The Reckoning - 02

by D. A. Roberts

  “No sweat,” I said, grinning.

  She just gave me a wide-eyed look and nodded.

  “Yeah, this time,” she said.

  Chestnut was choked with cars, but I found an opening. It was big enough that I could squeeze through to a side street on the other side that ran past an old historic cemetery. Following the back streets, I avoided Chestnut and headed north on the first side street. By the time we had backtracked to Division Street, we were clear of most of the residential areas. We were approaching an industrial area where I hoped we wouldn’t find many zombies.

  Division Street was clearer than I expected. We turned back east on Division and headed for the overpass that spanned US 65. To our left was the warehouse for American Wholesale Grocers. It was fenced off and looked to be locked up tight. I filed that away for future use. I knew that warehouse was full of food and supplies. We’d have to add it to our shopping list.

  The off-ramps were blocked to US 65, but I had no intention of going out on the interstate. I navigated around abandoned vehicles on the bridge and continued on to the east. We exited the city limits of Springfield and passed a gated community on our right. The gates were shut and I could see a lot of zombies inside the fence. It was a nice housing development, but their wrought iron fences and pass-code gates didn’t save them from the undead.

  Ignoring it, I continued on east and took the first left I came to. Then it was only a couple hundred yards to the rear entrance to the Springfield Underground. I slowed down as I approached the driveway, expecting to see it blocked off. It wasn’t, and that surprised me. I turned in the driveway and followed the road down to the guard shack where I’d spent quite a few nights.

  As I rounded the bend in the road, I could see that the gates were locked and that someone had pushed semi trailers up against the fence to reinforce it. The gates were also secured with a semi truck driven right up against them. I slowed down as we got close and scanned the area. I didn’t see any undead in the area, so I put the Humvee in park and got out. Spec-4 followed suit and we both brought our weapons up. The others got out and joined us. Matthews came walking up to me, his dark sunglasses making his eyes impossible to see.

  “Looks like they secured the place already,” I said, gesturing at the gate.

  “If they blocked off all the entrances like this, then they’re pretty secure,” he said. “Not too many people even know how to get here. With any luck, the Freemen don’t even know it exists.”

  “That’s a great thought, but we can’t count on it,” I said. “Do you think they know we’re here?”

  “I’d say it’s a pretty safe bet,” he said. “That camera turned towards us the second we got out of the vehicles. My guess is that they’re watching us right now.”

  “Safe bet,” I replied.

  I turned towards the ramp that led down into the Underground when I heard the noise of engines. Two large pick-up trucks sped up the ramp and stopped about twenty yards away from us. They were the extended cab dual wheel trucks, both with Springfield Underground signs on the sides. Four people got out, three men and one woman. They were all wearing boots, black BDU pants and a grey security uniform shirt with a shiny badge on the front. I recognized the uniform instantly, having worn it years before.

  They were all armed with a pistol on their hip and a long gun in hand. Two of the men had AR style rifles and one had a deer rifle with a scope. The woman had a 12 gauge pump shotgun. It looked like a Benelli. They all wore sunglasses and had ball caps on with the logo of the security company. They fanned out slightly, but not tactically. Two of the men carried their weapons like they were in a bad movie. With one hand on the grip with their finger on the trigger and the barrel lying on their shoulder, pointing into the air.

  The other male carried his pointed down in a close approximation of a military grip. The woman surprised me. She had her weapon up, but not aimed at us. She also had a combat knife stuck in her belt. She advanced cautiously and her eyes never stopped sweeping us for any sign of a threat. Of the four of them, she struck me as the best trained.

  “What do you want?” asked the man with the military grip.

  His name tag read Bertram. I dubbed him Shades.

  “I’m looking for Sergeant Kidman,” I said.

  “Who the fuck are you?” demanded one the men with the gun pointed over his shoulder.

  He was younger than me and had the face of a weasel. He looked like he hadn’t showered since long before the zombies came. His name-tag read Clark. I decided to call him Weasel-face, instead.

