Cade had been watching the major as she cued up some type of media on the immense wall-mounted monitor before he turned his attention to the E-2. “Airman Davis.”
“Sir?”
“Have you met General Desantos?” Cade asked.
“Sir, no Sir,” Davis replied nervously.
“At ease, Airman Davis,” Desantos ordered. “How do you know Wyatt here?”
“Wyatt?” Davis furrowed his brow. “I don’t follow, Sir.”
“It’s his nickname from the teams. The boy is quick with a pistol,” the General said.
A hush fell over the room indicating Major Nash was about to begin the briefing.
Cade pressed the folded paper into the airman’s hand and whispered into his ear, “Find Duncan and give this to him.”
“Sir, yes Sir.” Airman Davis snapped off a quick salute and with a sense of déjà vu tickling the back of his mind he went about his new mission.
Major Freda Nash stood front and center, on an elevated stage, and began speaking to the assembled group of uniformed men and women. Although the feisty Major was small in stature, she still commanded attention as if she were Goliath himself.
The Major had a soft spot for Cade. Their service to the country had constantly brought them back into each other’s orbit. They had worked together off and on over the years and each held a strong mutual admiration for the other. If Freda had noticed Cade enter the room, she didn’t let on.
She communicated only the facts, rapid-fire, targeting points of utmost importance on the LCD with her laser pointer. The beam danced over a still image, portraying in full color a very large metropolitan area which Cade failed to recognize. It was obvious even from the vantage point from which the picture had been captured that there were tens of thousands of infected bodies choking every square inch of asphalt.
“You are looking at downtown Denver, and as you can see, the dead are getting restless.” Major Nash paused and adjusted the collar on her three-button dress blues. It was a premeditated tactic designed to allow all eyes in the room a moment to assess the image displayed before them. Nash looked out upon the stunned faces and started the paused frame into motion. “The esteemed Doctor Fuentes, formerly of the Center for Disease Control in Atlanta, has already analyzed this drone footage and made a chilling observation. He thinks the dead have overhunted the city...”
A murmur, like the buzzing of flies on a corpse, rippled through the standing congregation of need-to-know types.
Nash continued. “Groups of walkers, or Z’s as our boys have taken to calling them, are starting to migrate. The Z’s have been leaking out of Denver, in small groups, from all points of the compass... until yesterday afternoon.”
The still shot on the screen suddenly leapt back into motion and zoomed in. It became apparent to everyone in the room that the tens of thousands of walking dead were marching between the tall buildings, all in the same direction, like one single organism reacting to some external stimuli.
From the bottom corner of the frame a brilliant flare of refracted sunlight grabbed the drone operator’s attention; the image enlarged yet again and began tracking the slow moving SUV.
To Cade’s trained eye, it looked like a small convoy of civilian vehicles fleeing the river of jostling creatures. The lead vehicle, a black Suburban, broke free of the crowd, threading a course between the stalls and pile ups. The next two vehicles, a blue wagon and a shiny silver truck, trailed closely behind the point SUV. The final vehicle, a smaller white car, was being driven erratically and quickly fell behind. Inexplicably the white car swerved into a line of parked vehicles on the passenger’s side and stopped moving altogether.
The tsunami of walking dead flowed around the car, sealing off any avenue of escape.
Even though fate had already run its course, Cade silently rooted for anybody that was trapped inside the little car and finished with a silent solemn prayer.
The camera zoomed in one more stop as the pale figures enveloped the stalled vehicle. The screen filled with the writhing biomass as the monsters fought to pry the meat from within. The creatures pulled a man out of the driver’s side of the car. He kicked and flailed, fighting the inevitable. The body went limp, appeared to hover for a second and then disappeared beneath the multitudes of dead.
Once more the image paused. “I don’t want to show you any more of the footage. I think you all know the outcome. The zombie attack on the couple in that car was so graphic and violent the UAV operator had to hand the bird off to someone else.” Nash cleared her throat and continued. “The people in the silver truck, unfortunately, suffered the same fate...”
