Extinction Survival Series | Book 4 | Warrior's Fate

by Browning, Walt

  She couldn’t have said anything worse. Brett turned an even deeper shade of red.

  After a few moments, she turned to the others. “Let them go. I think we’re going to be all right.”

  The three were released.

  The MRAP shut down, and Tim ran to his brother. They met in between and clenched each other in a hug.

  “Thank you,” Brett said, turning back to face Hanna. He caught her staring at his face. It was her turn to blush.

  “I’m sorry,” she said meekly. “I just don’t remember you.”

  “Like I said, it was a long time ago.”

  Brett left Hanna and jogged to his men. He passed by several dead Variants and took a closer look at the corpses scattered on the ground. Many of the bodies had lacerations and smashed limbs. All were caked in dirt.

  They must have survived the explosion, he thought. They must have followed us here when we left the Home Depot.

  Brett cursed at the oversight. He should have been more careful. They had assumed they’d killed them all. That mistake had cost several lives.

  He was brought out of his thoughts when Hanna yelled to her people. She directed the women to bring their own vehicles up to the open garage door. They began to load the supplies that had been stacked inside.

  “We were wondering who had done that,” Brett said loudly.

  “We’ve been using this place for years,” Hanna replied. “We left this pile last time we were here.”

  Hanna looked around at the dead Variants. “Good thing we showed up when we did.”

  “Yeah. Thanks for that,” he replied.

  Brett retrieved his rifle and found several more weapons and other gear from the men who had been slaughtered earlier.

  Hanna noticed the extra firearms. “You lost some people?”

  Brett stopped and sighed. Even though the dead soldiers hadn’t been part of their force for long, he’d begun to warm up to a couple of them. In this new world, you didn’t get too close to your squad mates. It made death easier to accept when you didn’t let yourself care.

  “Yeah. We were caught with our pants down.”

  “You’ve survived this long, and you let them sneak up on you like that?”

  “I know. I know. We thought we’d cleared this area. We had no idea any of them were still around.”

  “What do you mean, you ‘cleared the area’?”

  Brett went on describe the trap they’d set off the night before. Hanna was impressed when the story came to its conclusion.

  “We thought we’d buried them all. Looking at the corpses,” —Brett waved at the dead Variants— “we missed a few that had survived the tunnel’s collapse. They must have followed us here.”

  “I’d love to hear more about your people.” She pointed at the Jerry cans strapped to the side of both vehicles. “You’ve got explosives and fuel for your vehicles.”

  “We’re lucky these things can run on almost anything. We make our own biodiesel.”

  “We’re almost out of fuel,” she said. “We could use some help in that department.”

  “I’m sure we can make that happen. But first, I need to radio my people and tell them we’re all right. I called for a rescue team, and I don’t want them driving all the way here for nothing.”

  “All right. Let them know. Then we’ll talk.”

  Brett nodded and returned to his HUMVEE. He made contact with the QRF and let Carver know that they could return home. After a quick summary, Brett faced the hard part of the call, relaying the names of the fatalities.

  “Yes, sir,” Brett concluded. “We’ll be back to the barn before dark.”

  The young man turned from the vehicle and watched the women loading the supplies into their old diesel pickup trucks. They all walked with a bounce that only women could make. His eyes were instinctively drawn to their swinging ponytails and swaying hips. He stared openly, mesmerized by their movements.

  Kinney’s image suddenly broke his trance.

  “Hey kid,” he had said many years ago. “Don’t let the vapors get the best of you.”

  “The vapors?” he’d asked.

  He was just sixteen years old then and was struggling with the normal urges of a kid his age. He had become preoccupied by three female survivors who had just been rescued from Sea World. Kinney had found him sneaking about the women’s quarters, trying to get a glimpse of the new arrivals.

  “The vapors, kid.” Kinney growled. “Perfume and gasoline…although, there ain’t any cars out there worth having if you plan on surviving a Zombie attack. I’d take an up-armored Hummer over a Ferrari any day.”

