Primitive. Part 18

"I understand," I said. I drew Tracy into my embrace and she melted against me. She buried her face in my T-shirt, stifling her sobs. I held back my own emotion as I held her.

"He doesn't have to see it happen," Tracy said. She wiped her eyes, took a deep breath. "He doesn't even have to know." She looked up at me, still troubled but in better control. "I know it's the only way. She'll starve to death in her house and...we can't release her. She's a danger to all of us. The longer she stays alive, the more she puts us in danger."

Tracy was right. Who knows if Naomi's howling was some primitive form of communication? Suppose other primitives heard her and were even now heading toward Manning like a ma.s.s of cavemen, drawn by her siren song?

Suppose she was able to draw the G.o.d of the New World to our location?

"You're right, he doesn't need to see it," I said. "If we can get him to sleep, maybe Wesley and I can head over there this afternoon. We can do it quickly, remove the body and bury it somewhere, clean the room up, make it look like she broke out somehow."

"Yes." Tracy looked better now. She still looked sad and troubled by what we'd just heard. No doubt she was disturbed by the very idea of killing another human being in order to put her out of her misery. "I know it sounds cruel but...it's the only way. He broke down again as Lori and I led him to the living room. I can tell he loves Naomi dearly and...I just don't want him to have to see it."

"Of course." I kissed Tracy's forehead. "Listen, do we have any tranquilizers?"

"Yeah. I can crush a dose up and put it in some iced tea."

"Good. Slip it to him now. I think the sooner we can do this, the better."

"Okay." Now it was her turn to kiss me. She hugged me again and I held her. "I wish this wasn't happening," she said.

"So do I, honey," I said. "So do I."

As it turned out, I didn't crack the books that day. Instead, immediately after Tracy left, I headed to the radio room where I heard the tail end of Stuart telling Wesley about some brewing trouble.

"It sounds like a pretty good-sized party," I heard Stuart say as I walked into the room. "If I'm correct in my interpretation, it sounds like they've destroyed a good portion of Nashville."

Curious, I raised my eyebrows at Wesley. What's going on?

"David Spires just joined us," Wesley said. He motioned for me to close the door. I did. Then, Wesley turned around and told me the latest.

Early this morning, Stuart heard a transmission from another party of normal humans. It was a large one of about two hundred. And it was our worst nightmare realized.

"They're run by five or six guys who broke out of a state prison," Wesley told me. "And they're on this marauding spree, just gathering people under them, growing bigger and bigger as they head west. One of them sounds like he knows what he's doing. I don't know if he's an ex-general or whatever, but he seems to know how to hold these people together."

Stuart helped Wesley fill me in. "They've commandeered a bunch of luxury RVs, and they've got weapons out the wazoo. It sounds like they've organized teams. One team is in charge of procuring and preparing food, another is in charge of the maintenance of the vehicles, another in charge of administering healthcare. The largest group is what I'm calling the warmongers. They're like...crackpot generals, totally absorbed in moving from city to city and capturing as many people as possible."

"Capturing people?" I asked.

"Oh yeah, capturing people," Stuart said. "They're killing primitives wherever they encounter them, but when they come across normal people, they capture them. If they meet resistance from men, they're killed. The women are captured, then raped repeatedly and forced into prost.i.tution to serve the guys that join up. They've got a traveling bordello. And the kids...they're used as slave labor."

"s.h.i.t," I muttered.

"I just happened to stumble across their broadcast," Stuart continued. "They're broadcasting on an open transmission. I don't know why, because I would think that anybody left that's technically savvy and has the right equipment like me could stumble on to what they're saying."

"Maybe they aren't very smart," Wesley said.

"Yeah, maybe. Anyway, what I've learned from listening to them is that it sounds like the original core group banded together in the days following the...you know...the turning or whatever...they banded together to fight the primitives. But eventually as the weeks went on and they drew more people they...well, I think they just went mad."

"Mob psychosis," I muttered. "Use the right buzzwords under the right condition, you can whip a crowd of normally peaceful, law abiding citizens into a violent mob."

