by S. P. Durnin
“Really? That’s pretty impressive.” Jake said. “What about
fuel?”
Rae was giving George a dirty look for daring to insult her Humvee. “Normally they take diesel, but can run using regular gasoline. You could even use motor or vegetable oil as a fuel source in a pinch, but I’m not sure what effects doing that would cause long term, if any. The downside of the vehicle is that it’s noisy as hell. Both inside the cab and out. Those things are like driving around ringing a dinner bell for the maggot-heads.”
“Like your baby’s quiet?” George grinned.
“At least she’s not bright, fucking pink!”
The day wasn’t even half over yet and Jake was already getting a migraine. “Alright! Shut it! God. Worse than children, the pair of you. Can someone give me the low-down here?”
With the exception of the four assigned to Langley’s western barrier, the entire population—nearly seventy people, not counting the crew of the Mimi—began filtering past Pistol Pat’s to see what all the commotion was.
Mooney was at Foster’s shoulder. “We heard their approach a ways off. Came around the curve out there like they were on a Sunday drive. Thought for a minute they might try to crash the gate, but they’ve just been sitting out there.”
Jake pulled the mini binoculars from his tac-vest and scanned the convoy. To his surprise, he saw the passenger in the lead vehicle had a pair of spotting glasses held up before his eyes too. The man lowered the optics and waved, raised a pistol into view, laid it on the dashboard, then opened the passenger door.
“Nobody start nothin’,” Foster called to the others along the wall. “At least, not unless they turn out to be hostile.”
The man began walking towards the barricade. As he approached, O’Connor saw he wore flame-retardant ACU’s (Army Combat Uniform) in the old “MultiCam” pattern—used during Operation Enduring Freedom—under his combat armor and fully loaded tactical vest. He carried no rifle, no handgun, and raised his hands as he spun to show no hidden weaponry before striding forward. That was a good thing. While Jake had no worries about any of their party taking a pot-shot at the new arrivals, he wasn’t so sure about the good people of Langley. Eleven members of Mooney’s security force were on the wall with them, and it would be a Very Bad Thing if one of them happened to shoot potential allies.
Not wanting to immediately see if the confident soldier had a sniper placed down the road somewhere by calling out to him, Jake continued looking over the small convoy as the fellow approached the anti-zombie barrier. Once within thirty feet of the truck-and-plate steel wall, their visitor came to a halt and looked up along its peak.
“Hello,” he called up, “May I speak to the person in charge?”
Foster and Jake shared a look, then they both turned to Mooney. The owner of Sunset gave a sigh and raised his arm. “That would be me.”
The soldier nodded and gave an easy smile. “Good to meet you, sir. My name is Lieutenant Randal Kirk. The men in the vehicles with me are Bravo Platoon. Would you folks be interested in a rescue?”
* * *
In short order, Mooney had one of his people move the dump truck composing Langley’s eastern-most gate to allow Lieutenant Kirk and his men entry. The three Mogs rumbled inside the barricade and lurched to a halt in Pistol Pat’s tiny parking lot to the cheers of Mooney’s people. Many even embraced the soldiers as they offloaded from the rear of the armored Mogs, teary-eyed at the thought of their long exile coming to an end. Most hadn’t ventured from the town proper in months, fearful of the awful dead things roaming the now vacant landscape beyond, and cabin fever had been rearing its ugly mug before Jake, Kat, and their friends had shown up weeks prior.
O’Connor and Foster moved determinedly through those gathered with Mooney, intent on speaking with the good lieutenant as news spread through-out the fortified town. Even other members of the Mimi’s crew began to show up. Elle and Leo came running from their Post Office refuge, followed closely by Gwen and the hulking Sampson, clearly wanting to see the newcomers first hand.
That was when the surviving half of the Barbie Duo went all to pieces.
While jogging around the far Mog towards Jake and the others, Gwen passed a tall Corporal just leaping from the bed and skidded to a halt. Her jaw dropped and the pretty blonde’s eyes went wide in shock.
“Mark?”
The man turned in response to her voice, evidently calling him by name, and did a double-take. “Oh my God... Gwen! You’re alive!”
