by Vohs, J. W.
The team ran as if the devil himself was after them. Flames continued to reach out toward the racing men on the bank, and fire erupted on the waters all round them. As he sprinted upstream, Jack prayed that J.J. was paying attention to the river and keeping the cabin cruiser out of the expanding inferno. After several minutes of running, everyone on the team realized that they had managed to put some space between themselves and the overwhelming flames. They briefly stopped to catch their breath.
Even over the roaring fire they were able to hear the gunshots that pierced the night seconds later. Two golf carts were pulled over ahead of them, blocking their escape route as four guards shot pistols at a range of fifty meters. Everyone hit the ground, and Carter shouted over to Jack. “I’m all outta ideas, Professor.”
Jack called out to T.C., “Hey, kid, you carrying anything but that shotgun and ammo right now?”
“Water and extra ammo’s all I got in my pack.”
Bullets continued to scream past overhead as the fire from the burning fuel steadily edged closer. Jack didn’t like the order he was about to give, but they were out of time and options. “T.C., shrug out of that pack and dump anything else that will slow you down. On the count of three, me and Carter will jump up and hose those guys with our ARs. You run right at those guys and empty that Kel-Tec into ‘em. Can you do that?”
T.C. nodded grimly, his sweat-streaked face scorched by minor flash-burns as he slipped out of his pack. “Count it out.”
Carter wanted to stop what was about to happen, but he was separated from his nephew by twenty feet and there was simply no time or opportunity to switch roles for the counterattack. Instead, when Jack reached “two,” Carter leapt to his feet and faced a fusillade of pistol bullets as he tried to protect his sister’s only son. The unflappable Kentuckian had spent much of his youth hunting and soldiering, and he was still the steadiest marksman under fire Jack had ever seen. The guards emptied their magazines at Carter as he stood perfectly silhouetted by the flames at his back. Hot lead grazed his leather jacket in three separate places as he took steady aim and shot one guard through the stomach, and a second in the chest.
All four of the men hit the ground and hugged the cement as T.C. covered the distance between them in mere seconds. Jack had added his fire to Carter’s and while they could only shoot toward the general locations where the guards had gone to ground, they both had thirty-round magazines in their rifles. Dozens of rounds whining and ricocheting around the men kept their heads down, and T.C. was on them before they even considered returning fire against the soldiers who had them pinned down. The kid didn’t hesitate, pouring buckshot into the enemies who’d been trying to kill him and his friends just seconds earlier. He literally shredded the guards before they even realized he was in their midst.
T.C. waved for the others to join him before taking a knee behind a tree to reload his weapon. Carter noted with pride that his nephew was doing everything by the book, in spite of the adrenaline of his first firefight raging through his body. He rushed up to the teen and slid to a stop at his side. “You all right, son?”
T.C. looked at his uncle as if the older man was missing a marble or two. “Of course I’m all right.” He jerked his chin in the direction of the men bleeding from dozens of wounds. “They’re not doing so hot.”
Carter pulled the kid to his feet. “Well, they’re about to warm up right quick, and so are we if we don’t get a move on.”
The team headed upstream at a pace that amounted to a fast walk, slowed by an exhausted Orvil. Nobody had bothered to determine what kind of shape the older man was in as they planned the mission, and now they could only move as fast as he could. The flames mercifully began to retreat, and the team was back in the trees with their NVGs on as they easily avoided a number of golf carts plying the streets between the river and the refineries. Jack finally called a temporary halt and radioed J.J., ordering the young man to meet them at the extraction point in five minutes. He then looked over at Orvil, who seemed to be in imminent danger of suffering a heart attack. “You want us to bring the boat back here to pick you up?”
Orvil looked as if he wanted exactly that, but he was also afraid that either hunters or the guards would find him if he stayed here by himself. “No,” he wheezed, “I’ll manage.”
Jack shrugged. “All right, we have five minutes to cover three hundred meters. Let’s go.”
