It’s better to just leave now, having no doubt that the sick people behind the wooden doors will turn into bad people. It’s only a matter of time.
Emily only feels a little sadness at leaving, but not to the point that she cries. It’s just a fact that she needs to move on. She doubts that she’ll ever find a permanent place, unless it’s one where she’s by herself. One thing this place has shown her, and it gives her a little comfort, is that she’s not alone in this world. There are other survivors. Although there is doubt, there is also a little bit of hope that she might find a place where there are others who can help her without becoming sick.
Emily wheels her bike down the muddy driveway, taking care not to step into puddles. At the highway, she looks over her shoulder, gazing at the seeming tranquility of the cabins nestled among the trees. Setting her feet on the pedals, Emily pushes off, continuing her journey down the highway as she searches for help and sanctuary.
Chapter Six
Rainbow Falls Mountain Trout, Colorado
October 21
Brown sets the axe in the cutting block, leaning and kneading his lower back to work out the kinks. Wiping away the sweat beading on his brow, the chilled air working its way through the high mountainous region permeates his layers of clothing. He looks to the surrounding ridges, noting the blanket of snow covering the tops.
It won’t be too much longer before the weather sets in for real, he thinks, bending over to pick up a couple of split logs and throwing them in the back of the pickup.
The past week and a half have been hard days, working from dawn to dusk getting the cabin ready for the winter. The solar panels won’t provide much, and the wind generators may freeze. The refrigerated semi has plenty of stored food, but they’ll have to head out and forage for more before the snows set in. If worse comes to worst, there are plenty of fish swimming the streams and lakes, plus game in the hills.
For the most part, Brown and the others have been making sure there’s enough wood to last and to build an insulated shed around the hand pump for the well in an attempt to keep it from freezing. The overcast skies cast a gray pall over the valley; the lakes of the fishing resort look more like pools of lead than cold water.
Brown looks to the split logs lying on the ground, not terribly anxious to fill yet another bed.
“Nothing to it but to get to it,” he mutters, feeling the tightness in his back as he bends over.
He stands, dropping the pieces of wood. Turning in circles, he looks to the hills, attempting to find the source of the reverberation echoing faintly down the canyon. It’s more of a felt rumble than a sound. At first, he thinks that it could be a small avalanche rolling down a steeper section of hill.
There’s not enough snow for that, he thinks, continuing to search.
The noise becomes increasingly louder, bouncing off the hillsides. All at once, the reverberations escalate, becoming a staccato roar as a dozen helicopters crest the western ridge. More follow, the thunder of their beating blades in the thin air filling the valley. The heavy beat of the rotors seems to change Brown’s heartbeat and penetrate his skull. The black shapes fly along under the cloud cover, racing across the valley. Brown cranes his head to follow their flight, the wood at his feet forgotten. The helicopters pass over the valley in a roar, vanishing beyond the eastern ridgeline.
Brown stares in the wake of their passage, stunned by their sudden arrival. He doesn’t really know what to think…should he hope or worry? Is this a reprieve from their tribulations? Most of all, he wonders where in the hell they came from. He knows that helicopters don’t have the greatest range, but can’t fathom where they were based. There aren’t any bases nearby with that many transports. As a matter of fact, there aren’t any, period. The nearest one is Fort Carson on the southern limits of Colorado Springs.
Maybe that’s where they’re headed? But, with so many infected in and around the Springs, there’s no way a force of that size could survive.
The valley seems overly quiet after the sudden interruption, as if the disturbance created a vacuum. Brown still doesn’t know what to think. He had truly thought that the world had succumbed; that the six of them would live out the rest of their days within the sanctuary they had created. It was unrealistic to expect that there would be no others, but he hadn’t observed anything to indicate otherwise. The sight of a military force is startling and forces him to rethink what may be happening beyond the surrounding hills.
