The winking muzzle flashes shocked the daydreamer back from his youthful recollections and suddenly the Scout’s sheet metal was vibrating from multiple impacts. It sounded like someone had thrown a handful of ball bearings at Lu Lu. Thankfully the gunner atop the Humvee had been leading the Scout, and only strafed the road with warning shots. Each .50 caliber round displaced a shovelful of blacktop, showering the Scout’s hood and windshield with rocks.
Goddamn it, Daymon thought as he stood on the brakes, making the Scout slew sideways. After bringing the old rig to a complete stop, he thrust both hands out the open window.
Parked in the center of the road, two vehicles blocked his way: the black Humvee with the top-mounted fifty that fired the warning shots and Jackson Police Chief Charlie Jenkin’s black and white Tahoe, which sat perpendicular to the Humvee. The Humvee looked identical to the one patrolling Driggs down to the red stars on the white background. Behind the roadblock loomed a wall of burned out vehicles blocking the roadway.
“Driver... throw the keys out the window. And keep your hands in sight,” an amplified voice ordered.
“How the fuck can I do both at the same time?” Daymon muttered as he removed the keys and tossed them into the middle of the road, never once taking his eyes off of the unwavering machine gun.
He watched with growing apprehension as the Patrol Tahoe backed slightly and then rolled forward towards him. Daymon felt his chest tighten as his body received a blast of adrenaline. He recognized and embraced it for what it was--he was entering the fight or flight mode and he had only seconds to make his life-saving decision.
Daymon risked a one-eyed glance to locate the shotgun in case he had to shoot his way out. I could blast the driver and back down the hill, he thought to himself. The plan fell apart when he remembered that Lu Lu’s sheet metal was no protection against the machine gun bullets and she sure enough couldn’t outrun them... especially with her keys sitting on the ground ten feet away. He came to the maddening conclusion that he had fucked himself yet again.
The Tahoe rolled to a stop next to the Scout and with a soft whirr the driver’s window motored down. Daymon couldn’t believe his eyes. Chief Jenkins’ familiar face stared at him from behind mirrored aviator sunglasses.
“Yo Daymon... what brings you back to Jackson?”
“I just came from Driggs. There’s nobody left there, at least nobody living... ”
“You saw the bodies then... on your way out of town.” Charlie said as he removed his shades and rubbed the dark bags under his eyes. It was more of a statement than a question. Chief Jenkins knew the answer and the last thing he wanted to do was explain to Daymon what had happened to them. He hated the fact that he even harbored the knowledge.
“I saw hundreds of them... fuck, half of Driggs was rotting in the sun. Tell me they were all infected... right?” Daymon could feel some of the built-up tension leave his body as he waited for an answer. He and Jenkins had a pretty good relationship. They had worked together coordinating wilderness rescues and also on a couple of fires that had been close enough to Jackson to threaten the city. They weren’t best friends but Daymon had no reason to distrust the man, but the black Hummer... that was a different story.
Jenkins shot a glance at the Hummer and donned his sunglasses. “They... happened to Driggs. Anyone that wouldn’t comply and relocate to Jackson...executed on the spot. Shot in cold blood, even if they weren’t infected.”
“Why the black Mission Impossible get up? Dressed the same as those guys... sure looks to this country boy like you’re playing for the wrong team.”
Jenkins fiddled with something in the Tahoe. “Listen... I had no choice but to toe the line.” Then he changed the subject and said, “You didn’t tell me why you came back here.”
“When I found out my Moms and Pops didn’t make it... well I’m pretty sure they didn’t anyhow, because I couldn’t get close enough to check on ‘em. I had to come here and check on someone,” Daymon said, holding his emotions at bay.
Jenkins had an idea but asked anyway. “Who are you looking for?”
After an uneasy silence Daymon said angrily, “I came back here to see if my girl survived this bullshit.”
“Weren’t you seeing that Heidi gal...worked at the Silver Dollar?”
“Yeah, the pretty blonde bartender,” Daymon conceded.
