These Dead Lands (Book 2): Desolation

by Knight, Stephen

  “Hang there for a second and watch the windows, then fly a three-sixty around the building,” Slater said.

  The three men stared at the screen intently as the drone slowly circled the building, its camera peering in through the windows as Jones descended below the wires hanging from the utility poles. There was no discernible movement in or around the pitched-roof structure, no indication the building wasn’t empty. Slater looked up from the screen and scanned the area, ensuring the security posture hadn’t changed over the last few minutes.

  “I guess I was wrong,” Jones said after the drone had completed its circuit of the building.

  “Don’t sweat it, Jones,” Hastings told him. “Let’s keep going. Take it down York to the edge of town and then bring it back.”

  Jones flew the drone down the road through town and out into what opened up into more residential housing. Farther on there was a small residential subdivision, then a large building marked Crop Production Services. The video’s fidelity was beginning to degrade.

  “Is the drone getting too far out?” Hastings asked.

  “Yes, sir. This looks like the outskirts to me and the video is getting wonky, so I think it’s time to bring it back in, sir.”

  “Do that,” Slater said. “We’ve been sitting here longer than I like.”

  Jones turned the drone around and flew a direct route back to the convoy, cutting across large open fields. It took a few minutes, but after a while they saw the small aircraft slashing its way toward them. Slater looked around again as Jones brought the drone in for a landing. The drone set down softly and Jones shut off. As the soldier folded up the drone arms and followed Slater into the MRAP. While Jones put the drone away, Slater got with Hastings.

  “So things look pretty clear,” Hastings said as he scanned the area, his rifle in his hands.

  “Yes, sir. But that building where Jones thinks he saw something … let’s send security up first to cover it and keep an eye on it as we move past it, just in case.”

  Hastings nodded. “Roger that. Jones, you about done there?”

  “Yes, sir. Ready to go.” Jones pushed himself to his feet.

  Hastings pointed to the MRAP. “Okay, back behind the wheel.”

  “And Jones, you know that building where you saw something moving? Keep an eye on it as we move past,” Slater added. “Be prepared for shit to kick off, just in case. You good?”

  “Roger that, Sergeant.” With that, the specialist headed back for the front of the MRAP.

  “How do you want to play this?” Hastings asked Slater.

  Slater returned to the back of the MRAP, followed by Hastings. He mounted the stairs and reached for his map. Hastings hung back, staying on the deck with his rifle held low ready and gave him time to work. Slater studied the map for a few minutes, then finally looked up at the younger officer.

  “Sir, I’d like to push the security out about a block farther to the south, down to the intersection of Hanover. That street parallels 234 and connects back to it a few blocks to the east. I don’t want any surprises coming up on us unannounced. I’m parking two gun trucks in front of the Adams Supply building that can cover down on either side of the road, if need be. Once we get them in place, we can roll everyone through most ricky tick and collapse security back into the formation once the last vehicle in the main body passes by security.”

  “Sounds solid. Make sure security moves fast—we won’t want any stragglers left behind to tempt anyone into doing something stupid,” Hastings said.

  “Roger that, sir.”

  “Let me know when you’ve got everyone spun up. I’m going to update War Eagle and get him to bless the plan. I think we can count on Gavas’s team pulling security. You know those cav guys, driving around in the middle of a column isn’t their thing.”

  Slater snorted. “Gotcha on that.” He paused for a moment. “This place is as deserted as the last town.”

  “Yeah. I have a bad feeling about this, too. But we’re about as ready for whatever’s going to happen as we can be. Once burned, twice shy, all that.” Hastings pointed at Slater’s radio. “Get to work. I’ll pass back anything I get from War Eagle.”

