by Joe McKinney
Day 2 - Myrtle Beach, South Carolina
Brook helped Carl wrap their parents’ bodies in their favorite comforters. They gently placed them side by side in the tin garden shed. They barely fit into the cramped space. Their parents deserved to be buried, but considering the dire circumstances it was the best they could do.
Raven looked on, a tear making a slow descent down her cheek as the padlock clicked shut. She bowed her head thinking to herself, I just want to wake up from this nightmare, please.
“Raven,” Brook called out. “Grab your bag, we’re leaving with Uncle Carl right now!”
Snapping out of her funk, Raven did as she was told.
Carl looted his late parents’ pantry and loaded up the pearl white Cadillac Escalade. In Carl’s opinion the Escalade was too luxurious to be used off road, but it would surely make travel easier. The gussied up four-by-four had more ground clearance and there was more interior space than his car.
The Mortensons were adamant about staying in their home. “We have a full pantry, a gun and the will to stay,” Peggy said.
Brook and Carl both knew there would no persuading the couple. They said a tearful goodbye. Carl drove the Escalade, Brook rode in the front passenger seat armed with the loaded shotgun, and Raven was sitting in between them.
“We need at least one more shotgun for protection, plus more ammo for the Ithaca and a pistol if we can find one” Carl said to Brook. They had scavenged only eleven slugs and four shot shells for the Ithaca out of the drawer in the study.
It was still early so Carl decided to gamble and head for the interstate. They rounded the corner leaving the cul-de-sac and Brook let out an audible sigh. Smoke dominated the horizon from the multiple fires downtown. They left Myrtle Beach without a real plan except to somehow reunite with Cade.
They drove inland; the traffic at this hour was still light. Two Black Hawk helicopters, flanked by Apache gunships bristling with rockets under their stubby wings, roared overhead flying very low on a northern heading up the coast. If she had to venture a guess, Brook thought they must be heading to Fort Bragg. She knew those were the type of helicopters Cade used to ride in on the secretive missions Delta Force frequently undertook.
Carl was 45 years old, bald, divorced, overweight and a little out of shape. He was also a recovering alcoholic with a great wit and a jaded outlook on life. Being 6-foot-4, he struck an imposing figure. Around Raven, however, he was a big teddy bear. With Brook, Carl always played the big brother role; he was almost 10 years older than his little sister and overly protective. He had even vetted all of her boyfriends, going so far as to return to his old high school and spy on them without her knowledge. More than one of her suitors did not pass the “Carl” litmus test and were intimidated into finding someone else to date. Carl wasn’t sold on Cade at first, but upon finding out that he had volunteered to go into harm’s way for his country, his opinion instantly changed 180 degrees. The man was a great father to Raven, and Brook glowed in his presence. If there was anything he could do to help them find Cade, he was all in.
Chapter 16
Day 2 - Interstate 84, outside of Portland
The U.S. Army’s moving screen served the two vehicle convoy well. Cade followed about a 1000 yards behind them, Rawley’s vehicle close behind.
The Troutdale exit would take them to the old highway. Cade saw brake lights flash on up ahead as the military convoy came to a halt, presumably by a road block. A moment later as the Sequoia neared the stopped vehicles, the military convoy they had been tailing was waved through and pulled away.
There was an Oregon State Police Dodge Charger stopped to the left, partially blocking the road. The red and blue lights of the patrol car flashed hypnotically. The trooper wearing the trademark Smokey the Bear hat put up his gloved hand. Cade came to a stop, turned off the engine and handed his military identification to the trooper.
The trooper, eyes fixed on Cade, asked “What’s your destination?”
Considering the trucks were loaded with his camping gear, Cade responded “We’re headed to Trillium Lake to do some camping; if the sites are all full then we’ll try Timothy Lake. My friend’s driving the white Bronco behind me.”
“Who are these kids travelling with you?”
“They’re my neighbor kids, it’s their first time camping.”
“Haven’t you been listening to the radio?” the trooper demanded.