General Mike Desantos, his face breaking out in every shade of red, interrupted Nash midsentence. “Major, is there a reason why the operator of that Reaper or Predator... whatever type of drone it was... didn’t empty the weapon pylons, and finish those poor souls quickly before the Z’s got to them? They were Americans. Living, warm blooded Americans... and they deserved no less.”
“I spoke with the drone operator and he shared your sentiment. The Reaper was Winchester. All of the Hellfires were expended yesterday on another operation. It made no sense to waste the fuel sending the drone back to Nevada so we vectored it here. It’s still useful as a viewing platform... but the bird’s got no claws,” Major Nash solemnly answered.
Cade exhaled audibly. Like a punch to the gut, it dawned on him why the drone was unarmed. He had been present the previous day in this very room and watched as every missile onboard was fired into the Nazi compound in Idaho, killing Ganz and his group of marauding bandits. Now, armed with this knowledge, witnessing the deaths of these survivors was even harder to swallow.
“Thank you Major Nash, carry on,” General Desantos said, visibly reining in his temper.
The Major made the scene on the monitor disappear and, with a few clicks on her remote, replaced it with an ominous view taken from a very high altitude. “As you see on the right corner of the screen, the lead vehicles eluded the dead and successfully escaped from South Denver.” Major Nash directed the red laser dot and slowly circled two ant-sized vehicles: one black and one blue. “That’s the good news... but only if you were the folks in these vehicles.” The red dot continued to circle the two minuscule specks.
Everyone in attendance stood rooted, transfixed on both the Major and the frozen image on the monitor while they waited for the other shoe to drop. Except for the softly purring computer cooling fans, the Space Command operations room was blanketed with an anxious brooding silence.
“Now... for the bad news. Hold on to your covers ladies and gentlemen.” The image zoomed in, slowly revealing an estimated three hundred thousand living dead pouring out of Denver. They appeared to be following in the same general direction as the vehicles driven by the lucky escapees. “The Z’s are moving south. They are in a natural funnel, the Rockies on one side and the high desert on the other, and the funnel delivers them here... right on our doorstep. Unless we act decisively, Colorado Springs is in danger of being overrun.”
The room remained quiet. Major Nash had expected a different reaction. Perhaps they’re all in shock, she thought, or quite possibly, they’re making the necessary mental preparations for the fight to come. In the Major’s mind she was confident it was the latter. With all of the compounding events taking place they were all in harm’s way.
“The dead only cover a mile or two an hour, and rest assured we are tracking them with every asset at our disposal. As of now the Z’s are still seventy miles away from downtown Springs... but the dead are second on the threat list. The more immediate threat to Springs and the rest of the United States will be neutralized in the coming hours. God willing.”
Cade shared a conspiratorial nod with Desantos.
Major Nash turned off the monitor and continued speaking. “Captain Gaines is overseeing our Z eradication efforts in and around Springs. He will be up here momentarily with an update.” Before the petite Major turned over the p
odium to Captain Gaines, she adjusted the microphone, extending it a full twelve inches above her head.
Gaines strode confidently to the front of the room, saluted the Major, and then stood rigidly, head on a swivel as he surveyed the crowd.
“Thank you Major. I’m going to keep this short because I understand President Clay will be having an audience with a select few of you when I am finished. The ingenuity of our young men and women continues to amaze even this jaded middle-aged soldier. The searchlights that went operational in downtown Springs last night were the brilliant idea of one young airman. Bear with me... it’s a short but sweet story. I had just returned from an overflight mission north of Springs, and the helo lands and this airman comes running up and waves me down. He’s all excited and says to me that he worked at Winslow BMW downtown, and they used to use some very large million candlepower searchlights to attract customers to the lot for special sales and such. But I digress...” Gaines put his hands up over his shiny bald head, opening and closing them, pantomiming a fireworks display. “What he said next seemed so simple that I was not a believer at first. His exact words were, and I quote: “If people with the ability to reason had been compelled to investigate the pretty bright lights--then I have a hunch the Z’s won’t be able to resist.” The Captain took a sip from his bottled water. The distant sound of an approaching transport plane ambushed the silent moment.