  Slater nodded and raised the MRAP’s rear ramp as Hastings stepped away. As the opening closed, he picked up the radio handset and started issuing instructions to the convoy. Hastings reentered the MRAP and claimed the front passenger seat, where he would doubtless bring War Eagle—and by extension, Eagle One Actual—up to speed on his dedicated radio frequency. They had a lot going on and many moving parts to account for. The coordination took time, but there was a burning urgency to get things happening sooner rather than later. With the column parked, it was essentially a sitting duck—mobility was its greatest weapon, and right now they just weren’t using that. Exercising a little bit of tactical patience was sometimes difficult, but no one wanted to run into another shooting match. It was always Hastings’s call to make, but Slater would do his damnedest to help the lightfighter steer this ship.

  Finally, Slater had everything arranged on his end. “We’re good to hook, sir,” he called up to Hastings.

  Hastings held up his hand for a moment, listening to his radio. The raised hand turned into a thumbs-up. “Victor’s been informed. Go ahead—let’s dance.”

  Slater keyed his radio mic and initiated the security element’s movement to their assigned positions. It didn’t take long for them to start reporting in; no one was being timid during their advance. The farthest position at the intersection of Hanover called in first, followed by the position covering York Street to the east. As the last two security MRAPs turned west onto York Street to take up position on the Adams Supply building, gunfire broke out. From where he sat in the back of the MRAP, Slater could hear a combination of small-arms and machine-gun fire being exchanged.

  “Papa Zero Three, Romeo One Five. We’ve got squirters and are in contact! Over!”

  “Romeo One Five, good copy. Let me know if you need support. Over.”

  There was a long pause before the security team replied. It was only a few seconds, but those seconds ticked by like minutes for Slater.

  “Papa Zero Three, Romeo One Five. Negative. TIC is over. We have five EKIA and one PUC at this time. Over.” Slater turned toward Hastings and saw the captain had turned around in his seat. He’d switched over to the tactical net and heard the exchange. Apparently, Jones had been right. There had been someone moving around at the supply building earlier when they had the drone up. Now they had human casualties and one PUC—person under control, the military acronym for in custody. Was it another ambush, like before, or had the people in the building just gotten spooked by the sudden military presence?

  “Tell them to secure the prisoner,” Hastings told Slater. Slater gave him a thumbs-up.

  “Romeo One Five, tag and bag the PUC in your vehicle and send me a SITREP once we are clear of the town. Confirm security is in place and ready for the main body. Over.”

  “Papa Zero Three, security is in place. We’re good here, area is secure at this time. Send the main body through. Over.”

  Hastings turned forward again, and Slater heard him tell Jones to commence driving. Slater sent the pulse to the rest of the column, and soon the convoy was on the road again. As Jones maneuvered the MRAP past the supply store, Slater looked out the side window to see what had transpired. In front of the building and in the parking lot lay five bodies. Human bodies, not reekers. Slater pieced part of it together in his mind. An apartment building shared the parking lot with the supply store. It appeared the dead had been trying to climb up the apartment building’s outside stairs and had been caught in the open when the security team rolled up. What happened after that was still in question, but he’d save judgment until he heard the SITREP from Romeo One Five.

  Twice in one day we had to fight off other people instead of reekers …

  He looked at the rest of the soldiers in the MRAP. They were all Airborne soldiers, mostly younger
than he was, but they’d seen their fair share of time even before the reekers started causing all this ruckus. Slater saw on their faces that they were having the same realization he was: that the dead might not be the worst enemy they’d have to face.

  The convoy pulled through the remainder of the town without further incident. The security vehicle stationed on Hanover Street called last vehicle over the radio as the column’s rear element rolled past its position. They’d made it through without any further losses, but Slater wondered if that was going to be how things went, or if they’d just been lucky this time.

  ###

  The train braked to a halt less than ten minutes later. Hundreds of troops dismounted immediately, streaming from the flat-bed cars they’d been riding on, weapons at the ready. Ballantine and the boys formed up Captain Bellara and his officers, where they waited for the vehicles to be offloaded. The terrain was comprised of gently rolling hills and stands of leafy deciduous trees dotting the fields. This was mostly farmland, so the lines of sight were pretty good—if a herd of reekers came for the train, the troops would see them pretty much immediately.

  What they would be able to do about was a bit more uncertain.