Brown hears one of the quads approaching, the sound breaking through the stillness. Turning, he sees Koenig maneuvering over the bridge near the entrance and making his way across the dirt roads. He brings the four-wheeler to a stop, a cloud of dust slowly enveloping the two of them.
“The cavalry sure knows how to make a grand entrance,” Koenig says, shaking dust from his hair.
“I suppose so,” Brown replies, turning to look back over the ridge.
“Do you think they saw us?”
“I’m not sure. They sure didn’t give the appearance that they did. I have the impression that they were looking ahead, not down,” Brown answers.
He turns his gaze back to the cabin, seeing smoke drift upward from the woodstove. It’s lightly colored and would be difficult to see in the overcast sky, but if anyone were to be looking into the valley, it would be hard to miss. Dust clouds rise, indicating that the others are on their way.
“Where’d they go?” Hayward asks upon arriving.
“East. Why? Were you expecting a curbside pickup?” Brown responds.
After having spent considerable time with Brown, Hayward doesn’t get his hackles all bunched up or hang his head. He’s come to know that it’s just the sergeant’s way of expressing his anxiety. Although Hayward doesn’t understand why they aren’t doing a crazy victory dance and racing after the force of helicopters.
“Do you think they’re heading for Peterson or Carson?” Koenig asks.
“I’m not really sure. That’s the direction they were heading. I have to think it will be a quick strike—I can’t see a force of that size lasting very long in the city,” Brown replies.
“Well, should we go take a look?” Koenig queries.
Brown shrugs. “If you think it’s necessary. But we need to be careful. If they’re gallivanting across the countryside, they’re apt to be trigger happy and may not take the time to validate anything they shoot at. My guess is that they’ll be operating under the guise that everything that’s not them is a valid target.”
“But, we’ll be driving, right? Surely they know by now that the infected can’t drive, and won’t shoot a moving vehicle on sight,” Clarke says.
“If you say so,” Brown answers, again shrugging.
The pickup jostles over the dirt road, nearly tossing Handley and Hayward from the bed. Brown negotiates the narrow road that climbs higher into the hills, the pine trees sometimes pressed right up against the path. The switchbacks that are necessary to scale the ridgeline slow their ascent. Through breaks in the trees, Brown is able to see their cabin, nestled in the valley, growing smaller as they continue to climb. A thin plume of whitish smoke drifts upward and then flares out across the canyon as the heated air cools.
Patches of snow lining the road soon grow in coverage and depth, until they are above the snowline. Brown slows his already time-consuming ascent. The tires crunch through the snow, the slippery road constantly threatening to take him into the trees. The road vanishes and the only way he can navigate is by the semblance of a clearing between the trees. Twice, he has to back up after assuming a break in the trees was the roadway.
In time, they crest the ridge, the road ending in a thin screen of trees with an open area beyond. The six of them exit and crunch through the crusty shin-deep snow. Breath plumes in front of their mouths and trails behind, quickly vanishing.
Brown hesitates at the outer edge of trees, the clouds overhead seemingly within reach. He concentrates on picking out any nearby black dots against the gra
y, but the skies remain clear of aircraft. Gingerly, he exits onto a snow-covered field.
The vista opens up. The plains of Colorado past the Rockies stretch for vast distances, the city of Colorado Springs rising to the southeast. Brown crouches near the trees and cautions everyone to remain within a quick hop of the cover. Below their altitude, a long line of helicopters hover over the western approaches to the city. Several other dots are spread across the city, slowly making their way toward the line. Brown withdraws a set of binoculars and gazes at the arrayed forces.
“Looks like gunships have deployed in a line, with others drawing the infected toward them,” Brown states.
“Any idea whose they are?” Koenig asks.
During the drive to the ridge, they contemplated that they might not actually be looking at an organized military force, but rather a band of coincidentally trained pilot survivors. Although they put the odds of having so many in one place at near zero, it was still something to consider.
“It looks like they’re mostly Marine birds, with a few from the Navy thrown in,” Brown answers.
