by Todd Sprague
Suddenly it hit John. The man had a bag clutched in his hands. Even in death, he still held the bag tightly. “Shit!” John yelled, running back toward the truck. A heartbeat after he turned, something whizzed past his ear, crashing into the dirt behind him. John reached the truck and dove underneath it. He rolled across the pavement under the hot truck and came up on the passenger side. He pulled his MP5 off his shoulder as another shot ricocheted off the hood of the truck.
Seconds later, those who had been riding up in the back of the truck returned fire, aiming for the unseen sniper. They fired randomly at nearby rooftops.
“Where is he?” and “I don’t see him!” came down from the back. Morgan crawled across the passenger seat and dove out of the truck. He came up with both pistols in his hands but not knowing where to aim.
John forced himself to calm down and slowed his breathing to an almost normal pace. He leaned around the front fender and saw where he’d been standing earlier. A big chunk of pavement had been torn out of the road behind the spot. He took a guess at where the shot must have come from and slid back around behind the fender. He reached up into the cab of the truck, behind the seat, and came back out with a rifle with a big scope on it.
“What’s that?” Morgan asked in a whisper. Another shot boomed out, throwing sparks from the side of the dump body. Someone screamed in pain. Gunshots rang out in return from those gathered behind the thick steel walls of the truck.
“SKS, I put a scope on it for hunting. I thought we might bring down a deer or something if we got hungry.”
John crept back around the corner of the fender, placing the SKS on the hood. He brought the powerful scope to his eye and aimed where he thought the shots were coming from. Slowly he scanned a nearby rooftop inside the base. His gaze came to rest on a figure behind a ceiling vent. John took a deep breath and held it. The figure on the roof popped up. The sun shone brightly from behind the figure, leaving it in total silhouette. John could clearly see the shadow of the rifle as it aimed for the truck again.
Slowly, John let his captured breath free. As his lungs relaxed, he placed the cross hairs directly over the figure’s head and gently squeezed the trigger. The old surplus rifle coughed once, lifting the scope off the figure for just a second. John brought the rifle back down and watched as the figure on the roof slumped over, dropping the rifle.
John scanned the rooftop for other snipers but saw none. Morgan had grabbed John’s binoculars from the truck and was also looking for further danger.
John yelled up to the truck. “Anyone hit?”
“Andy’s hit in his arm. It’s not bad,” Marta yelled down.
Who the hell is Andy? John thought to himself, but said nothing.
After twenty minutes without any sign of another sniper, John handed the SKS to Morgan, retrieved his MP5, and worked his way toward the guard house in a crouch. He opened the gate, and waved Morgan through.
Morgan climbed back into the truck and pulled inside the gate. John closed the gate and ran to the truck.
“Everyone spread out. Jill, take my SKS and watch for snipers. Marta, cover her. Let’s find out what’s going on here.”
Morgan handed the scoped rifle up to Jill, while everyone else climbed down and formed a circle around the truck. They fanned out, watching for danger. The building where the sniper had been was the first building on the left which had an “Administration” sign over the front door. John motioned for Morgan and Douglas to follow him.
John pushed through the door first. He was surprised to find the lights on, bright lights shining on white linoleum floors. Bloody streaks shone on the walls here and there, but not nearly as much as John expected.
“Let’s find a way up to the roof. I want to get a look at that sniper,” John whispered. They found a stairwell not far from the entrance and worked their way up three levels. The stairwell ended on the third floor. They worked their way from one end to the other, through empty offices and open cubicles filled with antique computer terminals and stacks of documents. Nothing was out of place. It looked to John as if none of the traumatic events had reached this floor. They finally found a door marked “Roof Access”. It had been propped open with a chair. They went though the door and up a steep flight of stairs to another door. This one had been propped open with a dirty red brick.
John signaled for the others to wait there while he went ahead. Douglas rolled his eyes but nodded. John walked out onto the roof, keeping as low as possible. He looked around and found the slumped figure of the sniper near the edge of the roof. He walked towards it, his MP5 out in front of him. Nothing else moved on the rooftop as he made his way over. The slumped form was mostly obscured by the ceiling vent, until John was almost on top of it.
He stopped, his brow furrowing in confusion. The body of a man lay before him in gray urban camouflage fatigues. The man had cropped blond hair, a clean shaven face, and a muscular build. A powerful bolt action sniper rifle lay on the roof next to him. Cartridges lay scattered about the area, having fallen from the dead man’s pocket. But what really brought John up short was the patch on the dead man’s left shoulder. A pyramid with an eye over it. Underneath the patch, the words “ Vires Supremus Totus” were embroidered in gold thread. A belt around the man’s waist held a pistol and a radio.
John bent down and picked up the radio. He turned it on just in time to hear a male voice say “Go”.
Down in the parking lot, gunfire broke out. Automatic fire mixed with louder single shots. John grabbed the sniper rifle and ran to the edge of the building. Below him, he saw members of his family hiding behind the dump truck, pinned down by shots coming from the doorways of two other buildings. Someone lay face down on the pavement near the truck. As John saw the downed man, a pool of blood spread out from beneath him. John couldn’t tell who it was.
