Carlie Simmons (Book 4): The Gathering Darkness

by JT Sawyer

  “Yes, the frequency is all set. Just use the side button to control the shock level emitted by the neck implant.”

  As the creature began thrashing, Mitchell lightly tapped on the handheld device. These had formerly been used to control the small group of German Shepherds that the prison guards employed. One of Mitchell’s electronic technicians had modified the devices by combining the electrical leads from Tasers into the shock collar software. Holcomb had gone through nearly forty creatures before perfecting the method and getting the voltage level just right to constrain the fast-moving mutants.

  Mitchell eagerly worked the control button, watching in wonder as the crudely embedded electrodes in the neck began shocking the creature. With each hiss of resistance from the mutant, Mitchell delivered another shock, watching the figure slump unresponsive for a few seconds before beginning its futile attempt to free itself. Mitchell paused and turned the knob on his device to a higher setting.

  “That’s enough voltage,” mumbled Holcomb, who was pressed against the wall like a bat with his arms spread. “Too much and it will destroy the central nervous system.”

  Mitchell moved forward again, this time motioning to the petrified assistant to uncuff the beast’s right side while he manipulated the left. The frail man hesitated, recoiling into the counter behind him.

  “If I have to ask again, I’ll feed you to the mutants tonight in their holding cell instead of one of the usual captives.”

  The man toe-shuffled forward, his face bleached white with terror as he reached for the leather restraint on the ankle. After releasing the buckle with a trembling hand, he proceeded up to the right wrist cuff and hastily fumbled with the latch then darted back to the corner behind a cluttered desk.

  Mitchell stood two feet from the creature, which he kept feeding intermittent shocks to while removing a Glock from his shoulder holster.

  The mutant, clad only in shredded jeans, slowly pivoted off the table and stood up as if each limb was tethered from invisible lines dangling from the ceiling. It faced the assistant and released a guttural hiss, its foul breath coning out towards the terrified man. The mutant began spooling out thick strands of drool over its blood-stained lips and its chest pumped furiously. It reached its sinewy arms up, trying to paw at the man in the distance but Mitchell kept his electronic grasp firm. Finally, Mitchell released his fingers from the remote control and the creature rushed forward in one swift motion as if yanked by a rope around its waist. Just as it lunged at the throat of the shrieking man, Mitchell stunned it again. The creature went erect with its limbs by its side as if a giant rod had just been driven through its center, planting it firmly to the ground. Its entire body shuddered as the artificial device restrained its predatory rage.

  “Please, don’t hurt him. He’s my only assistant,” bleated Holcomb.

  The words didn’t even register in Mitchell’s mind. His cheeks were flaring and his pupils dilating as he marveled at the streamlined musculature of beast. He moved beside it, his face inches from the creature, studying the grotesque shape from top to bottom like a collector of artifacts who has just happened across a rare find.

  As Mitchell encircled the semi-submissive beast, his eyes narrowed and a slight smile formed in the corner of his mouth. “If I had a hundred of you, I would own the northwest. A thousand and this country would be mine. An army befitting the new world.” He stood face-to-face with it as he grinned. “Think of what could be accomplished—like Rome under Caesar.”

  He stepped back and yelled towards the hallway, “Guards.”

  The door creaked open and the men entered. “Collar this one and have it taken below with the others.” He glanced back at the mutant, which was still frozen as Mitchell held his fingers on the remote.

  “Excellent work, Doctor. Perhaps your usefulness will be your salvation after all.”

  Chapter 11

  Six days after their return from Sacramento, Carlie and Duncan were flying to a small military outpost near the town of Toppenish in south-central Washington to meet with the commander at his request for more security measures. This facility represented the farthest base that was under the directives of Fort Lewis and the southernmost base near the Grand Coulee Dam. Accompanying them in the Blackhawk were two of Duncan’s men and Eliza. Carlie rarely traveled without her young protégé and she thought the woman’s knowledge of the region might be of use since Yakima was only twenty miles to the north. Eliza had discussed with her the mountain encampment she had taken refuge in and the surrounding terrain. During the ensuing months since her return, Eliza had recounted her fond memories of living in the woods and the small community of survivors that had taken her in.

