“The radar isn’t working,” Garble said. “Sorry, Sarge, but I didn’t see a thing.” “Then it’s unconfirmed. Drop the bag and scram.” Sarge looked back at his map.
“Just because Garble didn’t see it on the radar, doesn’t make it a phantom jet,” said Cadence, refusing to leave. A confirmed sighting meant they would receive extra rations. “There was nothing left of the jet. We buried the pilot before the zombies could get him and came straight here. This is a big deal, Sarge. There’s been no activity in the air for months. I wonder where he came from, don’t you?”
“And where he was going,” Highbrow said. “Maybe the government didn’t fall. Maybe the president is still alive. Maybe—”
“Maybe you can zip it.”
Sarge glared at Highbrow before his beady eyes transferred to Cadence. Neither were among his favorites.
“Only you Tigers would come in here with a story about a fighter pilot whose plane blew up, and who just happened to toss you his backpack before he crashed into the fence.” Sarge frowned. “Is that why the electricity went down in Sector 10?” With a snap of his fingers, he pointed at Garble. “I want that generator back up and running in one hour. Is that clear? Put Lieutenant Destry on it and send out a patrol of real soldiers, not teenagers.”
Garble nodded and made the call.
“Pity you didn’t bring the corpse in,” said Sarge with a growl. “No, you bring me a backpack and a lame duck story. You kids would say anything to impress the Captain, thinking he’ll feel obliged to let you join the Freedom Army. Frankly, your story reeks.”
The grunts of disagreement and shuffling of feet behind Cadence invited a threatening glare from Sarge. Cadence didn’t like him. Never had, and never would. Sarge had served in Desert Storm and spent several years in Afghanistan. He’d been on leave, visiting his wife and three kids in Texas when the Scourge broke out. His family didn’t survive the journey to Pike’s Peak. Everyone had lost somebody. Sarge, however, seemed to act like he was entitled to take out his anger and hatred on the kids; that wasn’t fair.
The first case of the virus surfaced in New York City on the first of October. Within three weeks the virus went global. War was inevitable, but it wasn’t the next World War everyone expected. Survivors, in every city, town, and village around the world fought against the infected that had multiplied at an insidious rate. By mid-November, no country had a government intact, a military or living population. News from television and internet was terminated. Cell phones no longer worked. All forms of communications were obsolete, except for shortwave radios. No one had contacted the camp in ages.
There was never a question about how many had survived for Cadence. Everyone she knew had either been eaten or killed fighting zombies. Anyone able to get through the zombie hordes alive, made it to Pike’s Peak. At the top of the mountain a large camp had been set up where the survivors and their families lived in RVs and permanent structures. Headquarters was established in the former tourist cabin, and a hospital and school were operational as well.
The Captain seldom left his post from his overlook on the mountain. Like Sarge, he served in the armed forces but most of his unit was wiped out in the first week of the Scourge. The Captain arrived at the Peak with a handful of soldiers from his original unit. He made do with what he had and began to set up camp. As far as they knew, it was the only camp of its kind.
Cadence remained silent as Sarge pushed back his chair and stood, releasing a wave of repulsive body odor in her direction. He was short and stocky, with a thick neck and oversized biceps, not unlike a bulldog. She tried to maintain a blank look. Bathe much? she thought. She wasn’t sure which was more offensive, his smell or lack of trust.
“Open the bag, Highbrow,” said Sarge. His voice was deep and rough.
The sergeant sat on the corner of the desk while Highbrow knelt beside the backpack to do his job and search inside for what they had found. Being cautious, Highbrow wore leather gloves, biker goggles, and a red bandana pulled over his face.
“You think something in there’s going to bite you, boy?” Sarge expelled a coarse laugh.
Garble snickered. His lanky black hair hung slick and greasy, while his yellow beret stuck out of his back pocket. Yellow denoted those serving in Communications. Garble wasn’t a bad sort by nature. He could fix anything with gadgets, wires, and electronic components. The malfunctioning radar proved a fluke. He got computers working again which were used for research and scheduling.
