by D. J. Molles
“There ain’t enough room in the truck to take ’em,” Miller pointed out. “Unless we don’t take supplies.”
“No.” Lee shook his head. “That is not an option. I made a promise to Camp Ryder. The supplies are nonnegotiable.”
“Then we have to leave the people here,” Harper concluded.
“Can they stay in the bunker?” Josh asked.
Lee grimaced. “I really… don’t prefer that.”
“Well, I think your preferences might have to change,” Doc said, getting indignant. “We can’t take them with us, they don’t have a car to go on their own, and if you leave them out here in the woods they’re going to keep getting attacked until they die. That’s just a fact. It’s just a matter of time.”
Harper cleared his throat loudly. “What if they could find a vehicle and we gave them instructions on how to reach Camp Ryder?”
“Still pretty dangerous,” Lee waffled. While it was his mission to gather groups of survivors, he also had to respect the boundaries of each one. And being that he was just barely trusted at Camp Ryder, he felt it might be overstepping his bounds to start sending every survivor he met off with directions on how to get there. “And how will Bus take that?”
“The only option that isn’t dangerous is letting them stay in your bunker,” Harper pointed out. “And Bus will just have to trust our judgment.”
Lee nodded. “I guess we should put it to Father Jim, then. We will give him supplies, and he can either go on his way or meet us back at Camp Ryder.”
Miller shrugged. “Seems more than fair to me.”
Josh and Harper agreed.
Doc remained silent.
Lee turned and approached Father Jim again. He looked at the priest and the hopeful faces that gathered behind him. “I can’t let you stay inside the bunker, and we do not have enough room for you in the truck we came in. We are here to take supplies back to the other group of survivors, and we will be leaving first thing in the morning. We will give you directions to our community, and you are welcome to go there. Or you can remain here, and I will come back for you, but I don’t know how long that will take. Regardless of what you folks decide to do, I will give you food, water, medicine, and weapons. And of course, you can sleep in the bunker tonight. The choice is yours.”
Father Jim did not seem offended, but simply thoughtful. “Well, I will think and pray about this decision and tell you tomorrow morning.”
Lee nodded. “Of course. Let’s get down there.”
* * *
Lee sent Josh and Doc to retrieve the pickup truck and pull it up close to the bunker door. While Lee wished to help Father Jim and his congregation, he did not fully trust them yet. Father Jim might be a man of God and predisposed to kindness, but he had also seen how the end of society had changed not only Father Jim, but everyone else Lee had come across. When survival was on the line, people were capable of almost anything. If Father Jim viewed the bunker as his only chance of staying alive, and Lee as the one obstacle to that goal, he didn’t think it was out of the question for Father Jim to put a bullet in him, regardless of his beliefs.
He made the decision that he would arm his own group and keep the rest of the weapons locked up until they were prepared to leave. Father Jim might not come up with a seditious plan, but that wasn’t to say he wouldn’t take advantage of an opportunity that was dropped in his lap. It was best to play it safe.
When Josh and Doc returned with the truck, Lee went to the big bunker door. Here the multitiered security system became a ridiculous rigmarole of redundancy all built to ensure Lee was the only person who ever accessed the bunker.
He held up the GPS to what appeared to be another flat steel panel. The device prompted him to enter a four-digit code, which he did quickly from memory, and the panel popped out and up on hydraulic hinges, revealing a small screen with a keyboard, a thumb scanner, a microphone, and a retinal scan. He completed the thumb scan, which activated the retinal scan, which activated the keyboard and screen. He entered his information and once it had been verified, the computer prompted him to say his passcode, which was matched to his voice.
The bunker came to life with the heavy mechanical sound of bolts retracting, like a vault door being opened. The door cracked and swung open quietly, letting out a rush of cool air. For a moment, Lee and Harper and Father Jim stood at the entrance to the bunker, staring into the spacious cargo elevator that would take them down forty feet below the surface, where there was safety and security and the feeling that this was not the end of the world, that bringing them back from the brink was not an insurmountable task.