  “Sheriff’s department,” I said, gesturing at the badge.

  “Newsflash,” said the other moron with his gun over his shoulder, “there ain’t enough of the county left to need a Sheriff.”

  He was a bit overweight and needed a shave. He’d sweat through his uniform top and it wasn’t even hot outside. His name tag read Gagne. I tagged him as Lasagna because it rhymed with his name and seemed to fit him. The woman hadn’t said anything. Her name tag read Chastain. She was rather nondescript, average height and weight. She had shoulder length brown hair that was pulled back into a ponytail and no piercings that I could see. Something about her seemed different than the others.

  “Why do you want to see the Sarge?” asked Shades.

  “We’re old friends of his,” said Matthews. “We used to work together.”

  “Bullshit,” said Weasel-face. “I think they’re lying.”

  “How about we put it another way,” I said. “We’re asking politely to see the Sergeant. Clearly, you’re outgunned here. If we were here for a fight, you’d already be in one.”

  “He’s right,” said Chastain. “They’re all carrying military hardware. If they wanted to fight us, we’d lose.”

  I noticed her accent was different. It sounded like she was from Minnesota or Wisconsin, from the inflection and tone.

  “Not before we got them,” said Lasagna. “We’re armed, too.”

  “Look, pal,” I said, starting to lose my patience. “Two of you aren’t even holding your weapons in any position to use them. In the first salvo, you’d be down two people before they got a shot off. This guy might get a shot off before one of us got him.”

  I was gesturing at Shades.

  “The only one of you who would for sure get a shot off would be Chastain, there,” I said, gesturing at her. “And that’s a 12 gauge pump. She’d get one shot off. Unless it hit one of us in the head or thigh, I’d lay even odds we’d walk away from it. We’re all wearing body armor and none of you are. So, cut the bullshit and let us talk to Kidman.”

  Shades swallowed hard as he assessed his team. Lasagna brought his rifle down slowly and held it in both hands. Weasel-face brought his AR down and the magazine fell out, clattering to the ground. Chastain shook her head in disgust, but her shotgun never wavered.

  “Look,” I said, “we’re not here to fight. I just want to talk to Josh.”

  Weasel-face, Lasagna and Shades started whispering back and forth. Chastain sighed and lowered her weapon. Then she walked over to the fence, right across from me. Keeping her weapon down, she lowered her sunglasses with her off hand. Her brown eyes locked on mine.

  “I hope you’re not setting us up,” she said, “but you can probably tell we need the help.”

  “You’ve done an amazing job securing this place,” I said. “It looks solid.”

  “Yeah, that was all me and Kidman. Those three can barely lace their boots without help,” she said, softly.

  She nodded, indicating the three stooges who were still whispering heatedly amongst themselves. I gave her an apologetic shrug. While they continued to debate, Chastain pulled a walkie-talkie off of her belt and keyed it up.

  “Packer to base,” she said.

  I noticed her Green Bay Packers watch and smiled. Wisconsin, it was.

  “This is base, go ahead,” replied the radio.

  “Sarge, we have two Nathanael County Sheriff’s Deputies out here who c
laim they know you. Names are Matthews and Grant.”

  “I know both of those guys,” replied the voice. “Let them in.”

  The three idiots stopped arguing and gave Chastain a dirty look.

  “You heard the man,” she said. “Open the gate.”

  Lasagna climbed into the cab of the semi and fired up the engine. Grinding the gears, he finally found reverse, then promptly killed the engine trying to move it. He managed to kill it three more times before he moved it far enough for us to get through the gate. Once we pulled inside, Weasel-face took over driving the truck and pulled it forward, blocking the gate once more. Weasel-face might suck as a Security Officer, but it looked like he could handle a big rig. I filed that tidbit away.

  Everyone piled back inside their vehicles and we followed the two trucks back down the ramp and into the Underground. At the bottom of the ramp, we were fully underground. One road continued on ahead to a parking lot and several sets of loading bay doors. Another road turned to the left. That’s the direction the trucks went, so we followed them. I knew from experience that this way would take us past several warehouses that contained machine parts and hardware along with a couple more food storage units.