Jenkins glanced at the soldiers, and making a show of it, loudly asked Daymon if he had any weapons.
Schriever... here we go again. Daymon thought to himself. “A shotgun and a bow. Why... are you gonna confiscate them from me?”
“Everyone in Jackson has been disarmed. Second amendment... shredded. Constitution... shredded. I need to take the shotgun. You can keep the bow, it’s one of the few concessions in New America. I guess they expect us to hunt and feed ourselves this coming winter,” Jenkins wondered out loud.
The radio in the Tahoe crackled to life. “Are you going to need help?”
“Negative. I’ll vouch for him, he’s a Jackson native and he is on the essentials list,” Jenkins said, trying to sound as if he were in charge even though he was pretty low on New America’s totem pole.
“Is he infected?” the soldier on the other end asked.
Chief Jenkins head retreated into the SUV so he could speak discreetly into the microphone. “Negative. I’m disarming the citizen and I’ll make sure he gets med-checked when I get to the station.”
“Roger that,” said the soldier.
Daymon looked uphill towards the Humvee. “Charlie, why don’t we just take those guys out... take their Humvee and head west?”
“Don’t look up... there are snipers in the rocks above Glory Bowl and they are deadly accurate shooters. It’s too risky to run. Just give me the gun and follow me into town.”
Daymon passed the shotgun through the window. “I need to get my keys.”
“I’m going to turn this truck around and then you can get out and get your keys... slowly.”
***
After the burnt out husk barely resembling a school bus had been rolled aside, Daymon followed the Tahoe through the roadblock. Cresting the Teton pass he spotted a lone bald eagle soaring the thermals, a normal sight in the valley. Trumpeter swans floated lazily in the lake and a flock of geese took flight as they crossed the two-lane bridge spanning the Snake River. Everything seemed normal in Jackson, and for a second Daymon forgot that America was overrun by the dead--until he saw row upon row of crucified men, women, and children, stretching as far as he could see down both sides of the blacktop. Some still squirmed, straining against the spikes as the crows and buzzards wantonly fed on their flesh. Whoever was responsible for this evil roadside attraction was making one hell of a statement by leaving them to die alone, slowly and painfully, facing one of the most beautiful mountain ranges in North America. Daymon seethed as he drove past no less than a hundred examples of someone’s callous disregard for human life. Then he felt a dagger of guilt twist in his gut remembering the way he had allowed Hosford Preston to meet his maker. Finally he made a mental note to steer clear of whoever nailed these Americans to the cross. I want no part of this New America, he thought angrily.
Daymon clung to the notion that somehow his girlfriend was still alive, somewhere in Jackson Hole. Except for his folks (who he was sure had already joined the undead ranks), Heidi was the only person left in the world that he cared about. He put the mental blinders on and with that thought in mind, set out to find her...dead or alive.
Chapter 35
Outbreak - Day 9
Schriever AFB Quarantine Hangar
Pug glared at his watch, willing the little hand to move faster. He grew tired of War and Peace and cursed this Tolstoy fellow the second he realized the novel was about a bunch of stuffed-shirt aristocrats. Queens, princes and counts were too much like the governmental ruling class that he had recently grown to despise. How in the hell could the, now mostly dead, population of the United States keep electing and re-electi
ng the same jokers from the same family lineages year after year baffled the fuck out of him. Pug pitched the thick book across the room only fifteen minutes into his mandated twelve hour stay. With a title like that it should have been about battles and shit, he thought.
Pug risked another glance at the watch. Fifteen minutes. He sighed and leaned back in the chair, resigned to getting some enforced shut eye.
***
Six hours into his quarantine Pug overheard snatches of conversation about a rumored cure for the Omega virus. Interest piqued, he pressed his ear to the wall in order to glean as much info about the breakthrough as possible.
***
Pug looked at his watch. Ten minutes. He quickly laced up his boots and donned his pack. After his incarceration he just wanted to get out of the cell and slink away without a lot of fanfare.