  Kinney had put his arm around him and pulled him away. “I was your age once,” he continued as they walked toward Beckham Hall. “I know how you feel. But let me clue you in on something. Your hormones will only get you in trouble. You need to box them up and put them away. You let them out, and only bad things will happen. You’ll lose your concentration, do something stupid, and maybe you lose your life. Or worse, cause someone else to lose theirs.”

  Kinney had patted him on the back and left for his own quarters. Since then, Brett had kept himself in check, although watching these women now stirred his hormonal pot.

  “Enough,” Brett said to himself. “Get a grip.”

  He walked back to Hanna as the last of the supplies were being loaded. “You have any place we can sit and talk?” Brett asked. “We’re new to the area.”

  His comment brought a smile to the young woman, and Brett suddenly realized how out of touch it sounded.

  “Sorry. That came out wrong. It’s not like we can run to a Starbucks and get a latte,” he said with an embarrassed smile.

  “Actually, that’s the nicest thing I’ve heard in a long time,” she replied wistfully. “I’d kill for a latte.”

  Both stood and stared at the ground at their feet. The awkward moment quickly disappeared when one of Hanna’s people approached.

  “We need to go,” the woman said. “We don’t want anyone to get worried back home.”

  Hanna turned to Brett. Her disappointment was palpable, and it caught Brett off guard. “We have to go.”

  “Where do you live?”

  “I can’t tell you that. It’s a safety thing,” she said.

  “Yeah, we have the same rules.” Brett added, “But I have to ask. Where are all the guys? Your whole squad is women.”

  “We’re what’s left from St. Lucy High School.”

  Brett thought of the yearbook he’d decided to take with him. It was stashed in his backpack. With that in mind, he looked at the faces of several of Hanna’s squad mates and realized that he recognized some of them from the book.

  The women moved to their vehicles and one of them called Hanna to leave.

  “Will I see you again?” she asked.

  “We’re a long way from here.”

  She stared back at her convoy and sighed. “I’d love to talk some more.”

  “I’d like that,” Brett said, feeling like a teenager trying to set up a first date. “Hold on, I’ve got an idea.”

  Brett hustled to his HUMVEE and returned with one of their portable satellite radios, along with its vehicle power adapter.

  “Here,” he said. “It uses 123 batteries, but it’s been years since we found any that still work. You’ll have to use the power adapter and plug it into your truck to run it.”

  She took the sat phone and smiled. “When will you call? I’ll need to be plugged in when you do.”

  “How about twenty-one hundred hours?” Brett asked.

  “Nine P.M. That works.”

  A horn sounded, bringing the two back to reality.

  “Will you call tonight?” she asked.

  “I’ll try. We’ve still got to get back home. If not tonight, then tomorrow. Just keep it on pre-set channel seven.”

  Brett showed her the functions on the bottom of the unit. He turned the selector knob to the number seven of ten positions and showed her where to
power it on.

  Hanna nodded then tucked the device and adapter inside her chest rig. “Thanks, Brett.” Her face lit up.

  He knew, right there, that he was in trouble. He didn’t want her to leave.

  “Come on!” one of the women yelled from her group.

  Hanna started to leave then stopped. She turned back and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek.

  “Call me,” she said before sprinting back and leaping into the idling pickup.

  The vehicles spun up and raced around the corner of the giant warehouse store, leaving Brett and his remaining squad mates staring at the receding convoy.

  Outside Temecula

  Kinney

  “That’s a hard copy, Regent One. We’re pausing outside Temecula. Give me your sit-rep? Over.”

  Carver was using the satellite phone’s headset.

  Kinney was sitting in the driver’s seat of their MRAP. From the look on his friend’s face, the satellite call was both good and bad. He’d known Carver for over seven years, almost five of which had been as teammates surviving the apocalypse. There wasn’t a facial expression the ex-SEAL made that Kinney hadn’t seen. The nods and grimaces were all the retired Marine needed to know that the mission had been accomplished, but at a cost of life.