“No we’ve been listening to CDs… why, what’s up?”
“So… you are not aware that the State of Oregon is currently under a declaration of martial law and there have been deadly viral outbreaks in Portland?”
“I heard about some sick people but honestly, I had no idea martial law had been declared. We’ve been planning this trip for a while. This weekend worked the best for Ike and Leo’s parents. They were going out of town on business and needed someone to watch these two anyway.”
Ike and Leo gave each other the look only a sibling would understand; without words, it said they needed each other and had to stay strong to survive the loss of their parents. Both boys remained stoic during the trooper’s questioning.
Cade finished by saying , “I figured no better time than now. Hopefully this contagion thing will blow over.”
Glancing at the ID card the trooper looked at the three of them one at a time, pausing for a tick while locking eyes, then said, “I’m going to let you pass. Just remember to drive safe,” then looking directly at the boys he added, “and be careful around the water, fellas.” He glanced at Cade. “Wait here a moment while I speak with your friend.”
The trooper continued down the line of vehicles that had begun to form behind Cade’s Sequoia. Seeing as how the truck was full of guns and ammo, Cade couldn’t wait to disengage from the officer and get moving. He tensely watched the trooper in his side mirror as he slowly walked towards Rawley’s Bronco.
Rawley had patiently observed the stop unfold; he now removed his sunglasses as the trooper closed the distance with his truck.
The radio on the passenger seat came to life.
Quick and to the point Cade said, “We are going camping on Mount Hood at Timothy or Trillium Lake if he asks you,” and then it went silent again.
Rawley provided his identification and received the same stock informative lecture, followed by the same questions from the officer. Because of his tattoos and long hair, his driver’s license received more than a cursory inspection. Rawley informed the officer that he was going camping with the guys in the truck ahead of him, gesturing with his thumb towards the camping gear which fortunately was shielding his rifle from view. Rawley got his driver’s license back and the trooper indicated he could follow Cade and the boys through the roadblock.
Cade waited as the trooper returned to the Sequoia. Behind him the drivers in the cars that were lining up started honking intermittently. The trooper reached in the window and handed the ID card back to Cade and then queried him about his service.
Downplaying his role, Cade said, “I did a tour in Iraq, nothing worthy of a medal. I was mostly in the Green Zone.”
After a short pause he got a heartfelt “Thanks for your service, son,” and with a tip of his stiff brimmed hat the older trooper exclaimed loudly enough to be heard over the honking, “you… and you!” pointing at the Sequoia and the Bronco, “carry on!” and waved them through. He then faced the unenviable task of telling the rest of the drivers in queue that I-84 was now closed.
Wasting no time, Cade started the Sequoia and hurriedly pulled away from the roadblock.
Rawley threw the trooper a quick smart ass salute as he rolled past him heading east away from the city of 1.2 million.
Chapter 17
Day 2 – Interstate 84 Roadblock
Trooper Gary England stood his ground as each person in front of him pled their case. His stature was imposing to most, and people usually listened to what he had to say. Today the people he was trying to reason with were attempting to f
lee the unknown carnage unfolding twenty miles to the west in Portland, Oregon. Bottom line, he was holding court with anxiety, panic and pandemonium.
An attractive young woman in denim shorts and a tank top shrilly dressed him down.
“You are not listening to me. My daughter is four years old and she is sitting in that car in the hot sun,” she said while wildly stabbing her manicured nail at a black Mercedes.
“And you, lady, are not hearing me. I repeat, no one is getting through. The city is under forty-eight hour quarantine.”
A balding middle-aged man and his wife started whining about the idiots in the city looting and rioting.
“I want your badge number!” the half-drunk wife bellowed. She obviously wasn’t used to being told “no.”
The trooper did his best to try and turn around the fifteen or so people who got out of their cars to “help” with the lobbying process.
Like a clap of thunder, the sound of approaching V-twin engines drowned out all conversation. Scores of bikes pulled up on both sides of the group of people trying to gain passage into the gorge.
