Brook heard the peals of laughter from the sidewalk. And as she reached the door, raucous words devoid of anger and hurt and hate—kind words of kids playing and getting along and healing—reached her ears. For several minutes she loitered in front of Annie’s door, basking in the sounds of life.
She knocked.
Raven squealed.
The door opened and fifty some odd pounds of Grayson vaulted the threshold and into Brook’s arms.
***
While the kids played—Raven pretending to be Cinderella and the twins the Wicked Step Sisters—Annie and Brook held a quiet conversation.
“How are you doing hon?”
Putting her hand atop Brook’s, Annie made a face and responded in a low voice, “I’m getting along... I had prepared myself for that day for the last twenty years. I just never believed it would happen. I knew that some cave dwelling terrorist wasn’t going to get the best of my big bad Mike. And they didn’t...”
Brook nodded.
Annie went on, “None of us saw this disease... virus... or act of God coming. I couldn’t have ever fathomed something like this happening to as many people as it has afflicted. You know. You were just out there.”
Silence.
“...and just when I think Mike still has his Teflon armor on. You know he talks to me... the mission to the White House. For God’s sake, he had to cut off the President’s hand to get the football,” Annie said.
Mike Jr. rolled his tiny head side to side then went still, all swaddled and safe in his bassinet.
With a tilt of her head Brook asked, “What do you mean, football?”
“It’s what the suitcase is called where they keep the nuclear codes.”
Wide eyed, Brook nodded.
"He survived the mission to the CDC in Atlanta.”
Brook just listened. In fact most of what Annie spoke of was news to her.
“And my Mike and your Cade survived the mission to retrieve some nuclear weapons that were stolen from Minot and then set off two of those nukes to save all of us from the Denver horde.”
“He was a hell of a man,” Brook stated.
Misty eyed, Annie went on, “And after surviving all of that... some fucker destroys the antiserum—kills your brother and ultimately signs my Mike’s death warrant.”
“I’m soo sorry Annie,” Brook said as she wrapped her good friend in a loving embrace. “If you need anything...”
“I’ll ask. I’m not shy,” Annie said, wiping a fresh tear from the corner of her eye.
Instantly Brook feared for Cade. She had felt all of the emotions before but she hadn’t actually acknowledged the fact that he would be gone for good someday, and for some reason or another it hit her harder than ever.
“Let’s go Raven,” she whispered.
Mike Jr. cooed, wormed his arms from the blanket and batted at his face
“You see. He’s a fighter just like his namesake.”
“I love you Annie,” Brook said, “Anything that you need...”
***
After returning to the barracks, Brook went straight for the shower and as the water washed the smell of death from her body she tried to purge the specter of death from her mind. She stepped into the cool air and stared at her image in the mirror and then, trying to convince herself of something she had no control over quietly said, “Cade’s coming home.”
After toweling off she slipped into a pair of Cade’s boxers and, completing the ensemble, pulled on an olive drab shirt with the word ARMY printed in gold.
“Mom.”
“Yes sweetie.”
Raven turned her big browns on her mom and asked, “What happened out there?”
“We got in the middle of a whole lot of them... but it’s OK,” she said, emotion seeping into her words. “Mom’s here now and she isn’t going to leave you alone again.”
“I’m glad you’re back...” Raven whispered, gripping her mom’s toned bicep firmly.
“Me too sweetie... me too.”
Brook stroked Raven’s hair until the girl’s breathing steadied and she had fallen asleep. Then she lay awake listening to the rain battering the barrack’s roof. She couldn’t help thinking about her brother and all that they had been through since the first days of the outbreak in Myrtle Beach. How he had miraculously escaped the blood bath at Grand Strand Regional Hospital only to come full circle and die in the infirmary at Schriever.
Falling asleep proved difficult. The Grayson family mantra ran on a loop through her head. For family truly is the most important thing.
Unable to calm her mind and uncertain whether she had latched the door when they returned from the Desantos billet, Brook swung her legs off of the bunk.