“So, more than likely some of our military survived,” Clarke comments.
“It looks that way,” Brown replies.
“But, Marines and Navy? I’m no military expert by any means, but aren’t we a little far from a base?” Koenig questions.
“Yes…yes we are,” Brown responds, continuing to study the forces.
“So, what do you think? A fleet? Seems to me that the timing would be right for them to reach the shores if they were deployed,” Koenig states.
“It’s possible. But, we’re in the middle of the country. It’s like, what, fifteen hundred miles from any coast? Maybe more…maybe a little less. But, still a long distance. I don’t see how they could be from a fleet, but on the other hand, I don’t see how that many could be from anything else,” Brown comments.
Movement far to the south catches Brown’s attention. He refocuses the binoculars in that direction, picking up another batch of helicopters winging their way out of the mountains.
“Clever, clever,” he mutters.
“What?” Clarke asks.
“Another force to the south of the city. It looks like they might circle around toward whatever their objective is while these folks keep the infecteds’ attention. The faraway ones are gunships and transports,” Brown answers.
“This many helicopters? There has to be a fleet offshore,” Koenig mumbles, barely loud enough to be heard.
“You may be right at that,” Brown comments. “The ones to the south aren’t circling around…at least not toward the city.”
“I’m not entirely sure, but I think there’s another small Air Force base some distance away from the city,” Koenig mentions.
“Well, that’s probably where they’re headed, then.”
“We need to get back and get to them before they pack up and leave,” Hayward states, turning toward the tree line.
“I think he’s right, sergeant. It’ll take us a bit to get off this mountain. If we don’t hurry, we may just miss them,” Koenig states.
Brown turns and looks to the west, where he can see the valley holding the fishing resort. End of the world or not, that’s where his heart lies. It’s what he’s wanted. Sure, he’d like to be able to hop in a truck for a jaunt into town to pick up supplies, but that’s not a deal breaker. Turning back toward the two helicopter forces, he feels torn between duty and peace. Brown isn’t sure what one person can do, but he’s also part of the military and he’s never shirked his duty.
But, retirement…living out the rest of my life in peace.
He keeps going back and forth, guilt and the tranquility of retirement warring. If he was to go back, he would face an endless series of engagements as the force out in front attempted to carve out a permanent place. He already has such a place with the valley below. Why would he need to carve out another one?
Perhaps they already have a place. That makes sense if they’re striking this far inland.
“What’s at that base?” Brown inquires.
“I’m not sure…satellite control, I think. But, don’t take my word on it,” Koenig answers.
That makes sense, Brown thinks.
“You know that you don’t have to go. You’ve done your time,” Koenig states, sensing Brown’s indecision.
“I have a duty, and I’ve never shirked it,” Brown comments.
“Did I mention that I cut out when I was asked to go to the president’s shelter?” Koenig says.
“Well, I did,” he continues. “Just up and said fuck it. I figured this event gave everyone their retirement papers. Them showing up doesn’t change that, unless you want it to. Me, I’m going, but only because they’re going to need a biologist who understands this particular virus and can maybe do something. I created it—I feel like I need to close that circle by helping those who now have to deal with it. Do you have a circle you need to close?”
“No, not particularly,” Brown replies.
“You saw these cadets to safety…some of them twice, I might add. You took me and my wife in when we were at the end of our rope. You’ve done your part,” Koenig says. “Besides, if that is the Navy, meaning that Marines would be onboard, you don’t want to have to deal with a bunch of jarheads.”
“They’re just a bunch of idiots who don’t know any better than to run onto an open beach under fire,” Brown comments, not truly believing his words, but it’s the mandatory answer.
Brown weighs what the colonel has to say, realizing that he’s listening because it’s what he wants to hear. He doesn’t really want to get out there again when he could sit by the fire through the winter, reading the same book over and over again.
