Amsterdam apocalypse, p.22
Amsterdam Apocalypse, page 22
The area seemed darker than it had earlier in the night. He glanced into the sky as he ran, looking for the full moon but couldn't find it. It must have been getting close to dawn, though there was no sign of the sun on the horizon just yet. He ducked behind the first batch of shrubbery on his plotted route and cleared his six o'clock position before moving on. He wanted to run, but was only managing a sort of jog. It had been twenty-four hours since he'd had any kind of sleep and the time between then and now had been filled with a series of exhausting events. It was a minor miracle that he was still on his feet at all. But he'd endured worse in Afghanistan and would make it. There wasn't any other choice.
He reached the third and final median strip and stopped at the top of the hill. A rolling green field filled with tall grass stretched down in front of him. At the bottom, the back of a building had been built into the hill. Over the roof line, he could see three others, the structures making a sort of open-ended octagon. He cleared his six again and made his way down, shifting his weight backward to keep from tumbling forward onto his face. The movement was strenuous in his depleted state and made his legs sting. He placed his back against the wall of the building when he reached the bottom, breathing heavily.
Pushing off the wall with his back, he turned and aimed the rifle as he made his way down the side of the building to whatever was located between the three structures. When he rounded out at the next corner, he found a parking-and-loading area congested with construction materials, opened crates, box trucks, delivery vans, and long dumpsters filled to the brim with trash. His spirits sank. The area marked laboratory on the blueprints was clearly still under construction and from the looks of it, had been for a long time.
He jumped down from a knee-high retaining wall and moved into the lot, looking for any sign of people. Two of the three buildings were only completed on the outside, the lack of any doors or windows making that obvious. The third and furthest building appeared to be completed, but he couldn't tell for sure. He moved toward it, noticing a panel van with its rear doors wide open. Was someone there? Were they loading something into the van or had the protestors simply come through and opened everything looking for loot?
He passed the vehicle in a wide circle. It had been backed up to a loading dock at the far side of the building and it looked as though someone had been loading things into it. He stepped closer, clearing the doorways and windows of the building as best he could before daring a glance inside. The van was half-full with boxes that had been turned every which way to fit as many as possible. He read the labels on the boxes. Level 1 Normothermic IV Fluid Administration Set was all he needed to see on one of the boxes to know that the items had to have been put there by Tee and Staunton. But where were they now? At least his intuition had paid off—he'd come to the right place.
Jacob set his rifle down and climbed onto the loading dock before picking it up again. The only place left for him to look was inside the building. He clicked the LED flashlight on and reached for the nearest door. The hinges squealed and it opened into a narrow hallway with several other doors leading off of it—all closed. The flashlight beam illuminated several boxes lying along the floor, their labels confirming they were likely part of the things Tee and Staunton had been bringing to the van. The door clicked closed behind him. Sweeping the rifle from side to side, he made his way down the hall. How big was the building? From the outside, it looked to be at least two stories and judging by the tight hallway, which had four other rooms coming off of it, there could be dozens more. Searching them all could take hours.
Throwing caution to the wind, he cleared his throat. “Teresa!” he called. “Dr. Teresa Cundiff!” The words didn't exactly echo in the dry walled corridor, but Jacob was sure that if anyone was nearby, they'd heard him. He turned to exit the hallway. He'd try a few more places in the building and then he'd have to leave. The thought of not knowing where his friends had gone and whether or not they were safe made his insides hurt. He was a shepherd and the people he cared about were his flock. Abandoning them without some kind of confirmation of their whereabouts and condition wasn't in his nature, but he didn't see much in the way of other choices. Staying in the area would eventually see him caught by someone when the people he was looking for could easily have fled with the soldiers.
“Teresa!”
When there was no answer again, he turned and walked out.
Chapter Forty-Five
“Jacob?”