If it hadn’t been for the combat sling supporting his carbine, the battle-scarred M4 would’ve hit the ground as the corporal rushed forward to meet her. A whoop of joy burst from his throat as he lifted Gwen bodily from her feet and spun her around, easily supporting her weight with his arms locked below her hips. Jake noted the brilliant smile on her laughing face as the soldier did so and, though curious, kept pace with George and Mooney. There was sure to be a story there, but it could wait until after they spoke with Kirk.
Mooney waved to the lieutenant and moved slightly away from the cheering, weeping crowd so they could speak normally.
“You’ve done well here, sir,” Kirk marveled, watching the townspeople still all but smothering his men with hugs and even a few kisses here and there. “I won’t ask if you folks have had a rough time of it. Everyone still alive has. These people look damn good for being on their own, sans supplies or defenses save what you could muster, for months though.”
“It’s been a challenge, I’ll tell you that for nothing.” Mooney waved the complement off and pointed to Foster, then Jake. “This is George Foster, ex-navy, and Jake O’Connor, the head of our supply team. They’ve been godsends over the last weeks.”
Kirk nodded and shook hands with them both. “Gentlemen, it’s a pleasure. I’m sure you’ve got a lot of questions, so why don’t we take a walk? I’ll leave my men here, that way you won’t think I’m trying to pull a fast one, and I’ll give you a full information dump. Our commander will be very eager to meet you, so I’m sure you’ll want some specifics. Our numbers, our intentions, those kinds of things.”
“You might say that.” George replied amicably in flawless, polite English, causing Jake some surprise. He didn’t know the Chief new how to speak any languages except Rude, Crude, and Utterly-Fucking-Offensive. All in a “Neu Joysey” accent, of course. “It’s been a while since we saw anything but Maggot-heads outside the walls.”
“You mean the creatures?” When George nodded Kirk gave a chuckle. “Well, that’s a new one. Creative. Most survivors we’ve come across have taken to calling them ‘eaters,’ or ‘rotters,’ or ‘biters,’ or even just plain ‘zombies’. Maggot-heads, huh? I like it.”
“One of the women came up with it,” Mooney explained, turning towards the far side of Langley where the Sunset Bar and Grill sat. “Want a drink?”
Kirk grinned. “I’d kill for a Coors Light right now. We’ve been on the go for nearly six days this time to get here and, while Mogs are great all-terrain vehicles? They’re decidedly lacking in the air-conditioning department.”
Mooney shook his head. “That’s the truth. I think climate control is a thing of the past. Let’s get away from the crowd and we’ll talk. I’ll send a few of my people back from Sunset with some drinks and stuff for your guys.”
“I’d appreciate that.” Kirk told him. “MREs will keep you alive, but fine dining they’re not.”
“That’s the gods’ own truth.” Jake mumbled, earning himself a dark look from George.
“Well, we can do something about that.” Mooney went on. “Hope they like mushrooms and canned chicken. We found a pallet full of whole, boned chickens this week in an Aldi’s stockroom and I started them cooking last night. They should be done in about an hour or three. You and your men are more than welcome to join us for eats.”
Foster tapped Jake’s arm and nodded s
lightly, hanging back as Mooney and Kirk continued up Beach Drive. Once there was a small distance between them and the preoccupied men, George gave him the “worried” look.
“Thoughts kid?”
Jake glanced towards the Sunset as Kirk and Mooney entered. “Well, they don’t seem to be hostile. I’m not sure if that’s due to having so few men compared to Mooney’s numbers, or if they’re the real deal. If these guys were anything like Pool and his little band of Purifiers butt-buddies, I’m pretty sure they wouldn’t have come calling politely.”
“Maybe. But my danger-klaxon is going off. I think feeling the lieutenant out would be a good idea.” Foster pulled a stogie out of his breast pocket and lit up.
“Your danger-klaxon?”
George nodded. “Yup. Sits in the rear of my back-brain, just below the beer sensor and right of the pussy detector.”
“Okay, let’s see what Kirk has to say.” Jake snorted at the image of Foster wearing a ungainly helmet full of cobbled together gadgetry, like Doc Brown in Back to the Future. “If they’re not on the up-and-up, we’re only a few days away from having the buses finished, right?”
