The Blastlands Saga

by DK Williamson

  Jack debated taking his rucksack with him on his sneak to the dais. He decided it would make him too immobile and visible. To find his way back to the point where he would leave his ruck, he used a length of the same white cloth tape that he had on his front sight assembly to string along the ground to point the way back.

  “First victim, first agony,” said the high priest. His voice carried clearly to Jack’s distant position.

  “First victim, first agony. First victim, first agony,” the gathering chanted.

  Jack surveyed the guards. Every one of them in sight looked toward the ceremony. He set out for the dais in a steady low crawl concerned about the lights on the dais compromising him. He grumbled quietly as he worked his way on elbows and legs. What are you doing, Jack? When these bastards catch you and add your bones to the pile, you can rest easy. I know what they’ll say back in the Rangers. Jack wasn’t a bad guy. Decent friend, good shot. He had stunningly good taste and luck in women and horses, and not a shred of common sense. It’s a shame he died the way he did. Everyone but him saw it coming.

  “First victim, first agony. First victim, first agony,” the chant continued.

  A piecing shriek of pain cut through the night, making Jack wince, but the cheers of the crowd quickly swallowed the sound. The cheers became another chant as Jack paused to look at the guards. Their attention was still on the ceremony.

  “Accept the gift of agony. Accept the gift of agony,” went the new chant. Slicing through it was the wail of the victim.

  Jack crawled faster, making it to the dais before the next part of the ceremony. He could see and hear insects crawling and flying over the pile of belongings as he moved into the shadows at the base of the structure.

  The high priest spoke again. “First victim, second agony.”

  “First victim, second agony. First victim, second agony.”

  Jack knelt next to the platform and made his way to the corner. Peeking around, he checked the guards once more. Six of them, two pairs and two solitary men, devoted their attention to the ceremony.

  “First victim, second agony. First victim, second agony.”

  Jack slung his rifle and moved to the pile of belongings. It reeked of blood, body odors, and bodily waste. Jack breathed through his mouth as he began sifting through the pile, waving bugs away from his face.

  Another cry of pain stung Jack’s ears, followed by the expected cheers.

  Jack pulled back a blood-soaked blanket, still moist. Underneath it was a stained jacket with a rounded silver corner poking from under one edge. It was the case.

  “Accept the gift of agony. Accept the gift of agony,”

  He rubbed his hands on the grass to rid them of the mess caked on them, and then pulled the case free and set it aside. Jack pulled his rifle free of his shoulder and took the case to the dais.

  “Accept the gift of agony. Accept the gift of agony.” The victim’s cries were no longer audible from Jack’s position.

  He peeked around the corner. Five guards watched the ceremony. He grimaced. Two pairs and one lone guard were there. Footsteps plodded toward him. He’s close, Jack thought as he pushed the case against the dais and stepped back into the shadows.

  A necro came around the corner and stopped. He was young, in his late teens, with an M3A1 hanging free from his right shoulder by a long sling. Jack knelt but two steps away. The necro looked over the pile and wrinkled his nose at the smell. He looked left, then right, in the direction of the Ranger Sergeant.

  The high priest spoke again. “First victim, third agony.”

  Jack saw the man’s expression change. The guard had spotted him. The necro grabbed his submachine gun and brought it to bear as he opened his mouth to yell, but Jack slammed the buttstock of his rifle into the man’s face before he could utter a sound. Unfortunately for Jack, the butt of the necro’s M3A1 struck the ground when he fell, accidentally discharging a single round into the air.

  The gathering’s chant stopped before it started and quiet fell over the compound.

  Jack didn’t wait to see what the necros’ response might be. He grabbed the case and ran for the woods, angling to where he was sure the cloth tape marker was. He saw it before he got there and crashed into the trees as automatic weapons fire broke the brief silence.

  Jack paused just long enough to throw one rucksack strap over a shoulder. Case in his left hand, rifle in the right, rucksack hanging at an angle across his back, he ran to intersect one of the paths that cut through the trees. From there, he would make for the break in the old defensive wall.