“What happens if you say the wrong code?” Harper’s voice was quiet and wondering.
Lee smiled. “Let’s just say we should avoid that.”
“Can we go inside?” one of Father Jim’s congregation asked. She was a younger girl, probably in her teens.
Father Jim looked to Lee, who gestured toward the elevator. “Be my guest.”
They went down in two groups, first Lee and the men from Camp Ryder, along with a few of the men from Father Jim’s congregation. Then Lee went back up to retrieve the rest of them, closing and sealing the bunker door behind him before descending down to the main level.
The elevator opened to a cement floor that took up a wide square of blank space. The entire bunker was lit by the cold but welcome glow of electric lights, and the place was not just cool but chilly, like it was turning the sweat on their bodies to sheens of ice. And Lee thought it felt wonderful. Based on the sighs of satisfaction from many of the others, he believed that notion was widely held.
The large open area before the elevator led off into a short hallway. At the end of that hallway was a living area with a few bunks and cots, a bathroom area with showers, and a food preparation area. To either side of the hallway was a door. To the left, it led to a storage area that held all the various supplies that this bunker was stocked with. This was by far the largest section of the bunker. The doorway to the right led to a control room where Lee could monitor the bunker’s systems and view surveillance footage of the area outside his bunker.
“How does this place still have electricity?” Father Jim asked with naked wonder.
Lee made his way through the crowd, counting heads as he went. “It’s got a battery bank that’s constantly trickle-charged by solar panels outside. It’ll have electricity until the sun goes out, and a couple days after.”
“Amazing,” one of the people said genuinely.
“Do you have food?”
“Do you have water?”
Standing at the mouth of the hallway, Lee faced back to them. He caught Harper’s eye. “Can you help me get some supplies out?”
Lee instructed the group to go into the living area where they could use the restroom and clean themselves, if they wished. Then he, Harper, Josh, and Miller began hauling out cases of water and MREs to give to the people, while Doc began making the rounds among Father Jim’s people, assessing each person to see if they were in good health. Many had old wounds that were not completely healed, and some had become swollen with infection. Others had jungle rot on their feet. Everyone was dehydrated to some degree and suffering from malnutrition.
Doc treated those with infection and jungle rot with antibiotics, and a few with severe dehydration he gave an IV of lactated ringers, a diluted sodium solution. Everyone was given two MREs and instructed to eat slowly and not to overstuff themselves, especially if they were dehydrated. After everyone had eaten and Doc had seen to their medical needs, they each showered. The bunker’s water supply fed from a well and was heated through a tankless water heater. It continued pumping out hot water for all of them.
Lee went last. He had disposed of the smiley-face T-shirt and old BDUs that Bus had given him. To replace them, a set of clean MultiCam combat pants and shirt sat folded just outside the shower stall. On top of them was Jack’s lucky lottery ticket that had been rescued from the other pair of pants.
With the quiet mumble of survivors just beyond the shower curtain, he closed his eyes and tuned them out. He imagined that the tragedies and triumphs of the last six days since he’d left his house were like the dirt and sweat and grime that clung to his skin, something he could rinse away. He scrubbed at the blood still staining his hands and knees and watched the water running off of him turn pink. Eventually it ran clear again. And when it did, he imagined that none of this had ever happened and that life was normal again.
CHAPTER 11
Best-laid Plans
After everyone had showered and been fed, it was almost 2100 hours and many of Father Jim’s group found a bunk or a cot to fall asleep on. Lee went to the storage room and brought out several more cots, blankets, sleeping bags, and mats for the tired group of survivors to sleep on. They all thanked him profusely. A safe place to sleep with food and water in their bellies was the best thing to happen to any of them since this began.
With most of the group bedded down, Lee quietly made his way to where Harper and the Camp Ryder group were tucked away in the corner. “You guys all get something to eat and drink? Everyone get a shower?”
They all answered in the affirmative.
