She reached into her front pocket and pulled out a small bottle of red wine she’d taken from the supply room. She brushed off a chair and brought it to the outer wall. She leaned out and took in the abandoned city. The bluish light from an overhead half-moon bathed the buildings, creating black shadows between the moonlit manmade towers. In the distance, she could see a vehicle driving back and forth, likely a HUMVEE on its last patrol. By tomorrow, everyone should be safely offshore and steaming toward their new home. Wherever that may be.
Jen didn’t waste any time looking for a wine glass. It would have been filthy anyway. She sat down and unscrewed the top. Toasting the town, she drank half the bottle in one large swig. It wasn’t half bad.
She was transfixed by the city. The deck was on the north side of the hotel, giving her a view of the naval air station over a mile up the island. Various aircraft were ferrying people out to sea. Their landing lights blinked red and green as they approached the naval station’s airstrip. She could see a line of Ospreys and helicopters going from east to west, forming a flashing line in the sky. With no light pollution to wash out the aircrafts’ beacons, it looked like someone had hung flickering red and green Christmas lights from the clouds. The trail ended over the horizon. It was magnificent and gave her hope that they’d all make it out.
Jen found a brochure for the resort and used her flashlight to read it. There were boats to be rented at the nearby marina and bicycles in the parking garage available for the guests. She fantasized about the facility and the nearby fancy restaurants. She finished the bottle and checked her watch once again. It was almost nine. She decided to head back to the room and wait for Garrett.
“Why not?” she said to herself. She’d take a bike.
Jen found the bike rack a few minutes later. Several were unlocked. They were all identical, so she grabbed one and balanced the duffel on her back. After several adjustments, she finally felt stable enough to ride.
Jen swerved and struggled to get going, the canvas duffel swinging to her side every time she started to pedal. She was about to let out a curse, when an explosion crackled in the distance. She looked over the nearby buildings and saw another orange flash, immediately followed by another boom. Automatic fire assaulted her ears. The bridge was under attack.
Jen brought her duffel around and laid it across the handlebars. She got up on the pedals and pushed. A third explosion ruptured the air, echoing between the tightly spaced buildings.
She panicked. This was more gunfire than she’d ever heard before.
Behind her, the skies lit up. A momentary flashbulb popped at her back, and she turned in time to see an orange cloud billowing up into the night sky. More machine gun fire came from the thin southern isthmus followed by another explosion. Jen froze. It was happening. The Variants were attacking, and she was stuck on an abandoned street with no weapon, riding a bicycle. If it hadn’t been so tragic, it would have been funny.
She started pedaling up Ocean Boulevard. The four-lane-wide road was lined on both sides by abandoned cars that had been parked and left during the evacuation.
She nearly dropped her duffel as she accelerated, but she managed to hold on. She was moving as fast as she could, given that she was riding a beach bike with oversized wheels. Leaving her duffel wouldn’t help.
She’d only gone a few hundred feet when the lights of multiple vehicles careened toward her. The sounds of a pitched battle continued to come from the bridge while, to the south, more explosions erupted.
Jen slid to a stop and pulled onto Loma Avenue. She watched as dozens of HUMVEEs approached. Five of the vehicles shot by, but the sixth slammed on its brakes and cut hard to its left. The driver barely missed her as they came to a stop just a few yards from where she stood.
“JEN!” she heard.
Garrett popped out of the driver’s side door and gave her a smothering hug.
“Come on!” Gardner yelled. “Get in the fucking vehicle.”
Garrett grabbed Jen and pulled her to the rear door. She was shoved in and her duffel dumped on her lap. Garrett bounded into the driver’s seat. He circled back, using the front yards of two homes to make his 180° turn. By the time they’d returned to Ocean Boulevard, the other vehicles were receding red dots on the horizon. Garrett slapped the steering wheel and began to drive.
“Hold it!” Gonzalez said. “Did you hear that?”
Garrett canted his head, listening to the radio in his earpiece. All three men gasped and turned to each other.
“What is it?” Jen asked in a panic. All three had gone quiet. In the dim light from the dashboard, Jen could tell that something bad had happened.
“What is it?”
“They’re gone,” Gonzalez stammered.
“Who’s gone? WHO’S GONE?” Jen screamed.
“Echo Company, 2nd Battalion, 4th Marines. They were holding the southern isthmus but were overrun.”
“There’s nothing between them and us,” Garrett added.
“Hold on,” Gonzalez said, holding his fingers over his headset, pressing it into his ears. “Shit!”
“We’re fucked,” Gardner added.
“What is it?” Jen asked, afraid of the answer.
“We’re to evacuate the island,” Garrett said quietly.
“I know that,” Jen replied.
“No. We’re to evacuate the island right now. Any way we can get off, we have to do it now.”
“I don’t understand,” Jen said.
“Babe. The Variants are moving up from the south. A helicopter reported that they are moving rapidly and there are too many to count.”
“How are we supposed to get off the island?” Gonzalez asked. “What the hell are we supposed to do? Go out into the surf and swim to the T.R.?”