"Exactly," Stuart said. "Anyway, they're near Memphis now and it sounds like they're continuing west along Interstate 40. There's a group of about twenty of them about five miles ahead clearing the roads. And they're also reaching out to other bands of people through their CB broadcasts. That's how I initially heard it."

"So they're drawing people to them and when those who answer meet up with them, they're pretty much taken by surprise," Wesley mused.

"Yeah, that's what it sounds like." Stuart sighed. "They're in contact now with one group of people in Mississippi. They're actually camped out near Memphis waiting for this other band of people to meet up with them. These Mississippians, they're broadcasting on an open network too, and if I reach out to them, this other group will hear me."

"But they can't tell where you're broadcasting from, right?" I asked.

"No, but who knows what kind of equipment these people have? They might have sensors, receivers that transmit my station's call letters. Some receivers transmit call letters and geographic locations. I can't chance it, as much as I want to." Stuart's voice trailed off. There was silence for a moment. When he came back on he sounded troubled. "This group of people they contacted...there's three women, five men, and two very young children."

I picked up on the implications immediately. So did Wesley.

"Wesley told me about your situation with Alex," Stuart said, changing the subject effortlessly. "And my suggestion to you is to do it right away. And do it quick."

Wesley and I traded a glance. I nodded. Yes, we were on the same wavelength, all right. But what a h.e.l.l of a situation to be in.

"I agree," I said, lowering my voice. "And things are underway as we speak."

"Good." Stuart paused again, then said, "G.o.dspeed. Over and out."

"Over," Wesley said, and signed off.

We sat in the radio room for a moment collecting our thoughts. I finally broke the silence. "Tracy's going to make sure he goes to sleep. We should leave in about thirty minutes. I don't want to have to do this after night falls."

"I agree," Wesley said quietly.

"It should just be you and me," I continued. "I need Martin here. I'd rather be here myself, but I can't let you go out there by yourself."

Wesley nodded. "Agreed again." He sighed. For the first time, Wesley looked older than his forty-something years. I could see the gray in his hair, which was growing at a rapid pace from his military-style buzz cut. "I have a feeling that the moment we open the door to that mudroom she'll come rushing out. Should be a straight shot."

"Yeah," I said, nodding. What I neglected to say was, should be.

I glanced at my watch. It was almost four-thirty. Hopefully Alex would be in deep slumber by five and would not awaken until long after Wesley and I returned.

I sighed. "Let's get this going then."

Wesley and I rose to our feet and exited the radio room.

Seventeen.

As we drew closer to Manning I felt my stomach churn with dread.

I was riding shotgun in Wesley's jeep, which he kept fueled and ready at all times. After making sure Alex was fast asleep in the living room on the sofa (helped by a dose of sleeping pills Tracy had slipped into a gla.s.s of iced tea), Wesley and I gathered our weapons: a bowie knife and a tomahawk for me, as well as my trusty .45 and the M4, a Glock 9mm handgun and a M4 for Wesley. We had enough firepower to take down a small city, but we knew we weren't going to need it. Our mission was to kill and dispose of one primitive-turned woman. In theory, that shouldn't be too difficult.

After snagging a map of the area, we set off. And the closer we got to Manning, the more my trepidation rose.

Of all the primitives I've killed-and that has to number in the hundreds as of this writing-I've never been bothered by any of them with the exception of this one. For some reason, this act of premeditating the murder of Alex's wife was having an emotional effect on me I could not deny. It was easy enough to kill primitives who were charging at you with their war whoops, bearing their crude weapons, ready to kill you. At that point, instinct simply took over.

But this one was different.

Until a few days ago-almost one full month after the end of the world-Naomi had been a real human being.

Had she turned and somehow managed to escape her home and never be seen again...well, we'd probably never come across her. Or if we did it would be during some battle between us and a band of primitives and we'd resort to killing her in self-defense.

That was a very different scenario than the one we were about to undertake.

Naomi was now confined to a single room in her home.

And we were traveling out there to put her out of her misery. Like shooting a horse that has a broken leg and can no longer run the Kentucky Derby.