“Alright.” Lee knelt down in their circle. “I need to speak to you guys privately for a moment.”
They exchanged a few glances among themselves. The feeling they all had was that their current situation was too good to be true, and though it was unspoken, they all felt that their good fortune had been tapped and something catastrophically wrong was about to occur. Lee had to admit, he felt the same way.
“It’s nothing bad,” he reassured them.
That statement did little to ease the looks on their faces as they all stood and accompanied Lee to the privacy of the storage room.
“What’s this about?” Harper asked quietly once they were inside.
Lee spilled it out without pulling any punches. “Before we left, Marie asked me to do something. She said she had a sister in Smithfield that she believed might still be alive, with a group of survivors at the First Baptist Church. She asked me to bring them some communications equipment so that Camp Ryder and Smithfield could get in contact and perhaps help each other. And I agreed to do that.”
“But…” Miller looked at him, shaking his head.
“Let me finish.” Lee held up a finger. “I made that promise to Marie, and I intend to keep it. But I don’t make promises for other people, so any of you who want to go straight back to Camp Ryder, that’s fine. I just ask that you drop me off at the edge of Smithfield, once we cross over I-95.”
Harper hissed through his teeth. “Jesus, Lee! You’re kinda putting us in a shitty situation.”
Lee shrugged. “It is what it is, Harper.”
Miller was still shaking his head, his eyes wide. “Naw, man. That place is gonna be crawling with crazies. I heard about towns and cities. Everyone who’s come through one of them barely made it out alive. It’s a bad idea… bad idea… nope… baaa-ad idea.”
“You don’t have to go,” Lee repeated himself.
“This is bullshit,” Doc put in. “If you go, you’re going to die and we’re fucked. If we all go, we’re all going to die and then Camp Ryder is fucked.” He crossed his arms stiffly. “This is a horrible idea.”
“Fellas,” Lee spoke with quiet command. “I’m not asking permission from any of you to do my job. It’s gonna happen. I’m not gonna turn anyone down who wants to help me, but I won’t hold it against you if you just want to get back to Camp Ryder.”
They were all silent.
Lee rubbed his head. His hair was clean and sweat-free for the first time in what felt like ages. “You don’t have to decide now, but just know what’s coming so you can make your decision. Okay?” When they remained silent, Lee nodded toward the door. “Now go get some sleep.”
They filed out of the storage room and Lee was alone again.
He walked to the far corner of the room, where a floor locker sat against the wall. This was his personal locker. The weapons and gear that had been stocked for the survivors was generic, fresh from the factory. In each of Lee’s bunkers he had put in a personal locker that contained a set of his customized gear, set up the way he preferred.
He opened the top of the locker and looked down. At the bottom was a long, black case—that would be his M4, identical to the one he’d lost in the fighting at Timber Creek. On top of that gun case was a tan tactical vest, with pouches for twelve M4 magazines. On each side were additional pouches, one for 40mm grenades and one for standard M67 grenades.
Lee pulled out the hefty vest—the damn thing weighed almost twenty pounds—then removed the black rifle case and opened it. He stared down at his rifle with a faint, loving smile on his face. He picked up the rifle, felt the confidence-inspiring heft of it in his arms.
“I’ve missed you, baby girl.” Lee held the rifle like you might a long-lost lover. It was an M4 carbine variant of the M16, with an M203 grenade launcher under the barrel and an Aimpoint red-dot scope mounted on top. He’d painted the entire thing in a desert tan. The rifle had not been used after the painting and it still smelled fresh, the paint unmarred by the chips and dings of daily use.
He pulled out a soft case that contained thirteen fully-loaded magazines, which he slipped into the pouches on the plate carrier and put one in his M4. He pulled the charging handle back and let it go, feeling that satisfying slide of lubricated metal on metal, slamming a fresh, live cartridge home.
He was just putting the rifle case and vest back in the locker when he heard someone clear his throat behind him. He turned to find Father Jim standing in the doorway of the storage room. Lee gave the man a polite wave with one hand, then finished putting the vest and rifle case back into the locker. “Come on in, Father. How are your people?”