Highbrow opened the backpack. Cadence stood behind him, pistol in hand, prepared to shoot anything moving around, gaping at her with red eyes. Severed heads had been found in coolers left behind at abandoned campsites, and had once been found in a freezer at a destroyed gas station. Highbrow yelped with excitement as he revealed a folded American flag, a revolver, and a box of ammo. Completing the inventory were two candy bars, clean socks, disinfectant spray, and a locked, black metal box. The top of the box fashioned a worn Grateful Dead sticker, which seemed fitting.
“Give me the black box,” said Sarge. He always sounded gruff, no matter his mood.
“Sarge, the pilot made it a point to drop the backpack so we could reach it,” Cadence said, not caring if she spoke out of turn. “It seemed odd to me. We haven’t seen any planes since last winter. Maybe it’s a coincidence, I don’t know. He was in the right place at the right time, though. I know he saw us.”
“I see,” growled the sergeant. “You kids think everything that happens to you is some kind of government conspiracy. Well, I don’t believe in conspiracy theories, magic, or fate. But I do believe in luck. You got lucky today, Cadence. That’s all.”
“So you believe me then?”
“Oh, I’m going to check your story.” Sarge snapped his fingers again. “The soldiers will dig up the body and bring it back here, something you should have thought to do. If they find any pieces of the wreckage, they’ll bring that too. Then we’ll determine if it’s a confirmed sighting. Until then, get out of here and stop bothering me.”
“Don’t we get to keep anything from the backpack?” Cadence kept her cool, but not without effort. “Highbrow took a few items off the pilot’s body.”
The marine’s eyes lit up and he held out his hand, snapping his fingers, making it clear he wanted all the evidence to be handed over. Highbrow showed the items he had salvaged.
“A watch, a pocketknife, and a wallet,” said Highbrow. “Check out the military ID I’m sure it will confirm he’s Air Force. Besides, I would like to know his name.”
Sarge took the items from Highbrow and laid them out on the table. He picked up the pilot’s wallet and rifled through the contents, removing the military ID and a driver’s license. Both cards were burned and the plastic coating bubbled from the electrical heat.
“His name was Lieutenant Joe Strong,” said Sarge. “Looks like your story might just pan out, Cadence.”
Cadence stared at Sarge, thinking his brain was small as a walnut.
“There are a few more things in the outer pockets,” Highbrow noted under his breath. “Socks, photos, a pack of gum, candy bars, and a stick of deodorant, which apparently no one around here uses.”
“I’d give the watch to the Captain, it’s a Rolex, but it’s worthless. Shame. It was a nice one,” said Sarge. “The flag stays here, but the Tigers can have the gum. Little girls love chewing gum, don’t they?” He laughed hard, along with his soldiers, and then stopped to peer at Cadence with a more critical eye. “Have you looked in a mirror? You have pieces of fried skin on your baby beret. If you ever hope to replace that orange cap with a blue one, you’d better start presenting yourself ship shape.”
“I tell you about a downed fighter pilot and you give me gum,” Cadence said, not masking the anger in her voice. “I take my job seriously, Sarge! The Tigers are the best patrol on Pike’s Peak and you know it!” She yanked the orange cap off her head and brushed off the charred skin. “What about the rest of the stuff? You got any u
se for it or can we have it?”
“Keep it. The black box goes to the Professor. If there’s anything special inside, the Professor can sort it out. What’s the matter, Cadence? You need a pat on the back?” He reached out a hand, but she flinched and he laughed again. “How ’bout I stroke your ego? You and your Fighting Tigers did good.”
His compliment came too late.
“Got something in there for me, Cadence?” asked an eager Garble. He looked at the backpack. “Can I have one of those chocolate bars?” He smiled wide, revealing a missing front tooth.
Sarge swatted him away. “The answer is no, Garble. Stop your whining. The girls get the candy bars.” He leered at Blaze and Smack who were beaming with joy. “You twits can take what you want, but leave the revolver. It’s a Smith & Wesson and it goes to the Captain. Anything good always goes to the Captain. Or me.”
