Milepost 291

CHAPTER TWELVE

Franklin Wheeler had been preparing for Doomsday for much of his adult life, but never in his wildest fantasies would he have planned for this scenario.

No, in his dream of a post-collapse world, he would be sitting in his little cabin on the ridge, the woodstove crackling, a kettle of water atop it for his dandelion-root tea. He’d never really planned to live alone, but the others in his fantasy had always been slightly amorphous and faceless—however, he’d always hoped Rachel would be the one family member who would appreciate his foresight and preparation. Instead, he’d ended up with an unlikely group of strangers, a reluctant leader instead of a libertarian loner.

Ah, hell with it, libertarians can’t really exist, because we all depend on one another. We’re all interconnected, one big hippie flower-power hallucination, or maybe God’s twisted little jigsaw puzzle.

“How’s it going back there?” he called to Robertson and Shay. Robertson’s bandaged head made him look like a mummy, but his eyes were alert and he kept up with the rest of the group.

“We’re good,” Shay answered for them. She’d taken Hayes’s field jacket as a trophy, although it was far too large for her and she had to roll up the sleeves. Her father had given her Hayes’ sidearm and holster. The belt had been too large for her slim waist, so she wore it over one shoulder like a bandolier. Franklin hoped her father had taught her about guns, because if they encountered one of Sarge’s patrols or a pack of pissed-off Zapheads, there wouldn’t be much time for target practice.

Franklin and Jorge carried the AR-15s of the two dead soldiers, but neither was all that comfortable with the semiautomatic weapons. Franklin figured what they lacked in accuracy, they made up for in sheer firepower. Robertson stubbornly carried the shotgun, claiming it was a better choice for close fighting. Considering what it had done to Bandana Boy’s head, Franklin couldn’t disagree.

They’d taken the packs from the two soldiers, filling them with the provisions Robertson had collected. Jorge had wanted to check the surrounding houses, but Robertson said they were already cleaned out. As they walked along the gravel road away from the last shots they’d heard, Franklin checked the angle of the afternoon sun to gauge their direction.

“What’s the plan?” Jorge asked Franklin.

“We’ll make a big sweep to the east and circle around to the parkway, then back to my compound. With luck, we’ll avoid Sarge’s troops.”

Jorge’s eyes were dark and serious. “I can’t go back until I find my family.”

“I know. I’m hoping we’ll see some sign of them.”

“How many more of us are left?” Robertson asked. “You guys are the first people we’ve seen in weeks, and if the Army has only a few dozen troops near the parkway, then I’m guessing the Zapheads outnumber us a hundred to one.”

“Yeah, but they haven’t figured out how to use guns yet,” Franklin said. “If we all got on the same team, we’d wipe them out in no time.”

“And then we’d turn on each other,” Jorge said. “You think your military will grow tired of killing once they get a taste for it?”

Another shot sounded in the distance, and the reverberation off the wooded slopes made its origin difficult to place. Franklin hoped they weren’t walking right into the middle of a Zaphead hunt. If they encountered an army patrol, they’d have to explain what happened to their two companions. And Sarge had specifically ordered them not to collect “prisoners,” so Robertson might be killed on the spot. And young Shay’s fate might end up the same as the one Bandana Boy and Hayes had planned for her.

“That’s Grandfather Mountain,” Franklin said, pointing to the dark, angular profile to the west. “Sarge’s bunker is somewhere maybe half a mile from the base of it, and my compound is another mile north. We could make it before nightfall.”

“And then what?” Jorge said. “They know where the compound is. Once they discover what happened to their friends, they would come for us.”

“We’d be ready for them.”

“Three against fifty?” Robertson said.

“Four,” Shay said, hooking her thumbs into the belt and pushing so that the sidearm flopped in its holster.

“Normally, I believe in ‘Live and let live,’ but I don’t think we have that option anymore,” Franklin said, ignoring the girl’s belligerent pose.

“I can’t simply hide on a hill while my family is in danger,” Jorge said.

