Grave Mistakes (The Grave Diggers Book 3)

by Chris Fritschi

  “Looks like you got yourself a ride,” grinned Duggan.

  * * *

  Riding down Hell on Wheels avenue the team couldn’t help be impressed by the size of the U.S. Army base, Fort Hood. To the north were vast parking lots holding row after row of military vehicles. To the south were building after building surrounded by parking lots. The Hood was a small city.

  Tate rode in the truck’s cab with Duggan while the other soldier, Private Eden sat in the back with the rest of the team. “I guess you don’t see something like this where you’re from,” said Eden.

  “How big is this base?” asked Fulton.

  “The main base’s about six miles,” said Eden. “But there’s miles of training grounds past that.”

  “No way,” said Fulton. “And it’s all walled off?”

  “Nah,” chuckled Eden. “Just the main base and most of the city. I wasn’t here when the Vix hit, but the story is the base buttoned up like a bank vault. Once that was secure they mobilized everyone to save the city before the Vix wiped the place out.”

  “That musta been a helluva fight,” said Rosse. “How’d it go?”

  Everyone, except Eden, jumped as two helicopters thundered low overhead. Clusters of weapons hung off the sides giving them an insect quality.

  Eden laughed as he pointed at the choppers, which had already shrunk to black dots in the distance. “About how’d you expect. The hard work was walling off the city. I got transferred here for that.” Eden frowned as he looked off in the distance for a moment, but then brightened up. “Hey, we’re going by the Post Exchange to drop off some of this stuff,” he nodded to the pallet. “You guys want to check it out? Maybe get some new ACUs? No offense.”

  Everyone, but Kaiden, glanced at their weather faded army combat uniforms. Surplus uniforms were available at their own base, but often the camo was mismatched and the right size was hard to come by. Unlike the rest of the team, Kaiden’s gear, from her boots to her weapon, were modern. It rankled Wesson that, although Kaiden was part of the team, she came and went as she pleased without a word from Tate. Wesson recognized Tate and Kaiden had history before the AVEF, but it was a surprise when Tate returned from an unexplained trip with Kaiden in tow. Although she dressed in camos, nobody knew and Tate didn’t say if Kaiden was military. She didn’t wear a rank, never formally gave orders, or saluted. Wesson didn’t like unknowns and Kaiden represented a big one.

  “We’re on a time limit,” said Wesson doing a better job at hiding her disappointment than the others. “We have to get our vehicle and head out.”

  “You got time,” said Eden. “I know the guy running the motor pool and he’s not there for another hour.”

  Wesson talked it over with Tate through the sliding rear window of the truck’s cab. Tate looked at his watch with annoyance creasing his face, but realized it was out of his hands. With a nod and lopsided smile he gave Wesson a thumbs up.

  * * *

  The team couldn’t help but gawk at as Corporal Duggan led them through the automatic, glass doors of the PX. The splendor of this indoor mall made their home PX look like a shack by comparison. This was nothing less than a sprawling, air conditioned, shoppers paradise.

  “There’s a food court down that way,” said Duggan, pointing to one of the store lined corridors. “Personal gear…” Tate caught Duggan’s quick glance at their appearance, but didn’t take offense. “Uniforms, BDU’s, packs, that kind of stuff are that way. You can check out the directory for anything else.”

  “Well, crap.” said Rosse taking in the white polished flooring, modern decor and groomed people. “Don’t I feel like a fart in church.”

  Eyeing his team, Tate saw how self conscience they felt, except for Kaiden, which didn’t surprise Tate at all. “We meet back here in 45 minutes,” he said. “If you’re late you’re walking home.”

  * * *

  The truck’s breaks squealed to a stop outside the motor pool’s office and the team climbed off the flatbed. Tate came around to the driver’s door and shook Duggan’s hand. “Thanks for everything,” said Tate, handing Duggan a fold of bills.

  “Yeah, no problem,” said Duggan with a smile. “Look me up next time you’re on base if you need anything.”

  “Will do,” said Tate with a wave. He joined his team under the shade of broad awning covering a couple mechanics working on an armored personal carrier.

