Up From the Depths: Book 4 Movement to Contact

by J. R. Jackson

  “I really don’t care,” O’Toole said holding up his hands. “You protected those kids and found them a safe place. That racks up some serious points in my book.”

  “We are both more than what we appear to be, captain. You and your sergeant are obviously Special Forces,” Epurer said. “Are you ‘good guys’ as you Americans like to say or will I be forced to beg for my life?” he asked, tilting his head and cocking an eyebrow up.

  “We’re definitely the white hats here, Mister Hey Poo-Poo,” Sands drawled before O’Toole could reply. The Frenchman looked at Sands and shook his head at the way his last name had been shredded.

  ***

  “Captain, Captain,” O’Toole jerked a little then focused on Carter who was looking at him.

  “Sir?” he replied, his thoughts shifting back to the present.

  “I need you to gather your team and get ready to move in 24 hours,” Carter stated.

  “Move where, sir?” O’Toole asked concerned.

  “You’re taking one of the 1114s and heading to Fairchild near Spokane. You’ll be briefed there about the objective.”

  “Objective?” O’Toole asked. “What is the objective sir?”

  Carter looked over at Martin then back to O’Toole.

  “I’m afraid it’s a need to know mission, Deck. If it’s any consolation, it’s a righteous op,” Carter stated. “There will be a thorough briefing here at 1900. Make sure your team gets some chow and is ready by then.”

  “Sir,” O’Toole said. “I’m short a full team.”

  “I know. We can’t spare a full ODA so you’re it,” he said nodding.

  “Sir,” O’Toole said, standing up.

  “Dismissed.”

  ***

  O’Toole nodded then turned and grabbed his still wet poncho from the rack. Shrugging into it, he tried to think what type of mission would need what remained of his ODA. Since arriving at Cascade, all their missions had been primarily reconnaissance with a heavy emphasis on possible foraging locations. Now they were heading further away and well outside the protective umbrella of Cascade’s firepower.

  Stopping at the top of the stairs, he looked up at the dark clouds. Winter was coming and bringing with it rain and colder temperatures. A thick, gray cloud cover added to the already wet and dreary day. Pulling the hood up over his boonie hat, he went down the stairs and headed towards the former high school now converted into barracks and team rooms. His team, as Carter had called it, now consisted of only four people, including O’Toole.

  ***

  “I don’t get it, Cap’n,” Sands stated as he checked his M9. “The colonel’s sending the four of us on a deployment. That’s the four of us,” he said indicating Gillette, Gorman, and O’Toole who were seated in a group in the high school auditorium. “We’re barely a full element,” he said going back to cleaning his sidearm.

  “All I know is it’s going to be cold where we’re going and we’re not going alone,” O’Toole said as he worked the action of his SCAR then snapped in the magazine and set it aside. “Besides, as depleted as we are makes deploying a whole lot simpler.”

  “The colonel knows what he’s doing,” Gillette said as he dropped down the bipod legs on his Barrett M107 SASR and set the heavy rifle on the floor.

  “You got something to add to this, Doc?” O’Toole asked looking at his team medic.

  “Not a thing, Cap’n. I’ll just pack double what I would normally. Be prepared and all that shit. Hoo-ah?”

  “Hoo-ah.”

  ***

  As dawn broke over the hills surrounding Cascade, ODA-141 was in an 1114 Hummer south of the twin cities of Centralia/Chehalis and almost to the waypoint where they would turn east and head over the Cascade mountain range. Their final destination was Fairchild Air Force base in Eastern Washington. O’Toole stared out the window as Sands drove. At least they were able to stay on the freeway this time and not go overland. Up to the first waypoint the lanes of the freeway had been cleared by Cascade’s engineers. The abandoned cars had been pushed aside to clear the center lane. The plan was to eventually have the freeway clear all the way to the Oregon state line. Maybe one day that would happen.

  Since passing through the twin cities they hadn’t seen anyone moving on the streets, living or infected, at any of the small towns they had passed through. There were the obvious signs of a rapid evacuation and the tell-tale signs of scavenging but nothing like the activity inside the walls of Cascade.