  “Aw, crap,” Kinney said as he watched Carver write down the names of the KIA.

  He had met two of the dead men’s parents, and both families were solid and decent people. It was going to be a tough afternoon for his friend. He’d be paying visits to the relatives of the deceased, informing them of their loss. Kinney was glad he didn’t have that job.

  “All right, Regent One. Confirm your return at sixteen hundred hours. Over.”

  Carver listened for the reply, then satisfied, ended the satellite call.

  “We lost all of those boys?” Kinney asked, nodding at the Rite in the Rain, three-by-five spiral pad on Carver’s lap.

  “Yeah.” Carver sighed. He flipped the waterproof cardboard back in place and shoved the pad into his front thigh pocket.

  Kinney hadn’t known that Carver kept a list of the deceased until just after they’d sent the rescued scientists from Palomar Mountain off to Catalina Island. That was about four years ago. He had found Carver writing the names of those who had been lost that day in his all-weather notepad. Each page had a date and the names of those killed, along with locations. It was his friend’s version of the Book of the Dead, and when Carver wasn’t around, that’s what the rest of the camp called it.

  As Carver slid the notepad away, Kinney noticed that it was over half full. The pad probably weighed just a few ounces, but it must have felt a hell of a lot heavier to the man who had to carry it.

  “Back to the barn?” Kinney asked. He already knew the answer.

  Carver sat motionless for a few moments, staring out at the expansive desert. The morning sun had climbed high enough that the sunshine was bright and colorless. The early morning pink and light blue had long ago faded away.

  Carver squinted into the distant vista then put his American Optics aviator sunglasses back on and nodded. “Take us home.”

  The convoy reversed course and began the hour journey back to the camp. Several of the convoy’s up-armored vehicles had machine guns mounted on top. All were manned and ready to engage. Carver noted the convoy’s readiness after they made a U-turn and passed by them. With the knowledge that the men were performing as directed, he sat back and closed his eyes.

  Kinney could tell Carver was tired. Not physically exhausted, but mentally frayed. The loss of more men, although tragic, was a blow they could recover from. Over the last few years, several hundred survivors had joined the camp. The added bodies were both a blessing and curse. They were a curse because that meant more mouths to feed. In the short-term, there was plenty of food still out there. Supplies were still being salvaged, but that would be ending soon, as the salvaged canned goods exceeded their expiration dates.

  It was the long-term that had them flummoxed. The farm simply couldn’t sustain that many people without draining their water supply to a dangerous level. They were effectively trying to grow crops in the high mountain desert, and it was quickly becoming evident that they’d have to split the group and create another safe haven or move everybody to a more hospitable part of the country.

  It had been the topic of discussion at the town council meetings for the last six months. In the end, the town was divided, and each side had its merits.

  The first group, mostly those who had been at the Boy Scout camp from the beginning, wanted to split the population and create a second safe location while still maintaining Lost Valley. The value of that was to give the human race a better chance of survival if the one encampment was overrun or fell on bad times. They’d already had a run-in with Salmonella. A small pandemic could kill off the species if everyone was together in one place. A second town would give humanity a chance to avoid a single catastrophic event.

  The second faction wanted to move everyone to a more hospitable environment; to a place where the soil and weather were amenable to farming. Those in this second group were mostly from the late arrivals, and they accused the older inhabitants of being sentimental, rather than logical, about the decision.

  Truth be told, there was more than a smidgen of truth to that. Kinney would often catch himself reminiscing as he walked by a building or down one of the town’s dirt roads. He could remember building each new structure since he was usually the one driving the bulldozer that leveled the land or manning the backhoe that dug the sewage trenches. In many respects, it was his town, and building something so important had become personal. It was hard to give up.