  Tate spotted a sullen looking corporal halfheartedly pushing a broom.

  “Excuse me, corporal,” said Tate, showing him the vehicle requisition. “Who do I see about getting this?”

  “Fourteen weeks of combat training,” groused the corporal, “and they make me a janitor.”

  “Welcome to the army,” chuckled Tate sympathetically.

  “Yeah, no kidding,” said the corporal. He eyed the form Tate showed him and nodded his head towards a set of nearby doors.

  “The Chief’s inside,” said the corporal, nearly spitting the words.

  “Thanks,” said Tate and headed inside.

  * * *

  Tate smiled ironically as he glanced around the motor pool office. The inside of every army building he’d ever been in looked like it had been decorated by an interior designer suffering from near clinical apathy. It brought the word ‘drab’ to a new, all time, low.

  Tate walked up to the counter where stacked trays, containing colored forms, sat in rows on his left and right. Taped to the wall was a sheet listing the form numbers for each tray. A black, plastic binder sat prominently on the counter with “Read first, then ask” written on the front. Next to that was another handwritten, paper sign taped to the counter, “Ring for service” with an arrow pointing to an empty space. Everything about the place said not welcomed. Behind the counter Tate saw a wide figure in the back office. He knew the person had seen Tate, but made no move to get up or acknowledge him.

  “I’m here to pick up a vehicle,” called out Tate.

  With an audible sigh the Chief looked up from his desk and fixed Tate with a disapproving expression of everything Tate had ever done and would ever do in his life including his decision to be in the chief’s motor-pool.

  Tate saluted respectfully as the chief pushed himself away from his desk with a grunt and returned the salute as an afterthought. He picked up the requisition and examined it.

  “Cab mounted AI camera,” said the chief as he read down the load out list. “Night vision, parabolic mic… that’s a lot of gear to roll around in.”

  Although he’d received a copy of requisition the day before, the chief sounded like it was the first time he’d seen it. Tate sensed the chief was fishing for why he needed all of that equipment and was happy to leave him hanging.

  “Is it ready?” asked Tate.

  “Are you qualified in a PLAV?” asked the chief.

  It was a fair enough question. The Platoon Light Assault Vehicle was more than an up-armored SUV and the time to learn how to use it wasn’t in the middle of combat. But the chief’s question was also a reminder that the person who ran the motor pool held the keys to the kingdom. Sure, the Army paid for all of these vehicles, but once they put them in the hands of the chief they belonged to him, and everyone from the greenest of privates to top ranking generals knew it.

  “Yes, sir,” said Tate. “Where do I sign?”

  The chief slid a form onto a clipboard and let the clip close with a loud snap.

  “It’s fueled, and fully functional,” said the chief pointing to the signature line on the form. “That’s how you bring it back.”

  “Wouldn’t have it any other way,” smiled Tate.

  The chief came around the counter and out the door with Tate behind. The bright Texas sun making them blink and renewing his headache from a dull throb to a banging drum. He put on his sunglasses instantly easing the stabbing pain in his eyes. He’d been awake for a day and a half and it was wearing him down. Tate cursed himself for wandering around the post exchange instead of sleeping.

&nb
sp; “Corporal,” called the chief. “Bring out the PLAV in bay three.”

  The team watched the disgruntled corporal prop his broom against the wall and disappear inside a garage bay. A moment later they heard a low growl and the solid bulk of the Platoon Light Assault Vehicle rumbled out like huge beast emerging from its lair. The chunky, armored body of the PLAV rode on four giant dragon-scale, run-flat tires. The cab sat four and a half feet off the ground with a thick, armored windshield that scowled over the stout, brooding hood and reinforced grill.

  Monkhouse exclaimed something and pulled himself onto the running board of the PLAV before it’d stopped. “Have you ever seen anything more beautiful?” said Monkhouse. “I read about these.”

  “Aw crap,” said Rosse. “Here we go.”

  “Eight liter, turbodiesel engine,” continued Monkhouse, lovingly patting the armored side. Five hundred horse power, zero to sixty in four point eight seconds.”

  The chief looked at Tate with misgivings.

