He shook his head, trying to distract himself from the disturbing vision. In his mind, he again rehearsed the imminent confrontation that would occur as he served the order for tonight’s re-training. He was having trouble shaking the waking nightmare as it morphed and perverted itself into the image of a solitary gray-skinned figure kneeling over a recently eviscerated corpse. Kahn’s mind forced him to watch the mindless creature dig with her fingers into the soft belly of her prey and shovel handfuls of slippery organs into her waiting mouth. Splatters of fresh blood stained the face and hair of both victim and murderer.
Suddenly, the person on the ground moaned in pain and turned his head so Kahn could see. His own tortured face stared back at him.
“Nah, fuck this,” he jumped off the bench seat of the cart and paced back and forth, running fingers through his wet hair. He reached under the seat and retrieved a lukewarm bottle of water, taking a long swig before tossing the bottle into the sunlight streaking across the seat. He whispered a couple versions of his rehearsed greeting to himself before taking the dozen steps to the set of stairs leading to the concrete bunker.
The door swung shut behind him and left him at the head of a column of tables positioned to face a central command area at the rearmost wall of the center. The cool air swirled around his throbbing skull but the ceiling here was low and immediately started to press a sense of claustrophobia into Kahn. The colonel wasn’t visible and there wasn’t much activity this late in the day. There were a couple soldiers sitting at folding tables along the edges of the room and the building filled with the low murmur from their conversation and white noise from the air conditioning.
The TOC didn’t exist in LOSTOP before the outbreak. It was built after Colonel Johns acquired the materials for construction of the concertina-topped fences around the entire base. At the time he had also commissioned two cinder block bunkers built, one in each of the southern corners. This one housed the tactical operations and the commander’s office while the opposite one held a small cache of quick-reaction weapons, some explosives, and some of the civilian motor pool equipment. Both were identical in size and shape, cramped and small but protected by thick walls.
Kahn didn’t see who he came for, so he made his way straight toward the opposite wall of the entry door. He listened and heard the colonel’s booming voice over several others.
“--supposed to do with 30-30 ammunition, huh? First Sergeant, your teams have to find equipment that’s valuable to this operation. Food. Water. Ammunition we can use!” Colonel Johns’ outburst was punctuated by the distinctive sound of metal objects clattering on the concrete floor. Kahn froze his approach, too close to abandon, and was caught in the view of First Sergeant ‘Mac’ Rodriguez as he crouched to pick up the errant ammunition.
“Mr. Garcia, what do we owe the pleasure?” the first sergeant said. Kahn was trapped and had the full attention of the top NCO and officer of the post.
“Sorry to bother,” he said. They looked at him through the open door to the office. “I’m looking for Staff Sergeant Kimble.” Both men looked to the corner and Sole Kimble leaned out so Kahn could see him. They locked eyes for the first time since they arrived together to the Army’s Lost Op.
“Well, Sergeant Kimble, I guess supply needs you more than I do,” the commander swept his hand toward Kahn. “Don’t take too long with my ops sergeant, son.” Kahn nodded as Kimble sidestepped around the desk and exited the room to join the orderly. Kimble towered over Kahn and outweighed him by at least a hundred pounds. Kimble’s solid bulk filled the room, and his shaved head almost touched the low ceiling. His dark brown skin was only broken by the small mustache on his upper lip that almost matched in color. His gaze was neutral to the man in front of him, waiting for something as both of the other men watched.
“Um,” Kahn said, clearing his throat, “I left the paperwork in the cart. Do you want to walk outside?” Mac chuckled, holding his hands up defensively when Kimble glared in his direction.
“Head out, Kimble, gotta get that paperwork, cabron,” Mac laughed. Even the colonel chuckled a little. Kimble and Kahn both took a step away before Colonel Johns called to them.
“Oh, hey. Mr. Garcia. Maybe you can help me out in understanding the sentiment of the civilians on post. We were just discussing this a moment ago and I wonder if I could get your opinion, as a non-military man benefitting from our establishment.”