“Airman Monsour’s idea to lure the dead wherever we want them has so far been working as imagined. However, there are some logistical logjams that we are trying to breach. We are nearly out of ammunition and about to deploy our backup slingshots...” This brought a couple of snickers from the shooters in the room, Cade included.
The Captain let his joke ride for a moment and sipped his water before continuing. “Our 10th Special Forces group from Fort Carson recently spearheaded a resupply mission with remnants of the 4th Infantry Division. Their objective: the Hawthorne Army Depot in the middle of nowhere Nevada. They completed phase one of the mission with no casualties. Preliminary reports indicate that they located the ammunition that they were tasked with retrieving. In addition, they are returning with survivors, both civilian contractors and also the Marines that had been guarding the depot. The C-130s are wheels up, and en route, as of this moment.”
The outside door opened and four stoic Secret Service men filtered into the room. President Valerie Clay entered next, followed by four more rough looking men making up the rest of her security bubble.
The air went out of the room. After a brief shifting of bodies, the crowd straightened up and every right arm in the room saluted simultaneously.
President Valerie Clay reciprocated to the best of her ability, returning a crisp salute of her own.
“Madam President, do you want the podium?” Gaines asked.
“No sir. Carry on,” urged the President.
“Thank you, Madame. Lastly, there is very encouraging news to report on the Omega front. A team of Tier-One operators led by General Desantos successfully evacuated key personnel from the CDC along with all of the files documenting their ongoing research of the Omega virus. The doctor now has an operational lab at his disposal. I won’t go into detail, but we filled out the equipment list Doctor Fuentes provided us, thanks to the vacant genome research facility ten miles from here that, unbeknownst to them, so graciously donated their entire lab. Credit goes to the 4th ID for that successful mission.”
A chorus of hooahs resounded from about the room.
“Madame President, the podium is yours.” Captain Gaines replaced his beret and readjusted the microphone for President Valerie Clay.
After the President took the podium and proffered a few off-the-cuff words of encouragement directed at everyone in attendance, she ended the general briefing and waited for the room to empty. President Clay then dismissed her security detail, leaving only General Desantos, Major Nash, Colonel Shrill, Captain Gaines, Cade and a handful of other shooters behind for the combat operations briefing.
Chapter 8
Outbreak - Day 8
Schriever AFB Infirmary
Colorado Springs, Colorado
Cade gently opened the door and entered as quietly as possible for a man wearing combat boots. Brook looked like an archeologist working on a dig, perched on a stool, hunched over with her face hovering just inches above Carl’s prostrate body. She was fully immersed in the task at hand. Cade felt guilty for intruding but he had little choice.
Brook looked up from what she was doing. Her eyes smiled when she noticed it was her man standing a few feet away from her. “I’m finished removing the old dressings and now I begin cleaning up Carl’s back,” she said, thinking out loud.
“How bad were his wounds?” Cade asked in a hushed tone as he crept closer to the bed.
“In addition to the broken ankle, I think you only got to see his mangled face yesterday. He was peppered with a back blast of buckshot. I performed field surgery on him outside of Bragg with dime store tweezers. His modeling career is shot, but he’ll be prettier than the zombie that tore into his back. The wounds in his back were deep and got terribly infected.” Brook carefully placed the scalpel on the tray, then buried her head in Cade’s chest. “That effing monster ripped foot long strips of flesh from his back, and to add insult to his injury Carl contracted a flesh-eating virus that put him into the coma and nearly killed him.”
Cade palmed Brook’s head with both hands, savoring her scent, and then kissed her fully on the lips.
An emotional dam broke inside of Brook. Her tiny frame heaved in silence, the sobs absorbed by Cade’s crisp ACUs.
“You two get a room.” Carl’s voice came from underneath the table. “Here I am, down here.”
