Caldera Book 6: New World Order

by Stallcup, Heath

  Cooper chuckled lightly. “It wasn’t because of Candy.” He turned and raised a brow at Daniel. “Now Vic, on the other hand…”

  Hatcher held a hand up, cutting him off. “You’ve already expressed your interest.”

  Cooper shifted in his chair and nodded to him. “So what’s her story?”

  Hatcher blew out a long breath and shrugged. “She was married to a pretty nice guy. He passed before this all started.” He met Cooper’s gaze. “She was really messed up over it for a long time.”

  Cooper stroked his whiskers and nodded. “She seems pretty okay now.”

  Hatcher took another sip of the coffee and set the cup down. “She sorta has to be. The world has gone to shit and she’s the closest thing to a doctor that we have.” He leaned back in his chair and thought of his sister. “She’s really stepped up though.”

  “You saying I should give her more time or…go for it?”

  Hatcher chuckled and leaned forward. “To be completely honest, buddy…I have no idea. I can say that you’re not exactly her type.”

  “You saying she doesn’t care for the ruggedly handsome type? I’m sorry, Hatch; that’s all I know how to be.”

  Hatcher stifled his smile and hid his face behind the coffee cup. “It’s completely her loss.”

  Cooper sighed and leaned back in his seat. “Poor gal will never know that I’m the best she’s never had.”

  “How will she carry on?” Hatcher grinned as he sipped his coffee. “So what’s your story? What did you do before the world flipped over on its head?”

  Cooper sighed and interlaced his fingers behind his head, his eyes still scanning the monitors. “I did a long tour in the Navy. Viet Nam sucked ass, by the way.”

  “Damn. I wouldn’t have thought you were that old.”

  “I hide it well.” Coop sat up and turned slightly, keeping the monitors in his peripheral vision. “I got out, did a lot of odd jobs. I had some old houses that I spruced up and rented out. I don’t recommend being a landlord to anybody–unless you got a bank full of cash. Bastards will rob you blind.”

  “How did you end up with Simon?”

  He blew his breath out hard and shook his head. “That’s a weird one. I’ve always enjoyed riding bikes; I’ve been a member of two or three clubs. Mostly old farts like me who just want to feel the wind in their hair while they still have some.” He paused, remembering the friends he’d made over the years. Friends that he couldn’t know were alive or dead.

  “And Simon fits in where?”

  “I was coming back from up north. Had a little gal pal up there that I’d go visit when I had time and the weather was nice. Somewhere along the way, that volcano erupted in Yellowstone. Sent the ash up high and the shit that rained down was…” He turned and gave him a sad look. “It was unnerving what it did to people, how fast it took hold.”

  Hatcher nodded, remembering his own encounter with the freshly infected. “I’ll have to tell you about that ‘volcano’ someday.”

  Cooper nodded knowingly. “Anywho, I ran into Simon and his gang. At first, they seemed like a decent bunch, just a club trying to hang together. I swore my allegiance to them, but then…then Simon went off the deep end. Instead of offering assistance he’d rob people of what little they had. Any guys who he thought could be made into fighters he kept, but he was always paranoid. If some poor jerk even hinted they might turn on him, he’d just kill them on the spot.” He swallowed hard and shook his head. “He’s a bastard.”

  “I think that’s pretty much the consensus.”

  Cooper turned in his seat and eyed Hatcher. “Truth is, he didn’t start out that way, though. I mean, at first, we helped people. Took them into the fold, offered them protection, food, shelter.” He shook his head at mental images that Hatcher could only imagine. “Then we had a major run-in with some of the Ragers. Afterwards, Simon was walking through the dead and he just went numb. Wouldn’t talk, he wouldn’t eat…just sat in his tent and drank every drop of booze we could find.”

  “You said after he walked through the dead? People or Zulus?”

  “Both. But it was a couple of the Ragers…I mean, Zulus, that set him off.” Cooper shrugged. “After that, he changed. People were less than cattle. He gathered a harem of whores that he’d go through damn near every night. He’d drink non-stop. If anybody questioned him they were lucky if he didn’t shoot them dead for their trouble.”