And that bothered me.

As we approached the Manning city limits, I gripped the stock of my M4 and scanned the streets ahead of me. I had changed into a pair of jeans and boots, with a long-sleeve chambray shirt. Tracy had braided my hair and it now hung down my back. I grew tense, priming myself for what we were about to do.

Prior to falling asleep, Lori asked Alex where he lived. "On Wander Road, just past Mill Lane," he'd said, his voice drowsy. "Our place sits back about twenty yards from the road. Green house with white trim." He said something else we couldn't make out and then the sleeping pills took over.

"When we find Mill Lane we'll leave the vehicle there," Wesley said softly as he drove. "We'll make our way to the house on foot. Should be half a mile, and I don't want to risk alerting Naomi that we're coming."

"She'll probably hear something once we approach the house," I said.

"Yeah, but she won't hear a car engine," Wesley said. "That's key. The more an element of surprise we can achieve, the easier this is going to be."

I nodded.

"It sounds like there's a backdoor to the mudroom," Wesley continued. We were cruising through the north side of Manning now, and the sight of decaying bodies littering the streets was overwhelmed by the stench of carrion that lingered in the air. "She'll definitely hear us as we circle around the back. Once we verify her location, I'll take up position approximately fifteen yards back. You approach the door. You got his keys?"

I patted the front pocket of my jeans where Alex's house keys were. I'd pilfered them prior to our departure. "Got them right here."

"When I give you the signal, unlock the door, open it, and step out of the way. She'll probably come charging out and that'll give me a clean shot. If she doesn't rush right out, I'll try to bait her into coming out. If that doesn't work, we go in formation style. I'll approach the house and as I do, you step back from the door and cover me. Follow my lead."

"Okay." I could feel my heart start to hammer.

"Once she's dead we'll clean up, then make it look like she broke out. We'll carry the body back to the jeep and drive back through town. We'll stop on Route 7 and bury her there." In addition to our weapons, a first aid kit and some water, we'd packed a tarp and a pair of shovels in the rear of the jeep. "My goal is to be back by six at the latest."

I said nothing as we left Manning. We were entering open country again. The area was rolling hills with spots of forest here and there. I consulted the map and saw we had another mile to go.

Wesley made a right on the first road we came to and followed it. I could feel the pressure and fear of what we were about to undertake come down on me. It had been a month since I'd had to engage in any kind of armed battle for my life. In a way, that ride to Alex's house to put down Naomi was more nerve-wracking than the half dozen or so skirmishes I'd partic.i.p.ated in the week following the collapse of civilization. Maybe it didn't seem as bad then because everything happened so suddenly and I didn't have time to think about it; I'd just acted on instinct.

I took a deep breath to calm myself down. Closed my eyes, fingered the trigger guard of my M4. Took stock of the situation. We would be okay. We had a plan, and we had superior weaponry and we were skilled killers (something I never knew I'd admit to myself). We had a technological and mental advantage. This was going to be easy.

But there was something in the back of my mind that didn't sit right with me.

It grew stronger as we reached Mill Lane. Wesley pulled the jeep over and killed the engine. I hopped out, reached into the back of the vehicle and pulled out the tarp. Wesley checked his armament and nodded. "Okay, let's go."

It took us less than fifteen minutes to make the half mile hike to Alex's home. As we approached, I listened for any unusual sounds-the howling of primitives, the crunch of underbrush beneath bare feet-and heard nothing. One of the biggest hindrances was the amount of cover this area had. While not as heavily wooded as the Sierra Mountains, there were enough trees and dense underbrush for primitives to hide themselves in. They could be sneaking up on the cabin at the same time we were, drawn by Naomi's crazed howling. They could be right at- "We're here," Wesley whispered.

We were at the mouth of a gravel driveway that wound through some trees. At the end sat a green house with white trim, just as Alex described it.

Weapons raised, stocks against our shoulders, we stepped onto the driveway and made our way toward the house.

And except for the sound of birds twittering in the trees overhead, I didn't hear a sound.