“Can we go back to the base? We can get on one of the Ospreys,” Jen said.
“You kidding? There were still a few thousand people to pull out. We haven’t gotten any boats from the Boxer yet, and each Osprey can only hold a few dozen.”
Another explosion rocked the ground. This one was less than a mile away. A fast mover streaked overhead and dropped its payload on the advancing horde. No one thought that would do much, given the reported size of the attack.
Garrett turned the wheel of the HUMVEE to the right, and Jen grabbed his shoulder from the back seat.
“No—turn left,” she said.
“What?” Gardner shouted. “Go toward the Variants?”
“Go to the marina,” Jen said. “There has to be a boat we can get. It’s our only hope.”
The three Marines looked at each other and nodded. She was right. If they could get a boat going, they could make it to the middle of the harbor and maybe, just maybe, get out to sea.
Water, food, and a final destination were the last thing on their minds. Their first job was to live. They could worry about surviving afterward.
Garrett turned south on Ocean and shot forward. The harbor was just ahead, but from the explosions erupting to their front, the Variants weren’t much further down the road. It was a race, and the odds were not looking good.
— 26 —
Outside Borrego Springs
Steele/Burnand Anza-Borrego Desert Research Center
John Eric Carver
“Insanity is doing the same thing over and over again but expecting different results.”
-ALBERT EINSTEIN
“Damn it!” Carver yelled.
The front wheels of the Ford were stuck in a creek bed. It wasn’t quite quicksand, but the locals called it “jelly sand.” Carver had no idea what the difference was, but it had the same effect on his 4x4. Even with the rear wheels spinning, the vehicle wasn’t moving.
“I’m so sorry!” Kinney said for the umpteenth time. “This shouldn’t have happened.”
They were less than a half mile from the resort. The drive in had been remarkably uneventful. Not a single creature had been seen.
Kinney had the bright idea of searching the Deser
t Research Center. He’d been to the facility in the past and noted that they had a supply of communication electronics they could use back at the camp. With three families having joined their group, they had run out of portable radios. Backups were needed as well, so Harold talked Carver into the detour. It seemed like a good idea until they pulled around behind the main building and tried to cross a creek that dribbled down the side of the mountain. That’s when the front of the truck sank to the axle, entrapping their only ride home in several feet of sand.
They’d tried shoving boards under the sand to engage the front tires of the truck. They used chains that Carver had in his bed-mounted toolbox and pulled and pushed with all their might. All to no avail. They’d been trying for the better part of three hours and the F-150 was still entombed by the desert mountain.
“We need a tow truck,” Kinney sarcastically said after their last try failed.
Carver was about to finally let loose on his friend. But he held back. They’d just get angrier and solve nothing. Any argument would also risk attracting the infected. So far, Carver had been surprised at the lack of response from the nearby homes.
The facility sat on top of a ridge that overlooked Borrego Springs. Houses peppered the road up to the buildings. Most looked abandoned, with front doors open or garages vacant. But statistically, Carver knew there should be at least a few creatures lingering about. They had kept their weapons nearby for that reason. But nothing had shown, even with the roar of the pickup’s engine as they tried to extricate themselves from the sandy trap. Even Shrek had remained calm, which was the ultimate sign that there were no infected in the area.
Carver took a deep breath and let the anger subside. After all, he’d agreed with Harold’s idea. He should have had them focus on retrieving Hope’s friend rather than going on a scavenger hunt. He was as mad at himself as much as he was at their situation.
“You’re not far off,” Carver replied. “We need something to pull the truck out.”
“Where the hell are we going to get a tow truck?”
“We don’t need a tow truck. We just need something with a strong rear axle that can pull us out.”
“I didn’t see a single car or truck that could help us,” Kinney said as he nodded down the hill toward the abandoned homes.
“I know. But we have to try,” Carver shot back. “We aren’t going anywhere like this, and I sure as hell ain’t leaving my truck.”
“We can find a car and drive back to the camp and get some help,” Kinney said. “If we have enough people pulling, we could get your truck out of there.”
Carver didn’t like that idea. It would take most of the adults back at Schoepe to even attempt such a thing. He couldn’t leave the kids unguarded like that.
Carver was beginning to think they’d have to leave his beloved pickup and abandon it for good, when he noticed the resort in the distance. If he wasn’t mistaken, there was a large delivery truck there that could pull his pickup out of the sand without a problem.
The sun was nearing the western horizon. They had less than an hour left before the night claimed the desert.
“Come on,” Carver said. “Grab your gear. We’re going to the resort.”
“What? We can’t go in there without a vehicle! We’ll be swamped.”
“You’re right. We’ll find a car and take it. If the place is swarming, we’ll keep going and leave my truck behind.”
“What about Randy?”
“We’ll make that call when we get there,” Carver said. “We’re going nowhere doing what we’ve been doing. Insanity is repeating the same thing and expecting a different result. We’ve been beating our heads against the wall for hours. We should have done something different a long time ago.”
