Return to Yellowstone

by Heath Stallcup

  “Of course, we are!” He pushed past her and reached for the door just as it opened. Bren stepped out and kept her eyes low. “Baby, are you okay? They didn’t hurt you, did they?”

  She shook her head slightly. “I’m fine. They just took a little blood.”

  He pulled her close and held her. “It’s okay. I won’t let them hurt you.”

  She pulled back slightly and glared at him. “How could you stop them?” She motioned around them. “This is the military. The government. They can do whatever the hell they want, and we can’t stop them.”

  He opened his mouth to reply but words escaped him. The female doctor placed a reassuring hand on Bren’s shoulder. “We’re not going to harm you. We just need to run a few tests to determine if you truly are immune, and if you are, we need to know why. We really hope it will help us create either a cure or a vaccine or…something to save humanity.”

  Jason’s voice became snarky. “Oh, hear that, baby? You’re gonna save humanity. If you ask me, humanity was screwed long before this ever happened.”

  The female doctor stiffened and rather than be baited, she gave the couple a tight-lipped smile and excused herself.

  Jason paced the small area nervously. “Where are we supposed to go from here?”

  Bren shook her head. “They said we’d get rooms, but I don’t know where they might—”

  The door flew open and Dr. Vivian LaRue stepped into the room. “You must be Brenda.” Her hand reached out, but Bren slid behind Jason, her eyes wide.

  “And you are?” Jason asked defiantly.

  Vivian paused and took in the situation. “I am Doctor LaRue. You can call me Vivian. I’m the lead researcher here at the lab, and I just wanted to take a moment to welcome you both here and see that you get settled.” She sat gracefully in one of the chairs and waited expectantly for the couple to join her.

  Jason took a seat and Bren hesitantly followed, her face buried in his back as he waited for the doctor to go on.

  “During these tests we’ll be asking a lot of questions. Family history, where you grew up, places you may have travelled to, environmental things that might help explain how you are immune.” She crossed her legs and held her hands in her lap. “If there are any questions you don’t know, don’t worry about it. Just answer to the best of your ability.”

  “So that’s it? You just take some blood samples and ask her a ton of questions?” Jason patted her hand reassuringly.

  “Oh, no. This is just the preliminary work. These samples were to help us determine if she has the virus in her system. If she does, we need to know which variant she is carrying. She may be immune to this variant, but not immune to others.”

  “Wait, you mean there’s more than one type of virus out there?” He suddenly stiffened and he felt Bren reciprocate.

  Vivian held a hand up to stop him. “First off, yes. There are many mutated forms we are identifying, and we have a team going out now to find the original strain. We need to see if there is any way we can formulate a defense against the mutated versions using the original strain.” She leaned forward, her voice softening. “Your blood may well hold the key to beating this thing.”

  Bren’s face poked out from behind Jason. “Will you have to take all of it?”

  Vivian snorted a laugh and shook her head. “Heavens, no. We’ll need samples from time to time, but you won’t even notice, other than the bandage on your arm.” She chuckled again and stood from the chair. “If you’ll follow me, I’ll take you to your rooms and you can get settled in. I’ll have some of my people bring you clean clothes and linens.”

  Jason slowly came to his feet and pulled Bren up from her chair. “It’s okay. We can go and rest for a bit.” He pulled her to him and gently led her from the room.

  Candy put her tray away and walked purposefully toward the armory. She had watch in fifteen minutes and she wanted to relieve Wally early, so he could eat while there were still solid chunks in the stew.

  She stepped into the hallway and nearly ran Skeeter over. “Child, what are you doing sneaking around out here? You should go in and eat before it’s all gone.”

  Skeeter shook her head slowly. “I’m worried for Hatcher.”

  Candy grunted. “If anybody can take care of themselves out there, it’s him. You don’t need to be worrying about—”

  “What if the men on the motorcycles come back?” Tears rimmed her eyes and she sniffed back those that threatened to fall.

  “What men on motorcycles?” Candy paused and bent low to hear the girl.

