In the past, when he met with President Stark, the man always dressed in a manner befitting a president. VanAllen was wearing a long sweater that somebody’s grandmother might have once worn and was smoking a pipe that emitted some rancid smelling odor.
“Sit down, Captain,” William said by way of greeting.
There was no mention of the performance of his Marines at the funeral. No atta boys, nothing. There was also no apology or explanation of why he’d been kept waiting so long. Instead, they began peppering him with a litany of questions about his interactions with Zach and his life back in Tennessee. After several minutes, the questions started becoming repetitive.
When Justin had reached the end of his patience, he cleared his throat.
“Gentlemen, you are at the point where you are wasting my time. If there is nothing else, I’d like to get back to Fort Detrick.”
He started to stand, but the president motioned for him to sit back down.
“Have a look at this and tell us what your thoughts are, Captain,” he directed and pushed his laptop toward Justin.
Justin hesitated, but slowly sat and pulled the laptop closer to him. He read the report and perused the photographs for several minutes before speaking.
“Interesting, but there is a major problem right from the get-go,” he said.
“Explain,” Gil rejoined.
“The timestamp on this report is from eight this morning. It should have been shown to me immediately. If not before the funeral, definitely immediately after.”
“The information needed to be analyzed first,” President VanAllen replied.
When Justin responded, he could barely contain the anger in his tone. “By whom, sir? Who in this room can better analyze this type of report than me?”
President VanAllen scowled, and Justin could see his cheeks turning red. “You’re out of order, Captain.”
“Am I, Mister President? I respectfully disagree. I have an ample amount of military experience, more than anyone else in this room. I believe that alone makes me the most qualified. But instead of you getting this to me immediately, I spent the day overseeing funeral processions, processions that could have been handled by one of my NCOs.”
The two men were at a loss for words, so they compensated by sitting there like their hemorrhoids were on fire and glowered at the Marine. Justin was undaunted and stared back. D-Day stood, walked over to William, and whispered something in his ear. William nodded absently.
“Alright, Captain, I will concede you have ample expertise in these things, give us your input.”
Justin took a deep breath before speaking. “Before I answer your question, Mister Vice President, why don’t you tell me about this expert analysis the two of you have conducted. What information have you gleaned?”
“Our analysis is from a governmental and political perspective, Captain. You need not concern yourself with it. Your job is to assess this information from a military perspective.”
“Very well, here is my analysis. These people appear to be Chinese soldiers. Therefore, the Chinese have military personnel on American soil.”
D-Day scoffed. “How do you know they’re Chinese? Maybe they’re Russian or North Korean?”
Justin gave the man a look of utter disdain before focusing on the president. “Well then, since you have an expert on your staff, you don’t need me, Mister President.” He started to stand again, but Gil held up a hand.
“I would like to hear more about your analysis, if you don’t mind, Captain.”
Justin started to leave anyway but stopped himself. Instead, he clicked the icon on one of the two pictures Clay had sent and turned the laptop toward them.
“You can’t see faces, obviously, but zoom in and look over their weapons. There are a couple of different types, but several of them are what are known as a QBZ-03, or simply the Type 03. That was the standard issue assault rifle for the People’s Republic of China military. Russia does not use those type of rifles.”
“You’re calling these people Chinese based on their rifles?” President VanAllen asked.
“Yes, sir, no doubt,” Justin replied. “Would you like to hear the rest of my analysis?”
Gil waved a hand. “By all means, continue.”
“If we were to inspect that paddle boat, I bet it would be steam driven. I’m basing that on the amount of smoke coming out of the stacks. Now, I ask you, why is that significant?” He waited a moment for an answer. When there was none, he continued.
“This calls for a little speculation. So, follow along with me. Since they’re Chinese, I think they landed on the west coast and they sent contingents of troops east. If that is true, there are probably thousands of soldiers out there.”
“You don’t believe they came up from the Gulf?” William asked.
Justin rubbed his chin before responding. “It’s possible, but if they came from China, that means they took a long, circuitous route to get to the Gulf. It makes more sense they landed on the west coast and proceeded east.”
“Alright, continue,” William said.
“Once they reached the Mississippi River, they found a steamboat and converted it to steam.”
“Why would they do that?” Gil asked.
“To cut down on travel time and troop fatigue,” Justin answered.
“Alright, what do you think their mission is?” William asked.
“I’m being speculative, but my guess is they are setting up bases of operation. This group may set up a base on the river, or they are going to travel east. Perhaps to DC, perhaps they are coming here.”
“How do you know they didn’t fly in on planes?” Ruby asked.
Justin shrugged. “That too is possible, but that means they are able to manufacture jet fuel and maintain their aircraft. If that’s the case, we may be in trouble.”
Gil and William huddled together and whispered to each other for a minute before they faced Justin.
“Is there anything else, Captain?” William asked.
“There are a lot of unanswered questions here. You know, Zach had made several contacts with survivor groups in the south…”
He was cut off by the president.
“Alright, that will be all, Captain.”
Apparently, bringing up Zach’s name was a quick and effective means to end a conversation with the man. That was fine with him. He’d been ready to go home for hours now.