***
Five minutes. Heavy footfalls signaled someone’s approach, and before long, the soldier that had spouted the canned spiel in front of him twelve hours earlier was standing by the zippered door about to free him. “Jesus... about time. I’m so hungry I could eat a horse,” Pug said. “And Sarge, you better burn that freaking book. War and Peace my ass...what a bore.”
The grim-faced soldier ushered him out of the cubicle and ordered him to stand still while he powered up a hand-held thermal scanner. After a few seconds the device beeped and the soldier swept it from the tip of Pug’s boots to the top of his head, front, and back.
“Didn’t you do this earlier?” Pug asked.
Without warning, the soldier jammed an old style thermometer into Pug’s mouth. “Hold still.”
After a long minute Pug cracked, “What, the tricorder didn’t work?”
“Almost finished,” the soldier said, sounding irritated. He checked the mercury and noted something on a chart. “You’re good to go.”
“Whew! Since I’m not going to turn into a zombie... where can a hungry American get a bite to eat?” Pug said with a grin.
“Not funny,” said the soldier, shooting Pug a deadly look. “This is a map of the base. Clearly marked in red are the places civilians cannot go while visiting us.”
Visiting, Pug thought. Does he know something he’s not letting on? What the hell... “What’s the talk I overheard about a cure?”
Recognition briefly flashed across the soldier’s stoic features. “Just hope-filled rumors.” Then he pointed to the map. “This is where you sleep. And this is the only mess hall. The base personnel are sharing it with you... be respectful.”
“Thanks Sarge,” Pug said as he folded the map and turned to leave.
“You’re not waiting for your red-haired friend?” the soldier asked.
“Wilson? I’m done with him.” Pug said as he shouldered his black bag and headed for the door.
Chapter 36
Outbreak - Day 9
Schriever AFB, 50th Space Wing Briefing
Freda Nash stood front and center looking over the men that held the fate of Colorado Springs in their hands. These last few days had definitely taken their toll on her and it was evidenced by the dark gray half-moons that had formed under her eyes. The petite Air Force officer looked like her head hadn’t hit the pillow in weeks. Also the usual piss and vinegar that caused some people to fear interacting with her had all but disappeared. The last thing Major Nash wanted to do was send a single operator into harm’s way without the information needed to run the op effectively. Solid intelligence, which was the foundation of any good operation, had been almost impossible to gather since the dead started to walk. Desantos and his men had broken into the White House to retrieve the nuclear football without knowing if the President was still alive, and then Nash had immediately sent them off on the CDC mission to bring back Fuentes and the Alpha carrier without so much as a floor plan or entry codes to the building. Now she was sending the team downrange once again, with nuclear weapons, and no idea where they needed to be deployed in order to destroy the approaching carrion juggernaut.
Time to put on the game face, Nash thought. She took a sip of water and cleared her throat. The mic was hot and the drawn out harrumph that reverberated about the Space Warfare room brought a smile from Desantos. “Good afternoon, gentlemen. I am going to keep this on point and move along quickly. After I finish, President Clay will address you all.” Nash thumbed the remote and started the vivid picture on the large flat panel moving. An uncomfortable silence ensued--rustling papers and the droning thrum of computer fans the only noise in the room.
Cade recognized the scene for what it was. The panoramic view of the Denver skyline was taken from a fairly low altitude and a long standoff distance. The cityscape disappeared into the background as the optics zoomed out and the camera panned down revealing the full scale of the undead horde. Unlike the gray, grainy feed from the UAV footage taken over Denver the day before, this new color footage was sharp and crystal clear. The biomass of living dead appeared to almost slither down the freeway. The front of the herd, which wasn’t as thick with lurching bodies, stretched nearly a quarter mile in front of the main body and appeared to change direction periodically, feinting left and then right and back again, apparently scouting the path ahead.