  Ballantine stirred nervously as stood beside the train, his rifle held at low ready in his hands. He swept his eyes across the rest of the guys, and they all looked ready to go, even Stilley. The motor-mouthed lightfighter held a SAW across his chest, and damn if he didn’t look like he was ready to use it. Ballantine didn’t know what Guerra had said to him, but for the first time in a long while—since he’d essentially laid eyes on Stilley—the chunky black soldier was comporting himself like a professional. No grab ass, no loud rambling dialogs, just him, his weapon, and whatever passed for thoughts inside his helmeted skull.

  I kind of like this Stilley.

  “It won’t last,” Guerra said over his shoulder. Ballantine turned and saw the shorter NCO had drifted up on him while he was regarding Stilley.

  “What’s that?”

  Guerra jerked his chin toward Stilley. “It won’t last. He’s still a retard.”

  Stilley sensed something, and he looked over at Ballantine. “What’s up, guys?” he asked, smiling brightly.

  Ballantine groaned and shook his head. “Nothing, Stilley. Nothing.”

  “What did I tell you, asshole?” Guerra marched forward and pointed his finger right in Stilley’s face. “Eyes! Eyes out! Don’t worry about us, worry about whatever’s walking up on us!”

  Stilley nodded almost frantically. “Got it, Sergeant G! Sorry!”

  Tharinger snorted and shook his head. Guerra spun toward him like he was the Terminator and glared at the smaller soldier, his dark eyes hard. “What, you think you’re special, Tharinger? You think you can stop paying attention to what’s going on?”

  Tharinger shook his head and took a step back, eyes growing wide. “Hey no, Sergeant. No, I was just—”

  “Just what? Just not doing your fucking job, right? Is that what you wanted to admit to me?”

  Tharinger looked around at Hartman and Reader, but neither of them turned away from studying the horizon. “Damn, Sergeant! Give a guy a break, huh?”

  Guerra was about to tear him a new one when Captain Bellara and his first sergeant strolled over. Bellara flashed his apparently customary smile around before turning to Ballantine.

  “Hey...everything cool here, Sergeant?” he asked. “Any problems?”

  “Nothing that can’t be handled by some hip pocket training, sir,” Ballantine said.

  Bellara nodded slowly as he looked from Tharinger to Guerra to Stilley. “Okay. Well...Humvees are coming off the trailer now. You’ve got six guys, so I figure four of you in one, and maybe yourself and another with us?” The Indian captain indicated himself and his first sergeant.

  “Sure thing, Captain. However you want to play it. Hey, Reader?”

  Reader turned away from surveilling the fields beside the stopped train. “Yeah?”

  “You’re with me. Guerra, you have the rest of the boys. Humvees are coming off, so I’ll want Mike and Hartman behind the wheels. You don’t mind if we drive, do you sir?” Ballantine tossed that to Bellara after a moment.

  “I’m good with that, Ballantine.”

  “Guerra, your vehicle will lead. We’ll keep the Crusader call signs for this op.”

  Guerra finally took his eyes off Tharinger and nodded to Ballantine. “You got it.”

  It took a while to get things organized. The MRAPs set off first, ambling down the road that paralleled the railway. When the four Humvees were offloaded, Bellara ordered some of his men to mount up and get ready to roll out. The rest would remain behind and provide security for the stopped train. Ballantine directed Guerra to the lead vehicle, and the short, broad-shouldered staff sergeant took Tharinger, Hartman, and Stilley with him. Bellara and his first sergeant would ride with Ballantine and Reader, and eight of his Guardsman would follow in the remaining two Humvees. They did a quick route check using an old hand-held map, and Ballantine was happy to see things weren’t going to get complex from the navigation aspect. The town was so close they could see some of the buildings from where they stood, rising above the gentle rise of a small hill. A church steeple figured most prominently in the community’s skyline. Ballantine regarded it as he marched to the lead Humvee and pulled open the right passenger door. It was an uparmored model, and the door was heavy even for him.

  “What, I don’t get shotgun?” Bellara asked, smiling as always.