Most of the outlaw bikers were flying their colors. Greasy leather jackets were emblazoned with the “Nomad Jester” patch. It had a devious looking jester wearing a floppy hat with round tassels on the end. Instead of a silly smile on its face it wore a devilish sneer; across its chest was an AK-47 held at port arms.
Trooper England, his hand on his Beretta, stared down the lead element of the pack.
One of the biggest bikers he had ever seen dismounted a black Harley. The behemoth extended the kickstand with his scuffed black leather boot. The red-bearded outlaw squared up with the trooper. He didn’t offer his hand to the law let alone a modicum of respect.
“Just as I have been telling these fine citizens, the City of Portland is under quarantine for the next forty-eight hours.” Hitching up his gun belt the trooper added, “You all need to turn around and go ho....”
Before Trooper Gary England could finish his sentence, a fifty caliber bullet traveling at 2800 feet per second entered just below his left eye socket. His head became a pink mist that covered the travelers around him with tiny pieces of vaporized brain, blood and pebble sized flecks of bone. Time seemed to stand still for the people clustered around the man. Then people gathered their wits and chaos broke out. The shrieking started with the drunk lady first. Most everyone made for their cars in an attempt to escape the menacing gang.
Three hundred yards away the former-Marine scout sniper turned outlaw biker put down his Barrett sniper rifle and high fived his buddy.
As if on cue, the rest of the gang attacked the innocent people with fists, knives and guns. Men were not spared. One biker decapitated the whiny middle-aged man with a machete. While his lifeblood pumped from the stump of his neck the assailants dragged his drunken wife away kicking and screaming. She was flex cuffed and thrown into a civilian Hummer2 driven by one of the biker’s old ladies.
The massacre was swift and complete. They spared the mom that had been in the trooper’s face, two teenage girls who had just witnessed their parent’s murder and a twenty-something redhead hitchhiking with an elderly man. They were all trying to flee the madness in Portland and this is what they received in return.
Had he arrived two minutes sooner the man would have found himself in the middle of a massacre. While he watched helplessly two of the bikers held up the little girl. Even as she struggled valiantly the big red-bearded animal gutted her with his machete. Duncan hadn’t witnessed anything like this since his first tour in Vietnam. The mom wailed on her hands and knees, cradling the remains of her little girl as the bikers laughed.
It took a three-point turn for him get the wide, long bed pickup pointing in the other direction on the narrow two lane road. Trying to literally put the scene in his rear view mirror, he raced east on the old scenic highway.
Chapter 18
Day 2 - Fort Bragg, North Carolina
The moment President Odero had called for nationwide martial law, secure smart phones rang and vibrated across the country as operators were mobilized to return to post. The Tier-One operators all had secure encrypted phones utilizing government satellites to keep everyone in constant contact.
Mike Desantos was on the phone with his base commander, Major Phillip Link, giving him a situation report.
“Sir, the call has been made; all of the active shooters have been ordered RTB. Half of our active Alpha Teams are in the ‘Stan, and days away. Coronado is calling in all of their support personnel, SEAL Teams One and Ten are on deployment but most of the other teams have formed up and are on base. I just received word that the East Coast garrisons are doing call backs. SEAL Team Six is still in Afghanistan hunting HVTs. We recently received a sit-rep from them, they want an exfil ASAP. Their last transmission indicated everyone in the Middle East is going to meet their seventy two virgins pretty soon. Almost all of the civilian communications are down. At least we have our satellite comms up and running for our operators.”
Cutting his subordinate off Major Link said “Captain Desantos, I need to see you ASAP. I have a high priority mission for you.”
“Right away sir, give me five mikes.”
Captain Desantos walked across the base from the north entry to have a face-to-face with his commander. He was summoned in after knocking on the door to the air-conditioned communications room.
Captain Desantos saluted his superior and was greeted with the same, followed by an “At ease” coming from Major Link.
“What do you have for me sir?”
Straight and to the point, Link said, “POTUS (President of the United States) is incommunicado and has been since 03:00 EST.”
