Nation Undead (Book 2): Collusion

by Ford, Paul Z.

  Kahn remembered. He found David Wither’s address on the license in the safe. He heard noises. Voices. Footsteps. He couldn’t remember much except falling in the hallway, and ash burning his lungs. Kimble took a step forward and dropped the oxidized pistol into the back of the Humvee with a metal thunk.

  “You weren’t going to shoot anyone with this rusty piece of junk. Where’d you even find it? Doesn’t matter I guess; Neighbors are still around. You think you’re going to find them by tracking down this address?” Kimble patted his pocket and stood face-to-face with Kahn. “They’re stronger than you and they’re hidden. They know everything about you. And me. They burned down your house and killed your wife and kid, yeah. But you have a death wish if you go after them.”

  “The factory,” Kahn said. “I’ll start there.” Daisy made an audible sound that sounded like a gasp or sigh. Kimble shook his head.

  “We thought you would head there first, we started there,” Kimble paused. “It’s just a concrete shell. They burned it down. Everything’s gone. You’ll die trying to find these people, and even if you do find them they’ll kill you. They burn everything. They’ll burn you.”

  “My life doesn’t mean anything anyway, I’m leaving.” Kahn swooned, and Daisy pushed him back toward the truck.

  “No, you aren’t. You can barely walk. You passed out in that burned out building and probably damaged your lungs breathing in all that ash.”

  “Ash?” Kahn closed his eyes, his head suddenly pounding as an image of his brother-in-law flashed before his eyes. His wife’s brother Ash. He remembered walking into the building. He remembered stepping through the front door. The glass was shattered and the metal frame was twisted and warped. The displays were all smashed and nothing of value was inside. The building was dark, walls and ceiling blackened, and the wooden door of the office was gone. Burned to ash. Ash.

  “We’re all going to be dehydrated, or dead, if we don’t get back. Jones, Garcia, Sergeant Kimble, let’s load them up. Mr. Lars, are we ready to move?” Lars nodded at the captain’s question but waited for the others to move before heading toward the driver’s side. Nobody did. Kimble sighed heavily and threw a few of the leftover flyers in the back of the Humvee and spoke.

  “I’m not heading back. Yet. Garcia is right; we know about these Neighbors. Their leader is an old bigot with ambitions to rule over anybody who isn’t just like him. He’s dangerous because he convinces people he’s right. And no matter what he does, people follow him. We saw him get a bunch of people killed after attracting the dead’s attention just to hear himself rally for cheers with a microphone. He tried to kill Ka-- Garcia and in the process killed his wife and kid and brother-in-law. I saw it happen. They’re going to keep burning down the world until someone stops them. I don’t think he’ll get his revenge, but it’s the least I can do to let him look for the guy who did it.”

  The others hesitated, unsure how the impasse between the ranking officer and the ops NCO would resolve itself. Dusk would come soon, and despite finding a quiet spot to recover they all knew the darkness of night with no camp was a bad idea. In the quiet, Kahn cleared his throat.

  “I don’t expect anything from any of you, even Kimble. But I have some MREs and a few cases of water in my van. I’ll give it to you if you bring me there and gas me up. The roads are blocked and I couldn’t make it in the van, but we can make it on the inclines and in the rough patches in the Humvee. Then you guys can be on your way and you won’t have to worry about me. You heard the captain, load up.” Kahn’s voice was shaky. His recovery was incomplete, and he was just as aware as the others that it was suicide to head out alone. But they all thought this might be a conversation for the morning, after the promise of a meal and water was fulfilled. Captain Louis nodded.

  “Okay, you’ll need to sit up front and guide Lars to your vehicle. We’ll supply up, and then head back to Lone Star. Frankly, Mr. Garcia, I don’t care what you do with yourself at that point. But my best chance of staying alive is at that outpost. The walkers will be cleared and the fences will be mended by now. I never should have let you people convince me to leave.” He scowled and wiped the sweat from his face. “Let’s go, people, we’re wasting daylight.”