  We continued on until we came to a section we referred to as “the Hive.” It was owned by the local utility company and had a name of its own, but we never called it by its real name. It was a massive data storage facility, containing dozens of servers and data storage units for companies all over the area. It had its own power supply and security system. We used to joke and say that the entire internet was backed up down there. We weren’t far from wrong.

  Sergeant Josh Kidman was waiting for us outside the Hive. He was in his mid-thirties with short blonde hair, balding on top and at the temples. He had a perpetual “beer gut” but it didn’t seem to slow him down. He was also one of the smartest people I ever met. Why he was with a bottom rung security company, I’ll never know. But down here, he held the keys to the kingdom.

  As we parked and got out of the vehicles, he smiled and came over to where I was standing. Matthews came strolling up, just as he arrived. Grinning broadly, he shook both of our hands, warmly.

  “Good lord, it’s good to see you two,” he said. “I figured you guys were either dead or long gone.”

  “How are you holding up down here?” I asked.

  “Not bad,” he replied. “We sealed the entrances early on. No zombies ever made it inside. Not to mention that we’re far enough from town and traffic that nothing drew them this way. We’ve got the five of us, plus six warehouse employees that didn’t run for the hills when the shit hit the fan and a few truck drivers that didn’t have anywhere else to go.”

  “Where are they?” asked Matthews.

  “Inside the cold storage unit,” he replied, “keeping the systems online.”

  “That’s good,” I said. “Any chance you’d open the doors for a few survivors.”

  “I thought I already did,” he said, grinning. “You guys are welcome to stay down here as long as you want.”

  “We’ve got a few survivors of our own,” I said. “Back at the jail.”

  “How many?” he asked, turning serious. “Are they inmates?”

  “No, not inmates,” I said. “They’re other officers and survivors we’ve picked up, here and there. We’ve got weapons and medical staff, too. All in all, about seventy people.”

  “That’s quite a few,” he said. “Yeah, we’ve got the space and food to spare. Bring them on down.”

  We might have to borrow a couple larger vehicles,” said Matthews. “I don’t think we have enough to do it all in one trip.”

  “There’s an Army Reserve storage depot in the west lot,” he said. “You can take whatever you want. We’ve already been through it. No weapons, but there are lots of conex boxes full of MRE’s, clothing and gear. There are a bunch of vehicles up there, too.”

  “Any Hemmitts[10]?” I asked.

  “What’s a Hemmitt?” he replied.

  “A big-assed truck with eight wheels,” said Southard, “four in the front and four in the rear.”

  “Yeah, there are a few of those,” he said. “Different kinds, though. Some of them have big storage tanks on them.”

  “That’s good,” I said. “We can use them, later.”

  I asked Josh to show me their defenses. We hopped into a security truck and drove to the other entrances. They were sealed tightly. One was secured shut with a rail car and another was blocked with a semi-trailer that had been turned on its side and shoved into the entrance with fork-lifts. It was a good set-up. Then we went around to the front entrance and looked out.

  I had to admit, I was impressed. The main loading dock was sealed off with more trailers, making a wall around the area. At any given time, there are dozens of trucks parked down there, and they’d used most of the trailers to make the wall. It was heavy and solid. It would keep out even a massive zombie horde. We only had the one entrance that could be driven out of, and it was well secured. We’d just have to make sure it had a guard on it at all times.

  I went over the inventory data with Josh and decided that if the generators lasted, we would have enough food to last through the summer and the following winter. We could make that last longer if we hit the American Wholesale Grocers warehouse before the Freemen did. If we took a couple of the truck drivers with us, we could take a massive amount of food in one trip. But, that was something for another day.

  Right now, I had to plan on the evacuation of the jail and relocating everyone here. That was going to be no small task, either. If we loaded the jail bus, all of the Humvees with a trailer and took two of the Hemmitts, we might just be able to pull it off. At this point, I was less worried about the zombies than I was the Freemen. They knew about the jail and were probably watching us. The last thing I wanted was for them to follow us to the Underground. It needed to be our ace in the hole.