  “They shot at us when we were going to Colorado. If the helicopter hadn’t shown when they did, they probably would have shot us all.”

  Candy stiffened and pulled her radio. “Hank, you near the galley?”

  “Headed that way now. What’s up?”

  “Get your butt down here now.” Candy turned the radio down and faced Skeeter again. “Hatcher never said nothing about no bikers with guns out there.”

  Skeeter shrugged. “The helicopter showed up and they turned tail and ran.”

  “That’s the bandits he mentioned.” She ground her teeth together and wanted to punch something. “He didn’t say they took shots at y’all.”

  Skeeter nodded then popped her head up when she heard Henry coming down the hall. “What’s up?”

  “Hatcher wanted us to keep an eye on things because of some bandits they intercepted out there. I found out from her that they was a motorcycle gang and they was shooting at them. If the chopper hadn’t shown up, they most likely would have killed our people.”

  “Shit.” Henry rubbed at his wide chin. “Should we double the guards on sentry?”

  Candy sighed as her mind raced. “Not yet. We still probably have a bit before they show up.” She glanced at her watch. “It’s about sundown. They ain’t stupid enough to be out at night with the Zulus out.”

  Henry snorted. “They was stupid enough to go after Hatcher.”

  She shook her head. “They had no idea of who he was, and even if they did, it sounds like they probably have the numbers. No, if they was stupid they wouldn’t have survived this long.”

  “So we start doubling the sentries in the morning?”

  She nodded. “Pass the word. Double shifts for all sentries. No daytime scavenger runs. Not until we know what’s going on with this group.”

  “You reckon they saw the chopper land here?”

  She shrugged. “There’s no telling. I’m sure every Zulu in the county saw it. All they’ll have to do is look for the mob of them beating on the gates. They’ll know somebody is inside.”

  “Got it.” Henry marched off to spread the word and Candy turned back to Skeeter.

  “You did good by telling me, sweetie. But don’t you worry none about Hatcher. He’s with them military guys and they’ll protect him. They need him.”

  Skeeter nodded as Candy walked off toward the armory. “Only until they got what they came for…”

  Chapter 8

  “Up and at ’em, Ranger.” Hatcher spun in his cot and stared up at Hollis. “We move out in thirty. There’s some clean BDUs, for you if you’d like something a bit more rugged for the road.” Hollis stood and eyed the man. “Chow hall’s open if you want to grab a bite before we take off. You might want to grab something for the road, too. We got a long trip.”

  Hatcher swung his legs off the cot and reached for the clean clothes. They were desert tan BDUs, and even a fresh pair of boots. He lifted his from the deck and hadn’t realized the sad shape they wear in until he held the new pair. He nodded to himself as he dressed, then followed the smells to the chow hall. He made a quick plate, making sure to wrap a few of the cinnamon buns into a bag and grabbing a couple of bottles of water.

  He wolfed down the meal of powdered eggs and grits, swiped a banana from the stack of fruit, and washed it all down with something he suspected was their version of orange juice. He fought the feeling of nausea that struck when he trotted out to the flig
ht deck.

  “Perfect timing, Ranger.” Hollis finished packing his gear then pulled the door open.

  “Please don’t call me that. I’m not a park ranger anymore.”

  Hollis stood and stared down at the shorter man. “What would you like to be called?”

  “Just Hatcher is fine.” He stepped up and into the cabin.

  Hollis smiled to himself. “Just Hatcher it is then.” He turned and made a motion with his hand and his men boarded the craft.

  As each donned their headphones, Hollis keyed the coms. “I know it’s a long trip, but let’s keep our heads on a swivel. There could be uninfected nutjobs out there who want to take a pot shot at us as we fly over God’s country.”

  The bird spun up and Hatcher leaned back into the seat as best he could. He propped his head against the bulkhead and glanced out the window as the HH-60W lifted from the deck. He could feel the pull as the craft lifted up, then shifted as it launched forward.

  “You look a little green, Hatcher.”