A flash of white caught her eye. Behind the table, trapped between the wall and the leg of the folding chair was the note that she had left for Cade to read before his mission to Jackson Hole.
She made sure the door was locked and then retrieved the piece of paper, placing it on the table where it had been originally.
She climbed back into bed free of resentment, and under the assumption that Cade had somehow missed seeing her note, she drifted off to sleep in her daughter’s embrace.
***
Wilson drove the food laden moving truck to the mess hall after he dropped Brook off at the military personnel’s barracks. He parked the Dakota truck behind the squat building and deposited the keys and Motorola radio in the glove box, then sat and listened to the rain ping against the roof.
A dull ache radiated from the base of his spine through his neck muscles on down his arms. Even his fingers were sore from strangling the steering wheel in a death grip over many hours. What he wouldn’t give for a good massage. He thought through his options. Sasha—way too creepy. Ted—out of the question. Dejected, he pulled the boonie hat low on his head and grabbed his Louisville Slugger. Hungry but too tired to stop and get something to eat, he slid off the seat, slammed the door and trudged off through the forming mud puddles.
Chapter 38
Outbreak - Day 11
Jackson Hole, Wyoming
9:45 p.m.
The night sounds found their normal rhythm after the sun had fully set. The katabatic wind picked up and the temperature dropped to the lower fifties, forcing the men on the desolate ski hill to button up against the chill.
Scattered high clouds scudded across the slivered moon leaving the city below in full dark. Save for a few generators purring in the distance and the intermittently recurring engine growl of the patrol vehicle, Jackson Hole was deathly quiet.
After an hour had passed the four men powered up the Night Vision Goggles clipped to the front of their tactical helmets. Once flipped down, the NVGs turned night into a type of green-hued day in which the team had the capability to see without being seen.
Cade panned his head, surveying the glowing terrain as he picked his way down the steep Double Black Diamond run someone had named Belly Roll, while planted firmly in his mind the knowledge that should he slip the ride to the bottom would be anything but.
Their original plan of lying up on the ski hill until the early morning hours changed the moment Daymon was spotted entering the firehouse less than a mile away.
Cade thought with a little persuasion his old friend might be willing to help, and if he wasn’t, well, then Cade had a zip tie with the man’s name on it. At any rate, the building, two blocks removed from the main road through downtown, would be a perfect jumping off spot for the operation.
As the hill bottomed out, Cade went to a knee next to the Summit lift control booth and signaled for the rest of his team to follow suit. He trained his weapon on the half empty parking lot and motioned for the other operators to continue to the cluster of buildings to his right.
Lopez heel and toed it slowly towards the three-story resort hotel which loomed above and completely blocked out the ambient moonlight shining through the cloud strata. He viewed the luxury ski destination through the NVGs. It looked like it
had been transplanted from downtown Beirut. Though still intact, from a distance the windows and doorways seemed to have been blown out, an illusion created by the goggles. As he neared the stone and timber lodge more details emerged. He could see the curved aluminum handles on the glass doors. Curtains, lamps and other minutiae stood out in the rows of darkened windows.
Grateful that he had yet to come face to face with any of the walking demonios, he silently pushed ahead, his silenced SCAR at low ready and his head on a swivel. He paced along the building followed by Maddox, then Tice who swept his M4 towards each new doorway, and then finally Cade bringing up the rear.
“Fifteen,” Lopez said quietly. The whisper was picked up clearly by his throat mic. Brown grass crunched under his boots as he crept between the building and the sidewalk. He sprinted from cover and snaked his way between the dust covered parked cars in a combat crouch. He paused between a minivan and an older model compact to check his watch. “Twelve,” he said, giving an update of the approximate time the patrol should reappear.
Cade paused beside the rear fender of the compact to survey their six which was clear—so far so good. Their infil was going as planned—no detection and no demonios as Lopez had taken to calling the Zs.
