by Mark Rounds
June 5th, Friday, 9:58 am PDT
Othello, WA
Macklin was sitting in a passenger’s chair in the back of his van trying hard not to fall asleep. Even though he was through the worst part of withdrawal, thanks to Nergüi’s therapy, it had exhausted him. He really didn’t know or care where they were headed. The van lurched to a stop.
“There will be time to rest later,” said Nergüi. “We have had a call from our associates at the Vantage Bridge. In the past two days, the Stricklands have crossed the bridge and the BACA do-gooders that helped them cross have returned home. They are without support, unlike when they were in the Tri-Cities. I think we have a window of opportunity.”
“So where are we going?” asked Macklin.
“Othello,” said Nergüi. “This is one town where our plan worked. The local police force was small and the majority became infected early. The others were easy to overcome. There is a group here, called the Association. They were originally involved in the drug trade and mostly low level users. As you know, Slash users present as normal until the later stages of the addiction. They also became easily infected and we were able to gain a measure of control.”
“Where do I fit in?” asked Macklin, already dreading the answer he expected.
“There has been a power struggle within the Association,” said Nergüi. “You will be stepping into the power vacuum. We increased your supply of Slash along with some other tools for you to use. I have made several calls and have arranged a meeting for us. We have the Slash they need. They have the manpower we want.”
“Why me?” asked Macklin, now sure that he was going to be stuck trying to manipulate a bunch of gang bangers and drug users.
“Strangely enough, you have the best track record at getting this particular subculture to perform as needed,” said Nergüi. “The end phase of the disease requires more and more Slash. You successfully were able to play off that need with compromise and persuasion instead of force. I am forced to admit we were mistaken in bringing in someone we thought would be better at coercion, it doesn’t seem to work well.”
“So what do you want me to do?” asked Macklin fearfully.
“The Stricklands crossed the Columbia River and are definitely headed east, away from Fort Lewis,” said Nergüi. “Our intelligence was wrong on that one. From Royal City, where current intercepts place them, headed east, their most likely path to get to any safe havens we know about would be through the area around Othello.
“The two college towns, Moscow, Idaho, and Pullman, Washington, are just seven miles apart and between them have regrettably built a significant area of resistance. The majority of the students had already left, but those who remained stayed relatively healthy. The high level of education in both towns’ full-time population and the presence of ROTC and National Guard units in the area have also slowed our plans.
“Spokane is also an option; Fairchild Air Force Base is still functional, though they have not had the success that Fort Lewis enjoyed.
“Getting to either from where they are means going through Othello unless they go straight north and get to Interstate 90. They have avoided the Interstate system so far, save having to cross at Vantage. I suspect they will continue to do the same.”
“Where do I come in?” asked Macklin.
“We need you to control the drug gang here in Othello,” said Nergüi. “By tonight, we need patrols out checking the back roads, a blocking force on the main road, and a base of operations for us to work from.”
“So I’m on my own then?” asked Macklin.
“Oh no,” said Nergüi. “I will supervise this one personally. You will handle the local talent. I will attack the target and coordinate with you when we attempt to take her. Our contractors have proven unreliable and many promising subjects have been regrettably killed. This one is too important.”
June 5th, Friday, 10:14 am PDT
Joint Base Lewis-McChord, WA
“Enter,” said Gen Buckley, in answer to the regulation two rap knock on his door.
Col Antonopoulos entered the room and came to attention.
“Sit down Andy,” said the Gen “I’d offer you some coffee but we are running low. I have tea, but frankly, it sucks. What can I do for you?”
“Sir, with respect,” said Andy, choosing his words carefully, “I am protesting your selection of troops for my intelligence mission.”
“OK, what am I missing?” said Gen Buckley wearily. “The Rangers you want are over-tasked already. There are only three companies of them on post. One is scheduled to raid that Korean container ship in the harbor that is overrun with infected crewmen and their families. The longer we wait, the more of the food and medical supplies on board will be fouled by the Infected.