Cade went to one knee and hiked up the overhanging bed sheet. Carl’s jaundiced eyes peered out from his puffed up pizza face. He was lying on a massage table, stomach down, arms at his side, his ravaged face cradled in the cut out hole.
“Want me to hold a book for you?” Cade joked.
“No... but can you scratch my nose, bro?”
“Do not touch his face. The open sores are still very susceptible to infection,” Brook warned with her stern nurse’s voice.
“Cade?”
“Yes Carl?” Cade answered, eagerly awaiting whatever smartass comment Carl was incubating.
“Will you scratch my ass then?” Carl started to laugh before an intense wave of pain extinguished the humor.
“Wash it first,” Cade shot back.
“Boys. Stifle it.” Brook shook the scalpel menacingly at her husband. “Is there something that can’t wait until later? I’m trying to excise some dead flesh here.”
Cade screwed his face up when he was reminded of the spoiled hamburger smell wafting from Carl’s wounds. Then he looked under the table. “Big brother, I owe you for getting my family here. Thanks a million.”
“No need for thanks here. Brook pulled more than her fair share of the weight. I didn’t know my lil sis had it in her,” Carl said admiringly.
Cade suddenly realized he hadn’t seen his daughter in a while. “Honey, where is Raven?”
“She’s with her second mom and no doubt playing with Mike Junior,” Brook answered. She quickly contemplated mentioning Raven’s target practice session but decided it could wait.
“Sweetie, give Raven my love. I have to leave five minutes ago. Desantos is probably kitted out and on the flight line by now,” Cade said, forcing the lump from his throat. The prospect of never seeing Brook or Raven again entered his mind and lingered for a millisecond before he squashed it.
Brook’s mouth tightened. “Hoo-ah... I’m a military wife again. Stiff upper lip and all that jazz.”
Cade lovingly placed a hand on Brook’s abdomen and locked his steely eyes with her big browns. “Stay frosty. If things go sideways... it will happen very quickly.” He considered revisiting the egress plan he and Brook had agreed on, but opted not to. Based on what Carl had just said--and bolstere
d by the secondhand stuff he had heard through the grapevine about Brook’s exploits--Cade decided she was mission capable and didn’t need to be micromanaged.
Before Cade was two steps out the door he had begun his ritual of visualization, and in his mind he was already running the mission over and over again.
Chapter 9
Outbreak - Day 8
Schriever AFB
Colorado Springs, Colorado
“Great minds still run on the same track, I see,” General Desantos said to Cade as he patted the black SCAR-L dangling from its single point tactical sling.
“I asked the armorer what kit you left with... monkey see, monkey do,” Cade said with a smile. He gave his own SCAR carbine an affectionate rub. “He told me the long guns are already on the birds. Pray tell, do we have an MSR along for the ride?” Cade had a soft spot for the Remington tack driver. When chambered for the .338 Lapua round it was a versatile sniper rifle that packed a big punch, a great choice if you wanted to reach out and touch someone. The design allowed for quick takedown. And in a pinch, the rifle could be used for CQB (close quarters battle).
“Wyatt... I made you. Therefore I know you. There are two Remington rifles coming along for the ride.” The usually stone-faced Desantos smiled, his white teeth making a rare appearance. Cade thought he looked like a movie star waiting for the director to yell action. All he needed was a cigar and he could have been easily mistaken for Hannibal from the A-Team television show.
“With all due respect, Cowboy, Beeson introduced me to the art of sniping. You introduced me to the teams... for which I will be forever grateful.” Cade looked over his shoulders to make sure they were alone. “I’ve been meaning to say something to you. I cannot thank you enough for what you did for Brook, Raven and my brother-in-law. If you hadn’t intervened, I have a feeling they wouldn’t have made it here from Bragg.”
“Don’t sell the girls short. Annie told me Brook was her rock throughout the entire ordeal.” He paused for a moment and broke eye contact with Cade. “Good women picked us, young man,” Desantos said, looking to the distant horizon. “Good women.”
In Harm's Way: Surviving the Zombie Apocalypse Page 6