  Once we returned to the group, I headed over to Matthews. Taking him aside, I told him about the modifications to the entrances. He seemed as impressed as I was, but then a look of concern crossed his face.

  “Did they think to check the ventilation shafts?” he said, worry on his face.

  “Josh!” I yelled, motioning for him to come over to us.

  “Yeah, what’s up?” he said, trotting over to us.

  “Did you check the vent shafts?” asked Matthews.

  “Damn it,” he cursed. “I hadn’t thought of those.”

  “Alright,” I said. “Don’t panic. Matthews, I’ll leave you and your Humvee here to oversee security. Check the air shafts and make sure they’re secure. Go ahead and do a full sweep of the Underground. Even the unfinished section.”

  “Shit, Wylie,” said Matthews. “That could take days. This place is fucking huge.”

  “Well then,” I said. “Concentrate on the shafts. Once we have everyone here, we’ll break into teams and sweep the caverns.”

  “I had my people sweep the caverns a couple times,” said Josh.

  “Josh, buddy,” I said, “no offense, but those three morons over there couldn’t sweep a floor with a broom. The one you call Packer seems pretty good, but the others are idiots.”

  “They’re good guys,” said Josh, defensively. “They’re security officers. They haven’t had the training you guys have had. Not to mention, only Gagne and me were in the military.”

  “What was your MOS[11]?” I asked.

  “I was a Boatswain’s Mate in the Coast Guard,” he replied.

  “I forgot you were a Coastie,” I said, grinning.

  “Let’s not get that started,” he said, smiling.

  “What about Lasagna?” I asked.

  “I can’t remember,” said Josh.

  “Hey Gagne,” yelled Matthews. “What was your MOS?”

  “71 Lima,” he replied. “Why?”

  “Aw, shit,” I mumbled. “He was an admin specialist…a stinking clerk.”

  “Great,” said Matt
hews. “Basically, not much help.”

  “He’s been to basic training,” I said. “At least he should know how to shoot.”

  “You couldn’t tell by the way he carried his weapon,” said Matthews.

  “Guys,” said Josh, “knock it off. They’re my guys. I trust them and you should, too.”

  “Sorry, Josh,” I said. “You’re right. We’re going to have to trust each other to survive this. We’ll just have to bring them up to speed on weapons and tactics. I’m sure they’ll be fine.”

  “Alright,” said Matthews. “I haven’t worked down here in years. I’m sure that they’ll know it better than I do. I’ll take a couple of your guys with me to check the vent shafts. I’ll put a couple of my people on the gate to keep it secure until you get back. We’ll post the Humvee up there with the machine gun.”

  “Sounds good to me,” said Josh.

  “I’ll leave Southard, Jade, John and Bowman here with you,” I said. “I’ll take Spec-4 and Winston with me. If I can borrow a couple of your truck drivers, we’ll pick out a couple Hemmitts and take them along for the big stuff.”

  “No problem,” said Josh. “I’ll send someone to get them.”

  Josh headed off to round up the drivers. Once he was out of earshot, Matthews leaned in close to me and lowered his voice.

  “So, once we’re established down here,” he whispered, “who’s calling the shots? You or Josh?”

  “Our people won’t listen to him,” I said, softly. “We’ll have to be careful. I don’t want to step on Josh’s toes, but we’ll have to sort it out amongst ourselves. As far as I’m concerned, Sheriff Daniels will call the shots.”

  Matthews just gave me a smile and shook his head.

  “What?” I asked, curious what he found amusing.

  “Daniels might wear the badge,” he said, “but it’s you that everyone looks to.”

  “I’m content to let Daniels make the big calls,” I replied. “I’m just the field grunt.”

  “Whatever you think, man,” he said. “But sooner or later, you’re going to have to deal with this. The more people we take in, the more they’re looking at you for leadership. Badges don’t really matter anymore.”