The operations office seemed roomier. Everything had been cleared out except one desk in the corner, a large laptop and printer sat on it along with a desk lamp. A partition blocked off the corner where his sleeping bag had been, now he was looking a very wide derriere tightly encased in OCPs bent over a bed in the corner. He coughed lightly and the Sergeant making the bed labored to stand upright. The Sergeant appeared to Peters to be in her tenth month of pregnancy.
“Good evening, General Peterson. I’m Sgt Zilkha, your new enlisted aide. Please excuse the mess. We were just assigned to your staff this morning. We’ll try to get everything ship shape as soon as possible.”
“Isn’t that the Navy, Sgt?” Peters asked trying not to laugh.
“It may have been at one time, Sir. Now it’s the Army way.” She replied jovially.
“Then what would the Air Force way be?” Peters fought not to laugh as he cracked a smile.
“General Peterson, the Air Force way is any way you want it.”
“I think we are going to get along well. What should I call you, Sergeant Zilkha?”
“Sir, my previous superiors have called me everything from Sergeant Zilkha to Suzy. I have no preference.” Suzy started to look a little more at ease.
“Then I’ll call you Suzy if it’s all the same. My brilliant abilities of observation make me believe that you may be pregnant. I do not want you to do anything that is uncomfortable for you, or that may cause you injury. You can call me either Sir or General Peters. You are dismissed for the night.”
“Yes, Sir, the boys and I stripped out the closet in the corner and put in a bar to hang your clothes. We also put up shelves for your clothing and personal effects. The laptop on the desk is tied in to the local area network. An Air Force communication troop came by today and set it up for you. What would you like for breakfast, Sir?”
“Thanks Suzy, go ahead and call it a night.” That’s some crew they put together for me, it’s a shame I’m going to make them get real jobs tomorrow. Maybe keep one or two since I don’t have a wife to pick up my slack. That bed is calling my tired ass.
Chapter 19
Peterson AFB, Colorado. April 3, 2029
That’s a neat trick Caleb. How can you wake up hot and cold at the same time? Opening his eyes, he realized he was on the floor of the armory again. I have to stop making a habit of this. A woman was wrapped around his leg and across his belly, she felt warm and soft. She sensed him begin to stir and took her head off his chest to look at him. Her face was still pleasant, but her innocent, fully-dilated eyes looked at him like an unspoken accusation that he’d infected her. He lay there and stroked her hair, thinking of what should be done.
I can just pop her and it’s over but she’s alive, she’s not a monster. Or is she, now? Fuck it, when I’m ready to leave, I’ll leave the door cracked so she can get out when it gets dark. My job now is to get back to the squadron. No more sex for me. Son of a bitch!
The woman was insistent she wanted to mate with him; with mixed feelings, he let his small head make the decision for him. The woman napped afterwards as he went to the sofa and found his clothing. A shower sure would be nice; between my own body odor and the Zs rubbing against me, I stink.
Dressed, he looked around the armory; the last group had done a good job of stripping everything useful but had ignored the non-issue weapons stored there. He picked up his ancient Winchester from where it’d been discarded. The black powder gun obviously had no place in the war against the zombies. After a little digging, he found the box of cartridges. That’s all I’m going to find, time to get going. A glance at his watch showed it was 0802.
Caleb heard the woman shrieking in the next room as the door thumped open; he left a rock to stop the door from closing. His eyes burned for a second, until he put on his sunglasses. The sun felt even warmer on his cheeks than he’d noticed before. He walked in silence, hoping to hear anybody. He found his truck as he’d left it, the weapons still safely covered in the back of the cab. He set the old rifle on the floor, wondering if he should even bother with it.
The wind blowing in through the open truck windows would have felt good if there still wasn’t so much to do. He pulled up to the dorm’s stairwell door, not even bothering to try and tear up the grass out front. Caleb slammed the door once with the palm of his hand to warn anything on the other side he was about to open the door. It opened a crack and he could hear the pounding of feet on the steps trying to get away from any sunlight. The smell of unwashed bodies and excrement was almost unnoticeable. Am I getting used to the smell or am I losing my super sense of smell? There was a feeling of normalcy as he walked to his room except for the shrieking of the zombies in the dorm rooms and him sensing not only them, but also that they were sensing him, and their confusion about how he was one of them, yet he was outside.