“Yes, sir,” Kahn replied, “but I don’t spend a lot of time with people on post. I mostly stick to supply.”
“Yes, of course, with Captain Louis. A fine logistics officer and you’re doing a fine job with him. Our debate involved the security teams--”
“Colonel,” Kimble interrupted, “we agreed to ask the barracks captains for the--”
“Sergeant Kimble, do not interrupt me. We will still ask the elected captains, but I’m curious what Mr. Garcia here thinks about our idea. Mr. Garcia,” the commander shifted his attention back to Kahn. He squirmed and felt the chill from the air conditioner in his sweat-soaked clothing. “We are having a slight issue with the security operations of the post. We simply do not have enough military personnel to continue to send the volume of patrols, we do and keep each tower manned twenty-four-seven like we do now while keeping within the Army’s suggested rotation schedule. We do not want to limit the patrols as they bring back valued supplies, as you know. We also do not want to limit the security in the towers. So, we brainstormed a solution involving our civilian population which greatly benefits from both.”
“We are going to implement a supplementary security schedule involving civilian personnel, pre-selected, for tower and perimeter security,” Mac added. “These civilians would be trained and armed and accompanied by a soldier at all times. The additional manpower would solve our security issues. La gente ganaría su sal.”
Kahn frowned. “You’re conscripting people?”
“No, of course not. We would start with volunteers. Then we’d draw randomly from a pre-selected group until the roster was full. Everyone would be trained and escorted.” Mac glanced back at his boss.
“Mr. Garcia, I do not wish for a debate over the merits of such a suggestion. I merely wish to know if you have a sense of how the civilian population of this outpost would react if we decided on this declaration.” There was an awkward pause as Kahn didn’t answer the commander right away. Only after a moment, when it got uncomfortable, did Kahn finally respond.
“Well, sir, I’m afraid I can’t say. I don’t spend enough time over there to know how anybody would react. I’m sorry.” Mac and Colonel Johns both frowned at the orderly.
“Well, Mr. Garcia, I sure hope you aren’t too comfortable living in that air conditioned supply shack. I think maybe an able-bodied man like yourself could help us with the program and another helpful person, like yourself, could be assigned to Captain Louis. Carry on, son; don’t steal Mr. Kimble for too long.”
Kahn and Kimble both nodded and made their way to the exit door of the TOC, Kahn feeling Kimble close behind him the whole time. The sun and heat were like a physical wall to walk through as Kahn led the way out of the makeshift building to his golf cart. He reached into the bed of the small vehicle and came back with his clipboard. He held it out to Kimble without saying a word.
“Tonight,” he muttered, “training on paperwork at twenty-hundred. In about an hour from now at the supply shack. Missed signing an item back in last month. Captain Louis’ orders.” Kimble gently took the paper and studied it.
“I turned this item back in to Mac at Bunker Two. It was a transfer. Paperwork should have gone to you already. Kahn.” Kimble flipped the clipboard back around and Kahn bristled at the mention of his real name.
“It’s not my call, man,” Kahn wiped the sudden sweat springing from his face with his sleeve. “It’s Garcia, you know that.” He hissed. Kimble shook his head.
“No, it’s not. You heard them in there. We’re short bodies to keep this mission afloat. They could
use people with military experience, like you. But you are hiding behind this fake name, refusing to help.”
“I’m not refusing to help. I’m a supply orderly,” he slapped at the clipboard still in Kimble’s hands. “I’m working, aren’t I?”
“You are. But you haven’t heard what is going on out there,” Kimble pointed toward the wilderness outside the gate. “There are whole neighborhoods overrun by the dead. Our people have exhausted every area nearby that’s safe. They are having to go farther out and they are having to take more risks. It’s only a matter of time before someone gets killed, or those things wander our way. You think a fence will keep a hundred of those things out? A thousand? How many rounds do you think we have left? Our happy family here is about to get a lot more desperate and you are wasting away running errands and teaching people how to fill out paperwork!” Kimble threw the clipboard into the back of the golf cart.