  Hatcher leaned forward. “So something triggered this change…a dead body?”

  Cooper nodded, turning back to the monitors. “I saw one of the bodies. It was some chick. Covered in tats and her own filth. I can’t be positive, but one next to her looked like he was wearing a biker vest.”

  “People he knew maybe? Friends?”

  Cooper shrugged. “All I know is after that encounter, anybody we came across, if they didn’t have something that Simon wanted, he’d kill them. Same with the Ragers…I mean, Zulus. He seemed to take a certain perverse pleasure in it, too.”

  Hatcher leaned back in his seat and considered this new information. He had no idea what he might do with it, but the more he knew about his enemies, the better.

  Simon paced nervously, waiting for the sun to rise. He had marched up the stairs numerous times during the night to see if he could identify anything near the lights. Each time, he’d come back downstairs and drink until he was certain he’d missed something.

  He stood over Shooter’s shoulder once more, staring out the window. The lights seemed even more like a blur. Their newfound home sat in The Heights, a subdivision built on a small hill that overlooked the rest of the town. It was only by the grace of the gods that the house they had chosen had a line of sight to the area lit up below.

  Simon tried to identify anything between them, looking for any kind of landmark to help him get a better idea the distance. “See anything?”

  “Just the lights.” Shooter yawned and stretched. “Whoever it is must have hella security or they aren’t afraid of the Ragers.”

  “Everybody fears them,” Simon stated flatly. He continued to stare out the window and like a moth to a flame, his eyes never left the brightly lit scene. “Whoever they are, they’re dumb as dogshit for announcing their location.”

  “Unless they’re armed to the teeth and know how to protect themselves.” Shooter added. “That’s my only concern about this recon mission you’re sending me on.”

  “Don’t be a pussy.” Simon smacked the back of his head. “Just get close, scope them out and report back their strengths.”

  Shooter sighed and leaned his head against the window sill. “In and out. Report what I see. Got it.”

  “Cheer up, Shooter ol’ buddy. Pretty soon you’ll have whatever real food they got.”

  “And you’ll have the women. Got it.” Shooter shook his head to stay awake. “I don’t suppose you could sit here and watch them and let me get a few hours sleep could you?”

  Simon snorted. “You’ll be fine.” He turned for the door then paused. “I’ll even let you eat the last of the coffee grounds before you leave tomorrow.”

  Shooter glanced at his watch. “You mean in about three hours?”

  “That’ll work too.” Simon tilted the bottle back and swallowed the last of the brown liquor. “I hear a bed calling my name.”

  Trevor took Patricia’s hand once again and started off in another direction. “Nobody’s home.” He gave her a worried smile. “We need to find food and shelter.” He glanced up the street with no idea which direction to go.

  Patricia walked alongside him, her little feet moving quicker as he continually searched. “Food and shelter, food and shelter, food and…” He stopped in the middle of the road and stared down the street.

  “Tell me my eyes aren’t playing tricks with me.” He pointed to a marquee type sign sitting high on a pole. “Is that a grocery store?” He gave her a smile and she stared back at him blankly.

  “Cross your fingers, Peanut.” He turned down
the street and increased his speed, causing her to nearly jog beside him. When he finally slowed to a stop, she was still by his side.

  He stepped into the shadows and stared at the store front. “The glass is all intact.” He swallowed hard. “I’m not sure that’s a good sign.”

  He watched the front of the building for what seemed forever before he pulled her back out and crossed the street to the huge parking lot. He noted a few cars scattered about, but they were covered in dirt and dust and obviously abandoned.

  He pressed his back to the brick façade and listened intently for any noise inside. He glanced at Patricia and nodded toward the double glass doors. “You smell anything?”

  She stared back at him blankly.

  “Right. I’ll take that as a ‘I think it’s safe.’” He stepped away from the wall and bent low as he crossed by the glass windows in the front. When he reached the double doors he froze in place. He turned back and saw that Patricia was standing next to him, her form clearly visible to anybody who might be inside.