The room was still in inspection shape. Caleb decided not to open the curtains, the dark being more comfortable. He pulled out his overseas bag that he hadn’t used since leaving basic. He dumped his dress uniforms in first, then his usual duty uniforms along with his clean underwear and socks. Lastly, he took off his boots, wrapped them in a trash bag and put them on the top. His civilian clothes, he packed into a suitcase, making sure to wrap one of his automatics in a sweater. He stripped out of his uniform and tossed into the corner after emptying the pockets. The shower was slightly warm and he luxuriated in being clean after washing the smells of the zombies and his own body odor away. The soaps and shampoo initially made him gag with the strong chemical smells; he worked as hard to wash off the soap as he did the filth before it. Donning his favorite jeans and shirt, followed by his old shit kickers, he was ready to just go hang out, drink beer and watch a game, except there wasn’t anybody left and he doubted he’d watch a game on TV ever again except one that was recorded. He threw on his blue jean jacket and refilled his pockets with keys, wallet IDs, and CAC. After deliberating for a minute, he decided to keep the extra CACs and keys he’d picked up in case he ever might need them again.
It looked even brighter outside as the door opened. Reaching besides the door, he picked up the aluminum baseball bat propped against the wall. The heavy overseas bag on his back was not even noticeable as he started to walk towards the truck. Sensing the creatures in the dorm rooms as he passed, he thought of who they were and what would happen if they couldn’t get out, a slow death by dehydration. He swung the bat one-handed as hard as he could, a satisfied feeling coming over him as he dropped his bag and ran up and down the walkway smashing windows. There, I helped some of my friends; I can’t stay here and do this all day, I gotta move.
After throwing the bags in the cargo bed, he hopped in behind the wheel. Okay, Einstein, where are we going? He started the truck and was driving before he even realized what his destination was. He turned into the motor pool and it looked emptier than it had the last time he’d been there. The garages thoroughly stripped of useful materials; he couldn’t find any jerry cans or anything else useful. Good try, now head for the hardware store and get a dozen jerry cans and a siphon pump, that beast only gets ten miles per gallon and you’re looking at about five hundred mile drive You’re gonna need lots of diesel.
The north gate had been cleared; the road was open, he drove right on through without any problem. He fought his mixed feelings and refused to take a last look back before he turned to get on the highway. The usual feeling of freedom from getting off the base wasn’t there. Where the hell is everybody? There has to be survivors out doing something before it gets dark again.
The Mixed Lot Store’s main doors had been kicked in. A half dozen cars and trucks sat abandoned in the parking lot. Two men sat in a pickup and watched Caleb approach. He drove by them, parked on the far side of the lot, and pulled out an M4, cursing himself for not having it ready in an emergency, found a full magazine, slapped it in and chambered a round. Next, he picked up an M17, checked the magazine and made sure there was a round in the chamber before sliding it in
to the inside pocket of his blue jean jacket. Satisfied, he drove back to the store’s main door.
Parking on the sidewalk a few feet from the door, he got out, making sure the guns in the back were covered and that he had the ignition key. Making it obvious his plans were to go inside, the two men exited their truck. Each man had a pistol stuck in the front of his pants; both made it clear they were friendly.
“Son, you really don’t want to go in there. Every car and truck out here belongs to someone who thought they’d get in and out. They’re all still in there.” Caleb tried to size them up, both were mid-forties, clean shaven, and still wearing clean, nice clothing.
“Why are you still out here, then?”
“My brother went in an hour ago. He didn’t come back out.
“What do you need from inside?”
“We were hoping to find some .45 ammo, maybe a few more guns. Tom went in before we got here.”