“Another is headed to Olympia to try and extract the Governor and you know how I feel about that tasking. The last company is being reorganized after cleaning out that rat’s nest downtown in the Marina to get the small boats we needed. They were successful, but we lost too many troops. I told the Seventh Division CO to assign some suitable troops, up to a company.”
“Yes sir,” said Andy, “I realize that, but his staff selected a mechanized Stryker company. I need one platoon of light infantry able to deploy from a helicopter. Not one hundred and sixty odd troops with twenty-seven vehicles. Even if I just strip off enough officers and ground-pounders to fill a Chinook, these troops have not recently trained in airmobile operations and they are not trained in hostage rescue or capture of high-value targets. Both of these scenarios could conceivably happen.
“I am here, now, because I have cell phone intercepts from our drone assets that the target is moving toward Othello. I need to be able to launch a recovery team at any time. The ball is in play, sir, and I can’t pussyfoot around with the chain of command negotiating with a bunch of staff pukes. I might just lose the opportunity and the Stricklands at the same time, and damn it, sir, I put them out there as bait, and I have a responsibility to them.”
“Strykers?” said Gen Buckley. “OK, I’ll have a word with the CO over there. What do you need? You can’t have the Rangers; there aren’t enough of them, but what else on base would work?”
“Shit, sir, you’ve got me in a bind,” said Andy heatedly. “I was promised …”
“Colonel,” said Gen Buckley forcefully, “I was at the meeting and I know what you were promised. But there is a war on and shit happens. You know our TO&E. What is the next best package I can give you?”
“Give me two A Teams from the 1st Special Forces Group and the best sniper team in the 7th then,” said Andy, after a moment’s thought, “they have most of the training I need, even if they aren’t used to working together and they are all likely good NCOs that can improvise.”
“Ouch,” said Gen Buckley. “The Green Berets are tasked almost as tightly as the Rangers, and I need them as trainers.”
“Again with respect, sir,” said Andy, “some of the units we are training can stand down for a couple days while this is going down.”
“Fair enough, you have them,” said Buckley. “When do you brief?”
“As soon as they can get here,” said Andy. “Like I said, the ball is in play.”
June 5th, Friday, 7:23 pm PDT
Royal City, WA
It was much closer to three when Chad and his family pulled out. Mary drove the Subaru with Amy in the passenger seat as navigator. Everyone else rode on the trailer. Sparky and two new BACA members rode along as outriders. Sparky said he knew some guys in the Othello area and hoped they could give him some local information.
The road was clear and they saw no traffic, but there were a number of abandoned vehicles on the road and both shoulders. To try and avoid some of the wreckage, they took highway 262 north and got on the O’ Sullivan dam road headed west. Even so, several vehicles were stalled and abandoned on these back roads as well.
Once, a rolled-over hay truck blocked both lanes of traffic. Even in the nearly flat land th
rough which they were travelling, getting the trailer around these vehicles took time. Everyone save Chris got off the trailer and pushed to get it safely around the truck. They also had to make two cooling stops, so it was after seven when they pulled into the trailer campground at Potholes Reservoir.
They made plans to camp for the night while Sparky rode off to try and connect with his friends. Dave regretfully cased his .338 Laupa. He was down to just thirty-eight rounds with no prospect of getting any more so he took a sniper’s position with his Mini-14, a sound rifle but not the long-ranged killer that he had grown used to.
The two other BACA riders headed back towards Royal City. Chad was sorry to lose them go and their extra firepower and scouting capabilities, but the new cell in Royal City needed them until they built up their own chapter.
The rest of the family busied themselves with setting up a camp sprawled across two normal campsites. They had four tents and even so, it was a tight squeeze. They had planned to be on the road for hours, not days, so the gear they had was not optimum for living out of doors.
