“Write it as a human-interest story, not real news. Make sure you mention that it’s unverified.” he said.
“Yes, sir.” The only other employee of the Lakota Chronicle agreed. It was getting late, she needed to get home to make dinner for her adopted son. Her own family, like so many others in Lakota, had been killed during the first weeks. The parentless kids who survived were quickly taken in and cared for by the others. The routine of everyday life helped them all adjust and it didn’t take long before everyone had settled into jobs and homework, chores and volunteer service. She was a little too old to have any more children of her own and wasn’t sure if she wanted to. Providing she found a good man, of course. She’d taken in a young boy who’d been discovered by the truckers. He was fourteen, had been on his own in a strip mall for months and reminded her of her own lost son. She’d been a full-time mother, part time Walmart cashier and didn’t have any of the skills that so many of the other survivors had. She’d managed the HOA website in her community though and was responsible for putting together the newsletters for her Boy Scout troop and the PTA. She’d shyly asked Mr. Bastille if he needed help one morning when they happened to be having breakfast at the same time in the Sunshine café.
She’d been with him ever since and recently he’d started taking her to the Friday night movie at the Roxy and they’d spent a day on the lake with her new son. Bastille liked the kid and slowly, she hoped, they would become a couple, a family.
“I want the interview with Eustice Wilkins on the front page. You have a good picture of him with the airplane, right?”
“Yes.” she answered. “He and Lieutenant Cobb.”
Bastille eyed his assistant as he scanned the photos. Most of them were of the young Lieutenant. The young, handsome, available lieutenant who wasn’t currently dating anyone.
“Okay.” he said and pointed one out that captured the two men in front of the old bi-plane. “Use this one and see if you can get an interview with whoever is re-cutting the football games. I think that will be a huge story if they have access to all the footage.”
She nodded and scribbled down some notes. She didn’t care much for sports but the games seemed to have most of the men excited. Someone at the Tower was pulling footage of past games off the internet, splicing them with different plays and different outcomes and it was seamless, like it was live, like it was really happening. Whoever was doing it claimed it was computer generated wins and losses based on fantasy football stats and they were going to put together a whole season, including a Superbowl. Only the computer knew the winner and the first game aired had been a smash hit, the two bars that had access to it were standing room only. The world was getting back to normal when there was time for tailgate parties. If you never left town, it was easy to forget that anything bad had happened.
“We need to write an article about the Navy settling in on San Clemente.” she said. “All the remaining ships are anchored there and they’re rebuilding the island.”
“We need a little more to run with.” Bastille said. “Try to find out anything else, poke around the courthouse tomorrow, see if you can get that idiot Scratch talking. He seems to know a lot about everything but always clams up around me.”
“You want I should ask Jeremy to catch him at the bowling alley? He’s always there playing video games, maybe he can get something out of him.”
“Yeah, that’s a good idea, Darcy.” Bastille nodded and squeezed her hand. “He’s a been a big help around here, he seems to have a nose for the news business. We’ll make a reporter out of him, yet.”
She smiled and wondered if he noticed her new perfume. She was pretty sure he’d noticed the new pushup bra she’d picked up at the boutique. She’d caught him sneaking peeks. It certainly helped her fill out the blouse she’d chosen to wear for their meeting. The low cut one that would have seemed downright scandalous in her previous life.
“Has he had any luck joining up with the Bullet Brigade gang?” he asked. “It would be great if we had someone on the inside, they always seem to know things before everyone else.”
“He’s too old Richard.” she said, and accidently brushed her breast against his arm as she reached for her notepad. “but those that stowed away in the convoy should be back soon. They’ll have some good stories, especially about the Tower. Everyone is dying to know more about it.”
Bastille wasn’t clueless, he noticed the little things she did and a year ago he would have openly laughed at her. He would have asked if she had a daughter that was half her age before telling her he knew a good plastic surgeon that might take 20 years off her face. He wasn’t the same man as he once was though. People can change. All those bimbos and starlets and silicone boobs and phony moans meant nothing to him now and if he was honest, they had meant nothing back then. He was playing his role as rich, single, womanizing movie producer. If you wanted a role in one of his films, you paid the price. That was how Hollywood worked and everyone knew it. Everyone played their part. He with the help of Viagra and Cocaine. The girls with their acting skills. Sometimes he’d take them out to be seen and most of the time he couldn’t remember their names. They were B actresses and flash in the pan starlets who thought they would make it big if they paid their dues. More often than not, if they were smart, they returned home to Indiana or Nebraska a few years later, disillusioned and disappointed. Sometimes he’d offer them the contract there in his office and tell them to show him how bad they really, really wanted it. They always did. They knew the price of admission. That’s why he had a shower in his private bathroom. They could get dressed and leave while he got cleaned up.