Orvil’s adrenaline kicked in, and the group reached J.J. right on time. A few shots rang out after them as the boat sped north, but containing the fire and preventing further catastrophe didn’t leave any resources to pursue a lone boat speeding away through the smoke- heavy darkness. J.J. hadn’t exaggerated his skills, and as Jack and the others vigilantly watched for signs of trouble, the cabin cruiser made excellent time against the current. The exhausted crew arrived back in Vicksburg just before noon. Neither Jack nor Carter were looking forward to facing Charlotte and trying to explain T.C.’s singed clothes or the flash burns on his face.
After two weeks of training and drills, the expanded Black Battalion left Denison on a brutally cold February morning. Winter was showing no sign of letting go of Texas, but Luke had been feeling the urge to head west growing with every passing day. He’d finally decided that the troops would simply have to cope with the weather and hit the road. The soldiers of the battalion were in peak physical condition, but their training and experience varied widely. The officers and sergeants were veterans of organized combat against the infected, but many of the enlisted men and women had fought as individuals, or as members of small groups, during the desperate struggles of the early days of the outbreak. The companies marched out of town amid a rowdy audience of well-wishers, with Wyatt’s hometown cavalry unit bringing up the rear of the procession.
As the battalion travelled west they found more settlements in Texas, some protected by water, while others had managed to carve out safe-zones in less-populated areas of the state. Everyone desired news, and many young people wanted to join the impressive military unit before them, but Luke had decided to cut off recruitment following the training period in Denison. Gracie had come up with another great idea—she’d had some of the more artistic members of her company design and copy a simple flyer of general news and important survival strategies that could be distributed to people they met. Upon encountering a new settlement, designated officers with a small security team would introduce themselves, answer a few questions, and distribute the documents—then the battalion would continue on its way. Nobody they encountered was foolish enough to threaten the heavily armed soldiers. Twelve days after leaving Denison, the Black Battalion entered New Mexico.
Most survivors in the cactus state had found refuge in the mountains. I-40 offered a decent route through the apocalyptic landscape, until the convoy reached the outskirts of Albuquerque. The metro area presented the usual road blockages, but there wasn’t any sign of hunters or surviving humans. Zach speculated that most people and flesh-eaters had headed out to the countryside where they could have found big game like elk and mule deer.
Wyatt looked grim. “There are probably small settlements all over New Mexico, but we aren’t going to find them in Albuquerque any more than we did in Dallas or Fort Worth. And surviving in the countryside around here would be challenging; we had Lake Texoma on our northern flank, plus a massive herd of horses to help us outrun the infected in those early days. I just don’t think we’re gonna find many survivors around here.”
Wyatt’s prediction proved depressingly accurate. The survivors they did see near the highway were few and far between, always in trucks or on horseback. Nobody approached the black-painted vehicles snaking across the frigid desert. Even the hunters rarely came near; fewer than thirty of the monsters had been killed since leaving Texas. Wyatt’s cavalry screened the advance over ground the vehicles couldn’t easily cover, while a team of mechanics in Hummers kept the roadways clear ahead of the convoy. A week after leaving Albuquerque behind, the ba
ttalion crossed into Arizona. Only the welcome sign signaled a difference to the soldiers; the landscape remained unchanged.
Northern Arizona was cold and windy, but signs of spring were finally beginning to appear. Nights were still brutally cold, but daytime highs were reaching the forties and fifties. Snow was slowly melting away, except on the mountains, and the warm, sunny days lifted everyone’s spirits.
Eight days after entering Arizona, Gracie and Luke were riding in one of the Hummers together on Highway 89, twenty miles northeast of the Grand Canyon. Enjoying their usual banter as they drove along, they were both surprised to hear a bit of urgency in Zach’s voice as he radioed back from the convoy’s lead vehicle.
“Luke?”
Luke grabbed his own handheld. “Last time I heard that tone of voice you were facing a horde of Texas Rangers.”
“Yeah, well, this time I’m facing zombies.”
“So, what’s new? Kill them and keep moving.”