  He glanced to Hollis and gave him a shrug. “I don’t think those powdered eggs agreed with me.”

  Hollis reached into his bag and pulled out a roll of antacids. “You’ll learn to love these things if you stay with us for any length of time.” He passed the roll to Hatcher, then asked, “You were there, weren’t you?”

  Hatcher popped a couple of the mint-flavored tablets, then turned to him. “What do you mean?”

  “When it all went down. You were at the park, weren’t you?”

  Hatcher nodded, his mind going back to the night Shelly disappeared and when Mitch was bit. He felt his stomach sour again at the thought of putting his friend down.

  “So, you’ve faced these things before. We don’t need to go over precautions with you.”

  Hatcher shook his head. “I’ve seen enough of them up close and personal that I think I can handle myself just fine.”

  “I’ll go over insertion details with you when we touch down for fuel.”

  Hatcher nodded absently and turned to stare out the window again, hoping there would be something of interest out there that could pull his thoughts from friends lost.

  Squirrel felt the sun warm his face and he opened his eyes. They had barricaded themselves in the top floors of the local Hyatt Regency. He had pulled the bed over by the sliding glass doors so that the early morning sun might wake him. He rolled over and stretched. As he sat up he noted the red dirt in the sheets from his clothes and wished they actually had water pressure. A shower would be heaven sent.

  He slid off the mattress and pulled his jacket on. He stood in the bathroom and stared at his features in the darkened room. He could just make out the bed head he suffered from. He reached for the toilet and lifted the top from the tank. Using both hands, he scooped up the cool water and scrubbed his face with it. He then ran his hands through the shoulder-length mop and did his best to comb it back with his fingers. Another scoop of water and his hair was properly slicked back.

  The hand towel wiped the excess from his face and he dropped it on the floor as he made his way out of the room and down the stairs to the main lobby.

  He rifled through the kitchen and found a gallon-size tin can of stewed tomatoes and another gallon can of cling peaches. He wished for some form of instant coffee, but there was nothing. The little packets of coffee in his room had already been pilfered along with the sugar and the creamers.

  He found a hand-operated can opener and popped the top on the peaches. He carried it back out to the lobby and used his dagger to stab the fruit from the can. He sat atop the check-in desk and ate while he waited for the rest of his men to rouse.

  He felt they had been lucky to find the place. Whoever had broken in before was smart enough not to knock out the glass. No protection if you leave a gaping hole in the wall. Whoever it was had jimmied the locks and helped themselves. There were towels and linens scattered across the floor, and food stuff, long since stolen and spilled, had dried into unrecognizable clumps.

  When he had eaten his fill, he set the can down on the counter and walked to the rear of the main floor. He glanced out at what was left of the pool. Behind the wrought iron fence, the pool was half-filled with thick, smelly brown water. He squinted in the early morning sun and thought he could just make out a swollen body floating in the muck.

  Trash littered the concrete around the pool and things that had once been brightly colored sat floating in the brown water, the sun having faded most of the color from them. Squirrel knew better than to step out there. The only thing worse than the smell of death would be death stewing in the New Mexico sun for weeks or longer.

  He heard somebody stomping down the stairs and turned to see his brown-toothed partner pull up short when he saw him standing at the rear doors. “Did you sleep?”

  Squirrel nodded. “There’s some canned peaches at the check-in desk.” He glanced at his watch, then craned his neck to look for the sun. “We have a lot of ground to cover today. We need to get an early start.”

  “What about the others?” He hooked a thumb over his shoulder and back up the stairs.

  “They have their mission. Let them sleep.”

  He listened to the man’s heavy steps as he walked to the counter. Then, to his dismay, he heard hearty slurps as he lifted the tin to his mouth and sucked the peaches from the can.

  His hand absently caressed the Glock 40 tucked under his jacket. The 10mm handgun was capable of putting very large holes into human flesh. He contemplated being able to explain the brown-toothed guy’s death to Simon. Of course, if he killed him here, he’d most likely have to kill the others as well. Surely the sound of the gunshot would stir them.