  Carlie glanced out the side window at the snow-covered terrain, glad to be away for a while from the awkward tension between her and Shane. She pulled back and leaned across to Duncan. “So you know the commander where we’re headed?”

  “Mike Rollins—we went through ranger school together long ago.” He leaned back and wriggled his head around, stretching his neck under the weight of his tactical vest. “I should also mention that Mike was always notorious for having the best home-brewed beer,” said Duncan. “I sure hope he still has some in reserve.”

  “Now that would be warmly welcomed,” said Carlie.

  The radio crackled and the voice of Mike came into their earpieces.

  “Rollins here, we’re waiting. What is your ETA?” said the voice, which sounded feeble.

  “We’re just coming up on McKenzie Mountains and should be at your base in twenty minutes,” Duncan said.

  “And you have your tactical specialists? I have an interesting dilemma to get their advice on.”

  “Yes, I look forward to hearing your report and catching up with you.”

  When the two men finished talking, Carlie leaned towards Duncan.

  “I wonder why he’s in need of our tactical personnel?”

  “This is a pretty isolated outpost—he may just need some additional advice on how to further fortify their location.”

  Carlie shrugged her shoulders and settled back into her seat, staring back out at the snow-enshrouded valleys below. It had been a long winter and she was eager for the warmth of spring. She kept reminding herself why she had formerly lived in Arizona and how she would one day reside again in a warm climate unclaimed by the snow. One day… She shook her head, wondering if there would ever come such a time when humans could plan so far ahead and contemplate retirement.

  Carlie pulled her thoughts back to the present as she saw Duncan and the other men readying their gear and preparing to set down. He tapped her on the shoulder and pointed to the settlement nestled between two mountains a few miles east.

  “Looks quiet down there,” she said, scanning the scattered buildings and surrounding terrain.

  “They’ve been hit by a hard winter in these parts so everyone’s probably holed up.”

  The helicopter circled the outpost and then swung in low to a helipad behind the main two-story command center. The tinted windows on the building prevented any sign of movement from inside and Carlie studied the immediate grounds instead.

  There were eleven buildings spread out amongst the 200 acres of open meadow. The entire compound was situated in a u-shaped bowl with only one main road cutting through the thick swath of spruce and pine trees. It was an ideal location for a command post, with protection on three sides and a defensible chokepoint leading in. She looked down at the dusting of snow on the helipad and noticed the absence of any tracks.

  Mike’s barely audible voice came through their earpieces again. “I’m just getting back in from a trek to our lookout tower and will be with you shortly. Just walk into the command center and wait in the control room.”

  “Copy that,” said Duncan, grabbing his M4 and opening the sliding door. “He sounds like he’s under the weather—no surprise living in this icebox of an outpost that we’ve got him in.”

  Carlie followed him with the other men and
Eliza trailing behind them. The command center was a hundred yards ahead, its steel double-doors fortified with metal plates bolted onto the core.

  “Don’t you find it odd that there aren’t any tracks around the entire area? Not even deer or rabbit,” she said.

  Duncan paused before the steps leading up to the entrance and scanned the terrain. He frowned and panned his head up at the surrounding hills then back at the front door. As he extended his gloved hand out to the round knob, he heard a faint but familiar whistling sound from above growing in intensity.

  Carlie craned her head up at the sky and gazed around for answers.

  “Mortar—take cover!” said Duncan.

  Everyone’s eyes grew wide and they dropped to a squat behind a cement retaining wall as a white-hot flash of light drove into the helicopter. The explosion rocked the entire building, shattering out the windows on the second floor above their heads. Carlie tucked her chin down and pulled her parka hood in tighter around her face as shards rained upon them. The Blackhawk was splintered into jagged fragments while the rotor and rear fuselage came crashing down onto the helipad, flaming metal groaning and hissing like the tongue of an orange viper.