“I think I’m staying,” Brown finally utters, his heart tight with guilt.
But, the decision feels right. The colonel has an expertise that the forces arrayed below will need. He’s just another soldier to fill the ranks. And honestly, he’s just tired.
“Good. I was hoping you’d say that,” Clarke says. “I’m staying with you.”
“Now, just hold on a minute, lass. I don’t remember inviting you,” Brown states.
“You can’t…” Clarke begins and then stops when she notices Brown’s lips upturned in what could be mistaken for the semblance of a smile.
“If you’re staying, you’re going to have to work. No woman stuff excuses getting in the way,” Brown says.
“I will…and it won’t…whatever ‘woman stuff’ is,” Clarke responds.
“Okay, fine. Well, what are you waiting for? Let’s get these fine folks down the hill so they can run off and save the world.”
On the descent, Brown contemplates how quickly things within their haven changed due to the force passing overhead. He had been thinking during breakfast about how tight their little group was becoming; how this was to be their new life. Although they’d have to work hard, it was peaceful. Then, just like that, at the first sign of a surviving military, they’re to be split apart. It does not bother him, but it is a reminder of how quickly things can change.
Turning to Clarke, he asks, “Why is it that you want to stay? I know it can’t be my charming demeanor.”
“I don’t feel like I have anything to go back for…or to. I have a feeling that my parents didn’t make it through this; I don’t have anyone else. If the good colonel here comes up with something and we can safely search for our families, then that’s a different story. It’s peaceful here, though, and I don’t want to go back to a world where I have to worry about whether I’ll survive through the next minute,” Clarke answers.
“Fair enough. But the Navy, or whoever is in charge, will more than likely provide for that kind of safety. If they were fighting for their lives, they wouldn’t be striking into the heartland,” Browns comments.
“True, but I like this place. It…feels right,” Clarke says.
“Okay. Glad to have ya, lass.”
“I won’t tell a
nyone that you’re here, unless you’d like. And, I’ll try to get a message to you if I can, should things change. I’m not sure how I can do that without revealing your presence, but I’ll make the effort,” Koenig states, arriving back at the valley and packing the Land Rover.
“That would be appreciated,” Brown replies, shaking Koenig’s gloved hand.
With that, the doors close and the Land Rover drives off, leaving a trail of dust in their path as they recede into the distance.
Chapter Seven
Sawtooth National Forest, Idaho
October 20
Sergeant Kelli Parker squats with the rest of her squad, their packs gathered close. The dusty soil under her boots has obviously seen some rainfall in the near past, but not enough to tamp down the dirt. Clouds of dust rise from different places within the Idaho basin from arriving helicopters bringing more Marines. Across the plain, mostly farmland, attack and transport choppers dot the landscape.
Parker watches as several helicopters arrive, black fuel bladders slung underneath. Crews swarm around the deposited bladders, setting up refueling stations in three remote locations. The lessons learned in Afghanistan show in the disbursement of helicopters designed not to stir up dense dust clouds so as to prevent collisions of incoming and outgoing traffic. Once they set up shop at the forward deployment base, they’ll settle in to get ready for the strike.
At least it isn’t raining, Parker thinks, looking skyward.
Overcast skies blanket the valley, the clouds slowly drifting eastward. The base of the clouds seems to reach down to touch the tops of the mountainous terrain steeply rising directly north of her position. Deep ravines cut into the bare hillsides, the top of the ridges carved vertically, making it look like each one is sporting a Mohawk. All around the flat plain, other rocky hills rise toward the clouds. A reservoir fills a deep canyon that starts at the northern end of their plateau and circles around the western side, ending to the south.
Mostly bored, only partially listening to the bitching and the stories of the Marines around her, Parker watches the operation unfold. It’s always been amazing to her that there are folks who can organize every little detail of something this large. The planning of every minute item needed is beyond her ability to contemplate.
ARES Virus (Book 3): Phoenix Rising Page 8