  Bullets from numerous weapons chewed through the trees as he ran. Despite the noise, he could hear the high priest bellowing.

  “He doesn’t sound happy,” Jack hissed as he ran, mentally cursing the weight of his rucksack. The knowledge he had hundreds of necros in pursuit of him speeded his flight. He stopped just past the opening in the old defensive wall and lashed the case to his rucksack, and then throwing the ruck’s straps over his shoulders, he yanked them down to secure the ruck high on his back. Hearing pursuit coming his way, he ran to the road and crossed it, disappearing into the trees on the other side.

  Jack went due east in the hopes that forcing the necros to track him through heavy brush at night would allow him to escape, but two hundred yards into the woods, they gave way to rolling grassland. Ranging from ankle to knee high, the grass could conceal him, but only if he was prone. He didn’t think it likely he could crawl faster than his pursuers could run.

  Jack took off in a sprint, thankful for the day of rest he had lounging in the pleasant woods of the necros. He ran until a burst of submachine gun fire notified him the necros saw him. He slid to a stop and crawled a short distance ninety degrees to the direction he of his original course, and then came up with his rifle ready to engage.

  At least two dozen necros ran at him. They were two hundred yards out and closing. Jack could pick his sights out of the darkness, the moon and stars providing just enough illumination. He fired at one of the men in the middle of the front rank. A pair of shots dropped him. He didn’t pause to see if he stayed down. He switched targets, a trio of rounds sent another to the ground. A single round put another down and that was enough for the rest. They dropped from sight into the grass.

  Jack was headed east at a sprint as soon the last head disappeared. Fifty yards later a submachine gun chattered, but Jack ignored it. Two hundred yards fell into wishful thinking range for an M3A1 and he was willing to play the odds. Jack ran another fifty yards, and then dropped to a knee and saw the force behind him in pursuit once again. Jack fired two rounds and the entire group dropped from sight. Despite the dangerous situation, Jack smiled. I guess they’re in no hurry to be added to the pile.

  He was back on his feet and running, then stopped and fired at the necros again. The process repeated itself time and again for nearly a mile before Jack saw a large group of people on the highway south of him. He was sure they were necros. Not hindered by running, ducking, and firing, they were outpacing him. He stood and ran to the northeast, trying to put distance between himself and both groups. Ahead was a tall chain link fence topped with concertina wire. Despite large gaps in the fencing, the remainder had held up to the years very well. Inside the fence perimeter stood the remnants of many buildings and a few that appeared intact. Strips of asphalt and concrete peeked from the dirt at numerous places.

  The force to Jack’s south was coming toward him. They were closer than the western force, so he fired at them, then fired at the group to the west. Both sought cover.

  Jack turned north and snarled when he saw that course was no longer an option. Another force of necros closed at a run from that direction. He looked toward the buildings inside the fence and headed toward the largest, one that appeared to be a rugged concrete structure. He was correct, it was not simply block construction, but poured reinforced concrete, a veritable bunker. The only opening on the side of the building was a steel door with a yellow symbo
l crudely painted on it, but when Jack tried to force it open with a kick, he found it to be as solid as the wall. He looked to the east and realized if he tried to run, he would never make it across so much open ground before the three groups joined together. Too much distance and too much firepower to risk running.

  He surveyed at the ground where he stood. “I guess I fight from here,” he muttered. He looked to the force coming from the north and snarled again, angry with himself. Field evaluation of Ranger Jack Traipse and his decision making while under operational conditions: Bad to non-existent. Needs extensive kicking to seat of pants to remedy situation. He brought his rifle up and fired.

  The northern force responded in similar fashion to the western group when first engaged, but this new threat had some rifles in the mix. Jack dropped five of them before they sought cover. The other two groups used the time to close on him.

  Jack positioned himself on the western side of the building in a shallow depression in front of the immovable door. The shallow pit provided cover when kneeling or prone. He fired as soon as any one of the groups stood, constantly scanning left and right. For a time it brought all three groups to a standstill, but Jack knew it was just a matter of time before something had to give. He did not have to wait long.