Justin stood before any further questions were asked and walked out. He kept walking and made it to the parking lot without anyone stopping him to talk and paused by his vehicle. Before getting in, he took a long look around. He realized he was worried. Were they about to be involved in hostile actions by the Chinese? He would have felt more comfortable if Zach were still around, but he wasn’t. Stark was no longer president and Zach had packed up and left. It seemed rather odd, but those two events had caused subtle changes in the Mount Weather dynamic.
Yeah, he was worried. He couldn’t simply bugout like Zach though. He understood why he did it, but Justin could not simply leave, or could he?
He squashed those thoughts and headed out. One thing he was not worried about was Fort Detrick. Stretch and Ruth did such a good job running things, he would not need to check everything when he got home, which was nice. He doubted his son would still be awake, thanks to those knuckleheads that kept him hanging around all day. One thing was certain; before he crawled into bed, he was going to prepare a formalized report and send it to the president tonight, as soon as he got back to Detrick. He waved at the guards but did not stop. It was late and he still had a long drive ahead of him. The roads had patches of black ice, he knew this, but he was anxious and impatient.
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 increased his speed down the side road. Coming to the next intersection, he made another left and looming in the darkness was a solitary building.
Justin had no idea what type of business it was back before. It was large enough to have been a factory or a warehouse, but currently all he wanted was a safe place to hole up until help came.
Jogging into the parking lot, he saw the shape of a semi’s trailer, sitting silently and gathering rust.
“That might work,” he muttered as he headed toward it.
The doors to the trailer were partially open. Slinging his M4, he unholstered his Glock and held his light with his left hand. Turning it on, he peered inside the trailer with the light. It was empty. Nodding to himself, he gently pulled open one of the doors a few inches, hoping the hinges wouldn’t squeak. He was about to holster his Glock when he felt rather than saw the furry object leaping toward him. It was fast, much faster than him. In only a microsecond he felt excruciating pain as the wolf clamped down on his right arm.
The Glock clambered to the asphalt and the wolf emitted a deep growl as it snapped his head back and forth in an effort to bring Justin down. Justin grunted in pain and struggled to remain on his feet as he dropped the light from his left hand and retrieved his second best friend, his Marine Corps issued bayonet from the scabbard on his left hip.
The wolf yelped in pain as Justin stabbed repeatedly into its torso. It wasn’t until the fourth stab before he felt its jaws loosen. He wrestled free of it just as another wolf leapt at him. Justin was ready this time and stabbed it in the neck in midflight. The wolf let out a short yelp of pain before falling to the asphalt beside his pal. Justin could not see them clearly. He heard some grunting and panting, so he maneuvered his M4 and shot toward the shapes with his left hand.
The grunting and panting stopped.
Justin dropped to the ground and felt around until he found his handgun and penlight. The Glock was fine. The penlight was broken.
“Damn,” he muttered.
He heard movement somewhere off to his right. Sensing that it was another wolf, he leapt into the trailer and tried closing the doors. It was a typical trailer for a semi, that is, the latches were on the outside. Justin pulled the doors closed, but one of them kept swinging open a couple of feet.
His head was pounding, and his arm hurt like hell, but he forced himself to think. A sudden thought came to him and he used one of his boot laces to tie the door closed. It wasn’t the most secure, but the doors were high enough off the ground and heavy enough that he did not think a wolf would be able to pull it open. A few zeds might be able to though, which meant he would not be getting any sleep tonight, not that he’d be able to sleep in the freezing cold.
He could not see the extent of the injuries to his arm, but he could feel his jacket sleeve soaked with blood. Justin wiggled his way out of his jacket, pulled a couple of ragged bandannas out of a cargo pocket and gently wrapped it around the injured arm. It wasn’t easy doing it with one hand, but if he kept from moving it around, he believed it would hold.
As the adrenalin wore off, he felt the coldness seeping in, and despite his first aid procedure, it felt like he was still bleeding. He gently touched the bandannas. They were damp. He put his jacket back on and thought briefly about exiting the trailer and trying to get into the building, but a short bark right outside let him know there were other wolves out there. He had no doubt they smelled the scent of his blood. They were not going to leave anytime soon.
All he could do now was hunker down and wait for someone to come find him.
Chapter 12 – Justin’s Arm
Justin tried in vain to will himself to ignore the cold, his pounding headache, the throbbing of his arm. He was failing. His arm injury prev
ented him from doing any kind of exercises to keep his metabolism going. If not for the injury, he’d do squats, pushups, anything to raise his metabolism and fight off the cold.
But he couldn’t. With each movement spasms of pain shot up through his arm and throughout his torso before ending in his head. His toes were numb. He had no idea how much he’d bled. A decent first aid kit was sitting somewhere in his overturned vehicle.
“And my silly ass forgot to bring it with me,” he muttered.
He did not, could not, allow himself to nod off. Instead, he slowly paced inside the trailer and willed his mind to think of other things. The memories of his past slowly came alive. His childhood was rotten, and it seemed as though he was destined for a life of rottenness until he found salvation in the Marine Corps. The Corps taught him almost everything that his parents had failed to teach him.
Zombie Rules | Book 8 | Who The Hell Is That? Page 7