At a brisk jog, the team crossed East Snow King Avenue and melted into the two-story glass and brick canyon of the business district. They worked their way north following Cache Drive for five blocks, using shadowy doorways and alleys for concealment. Then with two blocks to go to target, Lopez signaled for them to hold up. The intense green numbers on his watch read 20:00— “Five minutes,” he called out.
“We are in the window Lopez... it’s your call,” Cade proffered.
That the captain had chosen him to take point puffed his ego a bit. He nodded and motioned a go with his hand. The team crossed the street in a noiseless push and one by one cleared the corner and disappeared behind the firehouse.
The men formed up in the shadows next to a pitted and dented steel door, their backs pressed to the brick wall.
Several cars and trucks were nosed in behind the firehouse. On one wall hung a basketball hoop, its tattered net twitching in the breeze.
“Maddox,” Lopez whispered.
The other operator, already anticipating this task, came forward with his lock pick gun in hand.
Lopez, looking like a futuristic robot in the green glow, nodded as Maddox kneeled, propped his SCAR next to the door and went to work on the lock.
“Patrol,” Lopez said into his throat mic as the low geared whine of the approaching Humvee reached his ears. Out of sight and two blocks away from their position, the vehicle moved slowly down Cache Drive, past the city square and the Silver Dollar Cowboy Bar, then turned away just as it had multiple times without fail over the last seven-plus hours.
A soft click sounded and Maddox flashed the team a green hued thumbs up.
Cade stepped in front of the door. “I’m entry, then Lopez... then Maddox. Tice, you’ve got our six.”
After a trio of “Copy that’s” Cade eased the door open.
***
Silver Dollar Cowboy Bar - 10:05 p.m.
Lucas Brother stared intensely at the conscript and shook his head. “What do you mean he blindsided you?”
“The black dude... I haven’t seen him before. He sucker punched me... out of nowhere,” the man replied with a nasal twang. “That’s all.”
“That’s all? That’s all that you’ve got to say for yourself? You had to have gotten one lick in,” the six-foot-five giant said incredulously. “You’re a chicken shit pussy Paul. Where the fuck was I when this happened?”
“You and Liam were playing pool...”
Lucas’s tat covered biceps rippled as he cracked his knuckles. “You point the dude out the second you see him—you hear?”
Paul gave his big friend a look that said, I don’t need your help.
“Let’s go Liam. We got some drinking to do,” Lucas said. Everyone in Jackson knew of the man’s propensity for the drink. Though he and his brother possessed Scandinavian looks—blonde hair, blue eyes, and chiseled features—they told anyone who would listen they were part Irish and part Cherokee. That Liam also stood six-foot-five assured nobody ever called the brothers on their genealogical bullshit. Also the fact that the two men stayed in Robert Christian’s guest house and provided security when Bishop wasn’t available kept most at arms’ length.
“Luke... where the hell are you,” Liam bellowed as he tottered towards the exit, hand covering one eye, obviously three sheets to the wind.
Lucas shot his brother a pissed-off look. “You too shitty to drive?”
“Have Pipsqueak drive!” Liam shouted, though less than a yard separated the three of them.
The patrons of the Silver Dollar, who were mostly Essentials and rowdy as hell themselves, stopped what they were doing to gape at the sideshow.
“Drive safe fellas,” Gerald said with an indifferent wave of his bar towel.
The first notes of a George Thorogood number emanated from the speakers as the two and a half man crew left the bar.
Flipping his collar up to ward off the chill, Lucas kept the song playing in his head. Yeah, I am bad to the bone, he thought as he tossed Paul the keys to the black Escalade. Hauling himself into the passenger seat, he looked at Paul and said casually, “Better not get any blood on the seats.”
Paul removed the softball-sized wad of toilet paper from his nose and looked in the mirror to examine the crime scene. “The breeding stopped,” he said to Lucas.
“Huh? I dishn’t catch that,” Liam slurred.
“Makesh two ob us,” Paul answered as the Cadillac’s parking lights flashed and the door locks popped with a pneumatic hiss.