“I’ll make a deal with you; you go over to that window away from the door and break it. Then make as much noise as you can. I have to go inside to get stuff. You keep them distracted and I’ll try to get you some ammo.” Caleb offered.
“Son, that’s suicide to go into that store, just like every other store around here.” The older man replied.
“Sir, if there wasn’t at least some hope, you’d have left already. Now, go over there and start distracting the creatures. In five minutes I’m going in.” Caleb made a point to check the chamber of his M4 then, moving the selector to ‘semi.’
“Good luck, son. If you see a big man wearing a yellow flannel shirt, that’s Tom.” The two men did as requested; Caleb heard the glass break, the infected replied with their shrieks as they tried to get as close as possible to the window, yet stay clear of the sunlight.
The hole in the door was easily big enough to walk through without having to bend over; a huge flat cart near the other carts was the perfect size, next to it lay assorted fired brass. Evidently no one else had managed to move it. Fortunately, the cart’s wheels moved okay without a shimmer or squeal. Caleb started to push it when he slipped on something wet. He recognized the puddle as blood. Guess this is as far as Tom made it; did they eat him or turn him?
He sensed not only the presence of the others but their anger at the men out front teasing them. Without knowing how, he knew most of the infected were being distracted while others were sleeping or otherwise engaged. The grocery section was closest; he knew where he could find the some freeze dried meals for the trip. The sound of running was coming closer, at least three of them, he estimated. Slowly he brought up the M4, ready to take the shots if needed. Four young infected turned the corner and ran his way, then turned and ran down another aisle when they saw a big male in front of them. Damn Zs have better behaved kids than humans. Two huge cases of freeze-dried food were on the shelf ahead of him. He pulled them down and a couple dozen assorted single meals. The sound of eating was nearby along with the crinkle of plastic bags. Guess the Zs have the munchies; they must have eaten a stoner, I wonder what other food they figured out how to get into?
The sporting goods section was next as he decided to check out the guns and ammo. Turning in the aisle, the entire row consisted of different camp stoves and supplies for them including bottles of propane. A two-burner propane camp stove with half dozen bottles of propane made its way on the top of the cart along with an enamel dining set and cookware. Two rows over, the aisle were well stocked with assorted ammo. Caleb grabbed ten boxes each of .45, 9mm, 5.56 cal, and 12 gauge 00 buck. The display glass for the pistols and knives had been broken and covered in blood. Caleb pulled out a couple high-end knives and a couple 9mms. Climbing behind the counter, he pulled down three shotguns, ensuring they were all 12 gauge, before putting them on the cart. Just as he was about to jump back over he saw the 5.56 magazines hanging on the wall and grabbed a half dozen for good measure. Now get the damn jerry cans and get moving. Stop pressing your luck.
The automotive section was in the back of the store, and he could sense more of the infected back there, trying to stay as far as possible from the windows and sunlight as they could. It looked like it was mainly females and kids. He pushed the cart by some and they looked at him in interest, but didn’t disturb him. The start of the aisle had a variety of siphons; he threw two on the cart, figuring to compare them once he got out of the store. At the end of the aisle he found the jerry cans and neatly stacked all ten that were on the shelf onto the cart. Now get the hell out of here before you screw up.
The cart was already facing the front of the store so Caleb turned to the right to get further away from the noise coming from the front and left of him. Everything appeared to be going great. Yes, I’m home free. Turning the cart to head up the aisle straight to the door was an easy shot. He sensed the movement only when he was too late to act. He shoved the cart as hard as he could and rolled to the left as somebody brushed by him and continued into a display of drones. The entire store seemed to echo as the boxes crashed to the ground. You have twenty feet to freedom. Pop this sucker and run!
Caleb whirled around to face his attacker and saw a yellow flannel shirt covering a huge zombie that’s was still wet with his own blood. He didn’t immediately get back up, but instead looked at Caleb in confusion. Caleb could easily bring up the gun, fire and retreat from the store safely. Instead, he grunted at the zombie the same as he’d heard others do. Then he backed up towards the door. Tom just sat in confusion. Caleb turned and began pushing the cart, not wanting to appear as if he was retreating. When he was close to the sunbeam shining in through the glass, dozens of infected started to hoot at him. One tried, and failed, to tackle him. Caleb reached the safety of the sunbeam and the hooting rose to a crescendo as he pushed the cart out of the store.
