The Reckoning - 02

by D. A. Roberts

  I shaved my head smooth and trimmed the new beard back down to a goatee. I felt much better as I emerged from the shower and began drying off. Then I slipped back into my BDU’s and boots. Taking my dirty clothes with me back into my room, I discovered that Karen had set up two trays on a desk. There were eggs, bacon, sausage, biscuits, honey and coffee.

  We sat across from each other and held hands while we prayed in silence. Once we finished, I dove into my food with a voracious appetite. I could tell by the first bite that they were powdered eggs, but I just didn’t care. Everything tasted wonderful this morning. I finished the meal with the biscuits and honey. It was so sweet it was almost a dessert. I washed it all down with two cups of coffee. It wasn’t Karen’s coffee, but at least it wasn’t Booking Sludge.

  After I finished, I started to gather up my tray. Karen waved me off and took it from me, with a smile. I returned the smile and kissed her on the cheek. Deftly, I stole a sausage link off of her tray and stuffed it into my mouth.

  “Hey, now,” she said, shaking her fork at me. “That’ll get you stabbed, mister.”

  “Thanks, babe,” I said, smiling.

  “I didn’t cook any of it,” she replied.

  “I didn’t mean the food. I meant for everything.”

  “Oh, shut up and get dressed. Don’t you have a pilot to rescue, or something?” she said, grinning at me.

  I grabbed my duty belt and slipped it on, fastening the belt keepers. Then I slipped into my body armor and started buckling on weapons. By the time I was done, Karen had finished eating and was gathering the dishes to take back downstairs. I could see the worried look on her face as she picked up the tray. I knew it bothered her that I was going back out again, so soon. It bothered me, too. I wasn’t going to leave that pilot out there to die. I knew she wouldn’t try to stop me, but it wouldn’t keep her from worrying either.

  “Be careful,” she said, concern in her voice.

  “I will,” I promised.

  We kissed for a long moment, and then she slipped out of my arms. By the time I shouldered my pack and recovered my weapons, she was already down the stairs. When I reached the Main Sliders, Southard and Spec-4 were already geared up and waiting for me.

  “The Humvee is already fueled up and ready,” said Southard. “I’ve got Matthews, Bowman and Winston gearing up to open and close the gate.”

  “Outstanding,” I said. “Let’s get fresh radio batteries and top off our ammo.”

  “Already done,” said Spec-4, handing me a bag.

  It was heavy, so I glanced inside it and saw two batteries and six loaded magazines for the M-4. I stowed the magazines in my ammo pouches and cargo pockets. The extra batteries went into my pack. After a quick ammo check, I decided that I was ready. Elliot came walking up with his gear on, smiling expectantly.

  “Can I go, too?” he asked.

  “Sorry, buddy,” I said. “We need an empty seat for the pilot, if we find him.”

  He looked disappointed, but didn’t argue.

  “I’ll tell you what you can do, though,” I said. “Get with Sanders and have him teach you everything there is to know about an M-4.”

  “I can do that,” said Sanders as he came towards us from Booking. “It’ll give me something to do until Mad Maddie says I’m fit to fight.”

  “Thanks, Cal,” I said.

  Putting his good arm around Elliot, they headed off towards the Main Sliders. Cal was expounding on the virtues of a clean weapon and Elliot was listening with rapt attention. I couldn’t help but smile. Elliot was in good hands. Cal knew more about weapons than almost anyone here.

  “Alright, folks,” I said. “Let’s go find us a pilot.”

  We met the others by the Release door. They were geared up and ready.

  “We sent John, Corporal Halsey and Gunny up to the roof with rifles,” said Winston. “I thought that they could provide cover from up there, if we needed it.”

  “Good thinking,” I said, smiling. “Have everyone stay in position. We may be coming in hot.”

  “Or ahead of a horde of zombies,” said Southard.

  “Either way,” said Spec-4, “it won’t be fun.”

  We headed out the Release door, moving tactically just in case. Once we established that it was clear, the two groups split up. Spec-4, Southard and I headed for our Humvee. Matthews headed for the gate/car while Winston and Bowman got into position to cover the gate. I got behind the wheel and Spec-4 slid into the passenger seat. Southard climbed in the back and up into the turret.