  Ballantine was a little put out. “You can have it if you want it, sir.”

  Bellara waved the offer aside. “Just busting your stones, Sergeant. Your guy’s driving, so I have no sweat with you sitting up front.”

  “Okay, sir.” Ballantine took another scan of the area before mounting up. Reader had already slid in behind the steering wheel, and he started up the Humvee. Its engine clattered to life beneath its squared-off hood. Down the line, the locomotives idled, their big diesel engines pounding out a beat that could be heard for miles. It would be like ringing the dinner bell, and as Ballantine climbed inside the vehicle, he wondered what the death toll might be before he got back.

  “Okay, Mike. Let’s roll.”

  The town wasn’t far, and it had obviously already seen some action. Several police cruisers were positioned at the intersection that led to the settlement’s main drag. They’d been there for a while. Bodies surrounded the vehicles, rotting away in the heat of the day. As the Humvees lumbered past, Ballantine peered out the window at the remains. Many of the dead wore the remains of torn blue uniforms—police. They were surrounded by upwards of a dozen moldering ghouls. The corpses had been picked apart, probably by whatever horde had come at them, then by animals after the fact. Ballantine saw several weapons lying in the field of death. From what he could see, they might still be serviceable.

  “Captain, on the way out I’d like to dismount and pick through that area,” Ballantine said as the Humvee rolled past. “There’s some hardware there. Might be of some use, especially if there’s some ammunition left.”

  “Uh, you really want to go rummaging through that, Sergeant?”

  “Something we learned pulling out of New York, sir ... always be on the lookout for resources.”

  Bellara grunted. “All right, Sergeant. If it’s safe enough...”

  Ballantine heard the queasy disgust in the officer’s voice. “Don’t worry, sir. I’ll have Guerra oversee the detail. We’ll just provide overwatch.”

  Bellara’s voice brightened. “Oh, great!”

  Behind the wheel, Reader rolled his eyes and smirked. Ballantine shrugged slightly beneath his battle rattle. So the captain didn’t want to get his hands dirty—what else was new?

  The town was somewhat fortified. Anything that could be moved into place to section it off from the outside world had been shoehorned into place. Ballantine saw old cars and trucks, buses, mattresses, washing machines, plywood, dumpsters, sand bags, fenci
ng ... it was as if the town was surrounded by a wall of garbage.

  “Got some wigglers in the razor wire over there.” The first sergeant’s voice was a deep rumble from the rear left seat. “Look left.”

  Ballantine looked out the windshield, and he saw reekers trapped in long strands of barbed wire that had been strung across a stretch of chain link fence. They were still moving, even though they’d pretty much torn themselves to pieces. They weren’t going anywhere fast, if ever.

  “Place looks pretty secure for the moment,” Ballantine said.

  “For all we know, everyone’s dead on the other side,” Bellara countered.

  “I guess we’ll find out soon enough, sir. Mike, come to a halt about fifty meters from the wall. All right?”

  “Got it.”

  The line of Humvees slowed to a halt. Ballantine looked around, scanning for any immediate threats. Seeing none, he pushed open the heavy armored door and stepped out. He could smell the vague odor of rotting flesh, and he looked to his right and saw a severely decomposed body lying in the tall grass beside the road that led to the town’s ratty wall. The rear door opened and Bellara emerged from the Humvee, his rifle in his hands. He joined Ballantine in scanning the wall. The rest of the troops emerged from their respective vehicles. Guerra advanced alone toward Ballantine and the captain.

  “Place looks pretty deserted,” Bellara said.

  “They’re in there,” Ballantine told him. “They’re just watching us for a bit.” He turned to Guerra. “What’s up, Hector?”

  “Was going to ask you the same question,” Guerra said. “We have any orders?”

  “Not just yet,” Bellara said. “Hang back with your guys, maybe. Keep an eye out.”

  Guerra looked from Bellara to Ballantine. Ballantine nodded.

  “Go on,” he added.

  Guerra grunted and walked back to his Humvee. Stilley stood at its rear, holding his SAW at low ready.