They gathered their gear and let Shrek lead the way. The war dog had an incredible nose. With him in front and Carver directing him with his Dutch commands, they finally found a functional sedan in the seventh house they’d searched. Two of the garages they had searched contained cars but no keys. One home had cars and keys but a near-empty gas tank. Then they found the 240 sedan.
“A Volvo. Now we’re safe,” Kinney joked.
The older sedan was boxy, but reliable.
The tank-like car started after three attempts. It was a hideous yellow color and had an underpowered four-cylinder engine in it. No way they could use it to pull the truck out, but its longevity was a testament to its simple design. The car was over thirty years old, and it still ran.
Kinney rolled down the window to get a clear line of fire. They had thrown their assault packs in the back seat but kept their chest rigs on. The MOLLE vests had their spare magazines stuffed into five pouches on the front, which made going prone difficult. But the back held a three-liter CamelBak water reservoir as well. Between the front pouches and rear bladder, Carver had no room to move. The seat wouldn’t push back far enough from the steering wheel.
So, with arms extended to the side as he was stuffed into the front seat, Carver and Kinney drove the small-motored Volvo out of the garage and down the hill.
Kinney glanced at his friend as he scanned the road ahead. Carver looked like a tactical carnival worker, stuffed into a little clown car. He cracked a smile but dared not laugh. Carver might go ballistic if he did.
Carver knew how he looked and saw Kinney’s reaction in the corner of his eye. He felt the same way. But with no mobility as he was jammed into the seat, he’d be nearly worthless if they were attacked. There was no way he could maneuver his rifle, let alone reload the damn thing.
They stopped at the bottom of the hill. A right turn and a quarter mile away lay the resort. Carver managed to roll his window down a bit to let the air and sounds find Shrek’s nose and ears. They gave the dog a full minute to sense his surroundings. There was no reaction.
Carver pulled slowly up to the gate and stopped.
“Should we go in on foot?” Kinney asked.
“I vote we run and gun,” Carver said. “I’d rather find out that the infected are around at thirty miles an hour instead of on foot. I’m done screwing around with our safety. This is a fool’s errand, and I’m not going to take any more risks.”
Kinney nodded. “I like the way you think.”
Carver gunned the underpowered engine and brought it up to speed. The winding asphalt drive sped by, and he noticed that the manicured landscape had kept its pristine beauty. It had been over a month since the infection, but the beds were covered by lava rock and had kept their tailored look. The ornamental plants were native to the area and were still thriving, even with a lack of human care. Sprigs of grass and weeds had popped up here and there, but for the most part, you wouldn’t have known there had been an apocalypse. Carver took this as a good sign.
He flew under the main entrance’s portico and swept back out the other side. He kept up his speed and circled back to the front entrance. He stopped, and they waited for something to react to their presence. Nothing happened.
Carver shrugged and repeated the stunt, this time beeping the horn as he went through by the front doors. Again, nothing.
“Maybe there’s something out back,” Carver said, remembering the side entrance where he and Hope had escaped from.
Carver returned through the roofed overhang and drove by the paved path down to delivery. He backed in so that he could quickly escape any infected horde.
They wound down the asphalt lane and found themselves back where he and Hope had made their escape.
There was a single, eviscerated body still lying on the pavement. It was the one that Carver had shot in the face with the recovered riot shotgun. Even though it had been loaded with rubber pellets, the creature had been so close, it punched through its skull. It was almost a decapitation from the sheer force of the blast. The corpse had been stripped bare by either the infected or by scavenging animals, leaving only a pile of scattered bones to bleach in the desert sun.
The door to the building had been left propped open. Nothing h
ad changed since Randy had drawn the horde to him, allowing Carver and Hope to escape.
Carver stared into the dark hallway. The day was nearly spent. The sun was tickling the nearby mountain range as it closed in on the end of the day.
“There’s the delivery truck,” Kinney said.
The ten-thousand-pound P30 was more of an oversized step van. But it had a large diesel engine and a chassis that had been made for school busses. It would be able to pull his F150 free.
“Let’s take it back and get your pickup. Then we can come back for Randy. If he’s alive,” Kinney said.
Carver looked at the setting sun. They had less than thirty minutes of light left. He prioritized. If push came to shove, Randy was more important than the pickup. They needed to find out if he survived.
“No. Randy has to come first. We can always retrieve the Ford later.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah. There doesn’t seem to be any infected in the area. That may be pure luck, or it could be that Randy is one of them and they’ve left the area to look for more victims. Either way, I don’t think we’ll get a better chance than right now.”
“Where do we even begin?” Kinney asked, staring at the large building. “They’ve got over a hundred hotel rooms and God knows how many other places he could hide. How do we find him?”
Carver had been thinking about that. He and Hope had brainstormed just that question, and she’d narrowed it down to three places.
“Hope thinks he would have survived in one of three locations. The most likely one is in the main kitchen. There’s a reinforced door protecting their liquor and fine foods.”
“If not there, then where else?”
“The maintenance shed is all metal. That would be number two, and the security office has a metal door and that would be number three. But these last two locations don’t have any supplies. If he did get stuck in one of those, he would have died of thirst or starvation by now.”
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