  “He doesn’t get out much,” sighed Tate.

  “30 millimeter cannon with…” Monkhouse stopped, scanning the roof of the cab. “No cannon? Hey Top, we don’t have a canon.”

  “Load up, everyone,” said Tate. “Monkhouse, you’re up front with me.”

  One by one the team scrambled up the side of the PLAV and through the thick doors, closing them with a solid thunk.

  Tate sat behind the wheel scanning the array of screens and buttons crowding the dashboard. Next to him Monkhouse’s eyes shined excitedly as he took in the control console.

  Hey, uh, Monkhouse…” said Tate under his breath. “Do you know which one’s the ignition?”

  “No,” said Monkhouse grinning. “But isn’t this great?”

  Suddenly Kaiden leaned in between them, from the troop compartment, and pressed a button near Tate’s hand. The PLAV’s engine growled to life; sensors, displays and switches all lit up.

  “Anything else?” asked Kaiden with mock innocence.

  Tate tried to glare at her, but it felt anemic. The military had advanced its technology in the time since he’d abandoned his old life and even though it wasn’t her fault he felt stupid sitting there, and he wished she wouldn’t keep reminding him.

  “Change of plans,” grumbled Tate. “Monkhouse, you’re in the back.

  “Is that an invitation?” smiled Kaiden.

  “Don’t rub it in,” said Tate and turned his attention back to the dashboard and waited as Kaiden climbed into the passenger seat.

  CHAPTER SIX

  OUTSIDE THE WALLS

  Once outside the protection of the city walls Tate followed interstate 14 east, towards the city of Temple.

  Abandoned cars and trucks, metal tombstones of failed migrations, sat huddled in weathered piles on the sides of the interstate.

  People were reluctant to travel outside the protective walls of their cities which made these long strips of open road the domain of freight trucks. The big haulers were the backbone of keeping populated areas supplied.

  A missed shipment could spell disaster for smaller populations. Many towns would adopt a regular truck driver, treating them with free meals and helping with the maintenance of their tucks.

  With derelict cars cleared from the roads, truckers most common obstacle were mobs of Vix. Many drivers fitted the front of their big rigs with a Vix Grill that protected the radiator grill of their truck from clogging up if the driver had to plow though a crowd of them.

  A re-enforced steel plow on the front of a speeding, seventy thousand pound freight truck meant these drivers didn’t have to slow down for anything. Even a driver in a military, armored truck had to keep their eye on the rearview mirror.

  Tate consider how different this environment was to the jungles he’d become accustomed to. He didn’t know what to expect once they entered no-man’s land, but felt the confidence of sitting inside a four wheeled tank. Distant, spindly forms shimmered through the heat waves which Tate speculated could have been Vix, but the mysterious shape wavered out of sight as the PLAV sped on.

  Kaiden guided them around obstacles referenced on her navigation monitor which kept a record from previous patrols of that area including any known Vix hotspots.

  Turning off the broad and open I35 Tate slowed when he turned onto W. Central avenue. The intersection ahead was clogged with cars. At the center was an ugly car wreck. The windshield was shattered and twisted metal peeled back from the bumper. Next to it was an abandoned tow truck and a paramedic. A gurney stood empty next to the car.

  “Must have happened right out the outbreak,” said Wesson, looking out the side window as Tate drove over the sidewalk and through a fast-food parking lot to get around it.

  “Looks like the whole place went insane,” said Fulton, imagining what the scene must have looked like.

  “By the time ambulance arrived the driver was probably dead,” said Wesson, as if narrating a scene playing out in her mind’s eye. “When the driver turned the crowd didn’t understand what was really happening. After it killed a couple of people and those came to life, they got it and ran.”

  “I wonder how many got away,” said Fulton.

  “None,” said Rosse darkly. “This city ain’t walled off which is a sure sign the whole place had more Vix than people before any help showed up.”

  Fulton looked past the intersection, down the roads until they disappeared from sight. Empty homes and small shops lined them as far as he could see. “All those people.”

  “The number of dead is so big it stops having any meaning,” said Wesson. “Then you see this and it makes it real again.”