Paul was doubly amazed Lucas had asked him to drive the Cadillac, seeing as how the man loved to drive drunk. “Drive fast and take chances,” was one of the sot’s favorite sayings. Holding the ass wipe tourniquet in place with one hand, Paul steered the luxury SUV south along 189 while keeping an eye out for wildlife on the road. It wasn’t unusual to see elk, moose, coyote, and the occasional wolf in and around Jackson. But lately there had been more instances of bear, cougar, and other top of the food chain predators finding their way into the city. Some theorized the diminished human population served to embolden the animals. Others thought the walking dead were to blame for driving the woodland creatures to chance contact with the lesser of the two evils. Paul’s vote was on the latter.
Lucas Brother gazed at the trees whipping by outside his window. The cognac had already begun to wear off. He felt cursed and blessed at once. He didn’t suffer from hangovers and could function at a high level when he was on the sauce. As of late—though he had all of the alcohol he needed—his liquid lover seemed to have lost her luster. It’s the altitude, he liked to tell himself—one of the many lies. “You’re just a pussy,” was usually Liam’s stock piece of advice whenever Lucas broached the subject, but no matter how he dissected the problem he always came to the same conclusion: he needed to quit.
“Where are we going?” Paul asked.
“Any calls from the Barrier or his Highness... or Sir Bishop of Jackson?” Liam piped up. Then thinking the statement through, he added, “Do not repeath that kid.”
Paul in fact hadn’t even been listening. He shivered when he realized he couldn’t remember where he had put the satellite phone. “Shit... ” he gasped as he searched both sides of his seat. He yanked open the center console. Empty. Then he gave his pockets a thorough pat down.
“No you did not,” Lucas said, slowly staring daggers at the smaller man. “Where in the fuck did you leave it?”
“Must’ve dropped it when the nigger smacked me.”
“Wash your words kid,” Liam slurred from the back seat. “Luke and me prolly got some ‘Frican ‘Merican somewhere in our family tree.”
Arching an eyebrow Lucas barked, “Get us to the House.” Then he closed his eyes, hoping that Bishop would be gone whe
n they arrived. More pressing, he prayed that he wasn’t going to give in to the compulsion and turn to the bottle in order to chase the soft glow rapidly leaving his body.
Chapter 39
Outbreak - Day 11
Schriever AFB
Colorado Springs, Colorado
10:15 p.m.
Regina jerked awake. Maybe it was the unusual sound of raindrops—or Mom’s snoring. It didn’t matter, she felt awful—like when she had the flu and stayed home from school.
Her mom had seemed sick earlier. Maybe Mom got me sick, she thought. She drew the doll in closer.
It started as a tickle. Like hair brushing her neck, then a low growl.
She tried to pry Auntie Nadine’s arms from her shoulders. Too tight... cold.
“Auntie Nadine?”
“Regina... honey... I’m sorry, I know that I promised... but your mom pulled rank on me,” Nadine whispered from the top bunk. “She wanted snuggling privileges.”
More guttural sounds.
“Mom?”
The smell hit her in the face first—like Mom... and one of them combined. She covered her mouth, started to whimper softly.
Then the cold brush of something wet on her cheek.
The rain beat out a cadence on canvas.
Nadine resumed snoring.
Accompanying the first wave of agony white tracers flashed across her eyes, then a funny smell, like her prized penny collection, wet and running down her neck.
Mom’s white teeth flashed in the dark.
Regina’s screaming filled the air.
***
Screaming.
It came from somewhere across the base, a high decibel shriek. The kind Brook had been exposed to in the E.R.—from those who had been mortally wounded—the ones who had one foot in this world and the other in death’s firm grasp. The shrill sound echoing outside meant that someone had just died—or was well on their way. The screaming lasted only a few seconds, then was replaced by more rain assaulting the roof over their heads.
“Shhh,” Brook said, clamping a hand over Raven’s thin lips.
A Pound of Flesh: Surviving the Zombie Apocalypse Page 26