He was a different person now. He had thrown a helpless woman, one of his starlets, in front of a zombie to save himself that first day. He’d never forgotten it. It took him a while, maybe longer than most because he had more to change, but he had changed along with everyone else. Some for the better, some for the worse. Bridgett had gone from bubble headed bleach blonde to a scarred up, battle hardened warrior who had earned a place on Gunny’s personal crew. He hoped no one remembered him as he used to be and only saw him as he was now. He worked hard and he knew what he did was important. He knew he helped save lives with his radio broadcasts. He knew he gave people hope and he really tried to be a better man. Sometimes when he would lie in bed at night unable to sleep, the old demons haunting him, he would cover his face in shame at the way he’d been.
He’d taken Darcy out to dinner on genuine dates, not casting couch dates, and he relished their time together. It was real. They talked and held hands and liked the same music and when he said I can’t believe I ate the whole thing and she’d answered You ate it, Ralph he’d laughed out loud. None of the beautiful twenty something starlets he used to surround himself with ever got his jokes.
He brought his mind back to the present, to the deadline they were working against to get the paper out in time and tossed the folder down.
“May I walk you home, my Dear?” he asked. “This can wait until morning.”
113
Blackfoot
“There’s nothing we can do.” Hot Rod said. “We got here too late.”
They were in the parking lot of a little truck stop on the outskirts of a town some ten miles from Blackfoot. Jessie had pulled in beside the armored rigs, gritty eyed and tired after running hard all night to catch them.
“The guy on the radio said it was over, they were surrounded by zombies and a group dressed in black were gunning down anyone that resisted. When he signed off, he was going out to surrender. He said most of the men were dead, shot in the back as they fought on the walls trying to keep the horde out.”
Jessie nodded. A few stumblers were making their way up the road towards them, following the sound of his car.
“Bob.” he said, getting the dogs attention and pointing to the zeds. “Kill.”
The Shepherd bound off after them with a snarl and Jessie turned back to Hot Rod.
“How long ago was
that?” he asked
“We got here a few hours ago.” Hot Rod said. “There was no use going on, the man said the town was lost. They couldn’t run, the zombies surrounded them, and they couldn’t fight. All of their machine guns are on the wall and the cult had control of them. He said they were allowing people to surrender but if they went house to house and found you, they’d gun you down. No questions asked.”
Jessie rubbed at his eyes and felt tired beyond his years. Too much bloodshed. Too many innocent lives snuffed out for no reason. This had to end.
“You guy’s should head back to Lakota.” he said. “We’ll make sure they don’t follow you.”
Hot Rod looked over at the boy and his exhausted girlfriend. He stood half a head taller than him, had a good thirty years experience and wisdom on him but didn’t feel at all like the kid was bragging or making empty boasts. They looked grim and sad, resigned to doing a distasteful job. At that moment, Hot Rod had no doubt they could do it. They would do whatever it is they said they would. He’d heard the stories and he knew they were true. These two kids might be their last hope and it felt a little like cowardice but he was glad they were there. Glad it wasn’t him who had to figure out some way to save those people. He was glad he was being told to run.
“Are you going to need help?” he asked. “The trucks are armored, we can do a lot of damage.”
“No.” Jessie said. “We’ll go in quiet. They won. They’ll be celebrating and their guard will be down. You should leave now, get the kids back to Lakota. We’ll take care of it.”
Hot Rod nodded and the other drivers dropped their eyes, felt relief wash through them. They weren’t cowards, they would fight when they had to but the Cult had machine guns. The town was lost and it was senseless to start a fight they probably wouldn’t win.
Bob came back from his gory chore; the trucks started their long drive south and Jessie went to look for a house where they could crash out for the rest of the day. They needed some sleep. Tonight was going to get bloody.
Scarlet chose a big log house on the edge of town. It didn’t smell, had a garage for the Mercury and there were a couple of good escape routes. Sleep came easy and they awoke in the master bedroom of a home that had once been filled with love and warmth, if the photos on the walls were any indication. It had been a large family with all three generations in a studio portrait that hung above the fireplace. The house had been silent and empty for nearly a year with unwashed dishes still in the sink. Remnants of a deadly breakfast were still on the table, the back door still stood ajar. Squirrels and other animals had been at the boxed foods but there were plenty of canned goods in the pantry. There were a few cans of chili that wasn’t bad with some squeeze cheese and crackers leftover from their MRE’s. They heated it up over Jessie’s single burner cookstove, ate by the light of a glowstick and talked quietly. She didn’t complain but he could tell she wasn’t feeling good. The medicine Samed had given her wasn’t having the effect they’d hoped. Maybe they needed to up the dosage, take a few extra pills or something. It seemed like now that the creeping virus had a good, solid hold on her, it was spreading faster. They left the dirty dishes on the table, not bothering to clean up or even close the door when they left. The world was falling apart fast and Jessie was getting tired of trying to hold it together. It didn’t seem to do any good.
