He was less than a half-mile from camp, but it was a steep and dangerous half-mile, engulfed by a thick stand of old growth forest. Hatcher could still see the occasional Zulu dart between trees…or was it his imagination playing with him in the darkness? Reflections from the headlights? Whatever it was, it had his sphincter tightened and he was too close to safety to risk double checking.
He mashed the HORN button and nearly groaned at the weak little scratchy noise it made. He had hoped to alert the sentries of his rapid approach and perhaps prepare the shooters for visitors. He doubted they could hear the pitiful sound that reminded Daniel of a sick goat.
He let off the accelerator for a deep impression in the trail and nearly went airborne again when he came up the other side of the bowl-shaped depression. He fought the handlebars and switched between feathering the throttle and applying the rear brakes in the loose gravel until the twin pines shot by on either side.
Like a race car driver who has crossed the finish line, Hatcher released the throttle and relaxed his grip on the handlebars until the machine burst from the low undergrowth and slid down the sandy embankment to the parking lot in front of the Center.
He goosed the throttle once more, then slid to a stop near a Humvee. The sentries and other available personnel emerged from the shadows and Hatcher killed the engine. He pointed to where he’d come from. “We’re about to have company.”
He slid off the ATV and pulled the M4 from around his back. He hunkered low next to the ATV and rested the barrel across the back of the small bed. The heat from the engine caused him to break into a sweat and the ticking from the cooling machine overpowered his hearing. He groaned as he kept the barrel of the rifle trained on his exit point and moved to the rear of the slant-back Humvee.
Hollis settled in next to him and Hatcher heard the click-whir of nightvision goggles being activated. “They’re on your tail?”
Hatcher didn’t know why he was out of breath. The machine did all the work getting him up and down the mountain, but he had to forcibly slow his breathing. “Yeah.” He stared through the scope and waited, expecting a small army to burst from the darkness at any moment. “At least, I think they were there.”
Hollis cautioned a quick glance to the shorter man. “You think?”
“I know at least two tried to pull me from the machine. But I kept seeing things in my peripheral vision…I can’t be sure if they were real or imagined.”
Hollis nodded and retrained his attention down range. “And if they weren’t imagination, how strong are they?”
Hatcher shook his head slightly. “Maybe a couple dozen.” He swallowed hard and realized his mouth was dry. “Could be less. Could be a lot more.”
Hollis exhaled hard and slowly turned his head, hoping to see something other than dark colors in the IR range. “Stay frosty, fellas. We could be in for a real shit storm.”
Hatcher opened his mouth to tell him that the trail was clear enough to travel when a series of screams shattered the quiet of the night. Like a symphony of fingernails across a chalkboard, Hatcher felt his skin crawl as the screams echoed…or were they return screams?
He turned slowly to Hollis. “That don’t sound so good.”
One of the sentries ran back and slid in next to Hollis. “Sir, we have movement behind that low growth.” His hand pointed to the trail that Hatcher had made with the ATV.
Sounds of cracking limbs and snapping twigs seemed amplified in the still night air. Hollis felt his blood run cold as a line of Zeds slowly appeared, their bodies appearing nearly white in his goggles from their feverish condition. “We got company, ladies!”
Squirrel awoke with a start and his hand gripped the wrought iron railing of the balcony. He glanced around at his surroundings and it took a moment for his memory to kick in.
The cool night air had chilled him, and he pulled himself to his feet. His body felt achey and crusted with the day’s ride. He walked stiffly into his room and peeled his clothing off. The leather jacket and pants were draped over the end of the bed and he began peeling the sweat-stained underlayers off as he made his way to the bathroom.
He grabbed the rag again and soaked it in the tank water then squeezed it out. He ran the cool rag over the back of his neck and face before scrubbing at the rest of his body. He saved the worst parts for last and double-rinsed the rag when he was done. Even in the soft glow of the moonlight, he could see stains on the white hotel hand towel that he didn’t think he wanted to know the source.
“If you’re gonna wait weeks to bathe, don’t question where the dirt came from.” He tossed the rag into the waste basket, then hung his clothes on the hangers to air out.
He walked back out to the balcony and stood in the still night air. Bathed in moonlight, nude and chilled as the water quickly evaporated from his body, he stared at the distance.
“I should leave and head west.” He had replayed this argument a dozen times in his head. He knew that getting away from Simon wasn’t the problem. It was staying away from others like him. And the ragers.
Squirrel scanned the horizon and did a double take. In the darkness, things were difficult to make out, but he stared to the south and could almost swear he saw…a shadow on the horizon. He squinted in the moonlight then ran back to his room.
He dug through his duffle and found a pair of binoculars. He stepped back out to the balcony and tried