The general rule was that one item could be kept by any member of a scouting party when they brought in recovered items and supplies, as long as it was cheap or readily available. Cadence thought the rule unfair, but there wasn’t anything she could do about it. Everything else went to the officer on duty, who took everything to Sarge. Important things such as weapons and jewelry went to the Captain, to keep or dole out to at hid discretion. The flag went to him without question. The American flag represented what they fought for and it would be flown at the top of the Peak, with a dozen or more flags found over the past eleven months.
“Take your team and go get some chow,” said Sarge. “We’re through here.”
Sarge turned to Garble. The corporal was making frantic attempts to clear the static on the radio. The tough sergeant sat in his chair, leaned toward the radio and smirked as Garble turned up the volume. Cadence and Highbrow hung by the doorway, glancing at one another as a woman’s voice came in clear amidst intermittent static.
“. . . we’re approaching Colorado Springs, but the main group is an hour outside Denver. . . highway cluttered with vehicles . . . crawling with zombies. There’s no way through. Hank is finding another way. What is your position? Over.”
Crackle and fuzz followed. Garble chewed a dirty fingernail as he turned a dial, tuning in.
Another voice, male, answered.
“I’m looking up at a twenty-foot tall electric fence. This is unbelievable, Marge. They’ve got a fence that runs around Manitou Springs and winds into the mountains. It’s active, so we can’t cut through until we find a downed section. I’ll try to contact whoever is in charge at the camp and make nice. Call me when you arrive. Logan out.”
More static followed and then silence.
“Scavengers.” Sarge pointed at Garble. “Patch me through to the Captain. He needs to hear this. I want all units on patrol. That means you, Cadence. Fill up on food. Supply your sniper and guard with ammo, then get back out there. I want to know how many there are and where they’re coming from. You should be able to get a visual on any caravan coming down Memorial Highway. Send word back the moment you do.”
“I need a radio for that,” said Cadence. Sarge seldom offered any team the means to maintain contact when on patrol.
His face turned bright red, and he yelled. “You think I’d give you something as valuable as radio? Forget it! Get out there and do your job. You see something, send one of your little girls back to report it. These people are dangerous and mean to take what we have. That’s not going to happen on my watch. This Logan character is already here and scouting the area. This is a Code 4. If you see anyone suspicious, shoot first and ask questions later. Got it?”
“Got it,” said Cadence.
Leading the Tigers to one of the smaller buildings, Cadence held the door for her team and followed behind them. The shed was filled with weapons and boxes of ammunition. Most of the weapons came from the National Guard, while a portion came from city gun stores and private owners. All types of hand guns, rifles, swords, knives, and even crossbows stocked the shelves and walls of the building. The team stared at the weapons like they had hit the jack pot.
“Those were scavengers on the radio,” said Highbrow. “But it makes little sense that they’d use a radio. They have to know we can pick up chatter. Maybe it’s a diversion. It’s possible they mean to attack.”
Cadence glanced at the door. “I don’t care about the rules. We’re not going out there unarmed.” Highbrow looked surprised. “Take what you want and can handle carrying. Everyone is going armed, with enough ammo to last us a few days. Grab one of those .44’s and a holster. Get me one, too.” She paused as she came upon an elegant, battle-wrapped katana hanging on the wall. “Hello, beautiful.”
The Tigers thought Cadence nuts for the hours she spent practicing swords with Dragon, the second-in-command of China Six. Hand-to-hand combat with a zombie was nobody’s idea of a good time, but China Six prided themselves for being modern-day ninja and they prepared for every scenario. Cadence enjoyed training with them and because of it she knew how to handle a sword.
“Blaze! Smack! I suggest you each get an automatic rifle,” said Cadence, strapping the sword across her back. “Hide them under your coats. Blaze, if you want a crossbow then take one. Dodger, I see you eyeing that M4 Carbine. Keep it hidden. You’d better pack a pistol, too.”
“It’s about time someone recognized we have mad fighting skills,” said Dodger, stuffing a 9mm into his coat pocket. Lifting the M4 from the rack as if it were Excalibur, he slipped it under his oversized coat, turned around and grinned.