  “700, can you check the vehicle gate with the camera?” I asked.

  “Looks clear,” replied 700. “Most of the zombies headed off towards the square after that explosion last night.”

  “Clear,” I said. “All units, are you ready?”

  “Roof unit’s ready,” said John.

  “Ground team ready,” added Winston.

  “Alright,” I replied. “Matthews, open the gate.”

  Instantly, the gate began to slide open as Matthews backed the cruiser up. No zombies appeared in the opening. That was good. Once the gate was open far enough, I shot Winston a salute and headed out the gate. Instantly, it began sliding shut behind us.

  I didn’t wait for it to close completely. There was a team inside to cover the gate. Instead, I turned north and headed for the next street. We’d driven this way before, so I knew the clearest path to take. Minutes later, we were seeing the front of the jail on our left as we headed into a residential area.

  “Can you get on the SINCGARS and try to raise the pilot’s emergency radio?” I asked, glancing at Spec-4.

  “I can try,” she said, reaching for the handset. “I have no idea what channel they’ll be on.”

  “If you can’t find it, don’t sweat it.”

  I glanced at my watch. It was 0743 hours. I thought about the procedure for a downed pilot. I wasn’t positive, but I was fairly certain that they only turned on their radios at certain times, to conserve battery power. The trouble was I had no idea what time they had chosen. Logic would indicate the top of the hour, but it could just as easily be the bottom. We’d just have to keep trying.

  We drove through a neighborhood that looters had torn apart. There were houses that had been set on fire and everything from household appliances to clothing scattered all over the place. There were quite a few zombies around and more than a few bodies lying unmoving on the ground. Not all of them seemed to have died from gunshot wounds. That struck me as kind of odd.

  As we approached Kansas Expressway, I could see that the road was clogged with cars. I took a side street and headed south, paralleling Kansas. It was a rough neighborhood, even before the zombies came. Older houses in poor condition lined both sides of the street. The entire area had a rundown feeling to it.

  “Keep your eyes peeled for that parachute,” I said. “If it’s hung in a tree or on a building, it should be easy to spot.”

  “Roger that,” said Southard.

  Spec-4 had been trying the radio without any success. She glanced up at me with a shrug.

  “Either their radio is off or I can’t pick up their channel.”

  “We’ll try back at the top of the hour,” I said.

  “Do you think we’ll even find this guy?” she asked.

  “I would put money on it. Fighter pilots all go to SERE[8] training. I’ll bet they made it or gave it one hell of a try.”

  It startled me when I heard Southard slap the roof three times in rapid succession.

  “I think I see something,” he said through the turret.

  “Where?” I asked, looking around.

  “End of the block, in the trees,” he said.

  I looked that way and could see the flapping of the parachute in the upper branches of a tree. There wasn’t any sign of the pilot, though. Up ahead, I saw a group of zombies gathered around an overturned SUV. It didn’t look like they were eating anything, more like digging around. Before I could say anything, Southard
raked them with the SAW. He reduced them to a group of Crawlers in one pass, leaving a few of them no longer moving at all.

  From a house across the street, a flare shot out of a second floor window and struck a zombie in the chest, setting it on fire. Southard pivoted the SAW and covered the window. I started slowing down and drove into the yard of the house that the flare had come from. There weren’t any mobile zombies in the immediate area, so I put it in park and climbed out. Spec-4 followed suit on her side. We both brought up our M-4’s and switched off the safeties.

  “Are you guys Army?” shouted a female voice from the open upstairs window.

  “Sheriff’s department,” I yelled back.

  “How do I know you ain’t the assholes that shot me down?” she answered.

  “The pilot’s a woman,” muttered Southard. “Sweet.”

  “There are women pilots, these days,” said Spec-4, giving Southard a dirty look.

  “I know,” said Southard, “I just didn’t know any of them flew fighters.”

  “I’d say anyone that has flight training is at a premium right now,” I said. “They don’t have time to be sexist, anymore.”