Jacob stopped in the opened doorway. The voice was weak—nearly inaudible, but he knew what he'd heard. He turned back to the closed doors along the hall—shining the flashlight beam on each one. He stopped the beam on the last door. Its handle had been bent down as though something heavy had been striking it.
“Jacob.”
The voice was louder this time.
“We're trapped. Get us out.”
“Alright—alright.” He looked at the door. It opened outward like a closet door so kicking it in wasn't an option. He needed something to pry with. “Put your weight against it if you can. The handle's broken.”
Something heavy thumped against the door and he watched it push against the frame. It was a standard interior door and not very strong. If he had something thin enough to jam between the door and the frame, he was sure it would come right open with Tee pushing and him prying. He remembered the construction materials outside and the opened crates. Maybe a crowbar or something had been left behind.
“I'll be back. Keep trying.”
He left the hallway, keeping his rifle aimed as he moved out into the open lot. He searched the ground, looking for anything he could use. He kicked aside pieces of wood that were too thick and pulled Styrofoam packing materials away, throwing them behind him. A piece of metal caught his eye. It was a small pry bar. He picked it up and returned to the hallway in a run.
“I'm back—I'm back—push!”
The door thumped against the frame and he jammed the flat end of the pry bar into the narrow space near the handle. “Hah!”
The frame broke apart, allowing the door to fly open. Tee and Staunton came tumbling out, nearly falling from the force they'd been putting against the door. Tee turned and hugged Jacob tightly. “We were loading things up when—when these people just came out of nowhere, screaming and shouting and tearing things apart. We hid, but they chased us and tried to break in. Jacob, what's happening?”
“It's okay. It's all right. They're gone now. They're all gone.”
Tee drew back and looked at him, her eyes communicating for her. She knew that whatever had been done while she was locked in the closet hadn't been pretty. Jacob had been forced again to do violent things to protect himself and others.
Jacob dropped the pry bar. He was glad to see her. If he'd been unsuccessful in finding anyone, he wasn't sure what he would have done. While he'd planned to take the medical supplies and leave the area, he wasn't sure if he would have been able to. Could he turn away from the property knowing he could be leaving friends to die? He tucked the thoughts away and looked into the closet. Inside were rows of shelves—some empty and others filled with boxes. “What's here? What have you got?”
“Everything we need and then some, honey.”
“Then let's get it into the van and get out of here—the faster the better.”
Staunton flipped the light switch up and down. “The power went out a few minutes ago.”
“I know. Someone cut it.”
“I thought you said they were gone.”
“Most of them appear to be. And whatever's left are pretty spread out. If we hurry, we can get this done and be out of here before anyone knows it. The back gate should be wide open.”
Jacob secured his rifle and moved into the closet. “What is all of this stuff? Do we take it all?”
Tee nodded.
Jacob pulled an armload of boxes off a shelf and carried them out, keeping a cautious eye on his surroundings as he left the building. Tee and Staunton followed, each with another armload of boxes. Jacob set down what he was carrying and hopped off the loading dock and into the back of the van. Taking the boxes from Tee, he stacked them as evenly as he could and then turned to Staunton and did the same. Tee returned to the building. As Staunton made to follow her, Jacob saw movement in his peripheral.
“No!” he yelled, dropping the boxes and jumping out of the van. His words came too late. Reverend Nine jabbed his cane at Staunton, but it wasn't a cane anymore. The deranged reverend had unsheathed a sword and ran it through the doctor's chest.
“Ahh!” Staunton brought his hands to his chest, gripping the weapon that was now hilt deep in him. Nine punched him in the face and pulled the blade out. The doctor collapsed. Jacob raised his rifle and pulled the trigger. A single shot sounded, the bullet narrowly missing the reverend and striking the wall behind him. Jacob pulled the operating handle, attempting to clear the jammed firearm.
“I told you this wasn't over!” Nine advanced, jumping off the loading dock and swinging the sword. Jacob abandoned his effort to clear the rifle and used it to block the attack. Nine stumbled but recovered quickly. Jacob backed away. Nine attacked again, first with a downward swing and then with a lunge. Jacob blocked the lunge with the rifle and kicked the reverend in the kidney, knocking him away.