“You need to come up here and see what I’m seeing; I said zombies, not hunters—a road full of old school zombies.”
Luke frowned as he glanced at Gracie, who looked equally perplexed and pointed toward the front of the column. Luke nodded to her as he answered Zach. “We’ll be right up, buddy.”
Luke and Gracie sped to the front of the Black Battalion to meet up with Zach. Luke could see with his naked eye what Zach was seeing through his optics. Gracie had her own binoculars out as Zach offered more info. “One of Wyatt’s long range patrols picked these critters up from an observation post on top of a nearby crest. The flesh-eaters are just stumbling blindly eastward.”
Luke borrowed Gracie’s field glasses for an even better view. The close-up revealed a sight Luke hadn’t seen since the previous spring: hundreds of shuffling creatures they’d all referred to as zombies. “Damn,” he said, “those poor bastards were just recently infected.”
“Yep,” Zach agreed as he continued to watch the creatures stumble across the cold desert surface. “They can’t be more than a few days turned, and I don’t see wounds on any of them; how the hell can that be?”
A coldness spread from Luke’s gut as he remembered something Jack had told him. “I bet they received the same ‘vaccine’ those poor bastards in Maine got from Barnes last summer. The government rides in to the rescue, everybody is relieved, then the whole settlement willingly lines up for a shot that gives them the infection.”
“Son-of-a-bitch,” Zach angrily exclaimed.
Luke spoke slowly and deliberately, “Full alert, draw up into battle-laager. Barnes or his helicopters could still be in the area. I’m going to find the source of the zombies and see who in the hell is out there.”
Gracie was worried. “We’re incredibly exposed right here.”
Luke was still staring at the mass of slow-moving zombies below. “Pick out one of these hills and set up there, but do it quickly.” He lifted his radio. “Wyatt, you out there?”
Only a few seconds passed before the Texan replied, “Please tell me you ain’t gonna interrupt my breakfast.”
Gracie and Zach were already calling out orders for the full alert, so Luke didn’t have to explain that breakfast was indefinitely postponed. “Bring up a squadron armed for bear, and a fresh mount for me.”
“I’ll be there in five,” Wyatt assured him.
Luke still wasn’t a great rider, but he knew he didn’t have to be; he could run many more miles in a day than any horse could possibly cover. But he wanted backup on this mission, and he didn’t want the sounds of engines revealing their approach. As he led the cavalry further west, he could see that the zombies were streaming away from the Colorado River, where several tendrils of smoke were still wafting into the blue sky above. A stiff northerly breeze was dissipating the sights and smells, which was the reason why nobody in the battalion had picked up the obvious signs of destruction on the western horizon. Luke called for a halt several miles from the river, well south of the zombies. “Wyatt, I’ll move in the rest of the way on foot; I’m sure you guys could get to me in just a few minutes if I need any help.”
“At least let me go with you,” the cavalryman protested.
Luke didn’t mean to sound rude when he matter-of-factly dismissed Wyatt’s request, “You’ll just slow me down.” He grabbed his bow from where he’d stowed it on the horse, and leapt to the ground without another word. He jogged along at a steady pace that he could maintain for many hours, and within minutes he drew close to the charred remains of what had been a small settlement perched upon a steep hill above the river. He could now see that the other smoke-covered sites in the distance were in similar condition. With no obvious sign of life in the destroyed fort, Luke decided to move closer to the river in the hope of finding survivors. His plan quickly bore fruit: several small boats were floating slowly with the current just to the north. He waited for them to come closer before waving to get the occupants’ attention. One of the watercraft peeled off in his direction while the other moved farther away. When the first boat approached within fifty meters, the man at the helm called out, “What do you want?”
Luke did his best to appear non-threatening. “I want to know what happened here. And if it has anything to do with those bastards who claim to be from the government, I want to know which way they went.”
The boater dropped anchor forty meters from shore. “You stay where you are and don’t pull a weapon, and I’ll tell you what happened; go for a gun and I’ll blow your head off.”
