After a moment, Mitch returned with two M4 carbines and spare magazines, his knife returned to the sheath on his boot, blood obviously still on the blade. “Coast is clear now, but we need to move. Those guys may be missed soon.”
The trio took off quickly, still staying low, and crossed into the small maintenance yard. “This way,” Hatch said softly as he took the lead. He sprinted to the back of the maintenance yard and around the corner of the building. As he rounded the corner, he noted the gate was locked and reached for the keys that he no longer possessed. “Dammit.”
Mitch looked at the seven-foot wooden fence and the padlock on the gate. He pulled his survival knife once more and slipped it into the clasp of the gate. With a single upward movement, he popped the mechanism from the rough-cut cedar, screws and all. “Let’s move,” he whispered as he slipped the knife back.
Hatcher glanced at the man and shook his head. “Remind me not to piss you off,” he mumbled.
Hatcher fell in behind Candy and Mitch as they slipped into the woods and worked their way behind the ranger station and Visitor Center. “Second door,” Hatcher whispered as the trio came to a stop at two sets of steel doors.
“Can’t we just kick it in?” Candy asked.
“Steel reinforced,” Hatcher said. “We have bears out here, remember?”
Mitch pulled his wallet out and retrieved two thin metal wire picks from the folds. Slinging the M4 over his shoulder, he went to work on the lock while Hatcher and Candy took up sentry duties. It took Mitch about thirty seconds to defeat the locks. “We’re in.”
“That was fast.” Hatcher was honestly impressed.
“Not really, brother. I’ve gotten rusty. Should’ve had that cheap lock in about ten seconds.”
Mitch pulled his rifle around and Hatch took point. He turned the knob slowly and cracked the door open. Peering in, he noted that nobody was within eyesight and no shots were fired. He entered slowly, Mitch and Candy behind. Mitch shut the door quietly and relocked it to ensure no sentries came in to surprise them on their six.
Hatcher motioned them to where the office was and the three spread out, doing their best to steer clear of the windows. They approached the office from three sides with Mitch coming right up the middle.
They could hear someone inside, moving around and then something slammed down in anger. Hatch nodded to Mitch, who kicked the door open and leveled the M4 on the officer.
The sudden action startled the Army officer and a squeal of surprise shocked all of them. Mitch stepped in farther, the M4 lowering slightly as his eyes took in the sight before him. Although his eyes were seeing it, his brain just wasn’t quite processing the information being sent to it. His jaw dropped slightly as he stared at the Army officer standing in front of him, shaking in fear.
“Maggie?”
Bob Jennings faded in and out of consciousness from under the bed he had made in what should have been the dining area of the motorhome. He had come to once and thought maybe he could pilot what was left of the coach down the mountain, but as soon as he tried to get off the bed, he swooned and his vision went black. He had fallen to the floor and got tangled in his own blanket. With an obvious fever, Bob used that lucid moment to gather what little energy he had and pulled himself under the mattress platform and crawled into the far corner, effectively hiding from the creatures that continued to beat on the walls and doors of the coach. He could hear Keri trying to scream in response to those outside and it broke his heart. He cried himself to sleep, praying that his son and that little girl…what was her name again…well, whatever it was, he prayed that they made it away from this madness.
As he slipped into another guilt-infused sleep, he could have sworn he heard gunshots in the distance. He even heard a few bangs against the motorhome that sounded like someone was maybe striking it with a pipe. Hard.
When a window broke, he felt for sure the end was near. The crazy, infected, rabid, zombie people would burst through at any moment and begin using him like a squeaky chew toy. He tried to pull himself into a tighter ball and realized he simply didn’t have the energy. Bob lay there, hidden under the bed, weeping in despair, when he heard human voices outside the coach. More gunshots and fewer screams, less beating along the walls, followed by more gunshots. He dared to hope that perhaps the cavalry had come when the door to the coach jerked open and a military style boot stepped into view.
The automatic weapon sprayed the interior of the coach before the soldier even had a chance to see if anybody might still be human inside and Bob froze, afraid to even breathe. The matching boot came into view, followed by another. Eerie yellow lights reflected across the interior of the coach.
“Front’s clear,” came a gruff-sounding voice.
“Check the rear,” came another.
Bob could see the boots as they walked to the rear of the coach and he desperately wanted to scream at them not to hurt his little girl, but fear paralyzed him.
“Got a live one,” came the first voice again. “Doc still wanting specimens?” he asked.
“Negative. He’s got enough now,” replied the second voice, the light from his rifle lighting the floor of the coach right beside the bed by where Bob hid.
Bob flinched when two rounds were fired at the rear of the coach and the soldier walked back