Heather and Amy made a meal. While everyone was armed and more than a little jumpy, a happy mood, almost like a vacation, settled on the group. Then they heard a Harley with its distinctive ‘potatah, potatah’ engine sound. Everyone jumped up and began pointing weapons, but it was just Sparky returning with two friends from Othello and they all had long faces.
“”These are my friends, Ace and the Hammer,” said Sparky. “Ace and I went to high school together and the Hammer is his road buddy. They were in Othello for the … Hell, I still don’t know what to call it … the Zombie Plague or whatever. Anyway, they have some bad news about what’s going down in Othello.”
Ace and the Hammer looked at each other and then Ace began to speak.
“There is a gang around here, called the Association,” said Ace. “They were mainly a bunch of high school punks. We didn’t pay much attention to them before. Then the Plague hit and the police chief, the mayor and half the force was infected in the first couple of days after the travel restrictions started. The punks in the Association kind of took over. A lot of folks left and others got sick and died. I don’t suppose there are five hundred people who live there now out of a pre-Plague population of over six thousand.
“There were like fifty of them in the gang and they were organized. It turns out that there was a guy, a drug dealer named Reggie, who organized them. He used their drug habit to get laid and shit. The kids got tired playing by his rules and offed him this week.
“This morning, a guy showed up in an armored SWAT van that he claimed was full of drugs. A couple of the gangbangers took a shot at him but he was wearing body armor. Then this big ass Indian got out of the van and grabbed the two knuckleheads. It didn’t matter that they shot him six or eight times. He was all armored up too, with a face shield and everything. He banged their heads together and scalped them while they were still alive.”
“This guy with the van,” said Chad conversationally. “Did you happen to catch his name?”
“Yep,” said Ace. “He said it was Macklin, and that we could do what he told us and get drugs, food, and stuff, or we could live really short and painful lives. The Hammer and I looked at each other and decided it was time to leave. When they asked for volunteers to be outriders, we jumped up and said we would.
“Macklin told us we could have a bunch of drugs when we got back. We just rode off and left. The Hammer’s got a little house that his mother left him and we had a bunch of stuff there; he’s kind of a blacksmith, but we just left it all. We would still be riding if his bike hadn’t broken down on the road. We were deciding if we should fix it or just get the hell out of Dodge and ride away two up when Sparky came by. He fixed the bike and while he was doing that, we told him our tale and as soon as we mentioned Macklin’s name, Sparky here said we had to come talk to you.”
“So the Association is going to be run by Macklin?” asked Chad.
“Yeah, right now, most of them are higher than a kite. He passed out Slash like it was candy.”
“So what are you guys going to do now?” asked Chad. He was edgy because they knew who he was and while they didn’t have the connection between his band and Macklin, if they blabbed, Macklin would be able to put two and two together.
“Well, Sparky said we could join BACA,” said Ace uncertainly. “We were never much into the drug scene, just a little four-twenty you know? But the Hammer here has family on a ranch in the Bitterroot Valley. We figured to go there until this blows over.”
“I kind of gave them the idea,” said Sparky haltingly, “that they could ride with you guys to the Idaho border, strength in numbers and all.”
“Having someone on a bike to scout things out would be a help,” said Dave, joining the conversation. “Sparky, are these guys good folks to ride with?”
“Yeah,” said Sparky. “Ace and I go way back. We did a road trip up the British Columbia back in the day and I have known the Hammer for like five years now. They’re both good guys.”
“We could use the help,” said Chad. “You guys packing?”
“Macklin gave us a couple of Ruger LC9 9mm pistols,” said Ace. “I have a Taurus .45 he didn’t know about.”
“I need to run a test here to see if you are infected,” said Chad, pulling out his test kit. It took all of three minutes to determine that the two bikers were clean.
“Why don’t you guys go have some food,” said Dave, after Chad had passed out the band aids, “and get to know our folks. Sparky, you’re welcome too.”
