Maybe he shouldn’t have allowed anyone into the compound. He’d likely be there now, tending his garden and goats, gathering firewood for winter, drawing on the solar panels to scan shortwave radio frequencies for other survivors.
Now it was time to fix his mistake. Even if it meant being alone.
“I said you’re invited,” Franklin said. “Nobody else but family. Human family.”
He limped into the woods toward home, his head throbbing with each heavy step.
CHAPTER THIRTY
After the group had gathered in the slaughterhouse’s loading area again, DeVontay and Stephen had yanked the bay door down into place. There was no way to fasten it from the inside now that the lock was broken, and DeVontay could only hope none of Rooster’s men tried to get inside. He didn’t think Zapheads had mastered the complexities of locks and doors, but tense minutes passed as gunfire boomed around the compound.
Now the shots fell only sporadically, along with the shouts and cries of men. DeVontay had no sense of passing time in the almost complete darkness, but he figured it had been four or five hours since their escape attempt. Aside from occasional whispered commands and Kiki’s and Carole’s comforting murmurs, the loading bay was filled with an eerie hum, as if the decomposing bodies under the tarp were radiating the last of their fading energy. The smell was corrupt and fecund, but no more so than the underlying scent of blood and decay that had permeated the slaughterhouse from its former commercial life.
DeVontay felt along the base of the bay door until he found Stephen’s hand. He took it and whispered, “Stay here. If the door shakes even the least little bit, you call me, okay?”
Stephen whispered back a parched, “’kay.”
DeVontay crawled along the filthy concrete floor until he reached the group. Children sniffled and whimpered, but the two women had done a remarkable job of calming them. A few seemed to be napping. They were gathered in a pile in the center of the loading area, and Carole was humming a soft lullaby in an Irish brogue.
Kiki must have heard him coming. “How much longer?”
“A little more. I want to be sure it’s dark when we move.”
“The children haven’t eaten since morning. They’ll need their strength.”
“I know where the men kept their living quarters. If the coast is clear, I’ll make a raid and come back. Then we’ll head out.”
“Do you think they’re all dead?” Carole asked.
“I doubt it,” DeVontay answered. “I’d bet some are, but most probably either fled or holed up in the buildings and vehicles. They can’t shoot or the Zapheads will know where they are. And that’s good, because that means the men probably won’t bother us.”
“What about the Zapheads?”
DeVontay wondered how much he should lie, and then decided they should know the risks. Better to be panicked than overconfident. “They’re everywhere. I saw a big pack of them in town yesterday, and they seem to have gathered even more since I was captured. Even if we make it out of the compound, it’s going to be a dangerous night.”
“Still less dangerous than staying here,” Kiki said. “If the Zapheads know about this compound, they’ll keep coming back.”
“Afraid so. They seem to be getting smarter.”
“And Rooster and his bunch seem to be getting dumber.”
One of the children bumped into DeVontay and reached a hand along his arm until little fingers touched DeVontay’s cheek. “You’re the man with the glass eye,” the small voice said.
DeVontay managed a chuckle. “The one and only. But it’s a magic eye. I can see how brave you are.”
“Really?” the voice said with barely suppressed glee.
“And it’s going to shine our way out of here, like a lighthouse on the beach. So don’t you worry about a thing.”
The little fingers left him and they were replaced by Kiki’s. She pulled him close and put her lips to his ear. “I can see how brave you are,” she whispered, and gave him a delicate kiss on the cheek as she pulled away.
DeVontay made his way back to the bay door and Stephen. “Okay,” he said. “We’re going to raise the door just a little bit so I can peek outside. But we have to be real slow and easy. No noise.”
The electrical chain drive that had formerly operated the door was still connected, which made manual opening a rigorous task. A forceful thrust would cause it to gather momentum and roll up mostly on its own, but eliciting only a crack was much more arduous. DeVontay skinned his knuckles working his fingers under the door, using one hand to pull the drive chain.
The door gave a juddering creak and DeVontay froze at the noise, but after thirty seconds of silence, he whispered, “Okay, Little Man, up about a foot.”
After they wrestled a suitable gap, DeVontay laid flat on his back, his cheek against the concrete. It was twilight outside, the insects in the forest already embarking on their nightly orchestra. He detected no movement, and the only light was that provided by the vanishing sun.
DeVontay reached through the gap and grabbed a wooden packing crate. He scooted it near the door and said, “Lift until we can jam this under.”
Once the door was leveraged into position, DeVontay let the weight rest on the crate, leaving a gap of about two feet. “If anybody comes, kick this crate out of the way and let the door drop.”
“Even if you’re outside?” Stephen said.
“No matter what.”
“Will you come back?”
DeVontay hoped his grin showed in the dim light. “We’re sticking together from now on.”
“No matter what?”
“You got it.” DeVontay rolled through the opening and rose to his feet, his scalp tingling as his senses heightened for signs of danger. He crept across the dock and peered around the side of the slaughterhouse. One corpse was sprawled on the dirt between the front gate and the old school bus, but DeVontay couldn’t tell whether it was a Zaphead. The door to the shed that the men had been using as living quarters was open, so DeVontay suspected it was unoccupied. By humans, at any rate.
He debated trying for the school bus to see if it contained any more firearms, but he decided gunfire would only draw attention. Besides, if their situation got to that point, they had no chance anyway. Likewise, the tool bin might offer something blunt and heavy he could use as a weapon, but he just couldn’t see himself defending a group of helpless children via hand-to-hand combat.
No, this would have to be a stealth mission.
Taking a deep breath, he crouched and dashed across the compound, expecting a bullet to strike him in the back at any second. But he reached the shelter of the school bus without incident, heading from the abandoned vehicle to a concrete block building with shattered windows that might once have served as an office. Without checking inside it, he eased around it and moved along the fence until he reached the storage shed.
DeVontay put his ear to the metal siding, listening for acoustic disturbances inside the building. After twenty seconds of hearing only the rapid thrush of his own pulse, he worked his way to the front, once more scanning the compound. A shot rang out, but it was easily two miles away, almost like a forlorn message from a lost outpost.
DeVontay entered the shed. The space was dark, but he was able to make out rows of makeshift bunks that ran along both walls, stacked ten beds high. He moved away from the door so that his silhouette wouldn’t make an easy target for anyone lurking inside.
Guiding his path by touch, he eased past the bunks until he bumped into a table. He ran his hands along the cool surface. It held tin cans, greasy dishes, cardboard boxes, and crinkling plastic bags. He didn’t know which of them contained food, but this was obviously a dining table.