In short order, with all the supplies they'd gathered unloaded, they started the half kilometer walk to the Fort.

  Barely off the beach, Kyle dropped his black bag and slowly squatted down. Grace, also straining with the heavy and awkward bag, sat hers beside Kyle. James waited beside them, still holding his bag. Kyle looked up at James. "I'll have to come back for the bag. It's killing my ribs. I think it'll be safe here, we'll just cover it with some foliage."

  James nodded and finally dropped his bag. He rifled through the one he'd been carrying and picket out a pair of binoculars. "I'll take a look."

  Kyle nodded. "Good idea." He should have thought of that himself, but the pain in his side seemed to push everything out of his head. He needed to get hold of that. He wasn't the first to have to deal with busted ribs. Wincing, he got up and followed James a few feet to a dune he was laying against.

  They'd been lucky in seeing no diseased walking around, more than lucky really. They half expected to be met at the beach by at least a few. None came. James took his time with the binoculars, while Kyle looked around at the familiar landscape. The area around the fort was clear for two hundred yards, giving tourists plenty of space to picnic or simply admire the fort from a distance. Beyond that, where they laid now, sparse vegetation covered the sandy ground, with thin pine trees struggling to survive in the inhospitable soil. They could clearly see the fort in the distance, its round brick top sticking out in the horizon.

  "Anything?" Kyle asked, trying to wait patiently for the binoculars.

  "Not that I can see," answered James, handing them to him.

  Kyle put the black bio's to eyes, adjusted them and viewed the fort as if only standing a few feet away. No diseased loitered near the unseen moat, probably having fell in. He moved from the left to the right, taking his time.

  "Looks all clear," he said softly, though he didn't stop what he was doing. He kept watching, searching for something that wasn't there.

  "That's what you wanted right?" Grace asked happily.

  "Yep," mumbled Kyle, deciding to sweep the fort one more time from left to right. He didn't think to ask if something could go wrong, for what could have? The thought that something was amiss also didn't cross his mind, but something was wrong. He felt it. That little itch, the small feeling at the bottom of his stomach when you know it's not right. He searched again, almost convincing himself he was being stupid.

  Almost.

  He told himself he would scan it one more time, then they would just walk there and signal someone, then…signal someone. Kyle tensed as he swept the binoculars to the extreme left of the fort. He saw, clearly, the top of the inner wall, the overgrown grass blowing in the afternoon breeze, its manicured lawn for the tourists now left alone to its own devices.

  He moved his sight further to the right, seeing the same thing; more grass, more dark red bricks and then more bricks. He viewed the top part of the guard rail, placed in dangerous parts to keep tourists from falling. He finished the sweep and still no diseased, but now he knew what the feeling was in the pit of his stomach. He saw no one to signal to either.

  He pulled the binoculars down, rolled over and settled on his back in the sand, handing the binoculars to James. "Take another look and tell me what you think."

  James didn't reply, but took the bio's and searched the fort, his head turning almost unnoticeable. While he waited, Kyle wondered if he was being paranoid. He thought back to the instructions he'd given, the instructions everyone had agreed upon for their safety. It was common sense.

  James interrupted his thoughts. "There should be two people on guard duty."

  "Exactly, we did agree on that, didn't we?" confirmed Kyle, not wanting to make a mistake.

  "There was no agreeing, you ordered it," said the big man, his eyes meeting Kyle. He was stating a fact, not pointing out a dictatorship. "Something's wrong."

  Kyle nodded. But what? They needed to know. "Count the vehicles, see if any of them are missing."

  James looked through the binoculars, his mouth moving as he counted the trucks to the side of the fort.

  Grace leaned closer to Kyle, who was watching the fort, his chin resting on his hands. "Can't we just get closer and look?'

  Kyle didn't respond, but thought it over. If there weren't any guards, then sneaking up on the fort would be much easier. Normally, it would be suicide, as the fort had an unobstructed 360 view of landscape around it, but if no one was watching…yes, it might work.

  "All there, including Old Ben's truck, with a trailer attached. Looks like they were successful."

  Kyle again nodded, he noticed it himself, but wanted to make sure. He was about to voice some concerns, when a sound that could only be a scream ripped through the silence of the day. Kyle froze. The scream, even at that distance from the fort, was a terrible thing to hear. It spoke of pain. It definitely came from the fort, its direction clear. Kyle grabbed the binoculars from James and scanned the fort again. Nothing. A scream sounded again, full of primal rage and agony. Kyle froze. Who was it?

  All manner of worst case scenarios flashed in Kyle's mind, each one worse than the previous one. His immediate impulse: charge and kill everything in sight that wasn't familiar. A childish, if not dangerous thought. He settled his overactive mind, pushed aside his panic, and tried to reason through what could have happened. The diseased? How had they gotten through when the drawbridge was still up? And why only one scream and not more? Added to that, the absence of any shots of gunfire from that direction. No, it wasn't the diseased. He thought. Something else was going on, but how to find out?

  "I don't see anyone," James finally responded as he looked at Kyle.

  Kyle
looked over at Grace, her questioning eyes threatening to distract him. "Is there any more rope on the boat, and an anchor?'

  She jumped up. "Yeah, I'll get it." The sound of her crashing over the loose sticks caused Kyle to wince, despite the lack of a guard and the distance they were at.

  Kyle turned back to the fort and gave voice to his plans. "We're going to have to close that ground without being seen, but getting into the fort will be the real chore."

  "What are you thinking?" asked James.

  "When we get there, we'll have to jump in the moat. From there we can look through the barred windows into each encasement and see if we can gain any information about what's going on. After that, well, we're going to have to scale that wall somehow."

  Kyle didn't respond, and they both fell silent, the sound of softly crashing waves the only noise in the area. The squash of Grace's feet on sand soon approached from behind, and she dived next to them, as if she were already taking fire from the fort. She carried a thick, white rope neatly bundled. It wasn't the thinnest of ropes, more conducive to ship handling than repelling, but it would have to do. She also carried a small white anchor, which she showed to Kyle with a questioning look.

  "Perfect," he replied, thinking they'd gotten lucky borrowing a Coast Guard boat. "Okay, let's load up, then we'll make a break for the fort.

  Magazines were stripped from rifles, checked and replaced, then they slung the rifles from their shoulders and checked the magazines for the handguns. James grabbed the rope and anchor, also intending to carry Kyle's bandolier, but Kyle slapped his hand away with a frown.

  "You have enough," Kyle said with irritation. He wasn't dead. Kyle rearranged the short artillery sword towards the back of his waist and looked at Grace, who was checking the action to her Beretta. "You don't need to do this, you can watch the boat."

  "It's not a boat," she said fiercely, her eyes seeming to glow at the suggestion. "And I'm coming. I'd rather face that with James, then stay out here in deadville."