Your family’s probably dead, amigo. But Franklin understood Jorge’s clinging to hope. He himself still believed Rachel was out there somewhere, despite all evidence suggesting otherwise. “Your family is just as likely to find their way back to the compound as you are to find them wandering around in the woods somewhere. I just hope to God they aren’t hanging around that woman and her Zap baby.”

“Zap baby?” Robertson said.

“This woman we rescued. We didn’t know it, but she had a baby that had been...” He glanced at Shay before he decided on the word. “…affected.”

“Do you think that had something to do with why they left your camp? Sounds to me like that’s the safest place this side of the Mississippi, if you don’t count the military bunker.”

“The bunker’s not safe,” Franklin said. “It might protect you from the evil all around you, but not the enemy within. But you’ve seen the way the Zaps are starting to congregate. In the beginning, they were random, solitary, and vicious. Now you hardly ever see one by itself.”

“Franklin believes either the Zapheads were drawn to the compound because of the baby, or the mother for some reason thought she had to take the child to the Zapheads,” Jorge said.

Franklin glanced around the woods, swiveling the barrel of his AR-15 back and forth. He didn’t like being out in the open, but the road allowed them to make better time. Sarge’s soldiers had lost whatever discipline they might have built during their service and were likely to choose the easiest route over stealth and concealment.

The Zapheads, however, were another matter.

The afternoon sun was sliding toward evening, and the birds fell silent as they passed. At times Franklin lost sight of Grandfather Mountain’s peak, but he kept his sense of direction enough to guide them east. The gravel road turned to asphalt, with driveways and houses becoming more frequent. If anyone saw them from behind curtained windows, no one called to them, and Franklin was in no mood for a door-to-door search. He’d seen enough corpses for one day.

The group reached a bend where the road took a sharp slant downward, affording a view of the valley below. While much of the vista was wooded, the pavement followed an undulating river, with open pastures lining both sides. Farmhouses were nestled here and there among the high weeds, the sun glinting off the tin roofs of barns and outbuildings.

“Look,” Jorge said, pointing.

“Smoke,” Shay said. “From that chimney.”

Franklin shaded his eyes and scanned the valley. He’d refused to be fitted for glasses and hadn’t been to a doctor since they’d tried to put him on blood-pressure medicine a decade ago. Now he couldn’t help but feel weak and ancient.

I can’t see and I can’t fight worth a damn, but at least I can offer experience. But maybe even experience is worthless when you’re dealing with something that’s never happened before.

“Somebody’s got a fire going,” Robertson said. “And I’d bet a jar of jelly beans it’s not a Zaphead.”

Jorge broke into a run and Franklin called after him. “Might be some of Sarge’s boys.”

“And it might be Marina and Rosa,” he said, not slowing.

After Jorge was out of sight, Franklin said, “He’s going in the wrong direction.”

“What if it’s more survivors?’ Shay said. “We have to help them.”

“Maybe they don’t need help. Maybe they’re just fine on their own.”

Shay shot him an accusing glare. “Just like we were, right?”

“Look, we can’t save the whole damned world. I’ve got a plan to get through the winter, and the compound can sustain half a dozen at most.”

“I wouldn’t worry too much about overpopulation,” Robertson said. “Seems to me your compound loses more people than it gains.”

“Shit,” Franklin said. He’d constructed the compound with the idea that he’d have companions, but he’d also been prepared to live alone if necessary. Now the idea of huddling in his little cabin while the snows piled up, with Zapheads walking through the land he once loved, make his guts twist.

He’d taught Rachel that a human being had to stand up for what was right and had to fight for the things worth fighting for, and he’d been all too ready to hide away and avoid the biggest war the human race had ever known—the battle for survival of the species.

Robertson didn’t wait for Franklin’s response. “Come on, honey,” he said to Shay, adjusting his bandage and lowering the shotgun so that it rested across the crook of his elbow. He followed after Jorge.

I’m probably going to live to regret this. On the bright side, I’m probably not going to live all that much longer anyway.

He checked the clip on his AR-15 and fell in behind them, taking one last look around to make sure they had no unexpected company.