“Man, I’m just doing what I’m told and keeping my head down,” Kahn said. “Don’t treat me like shit because you guys can’t figure out how to take care of people. I’m done taking care of anybody but myself. I can’t handle it again.”
“You don’t get it. These issues are serious. We’re all about to find out when we run out of food and water and fuel. We need people to step up and help, especially those with experience with those things.”
“Most of these people fought their way here, make them fight. I’m not interested in fighting off those things unless I have to. I’m here, and I’m safe. It’s your job to keep it that way, Sergeant, not mine.”
“You’re forgetting that the dead might not be our greatest worry.”
Both men paused as Kimble’s words hung in the air. Kahn knew the danger of the living outweighed the dead. He remembered the rally at the Walmart, and the frenzy that people got themselves into with a little fear and some rhetoric from a manipulative leader. A leader who pulled a gun out and tried to shoot Kahn in the middle of the street without losing any of his support. Yes, Kahn knew other survivors would want what they have. They would need security and protection, and they might use violence to secure those necessities. He also remembered the rustling branches outside the fence from that morning. He couldn’t though; he couldn’t step out from behind the protection he’d built for himself with his fake persona. He shook his head rapidly and Kimble sighed.
“You’re forgetting your wife and kid.”
Fire flashed behind Kahn’s eyes at the mention of Aisha and Daniel. He saw his home up in flames and the faces of the group of Neighbors, murderers, who killed his family. He saw the face of the old man who was their leader, Llewelyn Wither, as he gleefully murdered Kahn’s brother-in-law before attempting to feed Kahn to a pit of the undead. Kahn escaped, only to be caught and left to burn to death in his own home. Like his wife. Like his eighteen-month-old son. He would have died with them if Kimble hadn’t reached into the burning building and pulled Kahn to safety.
So much death and misery and grief that it gripped Kahn’s heart and squeezed until he couldn’t breathe. It all started with the day of the outbreak, and a looter named--
“David Wither,” Kahn whispered. His face tightened into a knot.
“Who are you talking about?”
“David Wither, that was the guy’s name that tried to kill me at Boomstick, the day the news broke about the infection. Ash got his ID after he sh--shot him. He put it in the safe. David Wither, I’ll be damned. That’s his son, that’s the son of a bitch’s son.” Kahn raved. He had deliberately suppressed the memories of the events leading up to his family’s murder at the hands of the Neighbors. Speaking to Kimble awakened details he hadn’t thought about in months.
“Listen, Kahn. I’m sorry I said that about your wife. That was out of line and I’m just sorry. But I have no idea what you’re going on about now. I pushed you too hard.”
“No, I mean yes, you did. But I just remembered something I’d forgotten. Do you remem--” Kahn paused, suddenly squinting into the sun. Kimble followed his gaze so they were both peering into the sky.
The distinctive sound of helicopter blades chopping the sky cut through their conversation.
Chapter 8
- Visitors
Visitors
Halwende Kahn and Sole Kimble held their palms above their eyes, shielding themselves from the bright sunlight blocking their view of the approaching aircraft. The noise of the chopper blades got louder as the craft seemed to get closer and closer to the post. On the outskirts, there began a frenzy of activity as the unusual sound alerted the personnel in the towers. The soldiers manning the Airlock and perimeter started calling for orders. The post had no air defenses except small arms, and nobody was sure if they should treat the approaching helo as friend or enemy.
“What the hell is going on?” Colonel Johns said from behind Kahn and Kimble. He and Mac followed the gaze of their personnel and realized the frenzy was due to the impending overflight.
The helicopter slowly came into view of the people on the ground. As it grew from the image of a vague black dot, details of the Black Hawk helicopter became clear to many watching. It approached from the northwest and the black glossy paint shimmered in the waning sun. The pilot turned and adjusted his approach so the helicopter would enter LOSTOP airspace from due west in the center of the fence, farthest from each tower. Bystanders were then able to see the tan stripe painted tip to tail, but couldn’t make out the designation.