“Thanks, but I need to get back to the Grease Monkey,” said Sparky. “Until he gets some hard-cores to support him there in Royal City, it’s just him and me and a couple of other guys in that old gas station.”
“Thanks for all you’ve done,” said Chad. “Safe travels.”
“Same to you folks,” said Sparky. “I’ll get word to you somehow when the truck is fixed, and we’ll keep your stuff safe.”
“Makes me ashamed of all the bad things I have said about bikers over the years,” said Chad after Ace and the Hammer went and had some soup. “Some of them are pretty good guys.”
“They’re just folks like us, caught up in something way bigger,” said Dave quietly. “It does give me hope though.”
Chapter 6
June 6th, Saturday, 8:23 am PDT
Othello, WA
“So what you are telling me is that the two riders we sent north never came back?” asked Nergüi.
“They were apparently outsiders in the gang around here,” said Macklin. “They were local, but not part of the gang. Nobody said anything yesterday because everyone wanted to get high. This is a problem when you start working with this crowd. You can’t trust anyone.”
“So it would seem,” said Nergüi. “Where were they supposed to scout?”
“Primarily north,” Said Macklin.
“Then get a gang of these … people going and we’ll check it out ourselves,” said Nergüi.
“Not happening,” said Macklin. “They were all high and partying last night. The other outriders we sent out reported in, and then got high. None of them will be worth a damn until noon at best.”
“I see some of the problems you were working with,” said Nergüi thoughtfully. “Still they could be getting away. I will not have that. I will take the van and my two retainers and any of these gangers that you can round up in the next fifteen minutes. You stay here and organize another group to follow when you can.”
“Like fun I will,” said Macklin hotly. “It’s even money whether I’ll be alive when you get back. If these knuckleheads decide they can take the drugs, then I’m dead. If you take the drugs with you, they won’t listen to me. Besides, just three of you to trying to take on the Stricklands? I don’t think much of your potential for success.”
“You are still my junior retainer, Macklin,” said Nergüi evenly. “Do not mistake the limited relaxation in control for familiarity. I s
till make the rules. I am taking the van. You will round up a follow-on force and follow as soon as you can or I will leave you to rot. This is more important than you know. But here, take these.”
Nergüi handed Macklin a double handful of balloons filled with slash.
“Buy, beg, borrow, bribe for or steal whatever you need,” said Nergüi, staring Macklin straight in the eye. “But you need to get a force out there soonest. You may be right about the Stricklands but I don’t have many choices and so neither do you.”
June 6th, Saturday, 9:03 am PDT
Joint Base Lewis-McChord, WA
Col Antonopoulos was sitting in Gen Buckley’s staff meeting. Normally, as an Air Force Wing Commander, he would have had his deputy sitting in for him but since the Plague and his change in roles, he was more than happy to be there. He had just dropped a little tidbit about how he thought the Stricklands were headed for Wyoming. There were a couple of notable absences from the meeting, department heads with more pressing issues who hadn’t sent deputies and who would likely not hear that factoid. If they picked up an intercept with that piece of misinformation, Chad could take a couple of names off his long list of potential leaks and as a bonus, dilute the focus of the adversaries pursuing the Stricklands.
He had just finished his infected intel briefing and they were now listening to Gen Buckley’s G-4, Col Hodges, discuss recent developments in the acquisition of spare parts for the vehicles they were driving. As it turned out, the fuel shortage was not a problem that a battalion of engineers augmented by some recently inducted petroleum experts couldn’t handle. The U.S. Oil Refinery in Tacoma was running at about thirty percent of capacity, which covered all the vehicular traffic and was actually starting to rebuild some of the Naval fuel stores.
They had also managed to set up several machine shops and were starting to keep up with the demand for mechanical spares. His big concern was for some of the electrical components and integrated circuits. Col Hodges was outlining a program to scavenge and reprogram chips out of abandoned vehicles when Capt Whipkey burst in and handed him a hastily hand written note.