  He decided if he was to go down that road, he’d wait until he and the man known only as Slug were alone.

  He hated the nicknames Simon had assigned each of them. He had a knack to choose words starting with ‘S’. Slug, Squirrel, Sasquatch, Shithead…he wasn’t the most creative when it came to names. But for the most part, they seemed somewhat appropriate. His partner was a slug. Slow, lazy, left a trail of slime everywhere he went. He actually chuckled to himself when he realized the name was the most accurate of them all.

  Of course, Squirrel could have other meanings besides someone fast, crafty, and careful. Being ‘squirrely’ meant that one couldn’t be trusted. If that was his intention when naming him, he hit the nail directly on the head.

  In a previous life, Squirrel had been an undercover narcotics officer. He volunteered for this job and shortly after earning his ‘colors,’ the world came to a screaming and bloody end. Now there was nobody to turn evidence over to. Nobody to make Simon answer for the crimes that Squirrel had witnessed. Nobody to care if the outlaw bikers continued to be outlaws.

  In this new world, people like Simon quickly took advantage of the situation and established themselves as war chiefs. They fiercely defended their territories and terrorized anybody who crossed their path. More than once Squirrel found himself committing acts he never would have thought possible. He had to keep telling himself he wasn’t a cop anymore. He was just a person trying his best to make it in a world that was turned upside down.

  It didn’t help him to sleep at night.

  “You ready?”

  He turned and saw the brown-toothed Slug staring at him, wiping heavy syrup from his mouth with the back of his sleeve. He nodded and stepped away from the window. “Let’s finish this.”

  “I think it’s safe to say that truck didn’t come from here. I ain’t seen no large groups of people or Army surplus. Whoever they were, they came from somewhere else.”

  Squirrel nodded as he straddled the Indian. “You’re probably right, but we still need to look for supplies. We got a lot of people that need to eat.”

  “That ain’t my problem, boss. Let ’em find their own grub.” He started the old Harley and revved the engine a few times.

  “It is your problem because Simon says it is.” Squirrel kicked off the Indian a
nd slipped his sunglasses on. “Unless you’re ready to challenge Simon, I suggest you do what he orders.”

  Slug glared at the man as he pulled away from the hotel. “This trip is getting more dangerous for you boss-man. Best be careful.”

  He revved the engine and let the clutch out slowly, pulling the Harley out behind the Indian.

  “Whatever you do, do not let Bren see this.” Jason pointed shakily at the reinforced acrylic that separated the researchers from the infected. “I’m serious. She’ll lose her shit right here, and you’ll have to send people out to search for her as she swims back to shore.”

  “Rest assured, Jason, she’ll never see this.” Dr. LaRue stepped around him and wrote a few notes on her clipboard. “But in this state, they really are harmless.”

  “In this state? Exactly what state are we in? We’re on a friggin boat in the middle of nowhere. I don’t think California can lay claim to us.”

  Vivian chuckled at what she thought was his attempt at humor. It took her a moment longer to realize he was serious. “In this state, meaning in their current state of mind. Their behavior. Their lack of aggression. Not where they are located.”

  Jason shrugged. “Okay. And because these aren’t being aggressive they’re what? Your pets?”

  “These creatures are research material. That is all.”

  “And just what do you feed your test bunnies, Doc? If some squid on the boat doesn’t shine his shoes just right, you toss him in there for an early brunch?”

  She planted her hands on her hips and glared at the man. “Right now, the most aggressive creature on this boat is you.” She stepped toward him and pointed a finger in his face. “This is a RESEARCH vessel. You knew that when you came aboard. In order to research the virus and its effects on humans, we have to have infected people here. Until the virus started mutating, we were this close to a cure. We could have turned it all around in a matter of weeks. But that went out the window. Now you and your girlfriend arrive and tell us that she is immune.” She lowered her voice and stepped closer to Jason, causing him to take a step back. “Which means we need her, not you.”