“Very good, thanks to you.”
Lee smiled at the priest. “Well, I couldn’t exactly tell a man of God ‘no.’ ”
“Really?” Father Jim looked surprised. “You didn’t strike me as the religious type.”
Inwardly, Lee cringed. Was this guy going to start evangelizing? Outwardly he kept a look of neutrality on his face while he considered his answer. “I believe I have a mission. Whether that mission is ordained by God, I don’t know. But I have to do it regardless.”
“Relax, Captain.” Father Jim had a welcoming grin. “I’m not going to start preaching the gospel to you. I imagine you’ve heard what there is to hear and have already decided whether or not to believe it. I highly doubt I’m going to be the one to sway you in either direction.”
Lee had to appreciate the man’s candor, and allowed a small smile to creep onto his face. He motioned toward a folding chair against the wall. “Take a load off, Father.”
“Thank you.” He sat down with a sigh of relief. “You don’t realize how much you miss chairs until you go without them for a month. What a wonderful invention.”
Lee pulled another folding chair off the wall so that they could face each other. He took a seat, laying the M4 across his lap. “Have you made a decision yet?”
Father Jim stretched his legs out and adjusted his glasses. “There’s still some discussion to be had.”
“I understand.”
“Can I ask you a question, Captain Harden?”
Lee leaned back in his chair. “Sure.”
He motioned to the walls of supplies that surrounded them. “Where did all of this come from?”
Lee told him what there was to tell. There was really no point in being coy at this point in the game, since Father Jim was sitting in his bunker, looking at his supplies in person. He told him about Project Hometown and the coordinators in each state, the ten bunkers situated around North Carolina, and his mission to reestablish order in the region. He told him about Sam and Angela and Abby, and about Jack Burnsides, who had died fighting Milo’s men, already sick with FURY. He told him about Timber Creek, Camp Ryder, and the decision to send them out to this bun
ker and bring back proof that Lee was in fact who he said he was.
All the while Father Jim listened, his chin resting on his hands, one finger pressed against his pursed lips, his eyes watching the expressions on Lee’s face as the story unfolded. And when Lee was done, Father Jim’s eyebrows raised. “Well, it sounds like you’ve had a rough time of it.”
Lee shrugged. “I could say the same about your group.”
Father Jim nodded, then took a moment to consider his words before speaking again. “There’s a story about a man, during the floods in New Orleans, who took refuge on his roof from the rising water. He was a devout Christian, so once he was on his roof, he prayed to God to save him. Shortly after that, a man in a boat rowed up to the man’s roof and said, ‘Come on, get in! I can row us to safety!’ But the man said, ‘No, I trust in the Lord, and I know that he will save me.’ So the man in the boat rowed off. And the man on the roof continued to pray, ‘Lord, please save my life.’
“Shortly after he prayed this second time, a rescue helicopter hovered over the house and a man was lowered down in a harness, and he said, ‘Quick! Take my hand! We can fly you to safety!’ But the man on the roof just shook his head and said, ‘No, I trust in the Lord, and I know that he will save me.’ So the man and the helicopter flew off. And the man continued to pray, but the water kept rising, and eventually it overtook the man on the roof, and he drowned.
“When he got to Heaven, he asked God, ‘Why didn’t you save me? I trusted in you and I prayed for you to save me, but you didn’t!’ And God looked at him and said, ‘But I did try to save you. I sent you a boat, and I sent you a helicopter.’ ”
Father Jim looked over the rims of his glasses at Lee. “Usually I tell that story to people who fail to see the hand of God extended out to them, just like the man on the roof. But in some cases I tell it to the man in the boat and the man in the helicopter, who fail to realize that they are the hand of God.”
Father Jim didn’t wait for Lee to argue or respond; he simply stood and patted Lee on the knee. “The wonderful thing about God is that he can use you whether you want him to or not.”