“This is real-time footage from an orbiting Global Hawk. As you all can see... the dead are still tracking straight for downtown Colorado Springs. I hate to admit that we do not have an accurate count... but our best guess is that we’re looking at no less than twenty percent of the Denver/Aurora area population on the screen in front of us. Roughly four hundred thousand is the latest estimate, and though we’re not in their direct line of travel, one incoming transport plane is all it would take to get their undivided attention and bring them here.”
The picture on the flat screen disappeared. Nash allowed the numbers to sink in before she started the next bit of footage. “This sequence was taken yesterday, hours after the herd left Denver in pursuit of a group of fleeing survivors.”
The image sprang to life. In one instant the herd was ambling along bracketed in the center of the UAV’s optics. Abruptly the gimbal-mounted camera rotated away from the Denver skyline and zoomed in towards the south. The camera locked on to four fast moving stealth aircraft, tracking them as they passed thousands of feet below the Global Hawk’s orbit.
“B2 Liberty bombers and B1 Lancers out of Ellsworth, South Dakota... watch closely,” Nash said without emotion.
The black aircraft suddenly began spewing wobbly gravity bombs. After a brief free-fall the munitions began to strike earth. The fiery orange explosions walked down the center of the undead herd, destroying thousands of the shambling creatures. The concentric shockwaves and overpressure reduced even greater numbers of the zombies on the periphery of the procession to slower crawling versions of their former deadly selves. After the dust from the bomb runs had dissipated slightly, the UAV slowed and moved closer to the deck as the camera zoomed in for an intimate BDA or Bomb Damage Assessment of the target. Although massive amounts of ordinance had been dropped on the undead army, to the viewers’ dismay the majority of the herd continued on its relentless death march towards Springs.
“As you can see, the hundreds of bombs dropped yesterday had very little effect on the dead.” The Major looked at the operators silently, wondering how many of them weren’t going to live to see another sunset, and then finished her speech. “There is nothing, short of abandoning Springs, that we can do to avoid contact with these unyielding monsters, and that, ladies and gentlemen is why, just like the anti Z operations that are currently being waged downtown, we are taking the fight to the enemy. Any questions?”
The room remained silent. Cade guessed that half of the people in the room were in a state of shock.
Major Freda Nash moved aside, making room for the President.
President Valerie Clay put her hand on the Major’s shoulder as a sign of solidarity, then she adjusted the microphone and said, “First off I want to thank you all for putting your lives on the line each and every
day. I know that every one of you has lost family members and for most of you... your entire families have vanished.” President Clay scanned the room trying to project the empathy that she truly felt and then continued. “The virus that decimated our loved ones has been defeated...” Cheers went up around the room, momentarily drowning out the President’s voice. She put her hands in the air, gesturing for quiet, and then continued where she left off. “…thanks to Doctor Fuentes and Doctor Hanson, both formerly of the CDC in Atlanta. The man that was rumored to be cured is named Archie Stockton and yes, he has recovered surprisingly well. Just hours ago he died... and then started to turn.” She paused to let the words sink in. “Thanks to Doctor Fuentes’ breakthrough Mr. Stockton miraculously recovered. I want to assure all of you that more of the antiserum is being produced. But only in small quantities at first... so we are not out of the woods entirely. Our hope is... and Fuentes is very confident on this front… that eventually his work with the antiserum will pay off in the form of an antidote. One day we all will be inoculated against Omega. And lastly, General Desantos... the United States will forever be indebted to you for this mission that you and your men are about to undertake.”
Putting some steel in his spine, Desantos thanked President Clay and humbly deflected the praise onto his men.
“God speed General,” President Clay intoned, dabbing away tears. Then she motioned to her Secret Service detail and left the room in a hurry, flanked by the six serious looking armed men.
“Thank you Madam President,” Nash offered as the door closed behind the trailing agent. “Desantos, you have already been briefed by Colonel Shrill... I will see you and your men for a debriefing when you return. And I want to personally say I am sorry that we don’t have as much intelligence for you to go on as you are used to, but I know how good you and your men are at improvisation. Isn’t that right Captain Grayson,” she said with a wink directed at Cade who just nodded silently.
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