  “I sometimes forget how many we lost,” said Monkhouse.

  “Who wants to remember?” said Rosse, pointing out the window as they passed a school.

  A chainlink fence wrapped around the play yard with rusted monkey-bars, swings, and slides. The fence bowed outward as dozens of ravenous, child-sized Vix pressed against it. Their stained, weathered clothing hung in limp rags on their rotting frames. They gnawed and pulled at the fence with naked greed flaring in their dead eyes. The thick, armored windows blocked the sounds of their scabrous growls adding a nightmarish cast to the scene.

  Kaiden glanced at Tate from the corner of her eye, wondering if the scene would rekindle thoughts of his dead daughter. Tate didn’t say anything, but kept his eyes rigidly locked on the road ahead; his expression stony, avoiding the tragic image of the school yard.

  “Turn right at the next street,” said Kaiden happy to be turning away from the school, “and we’re there.”

  The PLAV rounded the corner bringing a string of train cars into view. To the left was the red tiled roof of the train station. As they got closer Tate was amazed. There were two people casually sitting on a bench in front of the station. He caught himself before saying something when he realized they were statues.

  The front of the station was made up of tall, dirty arched windows bordered in brick, and surprisingly, the windows were still intact. The caked dirt made it hard to see inside as Tate pulled up to the front doors.

  Across from the train station was a large park dotted with trees and the occasional bench.

  “Nothing on this side,” confirmed Kaiden, after scanning the park for Vix.

  Monkhouse squeezed between the two front seats, bumping Kaiden as he began tapping one of the screens on Kaiden’s console.

  “Hey, boundaries!” snapped Kaiden.

  “Sorry,” said Monkhouse. “I just remembered that we have an optics suite up top.”

  “What about it?”

  “We can see if there’s any Vix in the train station by using the IR camera on the roof,” said Monkhouse as he used the camera’s directional joy controller and swirled the camera towards the front of the building.

  Kaiden looked at Monkhouse with pained amusement. “That’s brilliant,” she said. “I wonder why nobody else thought of using a thermal camera to detect… dead people.”

  Monkhou
se stopped as Kaiden’s words sunk in. “Well, sure. When you put it that way,” he muttered. “Do you know if anyone’s ever tried?”

  Kaiden started to say something, but stopped as she considered the question then swept her hand towards the camera controls, inviting Monkhouse to try it.

  Tate watched, halfway expecting Monkhouse to succeed. After a moment Monkhouse sat back grunting as he pushed himself from between the two seats. “I’m not saying it didn’t work, but the camera didn’t pick up anything inside.”

  “Everyone out,” ordered Tate. “Ota, you’re on overwatch.”

  Ota only nodded as he hefted his sniper rifle. Having embraced the philosophy of Zen at some point in his life, Ota used words sparingly making it easy to forget he was even there. He could be as quick to action, decisive, and deadly as anyone on the team, yet most things didn’t phase him. To the utter annoyance of some of his teammates, Ota lived in a bubble of calm serenity, even in the most hectic situations. In the early months of the teams formation a couple of the team tried their best practical jokes to rattle him with zero result. Later, in a candid moment, Ota admitted to Tate he enjoyed the bewilderment he caused his friends. Tate laughed a long time about that, but kept Ota’s secret to himself.

  “Wesson has security. You all know the drill. Let’s go!”

  Ota climbed up on the top of the PLAV and settled the stock of his sniper rifle against his shoulder. He began scanning the park for movement while Wesson double-checked the box magazine on her LM-948 squad machine gun.

  The rest of the team came out of the PLAV and formed up behind Tate as he took cover behind the brick wall before peeking through the dirt-streaked window.

  “I don’t see any Vix from here, but it’s a big place,” said Tate into his radio. “Stand by to enter.”

  Everyone’s readiness went up another notch as Tate tapped the front door’s glass with the barrel of his HK-93. Nothing happened for the next few seconds and Tate leaned out of cover to test the latch on the door handle. It didn’t move at first and Tate pressed harder on the latch. Suddenly the latch broke free of the crusted dirt and snapped open with loud clack.