“C’mon,” Mac roughly shoved Kahn toward the orderly’s cart. “Let’s go. To the cross street in the center. You’ll drive us.” He practically shoved Kahn into the driver’s seat of the cart as the commander took the other side of the bench to himself. Mac and Kimble removed the empty propane tanks in the back and lifted themselves to sit in the awkward flatbed. The cart’s electric motor whined as Kahn moved the four men away from the TOC and toward the center of the post.
The pilot approached slowly and with expertise. The black helicopter descended at a maddeningly slow pace toward the middle of Lone Star. Civilians in their barracks congregated outside, watching the unusual sight, as military personnel nervously checked and rechecked their weapons. The colonel sprang out of the seat before Kahn even stopped, shielding his eyes and watching the aircraft’s approach closely.
Rotor wash began to buffet the people and debris on the ground. Grass and dust blew violently around in the air and most shied away from the intruding wind. Kahn’s small command group, however, continued to stare upwards and watch for any sign of hostility. The Black Hawk hovered about a hundred feet in the air, directly above Colonel Johns. An intercom crackled to life and a voice with an indistinct, almost formal, accent filled the air.
People of Lone Star Outpost. Welcome. We are pleased that you have decided to begin your new life here, in this zone. Rest assured, those of you who demonstrate loyalty will be welcomed and treated fairly. Many have been welcomed by us, and we will continue to grow and thrive with the strength of our people. The dead walk the earth, and that leaves no place for those who have selfish concerns. You are to leave this place. Immediately. Leave it to the community so that all may share in God’s glorious bounty. Including you, if you choose to find us. We will be wherever you look for we are the new rulers of this world. Be safe with us. Join us and help us rebuild and make this undead nation great again.
The intercom abruptly stopped and the confused crowd of onlookers watched as the side door of the helicopter opened and a rectangular object fell or was pushed out. It tumbled twice and struck the ground with a hard thump about twenty feet away from Kahn and the colonel. The object burst open and a thick cloud of neon green paper exploded from the container and began to churn around in the wind of the rotor wash, blowing quickly around the crowds. A second box fell and split open upon impact with the asphalt, spilling bright pink sheets of paper. Kahn reached down and snagged a cluster of papers flying past him. It was like a snowstorm of hundreds of sheets of bright paper. The helicopter continued to hover a
s many of the residents and soldiers grabbed and inspected the unusual delivery.
Kahn separated the green sheets he had grabbed and dropped all but one. Mac and Colonel Johns split up a batch of pink ones. Kahn held the paper flat as best as he could in the rushing wind and tried to see what the strange visitors had dropped on their home. There were words printed in big, black letters on the sheet and it reminded Kahn of an advertisement. He held the paper steady and studied the words.
For The South…
...For America
While OTHERS are UnSafe…
...We Have STRENGTH IN NUMBERS
GET INVOLVED!
MAKE A DIFFERENCE!
The Movement is getting stronger to take this country back from the fiends! FIND US AND LIVE.
JOIN hardworking, struggling people and work to make a difference!
We are BUILDING A WALL for AMERICA for FREEDOM for PROTECTION
JOIN US FRIENDS!
JOIN US!
NEIGHBORS
Kahn’s blood ran cold as he read the words on the page. It was a recruitment poster. Propaganda. He could almost hear the message in Llewelyn’s voice, with the same fear-based effort the man had used in Kahn’s presence to gain his original following. The man must have escaped and continued growing his empire. Kahn looked up at the soldiers he drove here and saw the commander and the first sergeant studying the propaganda with a confused look. Kimble, however, recognized the group’s name as Kahn did and caught his fearful gaze. The noise of the helicopter prevented the men from speaking, but they both knew the extremism the Neighbors had now brought to their door.
Nation Undead (Book 2): Collusion Page 6