Whisper handed Dodger ammo for his weapons, and packed a sufficient amount for himself along with several magazines. He sheathed single rounds into the breast pocket of his worn parka and picked up a hunting knife.
Teams could keep swords, bows, axes, crossbows, and knives, but not guns. Cadence assumed Sarge had come up with the ordinance rules. If she had her way, everyone would be armed. She knew the boundaries she was crossing and was willing to take responsibility for her actions.
“This is a bold move, Cadence,” said Blaze. She shouldered a crossbow before grabbing the last two AK-47s off the rack, passing one to Smack. “In two months, you turn eighteen. We’ll get off with demerits if we’re caught but the Captain will give you lashes, just like Thor.”
“This time it’s different,” said Cadence. “Scavengers have reached the fence and Sarge has issued a Code 4 alert. When things heat up, nobody will care if the Tigers are armed. In fact, the Captain will be glad at least one team is ready for anything.”
“All right guys, listen up,” said Highbrow. “We don’t want to draw any attention when we get outside. Straighten up, act normal, and move out.”
Cadence looked out to make sure it was clear. The team lined up, and Highbrow checked to be sure weapons were hidden, sending them out one by one. He glanced at Cadence before exiting. Cadence followed the Tigers through the parking lot, passing several military trucks and approaching a row of colorful four-wheelers. Each Tiger took their pick and turned to Cadence for her signal.
“Finally,” said Freeborn, starting up her engine, “we get to see some action.” With the orange beret worn low on her brow, she looked tough, but it was the eagle feather at the end of her braid that gave her the look of a Cherokee warrior.
Cadence mounted last. The corners of her mouth turned upward as she motioned them forward. The Fighting Tigers, for the moment, wore goofy smiles. It shouldn’t be enjoyable to go on patrol, but sometimes in their crazy, upside-down world, killing zombies could be, well . . . fun.
* * * * *
Chapter Three
Cadence and the Tigers trekked east through the burned ruins of the once beautiful and historic town of Manitou Springs. Zombies had been cleared out months ago. Except for the occasional hot springs bath or a fresh water run, it was a ghost town. The rumbling of the four- wheelers echoed through empty stores and houses with vacant, blackened windows.
Cadence spotted movement in an upper story window.
It was a grand old house on a hill that ca
ught her attention, dead expect for that one flicker of movement. With her attention focused on the gutted shell she didn’t realize her vehicle was careening toward Highbrow’s, until she slammed into his back tire with her front. He swerved, hitting the bumper of an old truck, sending him flying through the air.
“Highbrow! I’m so sorry,” shouted Cadence, pulling alongside Highbrow’s sprawled body.
Jumping off her ATV, Cadence knelt beside her dazed teammate. The team circled the two, seeing that Highbrow wasn’t injured other than a few cuts on his face. Exerting her frantic mother instincts, Cadence checked him over and sat him up to examine his head, spine, and limbs. Highbrow laughed at the fuss.
“Glad you weren’t driving a car.” Highbrow didn’t complain when Cadence hugged him. She was up on her feet soon, offering her hand to help him. “See, boss. Nothing broken. What distracted you this time? You see something?”
“Could be nothing. Could be something.”
Highbrow grinned. “Hell, Cadence, you’re dangerous when you’re paying too much attention to the wrong thing. You gonna check it out?”
“Both of us are going, you know the rules.” Cadence spun around, finding her team parked and awaiting orders. “We’re going into that house to check around. Blaze and Smack, watch the road. Dodger, make sure my team stays safe.” The teen nodded. “Whisper and Freeborn, keep your eyes on the house and warn us if you see anything suspicious. As quiet as this place is, we’ll hear you.” She put a hand on Highbrow’s arm. “You ready for this?”
“God, I love it when you’re all tanked up. Yeah, I’m ready.”
Cadence gave a gentle shove and pushed her second-in-command forward. She drew her .44 from its holster and started up the grassy slope, passing a set of railed stairs that were long blown to pieces. A light breeze swirled and dead leaves marched around the blackened ground. Listening for anything suspect, Cadence paused on the porch and glanced back at her team.
Morbid Hearts (Dead Hearts Book 1) Page 2