Foster puffed his Cuban. “Yup. Seventy-two hours, max. There’s not much left ta’ do since we don’t have them freezer doors Rae wanted. Just finalize the additions on the front grills an’ attach the secondary generator ta’ the top of Bus Two. I’ll tell ya’ boy, fer’ bein’ such a pain it the ass I gotta admit: that woman knows her way around an arc welder. Great rack on her too.”
Since it was just the two of them there, and none of the extremely dangerous members that composed the female portion of their little group were present, Jake had to agree. “I’ve noticed. Remember her in those Daisy Dukes when we reached her cache? I was pretty sure Allan’s eyes were going to bug out in two different directions. He didn’t know where to look first.”
“Got a hell of a mouth on her though. Piss her off and she’ll cuss ya’ out like a squid.” George clumped up the stairs to the Sunset’s front door.
Jake snorted. “I’d have thought you’d be alright with that.”
“Ah, I don’t mind the smart-lip. Tells me she’s got more between her ears than fluff, unlike that Nichole broad you were pokin’ for a bit there.” Foster pushed into the lobby, leaving O’Connor to follow in his trail of fragrant tobacco smoke. “What were you thinkin’ with that one anyway?”
“That it had been a year between meeting her and my last date. And she was hot. Crazy as a sack of rabid ferrets, as it turned out, and scary besides, but hot.” Jake admitted. “Not my finest moment, by any means. And fuck you very much for bringing that up.”
Mooney and Kirk were sitting at one of the many tables in the dining room when Jake followed the grinning old fixer into the room. The lieutenant was telling Charles about the potential help coming their way and, in Jake’s opinion, it would be substantial.
“We’ve managed to organize a workable battalion-sized force, just over eight hundred, all told. Granted that’s a mixture of all four branches of the armed forces, but we have no air arm. So far, we haven’t come across anyone qualified to pilot so much as a hang-glider, let alone an Apache. Or even a Blackhawk. That makes it damn hard to get any real-time Intel about what’s going on in the surrounding area.”
Mooney’s face displayed surprise. “Holy shit. We didn’t think there were that many living people left. At least, nowhere nearby. There’s—”
“What brought you here?” Foster cut in, intentionally not noticing he cut the Sunset owner off, mid-sentence.
Lieutenant Kirk didn’t seem to notice. “We’ve been based out of Fort Leonard Wood for some time now. The surrounding area is fairly remote and the location has been defensible—even though it’s only about one hundred miles from Saint Louis proper—after we cleared Lebanon. At least until recently. Hordes out of Saint Louis have been coming west more and more often in the last month.”
“What size hordes are we talkin’ about?” George asked.
Kirk sipped at the cup of coffee one of Mooney’s people brought him. “Once we put the things down we managed to take a count. There were over four thousand of them. That was the largest group we’ve managed to quash yet, and it was a near thing, let me tell you. It took every soldier, tech, and mess-cook we had to hold out. In no small part due to lack of proper training. Don’t misunderstand, our soldiers are battle-hardened at this point, but drilling ‘Aim for your opponent’s head as opposed to the center mass’ has been difficult and—as we all know—destroying the brain is the only way to stop the creatures. It’s made for some tight moments. They nearly breached our fences during the last attack.”
“Wait,” Jake didn’t like the sound of that at all, “I thought Fort Leonard Wood was secure. You’re saying it’s not?”
“For the moment,” Kirk advised him. “But the increasing dead activity, coupled with the need to resupply on things like ammunition and food-stuffs, are part of why my team and I are out here. That, and to scout for a suitable location to move our personnel to.”
“I thought you were here to rescue us.” Mooney frowned. “You’re suggesting moving your people here?”
Kirk nodded. “Our forces, our dependents, all of it. Along with every bomb, bean, and bullet we’ve got. Langley is ideal. Actually, this little island here—even though it’s technically Disney and not Langley proper—between the Pensacola and Grand Lake Dams is ideal. An abundant water source, natural barriers if needed by blowing the dams, close to smaller population centers without being too close. Even more so than Fort Leonard Wood, this is the perfect place for survivors to gather. A defensible locale to begin taking back more ground from the creatures. One they absolutely couldn’t breach, thanks to the Lake of the Cherokees.”