  The crew tossed their leaflets in the back of the vehicle. A flurry of activity followed where they each grabbed the rifles they had propped against the front bumper and secured them in the cab or rear of the Humvee. Lars took the driver’s seat and clicked the ignition over, firing up the engine with a roar. Daisy had escorted Kahn to the passenger side and took a moment to wrap his wounded arm with a gauze from the medical kit under his seat before recovering her rifle from its resting place. Kimble struggled to get his large frame into the rear of the Humvee, and Jones and Captain Louis followed once he made it in. Daisy was last, securing the tailgate after climbing in and settling on the floor.

  Night was quickly approaching, but it was a slow process in the wilderness. Lars eased the vehicle up a hill and into a neighborhood subdivision called Lakeview. Kahn knew the former residents as people who wanted a little bit of isolation from the urban sprawl of San Antonio, but not so far as to have it inaccessible. He was sure as they drove by the damaged and darkened houses that most had fled months ago, and he was pessimistic about their chances for survival, like most of the city. As Lars drove the few minutes back to the shop, Kahn pondered how far this disease went. Daisy told him the virus, or whatever it was, reanimated people even if they died of natural causes. Bites caused death, and death meant becoming a cannibalistic monster. He thought of the monsters still among the living, and how he was grasping at straws by starting at Llewelyn’s son’s address. He’d search the house top to bottom and find something. He had to.

  He directed Lars onto the small county highway that eventually led to his parked van. There were no frontage roads on this size road, and the edges were steep and covered with trees and brush. The Humvee’s wide frame drove easily on the steep sideways incline, and didn’t hesitate over the foliage. One cluster of piled up cars that had attempted to escape the traffic jam by driving around on the rough wilderness slowed them down for a few minutes, but Lars was able to destroy a low wire fence and continue along past the obstacle. Kahn’s hours-long walk took them about 30 minutes of slow, steady driving.

  When they reached the jackknifed tractor trailer, it was dark. Lars drove in a large circle on the clear side of the highway to illuminate any predators that might be nearby. They saw no biters, so he parked with the headlights facing the van and killed the engine. Kahn unlocked the doors and they each opened a bottle of water, resting against the van and front of the Hummer. They stood in a small clump between the sliding van door and the front of the Humvee, basking in the headlights as an oasis in the pitch dark night.

  The group froze as they heard a loud scrape coming from the nearby eighteen wheeler. They were overly confident nothing was nearby and nobody had taken their rifle out of the Humvee. Kimble drew his pistol from its holster and stepped forward, trying to see into the darkness. Another slight noise, this time from the rear of the trailer, alerted them again and made them all freeze.

  Suddenly, they were illuminated from the direction of the wrecked tractor trailer. Two bright lights shone down on them from the top of the trailer, and another brighter one from the rear of the truck. The small Humvee crew covered their eyes as Kimble rose to his full height and pointed the pistol toward the light at the back of the truck. The bright lights made it impossible to see how many or who had ambushed them.

  “This is a robbery. Drop your weapon and don’t move and we won’t shoot,” a steady voice spoke from the direction of the brightest light. “We don’t want to kill you, but we will. We don’t want any bullet holes in our new Humvee.”

  PART 2

  Chapter 16

  - Silver

  Silver

  Retired Army Colonel Dmitry Luca stepped off the tan helicopter as soon as the wheels touched the ground. The unkempt field o
f grass whipped around in the wind of the rotors, and the former soldier’s brown and silver hair whipped around his scalp. His boots cut through the grass with certainty as he approached the group of his mercenary soldiers.

  The noise of the engines started to wind down as the pilots shut the big bird off. A fuel truck waited nearby with the aircraft’s rudimentary maintenance crew; keeping the aircraft fueled and flight-ready was difficult without access to a full airfield. As the pilots waited for the rotors to cease their spin, the two-man team began to uninstall the modification that carried four medical litters in the rear of the helicopter. Luca’s actions today, of course, meant the frame was empty. The maintenance men tried to avoid the blackened blood on the floor from the previous undead occupants. The noise of the modular clips snapping open and the metallic movement of equipment was masked by the slow melody of the turbines as they wound to a halt.