  “Fair enough,” said Southard.

  “We didn’t shoot you down,” I yelled back. “We were on the roof of the jail when you flew over.”

  There was a long pause.

  “Besides,” I said, “If we were trying to kill you, we’ve got the firepower to take that house apart.”

  “Good point,” she answered. “How do I know I can trust you?”

  “You don’t,” I said. “All I can say is decide quickly. We’re going to have zombies all over the place in a very short time.”

  “Alright,” she said. “I’m coming out.”

  I don’t know what I was expecting, but she definitely wasn’t it. A rather striking redhead in nomex coveralls climbed out onto the roof of the porch. She looked to be in her late twenties and stood about five feet five inches tall. She was fit and built like a dancer, lithe and graceful looking. She had an emergency bag over one shoulder and a Beretta in her left hand. The holster was under her right shoulder.

  “A lefty,” I thought.

  I made sure to keep my weapon pointed at the ground. Southard swung the SAW to cover the street and Spec-4 lowered her weapon, but kept scanning the area.

  “Major Alicia Pennington,” she said. “Call sign’s Jade.”

  “I’m Wylie Grant,” I said. “This is Specialist Chrissy Wilder and Deputy Chuck Southard.”

  “Nice to meet you,” she said. “Now can we kindly get the hell out of here before we all become zombie food?”

  “Let’s get moving,” I said.

  Reluctantly, she holstered her pistol and tossed down her bag. Then she turned and climbed off the edge of the porch. Dangling from the edge, she was still about four feet off the ground. I let my M-4 dangle around my neck and went to help her. I reached up and grabbed her by the waist.

  “I got you,” I said. “Let go.”

  She did so without hesitation. I controlled her fall and sat her safely on the ground. She turned as she came down and grabbed my neck to steady herself. This left us standing facing one another, her arms around my neck and my hands on her hips. I looked into her eyes and understood how she got her call sign. Her eyes were sparkling jade green. I had to swallow when I found myself looking into them for longer than I had planned.

  “It’s nice to see a friendly face,” she said, in a soft southern drawl.

  “I love the accent,” I said. “Texas?”

  “You bet,” she said, smiling. “I’m a Corpus Christi girl.”

  “I hate to break up this tender moment,” said Southard, “but we’ve got company.”

  “Any Sprinters?” I asked, turning my head.

  “They’re not zombies,” said Spec-4.

  I let go of Jade and turned, pulling my M-4 up. A few blocks south of us, I could see two modified SUV’s heading our way. Brush guards, reinforced bumpers and steel mesh welded over all of the windows gave them a sinister appearance. I could tell that they weren’t military. I wasn’t sure who they were, but they didn’t look friendly.

  “You wouldn’t happen to have another one of those, would you?” said Jade, pointing at my M-4.

  I nodded to Southard and he reached inside to snag one of the spares. He tossed it to her and she caught it, deftly. She locked and loaded it with more confidence than I would have expected from a pilot. But then again, she was a Marine pilot. I’d heard it said that everyone in the Marine Corps was a rifleman first. I believed it, now.

  The two SUV’s pulled up and stopped about thirty yards away. Four armed men climbed out of each vehicle. They were all wearing woodland camo fatigue pants and black t-shirts. They were armed with military style weapons. Two of them had AA-12 auto shotguns. I’d seen men dressed like them before. They looked just like the assholes that ambushed us at the Golden Corral and again when I got the scar on my face. They’d killed three of my people without provocation or warning. I wasn’t going to give this group the opportunity to do it again.

  Shouldering my weapon, I brought it up and pointed it at them. The others followed my lead. The advancing men brought their weapons up, but didn’t fire. It was probably because of Southard on the SAW. Other than that, we were outgunned. The might have had numbers on their side, but I could tell from the way that they carried themselves that training wasn’t exactly their strong suit.

  “That’s far enough,” I called to them.

  They stopped, but one took a couple steps farther. The others seemed to defer to him, so I assumed he was in charge. He had a smug look on his face and carried himself like someone who was used to getting his way. I was going to be more than happy to disappoint him.