  Carver sat quietly as they drove back to camp, his eyes closed, and arms crossed in front of his chest. The loss of the men today was surely giving his friend a reason for being in a sour mood, but Kinney knew that it was much more than that.

  It was Shrek.

  The dog was over eleven years old and, in normal times, the faithful canine would have a couple of good years left. But the Mal had been a war dog, not a house pet. The poor old guy was suffering terribly from arthritis and back problems, all brought on by his years of active duty fighting the Taliban and then the Variants.

  Because of his injuries and the joint pain that had developed, Shrek hadn’t been on a mission in nearly a year. The dog struggled to rise after lying down and walked with a hitch in his gait. He had a degenerating spine and almost no cartilage left in his hips, resulting in bone-on-bone contact. The poor animal looked like he was in constant pain, and it broke Carver’s heart.

  The salvaged dog medicine had all expired, and they were giving the Mal anything they thought would help. Ibuprofen and Naproxen, along with some CBD extracts, were part of Shrek’s daily routine. They’d even tried using tinctures created from the camp’s willow tree. The aspirin-like substance seemed to be the only drug that allowed the dog to move about, rather than lie crippled on the front porch.

  The camp did have a limited supply of narcotics, but they were being held back for the humans. If it were up to Kinney, the dog would get an infusion of whatever he needed to live out his remaining time in comfort. Shrek had been more of a friend and a better battle buddy than almost any human he’d ever served with. Even Carver would have trouble measuring up to the dog.

  They drove the hour back in silence, and when they stopped, Carver immediately hopped out of the vehicle and walked directly to their house. Kinney unloaded the gear and watched as his friend reached the two-bedroom home, where he squatted down next to the crippled animal. Shrek was lying on the old porch where Kinney and Carver had spent many nights drinking Modelo beer. The same plastic couch and old rocker still stood sentinel over the covered veranda. It had been a place of refuge for the two retired warriors.

  Kinney gently shook his head and took a deep breath before hefting both of their packs back to the camp’s QRF staging area, giving Carver time to be with his long-time companion. He’d miss that d
amn animal. Shrek was family, and like most good things that came and went, they never seemed to stay around long enough.

  Lost Valley

  Brett Darden

  The after-action report didn’t go that well. The lack of discipline had cost them several soldiers. They shouldn’t have stopped at the Costco without formulating an action plan with contingencies.

  “Where do you see a shopping trip to the local warehouse store on the whiteboard?” Kinney asked, referring to the erasable planning board they used to write out each step of a proposed mission.

  “There was none, sir,” Brett immediately replied.

  “And what the hell was that little side trip to the Home Depot parking lot?” Kinney asked. “That’s where you picked up the stragglers that killed your men.”

  “That’s on me,” Lucas replied. “I wanted to see the results of my work. Make sure I did it right.”

  “Bullshit. If you wanted to do that, you’d have checked out the entire mile of pipeline you demolished. Now, I want a straight answer.”

  None of the men replied, earning a scowl from the retired Marine. “What were you idiots thinking?”

  They all stood quietly, with Lucas sniffing back his frustrations and tears.

  Kinney saw the young man’s emotional reaction and strode over in front of the young warrior. “Be grateful you know your shit,” he hissed. “You probably took out over five thousand Variants, if my estimates are correct.”

  Brett, Tim, and Lucas looked on with satisfaction.

  “Hey! Don’t get cocky. You lost four of our best. I don’t care how many of those infected bastards you killed. Losing just one of us is unacceptable, unless it was unavoidable. And those deaths were avoidable.”

  Carver hadn’t said much during the debriefing, but Kinney more than made up for his friend’s quiet demeanor. When the SEAL finally cleared his throat to speak, the room silenced.

  “Lucas, isn’t your birthday coming up soon?” Carver asked.

  The question caught everyone off guard, especially Lucas. He had been holding back the tide of emotions he’d been struggling with ever since the debrief started.