  Trevor sighed heavily and gave her a stern look. “We’re really going to have to work on your stealthy approaches.”

  He reached out slowly and pressed on the glass door. It moved inward and he held his breath, his ears straining to hear any kind of movement within. He stepped out from behind the low wall and pushed his way into the store, his rifle at the ready.

  Patricia followed him inside and stared at him.

  Trevor pulled the small flashlight from his bag and flipped it on. He scanned the looted shelves and as much of the huge store as he could. “We’re too late.” He relaxed and stood at his full height, the AR dangling in his grip. “I don’t think there’s anything left.”

  Patricia pulled at his arm and he followed her, his flashlight lighting their path. She stopped at the end of the aisle and Trevor scanned the area. “I’ll be a son of a…” He looked down at her and smiled. “I guess first impressions aren’t everything!”

  The pair walked down the aisles, picking at the scattered remains. Whoever had looted the place had taken most of the canned food items but not all of them. He picked through the remaining stock and found tins of tuna fish, shredded chicken, corned beef hash and even a whole bone-in chicken. “Who cans an entire chicken?” He glanced at her and made a face. “I hope they pulled the feathers off first.”

  Patricia simply stared.

  “Maybe it still has the feet on it.” He made a grimace and she smiled at him. “Or worse, they left the face. I don’t think I could eat a chicken with a face still on it.” He gave her a crooked smile. “I’m sure you could probably eat a plumber even with its face still on, huh?”

  He tugged the huge can from the top shelf and peeled the key from the side of the can. He quickly opened the container and winced at the smell. “I think they left the feathers.” He looked at her; her face was lit up, eagerly waiting for the greasy, meaty treat.

  “Yeah. I guess I should have known, huh?” He peeled the lid off and handed her the can. “Be careful, Peanut. That thing has bones and…” His voice trailed off as he watched her tear into the canned bird. Skin, bones, flesh, all of it was quickly devoured. He actually felt a bit nauseous when he heard her crunching the bones. “I really don’t think you should…” He swallowed back the rising bile and simply waved her off. “Maybe you need the calcium.”

  He picked through the rest of the canned goods and set out a variety of foods on the checkout belt. “Let’s see. We have canned peaches for desert. I know you like peaches.” He picked up another can and shook it. “I don’t suppose you like brown gravy do you?”

  She stared at him, still licking the chicken from her fingers. “Right. I should have saved the chicken for this, huh? I’m sure anything from a can tastes better with gravy.” He set the can aside and picked up the hash. “Now here’s something I bet you haven’t had. Corned beef hash.” He pulled out his pocket can opener and began working on the top.

  He held the can where she could smell it and she wrinkled her nose at him, her brows knitting in confusion. “I know, it’s not cream of mailman or fricasseed lawyer, but it’s pretty good stuff.” He stuck his finger into the can and pulled out a mouthful of the stuff. He shoved it in his mouth and froze. He forced himself to swallow and gave her a quick shake of the head. “I think this needs to be heated up or something. That tasted like assholes.”

  He handed her the can and she let it drop to the floor. “Come on now. We can’t be wasteful.” He paused and stared at the canned goods scattered across the floor. “Well…maybe this time we can make an exception.”

  He picked her up and set her on the belt, crossing her legs under her. “You’ve had a chicken. Maybe you’re ready for desert.” He opened the can of peaches and watched as she greedily slurped it down.

  He popped open a jar of olives and popped one into his mouth. “I think we’ll be safe here for a little bit. Maybe we can pick through everything in the light of day and just take our favorites.” He popped another olive into his mouth and studied the grocery store once more. “Or…maybe we can figure out a way to defend this place and call it home?”

  She looked up at him and smiled, peach syrup running down her chin.

  “Yeah. Well, we can sleep on it at least.” He pointed outside to the lightening sky. “It’ll be daylight soon.” He picked her up from the belt. She stood and watched as he scooped up some of the canned goods. “Let’s see if this place has an office or a breakroom with a couch. Some place away from windows.”