  “What the hell do you want?” I demanded, watching his face a reaction.

  “We’re Freemen,” he replied, as if that answered all my questions. “We don’t bow to your government, Cop.”

  “That’s fine,” I said, “But take another step and you’ll bow before your maker.”

  “I’ve heard of these guys,” said Southard. “Before all this happened, they were like a militia group. They refused to follow the law, claiming they had the right as free men to do as they pleased. They didn’t pay taxes or have drivers’ licenses or anything like that.”

  “Didn’t they do a story on one of the news shows about them?” asked Spec-4.

  “Yeah,” said Southard. “A couple of them killed some cops over in Tennessee a few years ago.”

  “Yeah,” I said. “I saw that on the news. This won’t end well.”

  “Give us the pilot of that plane that went down and you can walk away from this,” said the lead guy.

  I dubbed him Dumbass Number One.

  “Well, I’d like to help you with that,” I answered, “but I have a policy of not bowing to anyone, either. I think it would be in your best interest to get back in your vehicles and leave. While you still can, that is.”

  “Listen, Cop,” he said venom in his voice. “We know about your little group in the jail. We took down a fighter jet. What makes you think we can’t punch through a steel door and get inside there?”

  “Probably the fact that we’d kill you if you tried,” I said, matching the venom with my own.

  “Keep talking,” he said, smiling. “It’s just a matter of time before the rest of my men get here and we have you surrounded.”

  “Oh shit,” whispered Spec-4, glancing behind her. “I don’t see anyone.”

  “He’s bluffing,” said Jade.

  “Maybe,” I said, “maybe not. Either way, we can’t afford to keep sitting here. We’ve got to walk away, or fight. We’ll have zombies all over us before long.”

  “Time’s running out,” he said. “What’s it gonna be?”

  I could feel myself reacting. Time seemed to slow down as I gauged my options. There weren’t many. If he wasn’t lying, then we were in big trouble. We were outnumbered two to one
, but we had the SAW. The decision was made for me when I saw that one of them had several badges attached to his belt. My eyes narrowed and Dumbass Number One realized what was about to happen.

  “Open fire!” he screamed, scrambling back towards their vehicles.

  Those were the last words he’d ever say, in this world. My first burst stitched him from navel to nose and he went over backwards, flailing and spraying blood into the air. The others tried to react, but Southard reacted faster. The SAW roared to life as he swept both vehicles, blasting apart the front end and destroying the motors in both of them. He also took out two of the gunmen.

  Spec-4 and Jade opened fire, each taking out a target of their own. The three survivors tried to dive for cover behind one of the SUV’s, firing as they dove. I managed to hit one of them in the thigh as he disappeared behind a vehicle. I could hear him screaming as the weapons fell silent.

  I motioned for Spec-4 and Jade to circle to the right while I went left. I could see the beginnings of a large group of zombies heading our way from the other side of Chestnut. They were attracted to the noise, but not moving very fast. That would change as soon as they saw us.

  I moved quickly, and took a few potshots at the back of the SUV. It did the trick and drew their attention to me. Two of them stood up and started shooting while the other shot from the ground. I dove behind a parked car and heard the bullets smashing into it. Seconds later, I heard Spec-4 and Jade open fire. Then there was silence.

  “Clear,” called Spec-4.

  I stood up and ran around the car. The one with the badges on his belt was still alive, but not for long. He was losing a lot of blood.

  “I’ll take these, you son of a bitch,” I said, snagging the badges and tucking them into my cargo pocket.

  “Wylie,” yelled Southard, “we’ve got to move!”

  I glanced up to see that the zombies were now coming our way much faster. About a dozen Sprinters were leading the charge, but they were still a couple blocks away. We had a couple minutes.

  “Grab the weapons and let’s get the hell out of here!” I shouted.

  In under a minute, we policed up six assault rifles, two AA-12 shotguns and eight pistols of various calibers. We also snagged two large range bags full of ammo and extra magazines. As we dove back inside the Humvee, the lead Sprinters were less than fifty yards away. I fired up the engine and backed into the street. With a screech of tires, I turned around and punched the accelerator.