  O’Toole let his mind wander back to that night in Capitol Forest. How had the infected followed them? What little they knew showed that they were incapable of negotiating adverse terrain. He was pretty sure of what he had seen from the back of Martin’s truck. There was a group of infected that appeared to be directing the others. As crazy as that sounded, he saw them step aside then step back onto the road. His mental musings were disrupted when Sands took the off ramp way too fast and squealed tires all the way around the cloverleaf.

  “Jesus, Sandman!” Gorman muttered from the back seat pushing a jump bag out the way that had slid into him. “You sure you got a license for this thing?”

  “Oh yeah, I’ve been meaning to tell the captain that I think my license has expired,” Sands quipped.

  “I don’t think you ever had one,” Gillette said.

  “Sometimes I think you should have been in NASCAR,” Gorman said. Sands laughed then put his foot down making the Hummer leap ahead with a rumble of its diesel engine.

  “Approximate travel time to Fairchild is six hours. I say we can beat that by two,” Sands said, bringing his left arm up so he could set his watch and still the road ahead. “Anyone want a piece of that action?”

  “Shit. No way,” Gorman said. “I’ll take a piece of that for 20.”

  “I’m in for 20 also,” Gillette chimed in.

  “Cap’n?” Sands asked glancing over at O’Toole.

  “All right. I’m in for 20 as well.” O’Toole said with a chuckle.

  “Whoo-wee! Looks like we got ourselves a race,” Sands exclaimed.

  “Just get us there with all our parts still attached,” O’Toole cautioned as he flipped the bill of his boonie hat over his eyes and leaned back to get some sleep.

  “How about a little travelling music?” Sands asked as he reached into his vest and pulled out a MP3 player.

  “Sure, anything to take our minds off your scary ass driving,” Gorman commented.

  Sands chuckled as he slid the music player into a green 100 mph tape pocket on the side of the SINCGARS radio that was mounted on the transmission hump. Using one hand to steer and one hand to make the connection, the Hummer weaved back and forth across the empty road.

  “Both hands on the wheel at all times, Sergeant,” O’Toole said, not moving from his somewhat relaxed position.

  “Sorry, last message not received,” Sands replied as he cranked up Highway to Hell until it was blasting from the speakers. Sands rolled down his window and rested his arm on the sill, a big smile on his face as he sped up.

  “Nice one, Sandman,” Gillette said as he chuckled and leaned back in his seat trying to get more comfortable for the long drive.

  ***

  Chapter 6

  Star Valley Ranch, Wyoming

  Master Sergeant Alan Hathaway struggled to push open the door with his arms full of split wood. He kicked it shut behind him then moved to the large fireplace, nodding to Valdez who was standing to one side of the doorway M9 in hand, until he verified who it was that had entered. Valdez holstered his sidearm then sat back down at the kitchen table and resumed cleaning his M4. Dropping the wood into the bin, Hathaway slapped his gloved hands together then looked around. The cabin was one of several that were in the low hills outside of the small town of Star Valley Ranch. After fueling their Hummer, his group had stuck to the county roads stopping only once at Etna, Wyoming. The page he ripped from the phone book had led them to Green River Army Surplus. With the weather changing, he knew that their contin
ued survival would require warmer clothes especially for Captain Brandon. The surplus store had yielded them winter clothes, thermal underwear and a full field uniform for Brandon.

  Etna looked to be abandoned. There were no signs of life anywhere in the small town. Or sign of infection. This lack of infected solidified Hathaway’s theory that large cities were the epicenters of the outbreak. If they kept to the back roads and small towns, their risk of encountering a swarm was minimal. At least he hoped that was the case. They continued on to Thayne before heading east and stopping at Star Valley Ranch. Nestled into the foothills overlooking a vast expanse of grassland, the rural town had boasted a population of 800 pre-infection. Now, it was anyone’s guess how many residents remained. They had seen only two other people since arriving and then only in the distance on horseback. The house that Hathaway and his group had appropriated was at the far edge of what was to have been the back nine of an 18-hole golf course. Designed to look like rustic log cabins on the outside but a finished modern home on the inside, the development hadn’t been completed when infection happened. This house had been the model home. They had added stout shutters to the exterior and reinforced the entry doors.

