He made it thirty miles before it caught up with him.
Rounding a slight curve that he had negotiated at least a hundred times before, he hit a patch of black ice and slid off the road. The SUV, a Jeep Grand Cherokee, slid sideways before the wheels went into a ditch, causing the vehicle to land on its side.
Justin rarely wore a seatbelt and was not wearing one now. As a result, he was thrown around in the passenger compartment and took a hard lick to the head, addling him for a couple of minutes. When he regained his senses, his first thought was to crawl out of the vehicle as quickly as possible, but his instinctive training kicked in. He turned the ignition off and then looked and listened for a full minute. All he heard was a ticking from the hot engine.
When there was nothing that indicated any threat nearby, he worked his way out of the vehicle and had to lean against it to keep his balance. He checked himself for any major injuries. He felt a lump on the side of his head, which explained the headache, and his left wrist was hurting a little. He rotated it, but it did not seem to be broken. He seemed to be relatively unscathed, considering what had happened.
“Dang it,” he muttered, along with a couple of other more colorful invectives.
He found a flashlight and inspected the damage before again scanning around the area to see if anyone was present. He spotted no movement. The surrounding countryside was dark and eerily quiet. Justin knew he was a solid ten miles or more from Detrick. Thirty from Mount Weather.
“Dang it,” he muttered again as he inspected the Grand Cherokee. It was lying on its side and there was no way he’d be able to upright it on his own.
He was stuck out here, and he started thinking of his options. Sleeping in the Jeep was not a viable option. It was too cold, and he did not dare risk a fire. There was a small community near Harper’s Ferry, only a few miles away from where he believed he was. He knew them well, but if he were to come walking up in the middle of the night he might be shot. No, his best bet would be to stick to the main road and start walking. After all, he was a Marine. It was certainly not the first time he’d done a road march. Eventually someone would come looking for him, but if they didn’t, the walking would keep him from freezing to death and he could make ten miles in under two hours.
He grabbed some gear and began walking.
Chapter 11 – Wolves
Justin remembered a story Zach had told him about an incident from years ago. His car had broken down or something in the middle of the night and he had to run home which was around ten miles or so. He ran into zeds all along the way and came close to being killed several times.
It got him to thinking. He was armed. He had a Glock Model 43 holstered on his waist. He had an M4 assault rifle, and he had his Marine bayonet. He also had a couple of good fists. Despite that, he did not want to waste ammo. The more he walked, the more he had second thoughts of walking all the way back. Besides, his headache was intensifying.
He figured he’d walked two miles when he heard the howl of a wolf. He knew wolves rarely travelled alone and a second howl confirmed it. It was inky black, no moon, and the stars were hidden by thick clouds. If they caught his scent, they’d be on him before he even saw them. Walking in the dark no longer seemed to be a good idea and Justin decided the best thing to do was find a place to hide for the night. He’d head out in the morning and somebody would come looking for him when he was overdue. All he had to do was not freeze to death which was no problem because Marines weren’t allowed to freeze.
He kept walking and soon came upon an intersection. He stopped and used his light to read the street sign. He only activated it for no more than a second and then searched his memory of the area. To the west were a few houses. A block over to the east were a couple of commercial businesses. They were both on side streets off the main route.
He decided to keep walking until he found any kind of structure that was on the road. He’d walked only a dozen or so yards when the mist began turning to sleet. He doubted any zeds were out, but his numb cheeks told him frostbite and hypothermia was a concern. He needed to find shelter.
The nearness of the howl startled him. It was close, maybe only two hundred yards away. Justin readied his M4, but his visibility was severely limited. They’d rush him. He might be able to shoot one or two, but if there were more of them, he wouldn’t stand a chance.
Justin turned back around and broke into a jog. Returning to the intersection, he slowed, pondering if he should turn left or right. Another howl on his right made the decision for him. He jinked left and