John raised the rifle and saw the bright fire of muzzleflash from one of the doorways below. He aimed the scope at the shadowy cove and fired just above the flames. Even over the gunfire, John heard the scream. The gunfire from that doorway abruptly stopped.
Just then, Jill fired at the other doorway with the old but powerful SKS. Years of hunting had taught her how to use a scope. She hit her target with her second shot. This time, there was no scream.
John, Morgan, and Douglas stood with Jill looking down at the three men on the ground. They’d brought the bodies out into the parking lot, including the sniper from the roof so they could get a better idea of what was going on. Behind them, Phil Barstow, one of the new survivors that had come along, pulled a blanket gently over the face of Andy Potter.
They’d done a quick search of the base and found a pile of burned corpses, over a hundred, behind one of the buildings. But they’d found no sign of any living undead. Every entrance to the base had already been secured.
“I don’t get it. Something isn’t right here,” John said, scratching his head.
Douglas reached down and ripped the patch off one of the dead men’s shoulder. He tucked it into his coat pocket. He started searching the pockets of the man. Finding nothing, he moved on to the next one.
“What do we have here?” he said as he opened up a folded piece of paper. He stared at it for a moment, then handed it to John.
John read aloud. “From Ironrock. Orders are as follows: Remain behind with supplies. Convoy will return no later than 23 November for pickup. Eliminate infected or potentially infected locals with extreme prejudice. Maintain radio silence.”
Morgan looked at John. “What?”
“That’s it. That’s all it says. It’s on fax paper.”
“They got a fax here?”
Douglas took the flimsy sheet of paper back. “No...it’s because it’s easier to destroy. Or eat.”
“Jesus. Hardcore, man.” Morgan kicked the dead man in the head.
* * *
They spent the next several hours searching the base. They found supplies for the battalion that had been stationed there in several building
s, including more rifles and ammunition. Enough ammunition to make John wonder how they’d get it all back home. They found M16s, shotguns, pistols, and knives as well as tools to repair the weapons. John marked everything down on a handmade map as they searched.
They found the motor pool in back of the base. Three big transport trucks were parked outside a huge garage. Several Humvees were parked there too. Inside the garage were two armored personnel carriers, both with their engines pulled out and hanging from chains attached to beams in the roof. Two of the transport trucks started up on the first try. The third refused to turn over.
They began loading weapons and ammo into the first truck. John continued his canvasing of the base as they loaded.
In a small concrete building in the back of the base, near an overgrown helipad, John found something else that made his jaw drop open in shock.
“What the hell are they?” Douglas asked.
John bent down and picked up a short, sleek futuristic looking black weapon.
“FN Herstal P90s. 5.7mm, with a fifty round capacity, and almost no kick. Usually loaded with armor piercing steel core cartridges. Must be at least a hundred of them!” John spoke with a note of awe in his voice.
“Are they machine guns?”
Morgan slapped Douglas in the back of the head. “Come on, man. Seriously? How did your parents go so wrong?”
John held up his hand reverently. “They’re fully automatic, if that’s what you’re asking. These are the real thing, not the neutered civilian version. And look over there, in the other room. Crates and crates of 5.7mm steel core cartridges. Hundreds of thousands of rounds! Do you have any idea what we could do with this?”
“Um...what?” Morgan asked.
“Survive.”
* * *
As they finished loading the 5.7mm ammo into the second truck, nearly filling it to the brim, John frowned.
“What’s wrong? You should be happy as a pig in shit right now,” Morgan said.
“What were those P90s doing here? And why were those goons guarding them? I don’t like it, not one bit.”
“Who knows? Some branch of the military we never heard about or something, is my guess.”
“No, I don’t think so. For one, as far as I know, nobody in the U.S. Military was using P90s. The Secret Service and some law enforcement agencies were using them, but not the military. And that symbol is right off a dollar bill.”
They stood in silence for a minute. Finally John broke it. “What’s worse, they’re going to come looking for it.”
“Oh. Fuck.”
* * *
They found the base infirmary and took nearly everything they found, including everything on Nurse Margaret’s list. In the end, they took both transport trucks, the dump truck, and one Humvee with a .50 caliber machine gun mounted to the roof. They packed every inch of space in the vehicles with the weapons, ammunition, medical supplies, and finally dozens of army uniforms and boots in a variety of sizes. Then, with Morgan driving the dump truck, followed by Phil in the first transport truck, then John driving the second one with the P90s, with Jill and Marta bringing up the rear in the Humvee, they left the base. Smoke curled up from the pile of burned bodies in the back, four new occupants mixed in with the old. They’d picked up all the evidence of their firefight with the three soldiers, hoping to avoid any conflict with the “convoy” mentioned in the note when they returned.
The vehicles trundled back the way they’d come, following the same route back to Interstate 91. When they reached the Interstate, they drove up the off ramp and headed south in the Northbound lane. Even though it was long past dark by the time they hit the highway, John refused to let them stop. Too much precious cargo rode in the trucks to risk stopping for the night. They’d received a radio call earlier in the day from Roger, saying he’d made it safely home with his cargo, so John counted on the road still being clear.