Tee screamed as she opened the door and saw what was happening.
“Get those boxes in the van!” Jacob yelled. “Get outta here!” He pulled the operating handle again, but the rifle had double fed for the second time. There was no way to clear it without removing the magazine and he didn't have that kind of time. He dropped the rifle, allowing it to hang from its shoulder sling as he picked up a metal pipe from the ground.
“Now it's a fight,” Nine hissed, righting himself and advancing in a fencing-like style.
Jacob had never fought anyone with a sword. He'd seen it countless times on television, but he knew better than to think that was how it really happened. He gripped the pipe with both hands and held it in front of him.
Nine lunged. Jacob blocked, pushing the blade aside, but the reverend's recovery was fast. He withdrew the blade and jabbed again, catching Jacob on the shoulder. “I'll cut you to pieces, devil!”
Jacob touched the wound momentarily but brought his hand back to the pipe. He had to stay focused or else the reverend was right—he'd be skewered. Nine attacked again, bringing the blade around. Jacob easily blocked the attack and Nine retreated, smiling.
Jacob backed away. All he could do was defend himself and hope the reverend didn't know how to counterstrike. But that was a fool's hope and he knew it. Just by the way the man moved, Jacob could tell he was practiced.
“Hah!” Nine attacked, first with a jab that Jacob blocked and then with a sweep, narrowly missing the bridge of Jacob's nose before meeting the pipe again. Nine backed off, continuing to smile.
Jacob heard the doors of the van close behind him. That was good. Tee was doing as he'd instructed and getting herself and the medical supplies out of there. If he could keep Nine's attention on him and on their battle, then at least Amsterdam would get what they needed—even if he died to see it happen.
Nine advanced again with a series of sweeps and Jacob moved to block them, though it was clear that Nine was playing with him—beating his blade against the pipe until he decided to make a real move.
Jacob reached the bottom of a set of concrete steps that led to the loading dock and backed up them, putting some distance between himself and Nine. Was the man trying to tire him out? If so, he was doing a good job. Jacob was near rock bottom as it was. Only the flow of adrenaline was keeping him in the fight. He continued to back away.
The engine in the van sputtered to life. Tee was leaving. Good.
Nine advanced, drawing his blade back for a powerful thrust. This was it. Jacob knew it—his last chance before the reverend's real attack began. As the lunge came in, an idea struck him. He removed one hand from the pipe and swung it at the blade, knocking it aside. But instead of backing off as he had been doing, he stepped in, grabbing the reverend's arm and holding it. He dropped the pipe and gripped the hand the sword was in, struggling to get control of the blade.
The reverend's nostrils flared and his eyes bulged. It was now a battle of strength instead of skill. Nine stepped back, trying to bring the sword up and wrench his arms away from Jacob's grip. But Jacob held on, planting his feet as Nine tried to force the blade back down on him. With their faces only inches apart, Jacob began to turn, taking the struggle for control around in search of a way to gain the upper hand.
Nine was taller than he was, but thin. Jacob was stronger—or at least he would be normally. The reverend stared down at him, the blade inching down as he forced his arms toward Jacob. Sooner rather than later, he'd win, but as long as Tee and the medical supplies were on site, Jacob had some fight left in him.
“Get outta here!” he growled. He heard Tee shift the van into gear as he spotted one of the long construction dumpsters behind Nine. A plan formed in his mind and he brought his legs together, standing and pushing with all the strength he had left. He felt Nine's balance shift backward and saw the reverend's eyes widen.
“You should have just killed me!” Jacob growled, releasing his grip and driving a shoulder into Nine's chest, forcing the man backward. Nine fell into the dumpster. Jacob waved his arms in an effort to keep his balance. Securing it, he rushed across the loading dock and jumped off, hitting the side of the van involuntarily.