  He picked her up and turned for the back of the store. “Tomorrow is a brand new day.”

  Chapter 20

  Hatcher watched the sun rise and breathed a silent sigh of relief. “You weren’t worried were you?”

  He turned and saw Vicky staring at him. He nodded solemnly. “Actually, yeah. I was.”

  She stepped closer and patted his arm. “I tried to tell you that you worry over nothing.”

  “I wouldn’t call it nothing, Vic.” He pointed out past the front gate. “The world is essentially dead out there. We’ve got our lights burning at night and it’s basically advertising ‘Here we are! Come and eat us.’”

  She gave him an understanding nod. “Maybe. Maybe it’s saying: ‘Hey, we’re alive over here. Come and join us.’”

  Hatcher blew his breath out slowly and gave her a tight-lipped smile. “I wish I could believe that.”

  “Why not, Daniel? Not all people are infected and not all people are like that Simon guy. There are people out there like Jason and Brenda who just need a place to lay up, catch their breath and…live.”

  “Brenda is dead, Vic.” Hatcher looked at her and she seemed almost hurt by his words.

  “She wasn’t with us when she died though, was she?”

  He shook his head. “No, she wasn’t.” He turned back to the gate and stared out into the city. “But she was with the military and if they couldn’t keep her safe, what makes you think that we could have done any better?”

  Vicky sighed heavily and gave him a sidelong stare. “When did you become so cynical? You used to believe in the goodness of people.”

  “That was before the world went to hell. Now it’s dog eat dog…or, Zulu eat dog.” He threw his hands up. “I’ve reached a point where I don’t trust anybody.”

  She raised a brow at him. “What about us, Daniel? Do you trust us?”

  He gave her a surprised look. “Of course I do. It’s people out there that I question.” He threw his thumb over his shoulder.

  “Why? Because if they’ve survived this long then they must have screwed somebody over to get this far? Or maybe they’re all axe murderers just looking for a place like this to ‘up’ their body count? Please.”

  “You’re not funny.” Hatcher poured the last of his cold coffee out onto the ground and squinted at the rising sun. “People are who they are. Some are good but they’re usually ones that go first. They try to help somebody and get eaten. Or scratched or bitten or…gener
ally taken advantage of.” He sighed and lowered his gaze to the ground. “I’m just tired.”

  “Of trying?”

  “Of everything! Surviving. Fighting. Worrying.”

  “Then stop worrying and let yourself live a bit, Danny.” She reached out and spun him around. “You’re carrying all of this on your shoulders and you don’t have to. Why do you think we had our little ‘come to Jesus’ meeting yesterday? We’re worried about you.”

  “And I’m worried about everybody.” His face was stern, but his eyes looked worn out and exhausted.

  Vicky pressed her palm to the side of his face and gave him a soft pat. “You’re not dad, Danny. It’s not your job to worry—”

  He pulled her hand away. “Yes, Vic. It is my job to worry.” He stepped back from her and pointed beyond the gates. “The world out there is cold and brutal and dangerous. And in here, people are already getting complacent. They think they can’t be touched. They think…” He forced himself to stop and he turned to her. “One wrong decision and the whole place could fall. Everyone inside, a victim to a madman or a horde of Zulus. Either way, there’s no recovering from that.”

  Vicky shook her head at him, her face stoic. “You can’t be reached. You’re too far gone.” She turned to walk away.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  She stopped and glanced over her shoulder at him. “You never left that goddam park, Danny. I hoped when went back that you’d find whatever it was that you lost but instead…”

  “What?”

  “You just lost what little of you was left.”

  Carol was awakened by a knock at her door. She sat up on the edge of the narrow bed and rubbed her eyes. A quick glance at the clock on the wall assured her that it was morning.

  She opened the door, stifling a yawn.

  “Your request for materials has been approved.” The yeoman handed her a sheet of paper and she squinted into the darkness of her room. “What’s this?”