Jake was a bit disappointed when he left Mooney and Foster—still speaking with great interest—with Kirk. Upon witnessing a military convoy pull up to Langley’s walls, the unruly-haired man had truly hoped their time fighting the dead would be over. That there would be help on the way from the Powers That Be, enabling him to put aside the leadership mantle forcibly placed on his shoulders by his companions. That they could rest and somehow be transported safely over the Rockies. Maybe by way of a convenient C-141 Starlifter or something. But that didn’t seem to be likely anytime in the near future.
He was still making his way down Beach Drive, back towards the center of town when he saw Gwen heading his way with the soldier she’d greeted still in tow. She didn’t look happy, even though her hand remained firmly locked with his.
“Jake, you need to hear to this.” she said quietly.
O’Connor took a good look at the corporal. He was perhaps a year or two older than his blonde companion, with serious eyes that never left her face as she spoke.
“What is it now?”
Gwen pulled the soldier closer. “This is Mark Weaver. I told you about him before, when you guys first rescued me and Donna? At the Agri-Supply?”
“Wait. This is your ‘friend with benefits’ guy? Holy crap, what are the odds?” Jake stuck out his hand and took Weaver’s. “Nice to meet you. Gwen’s told us absolutely nothing about you.”
Weaver shook Jake’s hand but turned his head to Gwen, clearly hurt. “Friend with benefits? That’s all I was?”
“Mark, we weren’t serious. We only saw each other every few months for God’s sake.” She still hadn’t let go of his other hand, telling Jake her view on the subject might have changed. “We discussed that. You were talking about ‘going career’, and I was in college, so—”
“That didn’t mean I don’t care about you, you know.” Weaver told her. “I wanted to give the long-distance thing a try.”
That seemed like news to her. “You never said anything!”
“You’d had your mind set by the time I worked up the guts. Then I got activated and… Well, it seemed like you didn’t want to cons
ider it, so I just let it go.” He looked crestfallen. “I still keep your picture in my pocket, you know.”
“You do not.”
Weaver pulled his hand free and opened the pocket over his heart, under his tactical harness. He pulled out a photo of the two of them sitting in front of a restaurant. Gwen was mischievously smearing ice-cream on the tip of his nose with one finger, but it didn’t seem to affect his smile in the weathered picture at all.
Her mouth fell open. “You kept this?”
“It was the only one I had of you,” Weaver admitted sheepishly.
Jake sighed. He didn’t need to be part of that particular conversation. “Guys? You obviously have some things to discuss, so can we get to whatever it is you need from me?”
Corporal Weaver shook his head. “Sorry. I’ve been at Fort Leonard Wood for months now, just trying to keep it together. Stay alive and sane. With everything that happened. I was sure I’d never see her again.”
“I know the feeling,” O’Connor told him. “So, what’s up?”
Mark glanced around quickly. “Gwen tells me you have a MATTOC? That it’s safe, from them I mean?”
“Yeah, we’ve got one.” Jake glared at the nervous blonde beside Weaver. “The folks in Langley know, but Mooney specifically told them not to blab their mouths about it, if we came into contact with any other survivors. Something I didn’t think I had to stress with our group, but evidently—”
“You need to go.”
O’Connor stood there with his mouth still open. “What?”
“Run. Run like hell.” Weaver said vehemently. “Kirk is full of it. I don’t know what he’s telling your guys back there, but it’s total bullshit.”
Jake’s stomach headed for China, by way of the center of the Earth.
* * *
“So how do you plan to get your people here?” Foster asked.
Lieutenant Kirk retrieved a map from his jacket and unfolded it on the table. “While it’s roughly two-hundred and seventeen miles from Fort Leonard Wood to Langley, it could be a bit before our forces reach this location. Possibly more. Traveling with only three Unimogs is quite different than moving a nearly nine-hundred member force—especially through ridiculously hostile terrain—so it may very well more than a week before the first of our men make it here. Mr. Mooney, will you and your people be able to continue holding out on your own for that long?”