“Go! Go! Go!” he yelled, opening the door and jumping onto the passenger seat. Tee pressed the accelerator and the van shot forward, its wheels slipping against the smooth concrete as it tore out of the lot between the two buildings.
Jacob watched the dumpster. Reverend Nine stood, staring at him as the distance between them grew. When he was out of sight, Jacob exhaled.
“Are you okay? Talk to me, Jacob!”
He righted himself in the seat and looked through the windshield as Tee piloted the van over a roughly paved one-lane road. “Make the next right and the exit should be just ahead.” He pulled the operating rod on the rifle and released the magazine, tapping it against his knee. Hopefully the fight was over, but the protestors and the soldiers had gone somewhere. Who knew what was ahead of them.
The van moved through the wide-open rear gate and bounced onto an empty two-lane road. To the east, the sky had turned a twilight blue giving the first indications of daylight. Jacob looked at the clock on the dashboard. The glowing green digits changed to five o'clock. He'd awoken to this nightmare exactly twenty-four hours ago.
Chapter Forty-Six
Their return was joyous. The men who had volunteered to guard the front door in Jacob's absence had announced their arrival. People rushed out of Saint Nicolas United Methodist Church as Tee brought the van to a stop a short distance from the door. It had taken them almost two hours to pick their way through the streets of Roanoke and find a way to avoid trouble, but they'd made it. And now the sun shone brightly on the walls of the church—the center of their community—their home.
Tee opened the door to a cheer and was met with a tight embrace from her son. Jacob watched from the passenger seat as she looked expectantly into his eyes. The boy smiled and nodded. His father, Jimmy Cundiff, was alive. He'd made it through the night and the supplies his wife had brought could be used to make sure he stayed that way.
“C'mon,” Tee said, accepting high fives from a few people. “Let's get these things unloaded.”
Jacob opened the door and slid off the seat, becoming aware that his clothes were covered in dirt and blood. But the people of Amsterdam didn't seem to care. Another cheer went up as he emerged. He managed a half smile.
“Is everyone—did anyone?”
“They're all alive,” Mace Mundy said. “But you—they told us they didn't know where you were or what had happened to you. I thought you were dead, brother.” He thrust his hand at Jacob. Jacob gripped it with as much force as he could muster, which wasn't a lot. Mundy slapped him on the back with a laugh.
People pulled open the doors of the cargo van and began to unload the supplies. Soon a chain had formed, passing the boxes from person to person and into the church. Jacob watched. There were faces in the crowd he didn't recognize. Had the community taken on new residents overnight? He'd seen the troop carriers and the Humvee as they'd driven in and knew the major and his soldiers had arrived along with Scott Abernathy and his family, but he wouldn't be a bit surprised to learn others had found them as well. There would be more need now than ever before and this was a place of refuge—for everyone.
He felt someone collide with him, a pair of arms wrap around his waist, and a head rest against his back. He turned in the embrace to see Leah Huff beaming up at him, grateful that he was alive. He smiled for real for the first time in recent memory. She rose to her toes and he leaned down to kiss her, eliciting another cheer from the gathered residents.
Dr. Tee smiled at him from a short distance away, her arm around her son. “Now the work begins,” she said. “But we’re up for it.”
Jacob nodded. “Yeah. We're up for it.”
A short time later, Jacob stood at the end of a nearby lane in a flat yard behind a one-story, wood-sided house with faded green paint. The residents who had gathered at the church understood that the events of the last twenty-four hours had taken their toll on him, so they had given him space. He'd excused himself for a brief rest but had no intention of doing so—he wasn't sure he could have slept even if he'd tried.
He looked over the odd collection of items in the yard—Jeep parts, water collection barrels, vegetables growing in five-gallon buckets, a fence with holes in it for fending off an attack from the road—a sort of prepper paradise, by all accounts. This was A.J. Deyerle's house.