We breasted the side of the house, heading toward the back. I had reached a sort of Zen state as I crept behind Wesley, rifle muzzle pointed at the house. I was light-footed and as sleek as a panther.

And I could feel something-call it what you want, a spiritual force, whatever. It was there, and it was heavy.

As we reached the rear of the house, a guttural howling rose from the back of the structure. There's no word in the English language to describe what that sounded like. Best I can describe was that it sounded like a cross between a large gorilla and a voice-over effect from a demonically possessed woman. Remember how Linda Blair sounded in The Exorcist when she became possessed? Think of that growl and you'll understand why the hairs on the back of my arm rose when I heard it.

Wesley nodded at me and we stepped toward the back door of the house. As we approached, the thing inside the house continued howling. There were grunting and thumping noises. I saw a quick flurry of movement from a dirty window that sat about four feet from the ground, a window that would have been too small for a human being to squeeze through, then a hard thump that shook the door in its frame. Another growl, more primitive and insane sounding than before. My stomach plunged down an elevator shaft.

Wesley stopped and a.s.sumed the firing position, the stock of the M4 resting against the hollow of his shoulder, lining up the sights for his shot. I crept forward, slung the barrel of my rifle over my shoulder, making sure the safety was off. Then, I fished for Alex's keys, took them out, and approached the door.

Naomi's howls and thrashings grew more frenzied as I approached the door. I was still in that Zen state; it felt like I was floating ever so lightly on my feet as I reached toward the door and then, at Wesley's signal, quickly unlocked the door and wrenched it open.

There was a howl of anger from inside the mudroom and I felt something rush out the door. There was a burst of gunfire-perhaps six shots-and then I heard something heavy thump to the ground outside. I quickly drew my rifle up, and stepped away from the door.

Wesley was approaching the body that lay on the ground face down about ten feet from the now opened doorway. I caught my first look at Naomi and couldn't help but feel a trifle emotional. Even though I couldn't see her face, she had to have been a beautiful woman before the primitive nature gained control of her. I don't mean beautiful in the traditional sense that we've come to understand the word. I'm not talking about the flawless beauties of certain actresses and models. I'm talking about the beauty that comes from within one's soul. The woman who lay before me was not what one would call slim; she was verging on chunky, with matted brown hair. She was wearing a soiled pair of jeans and a filthy T-shirt that was rapidly turning deep red from the gunshots that had torn through her upper body.

As I stepped around to the other side of her, I got a good look at her face for the first and last time. Lying on her right cheek, her eyes forever open, Naomi struck me as being a plain, yet lovely woman, the kind you could joke around with at a backyard barbecue, who would always be quick with a joke, a word of wit and laughter. Her eyes were green. She had a small, perky nose, and a mouth that would have created dimples in her cheeks when she smiled. Her hair, while matted and filthy now, would have hung in wavy curls to her shoulders. She was wearing a necklace of slim gold around her neck. She did not look like a primitive at all.

She was human.

And we'd put her out of her misery.

"I know what you're thinking and while you're right, you're also wrong," Wesley said. He lowered the muzzle of his weapon.

"What do you mean?" I looked at him.

"She was human once, but she wasn't human when she charged out of that house." Wesley nodded at her. "She looked like one of those zombie things in 28 Days Later. When she charged out of that house she was a wild animal. The virus made her that way."

"Yeah, I know," I said. The mad urge to get the h.e.l.l away from Naomi was now screaming at me. "And we're going to have a problem if this virus is able to infect those of us who were spared the first time around."

Wesley looked at the house. The brief staccato of gunfire had not created any kind of disturbance. If there were primitives in the immediate area they either never heard the gunfire, or they were retreating to higher ground.

Or they were heading our way, drawn by it.

Wesley sensed my urgency. "Let's check the house real quick."

"Do we have to?" I asked. The urge to leave was overwhelming. Who knows if the virus had mutated by this point? Perhaps that was why Naomi had turned nearly a month following the outbreak.

"We have to finish what we started," Wesley said as he made his way to the house. He stepped toward the open backdoor, rifle pointed at the house as if he expected another primitive to come leaping out at him. "This won't take long."