Mike’s face blanched at the news. “Last known location?” he asked.
“1600 Pennsylvania Avenue. Apparently he thought he would be safe there… ride it out with his family,” the Major said, shaking his head. “All comms are down in the district. Our NSA bird sent back images of Marine One sitting on the south lawn. The walking dead are on the grounds and no living beings have been seen in the vicinity since communications ceased.”
“What are the rules of engagement?”
“Shoot to kill any undead on sight no matter who they may be. POTUS and all VIPs must be rescued at all costs. If there are any casualties amongst them, then documentation is necessary. Take any credentials from the bodies and obtain DNA swabs and digital video to confirm their identity and condition. Protect you and your men at all costs,” the Colonel said while patting the operator on the shoulder.
“I’ll take two teams of six. Have the Night Stalkers been briefed?”
“Yes. They will be ready in thirty mikes. Two 160th SOAR Black Hawks with Apache support.” The Major paused and adjusted his black beret before saying, “It’s bad out there… worse than any of our war gaming scenarios suggested. Watch your six, Cowboy.”
The two men exchanged salutes.
The red phone on the commander’s desk chirped. An MP made it very clear the perimeter needed fortification and he wanted to call McCord AFB to request that a Spectre gunship be brought on station. The Spectre was a close air support modified AC-130 with multiple weapons proven to be devastating against enemy forces on the ground.
“I’ll make it happen, in the meantime keep me updated!” Major Link barked as he hung up.
*****
At SOCOM headquarters, Fort Bragg, North Carolina, MPs were checking identifications at the double gate in front of the compound. Cars and SUVs full of soldiers and family that usually lived off of base were lined up for blocks. The first priority of the guards would be to quarantine the injured and ensure none of the infected got inside.
Overnight, several hundred walkers had amassed around the perimeter having been attracted by the commotion and halide lights. The snipers in the guard towers had orders to confirm with thermal imaging if their targets were in fact walking dead before engaging them. The undead didn’t have the same heat signature
as the living. The newly turned did show up as almost normal for the first few minutes, therefore any questionable targets also required a visual identification.
Dawn broke and the day wore on as hundreds more of the infected streamed across the highway from the hospital and the surrounding businesses. Bodies of the infected were bulldozed into mass graves as fast as the snipers and tower guards could put them down.
Mike had checked his phone for personal messages. One was from his wife Annie, saying she was en route with their two girls. Annie was pregnant with Mike’s first boy. Mike thought, Only two more months of being the only male of the household. Message number two was Cade. Mike listened intently, hung up and called each of the three gate houses. He left orders to look out for anyone fitting Brook’s description as well as anyone that was with her. They were to let them in and contact Mike immediately. Cade’s family was his family, as far as Mike was concerned.
*****
Private First Class Chillcut had his hands full checking identities and making sure the infected were kept outside of the wire. Things at the south entrance were getting hairy.
Back to back, staccato reports of automatic gunfire came from his left, and the third vehicle in line failed to move forward. Inside the car, one of the soldiers had turned and attacked the other occupants of the Ford Taurus wagon. The driver shrieked as her head was pulled towards the backseat, her undead husband’s teeth sinking into the soft part of her neck ripping free a mouthful of flesh. He then turned his attention to the crying baby in the car seat. The baby’s wailing intensified as the monster tried to wrest it from the car seat.
Seeing this happening through his thermal scope, the sniper in the nearest tower opened fire. The bullet entered the ghoul’s head at the base of the neck, causing it to slump over the baby.
Having just bled out, the mom in the front seat reanimated and began banging on the driver’s side window. Bursts of gunfire from the soldiers at the checkpoint killed her. The troops rushed to the car to check for survivors. The first to arrive at the vehicle’s open window could hear muffled cries escaping from under the dead ghoul. Afraid of what he would find, Private First Class Chillcut reluctantly pulled the corpse off of the infant in the car seat, and then screamed “Medic!” at the top of his lungs. The orphaned baby kept screaming; miraculously she was unhurt.