  “What the hell is this,” Duncan said, staring at what was left of the two blackened corpses of the pilots inside the burning wreck. He tapped his earpiece, switching over to a different frequency. “Shark Tank, this is Hammerhead, do you copy?”

  “Go ahead, Hammerhead,” said the woman’s voice back at Fort Lewis.

  “Aries Two has been compromised. Our helo was just taken out and we are on foot. Request immediate evac at our position.”

  There was a long pause on the other end. “Extraction team inbound in two hours. We are retasking satellites and will have intel on your location shortly.”

  “Copy that.” He stood up and returned to the front doors, testing the handle, which was locked. He glanced around the area and saw a small barn twenty yards away near the treeline. He motioned for everyone to follow him as they crouched and ran along the building past a row of hedges and into the weathered structure. A heavy odor of hay and horse droppings permeated the air inside and the walls were lined with lariats and farrier’s tools.

  “The messages requesting you and your team to come here—those must have been staged,” said Carlie.

  “Those were sent two days ago,” said Duncan. “Someone must have breached the encrypted frequency for this outpost or coerced Mike into supplying false intel to lure us here.”

  “Where is everyone?” said Brinkman. “This place had over forty personnel. There are no signs of a large-scale battle.”

  The woman’s voice crackled into Duncan’s earpiece again. “Hammerhead, be advised that we have movement of creatures heading your way from the south. Estimates indicate around a hundred total.”

  Duncan grimaced, sending a knowing look at his team. The voice came back on. “We also show the heat signature of two human beings in the medical clinic two-hundred meters to the north. One is very faint, barely registering, and is supine. The other is hovering nearby, moving back and forth.”

  “Alright, we’re heading there now and will take cover in that building if it’s defensible.”

  “Copy that. We are also showing a group of four individuals clustered in the forest to the southwest between the incoming horde and then a few lone individuals scattered around the valley. All of the latter appear to have spotting scopes.”

  He tapped off his earpiece and looked at the others. “Seems like they just wanted to trap us here and have the zombies do the rest,” he said.

  “This is a test,” said Carlie. “Your tactical specialists, the elimination of the helo, those spotters. This is a little fishbowl they have us in to study our operational protocols.”

  “What’s your assessment?” said Duncan, looking back at the two men.

  “Agree with Carlie. This was too staged and precise. They knew when we were coming and our immediate capabilities,” said Kulovitz, a stocky man with red hair.

  “They’ve got the high ground and control the route out of here,” said Brinkman. “We either stay put until air support arrives or risk heading into the forest to the northeast where the ridgelines will afford us some protection to make a stand.”

  Duncan mulled over their options and quickly surveyed their escape routes again. “We need to get to the med building and see about the survivors—if that’s what they are. We’ll have to make our stand here on the main grounds.”

  As they prepared to move, another whir of mortar fire sang out above them. “Move,” shouted Duncan as the round tore into the ground behind the barn.

  “That was a deliberate miss,” said Kulovitz. “With how precise they were with the helo, they could’ve dropped another round right on our heads.”

  “We need to take out that mortar team and as many of the spotters as possible,” said Carlie. “Even if we make it to medical, they could pound us with rounds and drive us out into the approaching zombies.”

  “Alright, you take Brinkman and Eliza with you and see if you can remove those guys. Kulovitz and I will head to medical.”

  They split into their respective groups while the torrent of undead moving in on the compound could be heard on the other side of the command center. The hungry flesh-eaters made their way over the snow-encrusted road towards their location, drawn by the recent explosions.

  Chapter 12

  Duncan and Kulovitz kept low and slunk along the back walls of the buildings until they were at the rear of the medical clinic. It was a three-story building that appeared largely intact by the look of the windows. Duncan peered around the side at the growing menace of zombies headed their way. “We’ve got about twenty minutes if we’re lucky before they overrun the main compound,” he whispered. As he turned to speak, he saw a flash of movement to his right. Behind Kulovitz was a slick-faced mutant squatting on a half-wall by a dumpster. It sprung onto the ground and bounded like a cheetah towards them, weaving around bushes. Both men began firing off short, controlled bursts until its bloody form came to a sliding halt eight feet from Kulovitz. He stared at the crumpled mess and then gave a wide-eyed look to Duncan, who pointed to the rear exit and then began moving.