“Dang, son. You riled them up a lot!” The old man said as he walked towards him. Looks like you did a bit of shopping, too. Did you see Tom in there?”
“It was a productive trip. I saw one big Z with a yellow flannel shirt. Looks like they turned him instead of eating him.” Caleb answered as he began loading the back of the truck.
“You left him there? Why didn’t you bring him with you? Dammit, he’s family!” The man shouted menacingly.
Caleb ignored him as he continued to load the truck. “Don’t be taking our half of the stuff from the store, we helped too!”
“Your Tom is a fucking Z. If he comes out into the sun, he’ll die. All of these supplies are mine. I took all the risks. Now, you can back off.” Caleb could sense the anger and adrenaline pumping in both men. He felt himself pumping with adrenaline as well. Before either man could make a move, Caleb brought up the M4, flipped the switch from ‘semi’ to ‘auto’ on the move, and fired a burst into the air above their heads. “Both of you shitheads, carefully drop those pistols to the ground. You so much as twitch and you’re both dead!” Both men paled as they looked down the barrel of the M4, while gingerly setting their pistols onto the ground.
“Good, now walk twenty feet over to the middle of the parking lot, then stop. Keep your hands as high as you can. If they drop, you drop with them.” The truck partially blocked their view as Caleb finished loading the truck. He got back in the truck and drove slightly closer to the two men, leaving the M4 pointing to the side.
“I promised to try and find you some ammo and maybe a couple guns. I found three 12-gauge shotguns and two 9mms with enough ammo for you to get by. If you want anything else, I’d suggest trying to find another store. That one has too many Zs, you’d both die. Good luck and I mean that sincerely.” The sense of anger or danger dropped almost immediately, though neither man smiled or acknowledged the generosity.
“Life’s been hard the last few days. If you find yourself in this area again, I’m Richard Smith and this is my brother Harold. We’re trying to gather survivors and head for Cheyenne Mountain State Park to set up a camp.
If you’re looking to fill those gas cans up with diesel, take Hwy 24 like you’re heading
to the air base and then turn north on Peterson Boulevard. You’ll see an abandoned tanker not far from the intersection. That’ll save you a little time, instead of having to siphon fuel from cars and trucks. Good luck on your journeys, son.”
Caleb turned onto Hwy 24. As he relaxed, he began to think about how lucky the three brothers had been to have survived the first few days up until now. He then started laughing at their names; I guess that’s why they were so tough.
The truck was just where Dick had said it would be. Caleb studied the plumbing, and looked through the assorted attachments to figure out how to get the diesel. After an hour of trying, he found the right combination and was amazed at how quickly he filled up the ten cans and his truck. Rather than disassemble everything, he shut everything down and left it in place for the next person to come along.
Time to actually hit the road. I’ll just drive over to that gas station and get water and snacks for the drive. Shit, its 1140 already. No way will I make it in one straight trip. Have to find somewhere along the way to crash.
The gas station’s doors were locked and no one had apparently broken into it yet. Caleb walked to the front door with his M4 on its patrol harness, ready for any surprises. A fifty-gallon drum on the side of the station was giving off a nastier stink than he thought possible. Inside all the dairy products and meats had been dumped from inside the store. I guess someone’s home here or made it into their home now.
“Come on out! I want to trade for some water and snacks. If you don’t come out, I’ll huff and I’ll puff and I’ll blow your house down!” No one answered. He went up to the door and peeked in. No one was there. He walked back to the truck and got out the crowbar. He stood still for a moment and listened, he could hear the wind even though it wasn’t blowing, and he felt his own heart pumping, even though he wasn’t excited. He looked at the windows of the gas station and just tried to look through the glass. There was movement inside as he suspected. Now, were they armed or not?
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