  The southern force sent a pair of men east while others made an effort at providing covering fire. The two men disappeared from Jack’s sight around the side of the building. He crawled to the corner, braving the heavy but inaccurate fire from the rest of the southern group. The pair got as close as the perimeter fence, but luck favored Jack and they encountered a section of intact chain link. The men hesitated and died from a quartet of rounds from Jack’s rifle.

  The necros west of Jack were closing and poured fire at him. He scrambled to get back into the depression and his leg slipped into a hole near the base of the wall. He tripped and fell, his left elbow striking the lower portion of the door. It bent inward with a cracking sound. As he grasped his elbow in pain, he saw a rectangular panel now deformed from his clumsiness. He put his hand at the edge of the bent metal and felt a slight flow of air. Placing his face near the gap, he smelled the musty scent of old and shuttered places. It’s a way inside!

  Jack tried to gain a finger hold on the panel, but the gap was too narrow. He struck the edge with his rifle’s steel butt plate as necro fire buzzed past or pecked at the concrete wall. A large section of the panel bent downward. Behind the metal was old plywood serving well past its intended term of service. Jack came to his knees and fired a handful of rounds at each necro force, and then began savagely kicking at the plywood-backed panel. It gave way grudgingly, finally popping free into the building. Jack tried to stuff his rucksack through, but it was too large. He cursed and checked the necros. The group from the north stood up and dropped back to the ground as soon as he fired at them.

  Jack quickly opened his ruck, pulling free the two aluminum cases and the TROG, shoving them through the hole. He checked the necros again, but it seemed like they were content to keep him pinned in place with gunfire instead of assaulting his position. Maybe they’re waiting for reinforcements. Maybe waiting for daylight. Maybe both, he thought.

  He tried his rucksack again, pushing in at a diagonal. This time it slid through. Jack stuck his head inside, but could see nothing. He placed his rifle next to the opening. Quickly, he removed his Load Bearing Equipment and crammed it through, then tried going through headfirst. He pushed one arm and shoulder in the opening, then the other, and pushed with his feet into the hole. Once his chest scraped through it was easy. He reached outside and dragged his rifle through. He was in, but wondered what this place was.

  Jack felt for his rucksack, irritated with himself for not retrieving his flashlight before climbing into a pitch-black space. He found the light and managed to assemble it by feel. To his relief, it came on when he pressed the switch. A quick pass around the room revealed little but white concrete walls lined with filing cabinets and a dusty grey metal pedestal desk in the middle of the cracked tile floor.

  Jack knew he needed to seal the entrance hole before the necros showed up. The metal desk seemed like a possibility. He slid it across the room and pushed it onto its side, modesty panel down, placing the top of the desk against the hole. He had no way of securing the desk in place, so he decided he would use the filing cabinets as extra mass should the necros try to force their way in.

  The cabinets were heavy. He pushed four of them over and shoved them across the floor. He found one of the drawers unlocked and learned it was full of moldering manila folders and papers when they spilled out and slid through the dust. Jack pushed the cabinets tightly against the desk, two on each side, placing himself in the kneewell between the drawer sections. Jack planned on digging his boot heels into an exposed seam in the concrete floor and push against the desktop to add resistance.

  Jack secured his LBE once again and sat on the modesty panel with his back against the center drawer under the desktop to await the necros. He drank water and ate in darkness, preserving the battery connected to his flashlight. He sat for quite a while before he heard the first murmurings from outside. Muffled yells and footfalls became indistinct voices, then came a rap on the door.

  Jack pushed against the desk as someone pounded on the door with a metal object. Hard kicks came next followed by cursing, then a kick against the desktop followed by even more cursing. A short chatter from a submachine gun sent a trio of bullets that rang against the door but didn’t penetrate.

  “What are you doing?” came an agitated yell.