  They cleared the lobby, which looked untouched except for a few spent tear-gas canisters lying on the tiled floor underneath a small broken window.

  With each floor they cleared, Duncan noted that there was very little disturbance to any of the furniture, desks, or supplies. After reaching the third floor, they moved cautiously towards the second room on the right where the heat signatures were indicated in the previous transmission from Fort Lewis. Duncan gazed around the edge of the wooden doorframe and saw a man in jeans and a camouflage parka pacing back and forth along the window. He was clutching an AK-47 and nervously muttering something to himself. Lying on the floor a few feet away was Mike Rollins. Duncan studied the supine figure of his friend, watching to see if his chest was rising and falling. Then he heard Rollins moan and saw his fingers twitch. Thank the almighty, he’s alive.

  The man by the window moved next to Rollins and kicked him in the ribs. “Be quiet or I’ll break the rest of your ribs.” As the man swung his leg back to deliver another kick, a 9mm round tore through his jaw followed by another one to his forehead. Duncan sprang into the room as the man fell backwards against the windowsill before sliding down to the floor. Kulovitz followed behind, sweeping to the right as the two men secured the small space.

  Duncan squinted in the sunlight and slowly moved forward towards the two figures, kicking the rifle aside and then removing the dead man’s pistol and knife. Then he knelt down on the cold floor beside his friend.

  “My God—Mike, are you OK, buddy? What happened?”

  “Duncan,” whispered the man, his bleary eyes trying to focus.

  “Yeah, I’m here,” he said, lowering his pistol. Mike was shivering and pale. On the floor were empty vials of drugs and used syringes. Duncan examined a dried b
loodstain on Mike’s left temple. “Do you have any other injuries other than your ribs and head?” he said, examining the man before pulling up the wool blanket from around Mike’s waist. The pale-faced figure just shook his head. “There were several other goons up here until this morning,” he said, whispering but only managing a raspy cough. Duncan reached into his vest and removed a small flask of water, putting it up to Mike’s cracked lips.

  Duncan placed his other hand on his friend’s shoulder and looked around the room, his face cloaked with dread at the next question. “Mike, where are the rest of your people?”

  The man’s facial muscles slumped further and tears began forming in his eyes. He just shook his head and clutched Duncan’s jacket, sobbing. Mike tried to sit up but slid sideways, trying not to lapse into unconsciousness. He pulled Duncan to him and struggled to stay alert. “They came in on the main road—two guys in a semi-truck. Said their convoy was attacked a few miles away and they needed help. While we scrambled to muster our resources, they turned loose a shitload of zombies from the back of their rig. Must’ve had a hundred of those things,” he panted, struggling to catch his breath. “Then they fired tear gas into the windows of the buildings to drive us out while the creatures tore people apart in the confusion. There were at least four of those fast-moving mutants too but we got a few of them early on in the battle.” His face went blank. “My crew—my entire crew was wiped out before my eyes.”

  Duncan hung his head, trying to process the information and worrying about the timeline for the inbound helos. He looked at his friend, running a cool compress across his forehead. “We received a message from here two days ago. Sent by you, Mike Rollins, requesting us to come out with our tactical specialists.”

  Mike grimaced in pain as he tried to straighten his back against the wall. “We were attacked four days ago. They kept me alive—drugged me with some heavy shit and then had me read the messages you received.” He rolled his head back and forth. “I heard myself talking, knowing what I was saying but unable to stop myself.” Mike began weeping and then choked on a cough, curling onto his side. “Why did they do it—why? We were just a small outpost—there’s nothing in this area of worth. They took a few of our fuel trucks and supplies but we just didn’t have that much.”