At 4:28 the next morning, four vehicles sat idling outside the northern barricade. Dogs began barking as the barricade rolled out of the way, and the big vehicles drove through, belching black oily smoke from their exhaust pipes.
They parked the vehicles on the road in front of the fence. The new gate opened and Masons poured out, sleepy but happy for the return of their family. Jill grabbed the bag she’d prepared with the medicines for her father and ran off to him, Nurse Margaret in tow.
People hugged each other and thumped each other on the back as stories of their adventure were told. Princess, Fish, and Moose yelped happily as they ran back and forth amid the chaos. John managed to ruffle Princess’s fur as she streaked past, barely bothering to pause and receive his attention before continuing on.
Sara moved through the crowd and threw herself at John, letting him wrap his arms around her and lift her off the ground. They kissed hungrily, forgetting everyone around them. Sara melted in his arms as their kiss went on and on. Finally, John put Sara down and held her at arms length.
“Hi, baby.” John said, sporting his best Han Solo grin.
“Don’t you baby me! I was so worried about you! When you didn’t come home last night, I thought you were in trouble, and then you just show up this morning...and look at me, I’m a mess! I haven’t slept since you left and you just show up!”
Sara babbled on for a moment more, before John leaned down and kissed her again. He pulled away and whispered, “I’m sorry.”
Sara blinked tears out of her eyes and smiled. “Good. You should be.”
John set his backpack down on the ground and pulled a box out. It was a simple white box with a pink bow on it. He handed the box to Sara. “We made a stop on the way home. I got you something.”
Sara took the box and opened it. Inside, she found a brand new history text book. Underneath the book, Sara found a soft pink dress. She took the book out and checked the tag on the dress, hoping John wouldn’t see. She looked at John in surprise. “It’s the right size!” she exclaimed.
“Of course it is. I checked before we left. Oh, there are twenty more text books in the truck, in case you were wondering.” He grinned at her.
Sara laughed and kissed him again.
Dierdre Maxwell cleared her throat behind them. John and Sara separated.
“Did you tell him about Jose?” She asked.
John looked down at Sara. “What about Jose, sweetheart?”
“I was getting to that. John, Jose’s missing.”
“Wait, what?”
“He’s gone, John. He took his truck and left the day you left. He was here for lunch, and then disappeared. We haven’t heard from him since.”
John looked toward the barricade and frowned. “Son of a bitch!”
Chapter 14
October 28th, Zed Year One
Brattleboro, Vermont
“Get this Humvee unloaded. Take the .50 cal off the mount and unload the ammo for it,” John hollered over his shoulder as he walked toward the field. “Put it up on the tower by the gate.”
“John, what are you going to do?” Sara asked as she walked beside John.
“I’m going to take the Humvee and go find him.” John carried one of the newly acquired P90s with him as he walked. Two of the stick-like magazines protruded from his thigh pockets.
“How? We don’t know where he went.” Sara wrung her hands anxiously as she walked.
John stopped as he reached the field with the scarecrow. He turned to her, his brow furrowed. “Fuck, I don’t know. But I’ll find him. Remember, it’s what I do?”
Sara didn’t hesitate for a moment. “Fine, but I’m coming with you.”
“No you’re not. It’s not safe out there and you know it.” John raised the P90 to his shoulder and aimed the stubby little gun at the hapless scarecrow.
“Exactly. It’s dangerous out there, and my brother is somewhere on the outside of these fences, and now my husband is going out there too. I’m not just going to keep staying behind with the women, you know? And besides, you know damn well I can sho
ot and I can drive.”
John lowered the gun without firing it. Finally, he turned to Sara. “Jesus Christ, Sara. Of course I know you can shoot and drive better than most people. But come on, this is...this is insane. I can’t...”
Sara reached out and took the P90 from John’s hand. She brought the sleek little black weapon to her shoulder, aimed it at the scarecrow, and pulled the trigger. Puffs of dust and hay shot out of the scarecrow’s chest. Empty shell casings dropped out of the ejection port just behind the grip straight down to the ground, forming a twinkling brass puddle at Sara’s feet. She released the trigger and looked defiantly at John, raising one eyebrow.
John simply looked at her for several seconds. “Fine. We leave in two hours. But first, let me show you how to reload that gun. Then I need to see Jose’s bunk.”
* * *
Sara and John stood in the little cabin and looked down at Jose’s cot. He’d left his sleeping bag a rumpled mess. An old wooden crate served as a nightstand beside the bed. Several books lay stacked on the crate as well as a candle that had been burned down to a little nub. John looked at the books for a moment before reaching down and grabbing one from the middle, knocking the rest onto the floor. He held it up to Sara, smiling.
Sara looked at the book, a questioning look on her face. “A telephone book? Are you planning on calling someone?”
John flipped through the book quickly. He found a page that was dog eared at the corner and laid the book down on the cot, open. He pointed to a listing in the white pages that had been hastily circled in blue pen. A blue pen rested on the crate, next to the candle.