He flipped the lights off as he covered the miles, his enhanced eyes allowing him to see easily. When they got close, he cut through the high desert scrub, dodging around bushes and the occasional outcropping of rock in the moonlight. The flat black of the car didn’t reflect light and the quiet burbling of the engine was lost in the sounds of the generators. Dark and stealthy, he slipped through the night to a section of wall where the dead were spread thin. They stopped about a half mile away and Jessie told Bob to stay. Nefertiti had no intention of getting out and watched them through half-slitted eyes as they stripped out of their noisy, jangling gear then put on long black coats. They were nearly invisible when they stepped into the shadows. Her humans disappeared without another word but they would be back in time to feed her. They always were. She closed her eyes and ignored the panting dog and his quiet whine as he stared out of the windshield.
The cult was being careful. They weren’t as wild and undisciplined as Casey’s Raiders and Scarlett spotted a guard making the rounds on top of the wall once they got close.
They crouched behind a cluster of old junked cars and waited as he walked his beat, their soot darkened faces and black clothes making them nearly invisible.
“Unless they’ve changed the protocols” Scarlet whispered “only three or maybe four of them will be enhanced. The guards are low level guys either not worthy or too afraid to volunteer for the choosing. The officers will be fast and strong. Probably faster and stronger than us if Stevens has kept improving his serums.”
Jessie nodded then asked her something that he’d been mulling over. He thought he knew the answer but he had to be sure.
“Are we going to try to spare any of them? The low-level guys, I mean.”
Scarlet shook her head once.
“They’re lost.” she said. “Even if they didn’t get the serum, they got the devil’s breath. It would take weeks to purge out of their system. They killed half the town so I doubt if the survivors will want to be lenient with them either. We can’t take them with us, it’ll be more merciful to kill them quickly.”
“Agreed.” Jessie said as they watched the guard stop to light a smoke, his back towards them.
It was time. Time to start doing what they were best at. Time to be the super soldiers they were supposed to be. They ran silently across the desert floor until they came to a spot directly below the warrior. Jessie crouched, made a cup of his hands and readied himself as Scarlet took a few steps back to get a running start. Jessie launched her in the air and the guard only had a second to look startled at the flying woman that appeared before his eyes. Before he could begin to utter a cry of surprise, she whipped out her hand at the same time her feet landed daintily on the boxcar roof. She crushed his throat with a snap of her baton then shoved him head first over the edge. He landed with a crumpled breaking sound and didn’t move. If anyone had been watching, it all happened in an eyeblink. Even if they had been looking right at the silhouette of the guard, they would dismiss what they just saw as a trick of the light.
A few of the undead turned towards the noise and started towards it, their soft, dust filled keens little more than dry moans. Jessie took a short run and leapt, scrambled up the side and rolled onto the roof. He and Scarlet started walking separate ways around the enclosure, towards the other guards manning their posts.
“Got a light?” Jessie asked as he approached from the darkness.
The man marching along his beat frowned at him but dug in his pocket.
“You’re not supposed to be here.” he said “Better hope Lieutenant Carter doesn’t see you.”
“If he does, I’ll kill him too.” Jessie said as the man looked up sharply.
He didn’t have time to react beyond that, Jessie covered the last twenty feet almost instantly, twisted his neck until it snapped and shoved him over the side, stripping him of his gun as he fell. It had a red dot scope, extra magazine carrier and a forward folding grip with built in laser. He checked the action and realized it was a crappy knock-off rifle, flimsy and cheap with mostly useless tacti-cool add on’s. He tossed it over the side and kept walking.
He saw Scarlett approaching the last guard as he came around a bend in the wall.
She handed him a Glock when he got there a few moments later.
“Got you a little something.” she grinned at him. “I know you like these.”
Jessie smiled back, made sure a round was chambered and tucked it in the back of his pants. They were at the edge of the narrow walk that went over the front gate, something that had been added since the last time he’d been here. It allowed the guards on the walls a way to get to the o
ther side without dropping to the ground or going all the way around. A large milling horde was below them on the road at the gate but they’d spread out in both directions. They were pounding and clawing, stumbling over the hundreds of corpses littering the ground. Some long dead, some recently killed and thrown over. Their feeble legs tried to climb the boxcars but they couldn’t get traction. Blood and gore covered the walls from the ground to a good six or seven feet up, filthy hand prints making smeary marks as high as they could reach. Many of the undead were fresh. Former citizens of Blackfoot who’d been tossed over before they were dead, before they’d had a chance to bleed out. Now they were as hungry as the rest. They were bite savaged, gunshot and bone broke from the long fall but they still keened and clawed. Still craved fresh flesh.
There was a lot of blood on the walkway too: fairly fresh and recently spilled. A lot of brass casings were scattered around, evidence of the fight. The battle had been fierce and the people of Blackfoot had been winning until they were gunned down from behind.
“Now comes the tricky part.” Jessie said, swallowing his anger and keeping his head cool. “I saw where I think they’re keeping all the prisoners, there were a couple of guards outside.”
Zombie Road: The Second Omnibus | Books 4-6 | Jessie+Scarlet Page 76