  “Trying to get in there, that’s what,” replied a muffled but understandable voice. “It ain’t budging. I think I broke my foot. The intruder tried it too. Look at the marks in the dirt.”

  “I know that. I meant the shooting, dimwit. You almost hit us with ricochets. There’s nothing in this place anyway. See the yellow mark? That was put there by one of our kind long ago. It means the place has been cleared and it’s hazardous. Don’t go in there unless you’re in a hurry to join the honored dead.”

  “How was I to know that?”

  “You have to learn. Follow first, brother. You want to reap and ascend? You have to learn. Don’t blunder off on your own. Enough of us are bound for the pile tonight. Let’s find this bastard.”

  “He went east. There’s no other direction he might have gone.”

  “C’mon.”

  Jack was concerned about the necro’s comment mentioning hazards. He looked at his radiation meter and its display showed no threat. Possibly hazardous in here, definitely hazardous out there. I’ll take possible over definite I think. He sat in silence for over an hour waiting for the necros to return, but he heard nothing.

  Jack switched on his flashlight and stood. He looked at the papers strewn across the floor and saw that several of them had the seal of the United States Air Force on them. He repacked his rucksack, placed it by the interior door, then cross-slung his rifle over his back and drew his pistol.

  He made his way out of the room and into a hallway. It appeared most of the nearby rooms were offices much like the one he first entered and found it odd that not a single one had windows. The hall opened into a large room with a jumble of folding tables and chairs pushed to one side under a television set on a wall mount. Along another wall was a table with open ammunition cans devoid of contents, empty stripper clips, piles of loose metallic links for 7.62x51mm NATO ammunition, and peeling cardboard boxes full of expended brass. On the wall high above the table was a sign reading NORMAN AIR FORCE RADAR MAINTENANCE FACILITY placed over a plexiglass panel with names and ranks, duty assignments, and current status written in grease pencil. Most of the names had DECEASED written under the status listing.

  He shined the flashlight around the room and saw a large crank wheel labeled as SKYLIGHT BLAST SHUTTER with arcing arrows designating OPEN and SECURE. He looked at the ceiling and saw dirty transparent panels with wire mesh embedded within the glass with metal panels be
yond them. He crossed the room and tried the crank. It resisted, but then gave way with a squeak. Jack rotated the crank two full revolutions and could see the shutters above the glass rotate a little.

  He moved into the next room and found a double door entryway partly collapsed, the doors crumpled into odd wavy shapes. Dirt and chunks of concrete filled any gaps in the structure and spilled across the floor, effectively sealing the facility from the outside. Beside the door was a symbol, the characters TC6-12 inside a circle with an arrow pointing at the bottom of the doorway. It was a Freelands salvager mark identifying the salvager, the year it was placed, and marking the point used to exit the place.

  Jack didn’t know who TC6 was, but he or she was at the facility thirteen years before him. If he made it back home, he would be able to find the person’s identity. The salvager left no mark designating any kind of hazard such as three radial marks for radiation, a C for chemical hazard, or a D for disease. He felt confident he was in no danger in the building. Jack had another way out as well.

  The entry room was a mess, and not just from whatever damaged the entryway. Clothing, boots, boxes of rations, first aid gear, sleeping cots, blankets, steel plates, piles of unfilled sandbags, and many other items littered the space. A pack radio sat on a stack of sandbags in the corner, wires running from it up the wall and out of sight. Jack took a closer look and saw it was antenna wire. The wire looked to be in good shape. It was still flexible and the insulator was completely intact. He unscrewed the connector at the wall and looked at the leads. The wiring was shiny and showed no corrosion, a dangling tag read, MULTI-USE, MULTI-BAND - U-72.

  Jack retrieved his rucksack, carried it to the entry room and removed the TROG. The battery level was still high, so he connected the antenna leads and hoped there was an antenna somewhere above. He went down his mental checklist. Switch the radio to the citizens band mode, set modulation to SSB, set dial to 27.385 MHz. He turned on the set and seeing nothing amiss, picked up the handset and keyed the push-to-talk button.