  Hathaway squatted down by the fireplace as he removed his gloves. Blowing into his hands, he grabbed a piece of firewood and tossed it into the fire then used the poker to get it into position. Warming up, he unzipped his lined M65 field jacket and removed the watch cap from his head. Standing and placing the screen in front of the fire, he stripped off his jacket, stuffing the hat and gloves into a pocket and walked back to the door to hang it up. His uniform was now the older, discontinued woodland camouflage pattern, winter weight, which replaced his desert pattern, tropical weight. His tan nylon and leather lightweight boots were in his pack replaced by a pair of insulated Danner ‘Go Devil’ boots courtesy of the same surplus store that had provided them with winter clothing. Standing up, he stretched then walked to the window.

  Outside was a fresh covering of snow that was filling in his footprints from the woods and back. Maybe tomorrow he’d head out and scout the hills for wildlife. Venison would be a nice addition to the MRE meals. He walked around the house, looking out the windows as he checked that they were locked.

  The windows offered a view to the woods across the two-lane street out front and a clear field of fire out the back due to the golf course. The house had a decorative fence that formed a perimeter on three sides with a gate that allowed access to the golf course. The empty lots on both sides provided a buffer zone but if they had to evacuate on foot, they’d have to be careful of the foundations that had already been poured in preparation for construction. Hathaway was confident they would have plenty of warning if any infected approached. If a group of infected did make an appearance, the plan was to displace this location and head into the hills, using the Hummer for however long the roads and fuel allowed. Hathaway preferred the hills to his back as it was harder for an enemy to fight uphill than down. When, he mentally corrected himself, not if, the infected showed up, the plan was to engage if the group was small enough and they could do it with minimal risk. If the group was too large or the risk too great, then they would attempt to engage the infected in a holding action just long enough to move to the hills and either wait out the attack or evade deeper into the backcountry.

  Hathaway checked the last window as it started to snow. He knew Axtell and Valdez would check the windows and doors when they were on watch but it was always best to double check. Not that he doubted their proficiency or attention to detail, it was just a habit that had kept him alive this long.

  The fire crackled signaling that the wood he had placed was burning nicely. Drawn by the sound of footsteps in the hallway, he glanced over his shoulder. Captain Angelina Brandon, now wearing the same style uniform as Hathaway, emerged from the back of the house where the master bedroom was located. She nodded to him then slouched in one of the chairs facing the fire. Her face wasn’t as swollen as before and the bruises had faded to yellow and greenish hues. Her hair, no longer matted and tangled, had been washed, combed and was in a tight, regulation bun. Hathaway had taken the bloody, torn orange prisoner jumpsuit she had been wearing and burned it.

  The uniform she wore was at least two sizes too large for her but was the smallest one available that he could find. The sleeves of the shirt were ridiculously long and rolled up to uncover most of her hand and the pants were baggy. Hathaway couldn’t help but think that she looked like a child playing soldier. Her boots fit her perfectly though which was a big plus. She sighed loudly as she stared into the fire. She had been given the master bedroom while the other soldiers had commandeered one of the remaining bedrooms. The third bedroom they used for storage. The Hummer was squeezed into the two-car garage after removing the M2 heavy machine gun from the roof mount. Hathaway made sure to bring in the M240B from the vehicle’s rear storage area. That weapon and the ammunition were stored in the third bedroom as well.

  “Something I can do for you, Captain?” Hathaway asked as he walked to the fire and stood to one side watching it.

  “Nothing I can think of at the moment,” she replied tiredly.

  “You warm enough?” he asked.

  “For sure, Sergeant,” she said pushing the cuff of her uniform up to expose the brown sleeves of her thermals.