  As Luca stepped into the tan dust within a few steps of the mercenaries, one of the men stood from the low bleachers at the edge of the field and executed a crisp salute. The colonel returned the disciplined gesture and indicated to the man to sit before leaning forward against the low fence and resting his arms loosely on top. He wore a loose-fitting tan button-down shirt and light pants, looking more at home on a hiking trail than leading the gathering of heavily armed troopers. His sleeves were halfway rolled up, showing off a black tattoo of a knife splitting a set of three stars arranged in a triangle. His left arm had a jagged scar on the forearm, marking his tanned skin with a line from wrist to elbow. A pistol hung from a green web belt clipped tightly around his waist. Luca waited for the engine noise to cut off. When they finally did, the man who saluted him stood again.

  “Sir,” he snapped. The soldier had a square jaw and wide shoulders. He had sizable muscles exposed through the sleeveless t-shirt he was wearing. His bulk was further emphasized by the tactical load-bearing vest he wore. “Was the mission successful, sir?” The small group of men had been left behind the latest operation while their leader coordinated alone. They, of course, noticed the missing crew chief from the helicopter. Casualties were uncommon from their careful and experienced commander.

  Luca nodded. “Yes, mission was successful. The others were able to infiltrate and we were able to successfully distract the group inside the fence while they did so. Go recover the payment.” His voice was thick with an Eastern European accent. One of the mercenaries sprang off the bleachers and jogged to the now-still chopper. He approached the side that was not being serviced by the refuelers and reached in to recover the final box that had been loaded at the airport the previous day. The box was heavy, so the soldier hefted it onto his shoulder and walked back to the group.

  He set the box down on the lowest bench seat of the bleachers and resumed his previous position nearby. They all watched as Luca bounced up from his leaning position and approached the box. He worked the flaps, hastily sealed by crossing them over, and flipped them subsequently out to reveal the contents of the box.

  “Just a gift, gentlemen. A thank you package from our new friends,” he pulled out some of the objects packed tightly within. Two bottles of expensive tequila rose out of the box to a low cheer from the group. Cans of food joined the bottle, a pack of toothbrushes and toothpaste, some razors and shaving cream, and a eighteen-pack of Mexican beer were all stacked along the bench by the ex-colonel.

  “This is good enough,” one of the men stated joyfully, reaching for the tequila.

  “Not yet,” Luca said. “This is the real prize.” As he finished unloading the heavy box of random supplies he pulled a folded paper from the bottom of the box. As his men watched, he carefully unfolded it across the top of the container. It was a map of San Antonio. There were several black circles drawn from the south to the east side of the city. A few more spots were marked with a bright red marker. One near the east side of town had a scribbled note next to it.

  “Is that it?” the mercenary spokesman asked. Luca nodded.

  “Yes, each supply depot circled will keep us stocked and fed by our new friends. All we have to do is work with them so they can continue to win over the people left in the city.” He tapped twice on the red mark with the notation. “This is where we are headed next. Confirmed location.” The accent made the statement ooze from his lips. Each of the men took a close look at the map, memorizing each black circle. The notation next to the red mark was clear to each of the veteran attackers.

  New Neighbors...

  Chapter 17

  - United

  United

  “They’ve got a little bit of food and water, I’d say about two days’ worth for the six of them, maybe. The van and Humvee are in really good shape, though. They had a couple weapons, also in great shape. Two pistols and five rifles. Ty and Ice are checking the back of the Hummer for anything else.” Deb quietly reported to Jesse. He was sitting with his back against one of the eighteen-wheeler tires eating from an MRE taken from his bounty’s van. Wiggs and his brother stood over the six hostages as they sat in a line along the drainage ditch.

  “They’re in uniform. Maybe they’re from one of the military bases. Maybe we can get some help,” Jesse said in between bites of Spaghetti w/Beef and Sauce that he commandeered from the Odyssey’s stash.

  “I’m not sure where they’re from. Do you want me to talk to them?” Deb said. Jesse shrugged at her question.