Luke held up his hands. “I’m only carrying a bow and an axe, mister; those work just fine for the infected, and I don’t kill civilians.”
“Well, you still keep your hands where I can see ‘em; can’t trust nobody these days.”
“No problem,” Luke responded, keeping his hands in plain sight. “So what happened here?”
The man spat into the water before explaining, “Government soldiers arrived three days ago in four Blackhawks. We had three fortified settlements out here; used high ground with the river below us for a quick evacuation if we needed it. Most of the folks out here had escaped Flagstaff after the virus hit there. We had over a thousand survivors who’d managed to live through the winter on their own. But these soldiers told us that the government was getting back on its feet, and they’d be back the next morning with more help and instructions on where to go for better shelter.”
Luke knew how this story would end, but he wanted to hear it from a survivor.
“Some big shot came in and told us that we needed to evacuate to California, and they were sending trucks in to pick us up. But most of us didn’t like the looks of the guy, and we didn’t understand why we couldn’t stay here and eventually help rebuild Arizona. He asked us if that was our final decision, all menacing-like. We told him we weren’t leaving.”
The man was unsuccessfully trying to fight back tears, so Luke gave him a moment to compose himself. “Take your time—I’m sorry to make you relive all this.”
The man took a quivering breath and continued. “They brought in MRE’s and medical teams; said the first thing they had to do if we were staying here was inoculate all of us against the virus. A lot of people were skeptical at first, but they were offering a case of MRE’s for every person who’d take the vaccination. They also gave every adult an M4 with ammo if they got the shot. Only a few of us were still against it, and we went out to our boats and headed upstream to a small bunker built inside a canyon. When we came back the next day, every single person who accepted vaccination was infected. We hid our boats when a few choppers came back and collected up all the weapons and food they’d left the day before. I don’t know how they kept the flesh-eaters off of them, but they didn’t have any trouble.”
Luke was simmering with rage, but he kept his voice even. “I’m Major Luke Seifert with the Allied Resistance. The soldiers who did this to you work for a rogue general who calls himself President Barnes. He developed and released the virus. We’ve fought that bastard fr
om New York to Iowa, and we’re still chasing him west. Spread the word when you meet survivors: don’t trust anyone who claims to represent the government or General Barnes.”
“A little late for that,” the man said bitterly.
“Listen,” Luke offered, “we have some food and medicine and clothing if you guys need anything before we continue on.”
The man shook his head. “Thanks, but we had enough of that stuff for thousands of people before the ‘government’ showed up. Now, we have fewer than fifty of us hidden out along the river. We’re good.”
“Can we do anything for you or your survivors?”
“Yeah, you can find and kill each and every one of the sons of bitches who did this to us.”
“I’ll do my best,” Luke promised.
At an impromptu council meeting back at the convoy, most of the commanders wanted to smash through the wandering infected and continue north, but Luke was determined to put the creatures out of their misery before moving on.
“There aren’t enough of them to present a threat to us,” Maddy argued.
Logan nodded his agreement. “Just wasting time.”
“I understand why you feel that way,” Luke responded, “but every one of those creatures was human three days ago. We can save them from an existence none of us would want our loved ones to experience. We’re following the Golden Rule.” He looked at Zach. “How about me, you, and one of your platoons take care of it? We can catch up with the battalion after we finish.”
“Sounds like a plan to me,” Zach agreed.
As the rest of the battalion moved on, Zach’s platoon arrayed their Hummers in a line in front of the column of stumbling, moaning infected moving in their direction. Luke was standing alone, a hundred meters in front of the troops with his axe in hand. As the first of the zombies approached, he took note of how they were still completely dressed, looking for all the world like they were simply drunk humans with coal-black eyes. The creatures took little note of him, certainly giving no indication that they thought of him as food. With all his heart he wished that he would see some sign of awareness from these newly infected, but their slack facial expressions betrayed nothing but mindless hunger. The sight of the troops behind Luke set the zombies to moaning in anticipation, and the sound brought back terrible memories of the first days of the outbreak.