  In his search of the surplus store, he had located a set of captain’s bars which were now on the collars of her uniform. Getting her a full TA-50 wasn’t his plan. As long as she and the rest of the men had enough gear to survive the winter was the primary goal. Around her waist was a duty belt with an older UM-84 Bianchi holster. He had given her his M9 and replaced his own sidearm with the Colt 1911 that he had carried in his ruck. Hathaway shucked off his uniform shirt, folded it in half and set it aside. He was wearing a wool, black, crew neck sweater underneath. Now that the house was warming up, he stepped away from the fireplace and into the kitchen. Draping his shirt over the back of one of the chairs, he looked at the hardened combat laptop on the counter. An hour glass icon was slowly spinning in the center of the black screen. It had been doing that for hours as the internal satellite uplink attempted to connect.

  “Nothing yet,” Valdez commented as he reassembled his rifle by lantern light. “You think we should shut it off to save the battery?”

  “Yeah,” Hathaway nodded. “We’ll shut it down and try it again tomorrow.” Hathaway was concerned that they had been unable to make a connection. He had thought of all kinds of reasons including the possibility that the internal satellite uplink had malfunctioned. The reason he kept to himself was that it was possible that all the ground relay stations weren’t functioning because the personnel were either dead or infected. Or both.

  “Probably the mountains,” he commented as he powered down the computer and closed the screen. He knew that the small foothills in the area wouldn’t block a satellite signal but he didn’t want to voice his concerns about the connectivity issues just yet. Valdez nodded not replying as he snapped the hand guards of his rifle back into place.

  “Yo, Val, you’re up,” Axtell said as he walked into the kitchen and headed for the small MRE heater near the sink to make some coffee.

  “Looks like another clear and cold night so whoever’s on watch needs to make sure the fire keeps going,” Hathaway said as he closed the hardened case over the laptop.

  “Hoo-ah,” Axtell and Valdez replied. Hathaway nodded, picking up the laptop and carrying it back to the storage room. Opening the door to the bedroom that they had converted to hold their extra gear, he looked over at the cases of MREs stacked against one wall. They had enough to last through winter then they’d have to either find more or start searching houses. Hathaway considered gardening in the spring but neither he nor any of the group had that kind of experience. Water wasn’t a problem, they had several cases left plus they could always boil snow or make a trip down to the creek that was at the base of the hills. He slid the compact computer into his pack t
hen looked at the contents of the room one last time before he closed the door. He nodded to Axtell as he passed him in the hall as the other soldier was heading to his bunk.

  Brandon looked up as he entered the room.

  “What do we do now, Top?” she asked from her chair.

  “Honestly? I don’t know,” he replied staring at the fire. “This isn’t something they covered in training. Hell, I doubt anyone ever really thought too much about it,” he added.

  They stared at the fire in silence; the only noise was Valdez’s muffled footfalls as he walked through the house.

  “Damn. I was really hoping you’d have some kind of plan,” Brandon said quietly. Hathaway turned and looked at her; she seemed to have gotten smaller in her chair if that was even possible. He knew it was the fading light casting shadows through the room.

  “We could stay here awhile and see what happens. This is a rural area, bound to be some survivors here that are hunkered down,” he said. Brandon leaned forward in her chair, resting her elbows on her knees and looking directly into Hathaway’s eyes.

  “Can you tell me that we’ll make it through winter? Do we have enough food, ammo, and water to survive it?” she asked.

  Hathaway hesitated for just a moment before responding.

  “Yes ma’am. I’ll make sure of that. There’s plenty of game in these hills,” he said gesturing outside. “I’ll keep us going.” Brandon nodded slightly then eased back into her chair.

  “That’s all I wanted to know,” she said her face now in shadow.

  Hathaway nodded, stood and walked to the windows to hang the blankets and poncho liners over them to prevent any light from escaping outside. At each window, he took his time scanning outside before he covered it. Nothing moved save the steady snow fall. By the time he got to the kitchen windows, his footprints were already filled in by the blowing snow.