  “In a minute, let’s see what we find in that Humvee first.” He set the pouch aside and tore the edge off a packet of peanut butter.

  Dawn was edging itself over the horizon, but the day was starting hazy and noticeably cooler than usual. The sky was already a bright shade of blue with few clouds. The ones that were in the atmosphere were wispy and high in the sky, seeming to move quickly toward the west. Gusts of warm wind moved air over everybody and the smell of a summer storm was in the air.

  Kahn sat with his arms over his knees in the low grass of the ditch. The two big guys that stood over them hadn’t said a word after urging them all off the road and away from the vehicles. Daisy sat next to Kahn, also holding her knees, followed by Lars, Captain Louis, Jones, and Kimble all in a row. Daisy turned her head toward Kahn and spoke in a harsh whisper.

  “Are these guys the Neighbors you were talking about?” she said.

  “Hey, shut up lady,” Wiggs snapped, stepping toward her. “No talking!”

  “Yeah, no talking!” Ricky mimicked. “You’re the bad guys!”

  “Ricky, quiet man. You can hang out over there if you want.”

  “No, I want to stay with you. The sky smells weird, Tommy,” Ricky smiled and reached around his brother in an affectionate hug. Wiggs patted his back and told him okay, okay until the big guy let him go. They both walked a few steps away and stood on the shoulder of the little highway overlooking their wards. Kahn looked over to Daisy and shook his head.

  “No,” he whispered back. “I don’t think so. I’m not sure, but I think the Neighbors wouldn’t have a mentally handicapped kid on one of their patrols.”

  “Shut up you two,” Louis hissed through clenched teeth. “You’re going to get us killed!” The pair went quiet.

  From the back of the Hummer came a surprised exclamation before a young black kid jumped out, late-teens Kahn guessed. Kahn’s group directed their attention to the teenager, walking swiftly toward their long-haired leader with a tough-looking black woman loosely in tow. They noticed he held a sheaf of neon-colored paper in one hand, the flyers Kimble had abandoned in the back of the truck. Curious, Kahn and the others watched as the kid with long hair stood and took the propaganda from the teenager. Even from a couple dozen feet away, Kahn saw his eyes burn with recognition. The man grabbed his rifle and stormed over to the group of prisoners. Daisy scooted toward Kahn and cried out as the long-haired guy approached, checked his rifle, and snapped the safety off before leveling it at them.

  “Where did you get these?” he yelled, tossing the papers onto the asphalt. They scattered and began
to blow with the wind. “Start talking or I put a bullet into the big guy first.” He swung the rifle over to Sergeant Kimble. Kahn’s group, except Daisy, remained unaffected by the threat.

  “Put the gun down, little boy,” Kimble grumbled, turning his big frame and leaning heavily on one arm. “You ain’t gonna shoot me.”

  “Jesse, stop! They’re soldiers. Please, don’t,” the pretty woman that had been with the long-haired leader at the truck lightly touched his arm. She was short with wavy brown hair, pretty much the opposite of Daisy’s blonde, straight-haired appearance. But Kahn saw a similarity in personality there. Someone strong who didn’t need protecting, standing up when others ran away. Something that he noticed in Daisy months ago and now saw in this new woman, and the new group. They were like him, and they were clearly not Neighbors.

  “A helicopter dropped those on our home just before we were attacked. We ran away,” Kahn sighed, relieved at the makeup of this group and ready to trust them. The man did not lower his rifle. He seemed to be processing the information.

  “Why should I believe you?” he asked.

  “Because I know what the Neighbors are, and I’m going to find them and kill them.” At this the rifle dipped slightly. Kahn shuffled his legs around and made to stand up. Daisy tried to keep him still, worried he was still recovering from his heat exhaustion and worried about the threatening new group he was addressing.

  “Stop! Sit back down,” the long-haired leader shouted, swinging the rifle around to point at Kahn. The two that had been searching the Humvee and their guard all swung their identical carbines up to face the rising hostage as well. The Assyrian didn’t listen but the rifles didn’t fire as he carefully got his legs under him and stood up. Daisy rose with him and held him steady on his feet.