by Dirk Patton
She carefully checked each of these, first unloading then reloading the magazines to ensure they were operating properly. Her knife was gone. Rifle was still in the locomotive’s cab, and she had no idea where her pack was. She had no food, no water, nothing other than the clothes on her back and a pistol with 64 rounds of ammunition. Reminding herself that she wasn’t very good with a handgun, Rachel decided she would use it only as a last resort. Besides her lack of skill, it was loud and would draw more infected to her, so it was for emergencies only.
Finger combing the wet and muddy hair out of her face, Rachel stood, stifling a groan. She felt like she’d been beaten with a baseball bat. In a way she imagined that was a good analogy. She had already been banged up when she fought with Roach, then the fall to the river and who knew how many new bumps and bruises as the water had carried her downstream. She wished she knew how long she’d been on the bank so she could have an idea of how far south from the bridge she was.
Rachel tried to remember what she had heard about the Mississippi River over the years, finally settling on a vague memory that the current ran at about three miles an hour on average. If that was the case, and she had gone into the water in the early morning, more than twelve hours ago, she could have been carried anywhere from a couple of miles to nearly forty miles. It all depended on how long she’d been unconscious, and she had no way of knowing.
Looking around now that she was standing, Rachel could only see a few yards in the darkness. The moon was up, but it was only a few days after a new moon so there was very little light. To her west, she could see a tall levee that loomed in the darkness. It appeared to be straight, following a direct north/south path as it paralleled the river. Stumbling forward through the mud and thick vegetation, Rachel made her way to the base of the tall mound of earth and started climbing the gentle incline. Quickly reaching the top, she was surprised to find herself standing on a gravel roadway that stretched in each direction for as far as she could see. It was hard to tell in the dark, but in front of her the land stretched out and away to the west, appearing as flat and featureless as a billiard table.
Drawing on lessons learned from watching John, Rachel closed her eyes after making sure there were no infected anywhere within her limited sight range. Eyes closed, she breathed quietly and listened to the environment around her. She could hear the river making a shushing sound behind her as it flowed over and against its banks. What was surely thousands of frogs sang, nearly masking all other sounds, but she could also hear the occasional night bird. The buzzing of mosquitoes and stealthy rustling of small animals in the grass were the only other sounds. Absolutely no man made noises. Rachel imagined this must have been what it was like to stand here a few hundred years ago before the first European settlers reached this part of America.
What to do? Follow the gravel road on the levee to the north until she reached the bridge? Then what? The chances that John or Dog were waiting for her at the bridge were so slim as to be nearly non-existent. Heading south didn’t seem like a good idea. There were supposed to be large herds of infected in all the gulf coast states and Rachel sure didn’t want to go find out. West, cross country? But how was she going to find John?
Rachel wasn’t ready to contemplate thoughts that she might never be reunited with him. The last few weeks, her time with John, fleeing and fighting the infected, felt like a lifetime. She had fallen in love with him. There was no denying that any longer. Now he was gone. Would he be trying to find her? How did he even start looking? It was hard enough to survive the new world. Starting to slip back into despair, Rachel struggled to calm her racing mind, then it hit her.
Oklahoma City! That’s where the train was headed. If he couldn’t find her, that’s where John would go! How far was it? Rachel had never been west of the Mississippi River before, and had only a vague idea of the geography of the western US. Could she make it? Straightening her back with a grimace, she made her decision, crossed the road and descended the steeper side of the levee to the rice paddy below.
7
The sun was setting, sporadic rifle fire in the distance reaching my ears as soldiers and the surviving civilian population mopped up the remaining infected. We were in West Memphis, Arkansas, a few miles west of the Mississippi River. Actually, we were a few miles west of West Memphis, occupying the public airport just south of US 70. Two Apaches were on station a hundred miles farther to the west, acting as an early warning if any more Russian aircraft started heading our direction. Eight Black Hawks and half a dozen Apaches sat on the tarmac, refueled, rearmed and ready to go, but go where?
Two fat C-130s sat at the far end of one of the two runways, empty after having disgorged their cargo of soldiers, missiles, ammunition and maintenance crews for the helicopters. Both aircraft had been on stand-by at Little Rock AFB, waiting for Colonel Crawford’s call. When they arrived, the first one on the ground had delivered 110 Army Rangers in full battle rattle who cleared all the airport’s grounds and buildings before spreading into the adjacent town where they linked up with the remnants of civilian law enforcement to finish the job. The second one was heavily loaded with all of the ordnance needed to completely re-arm all of the helicopters, resupply all of the ground troops with ammunition and give everyone a hot meal courtesy of the mess hall at LRAFB.
The train Jackson had driven across the river sat on a siding a quarter of a mile from the airport, guarded by a couple of dozen Rangers. The evacuees had been allowed to disembark, but the Lieutenant in charge at the siding had orders to keep all of them within a hundred yards of the train in case we needed to get them moving in a hurry. They were eating the same chow as the rest of us and sat in subdued groups as the light faded.
Crawford, Captain Blanchard, Jackson and myself had commandeered the small air traffic control tower. We sat around a folding table, eating. The tower provided a commanding view of not only the entire airport, but miles in every direction. The terrain here along the flood plain of the river was almost perfectly flat. Earlier, I’d picked up a pair of large binoculars off the controller’s desk and looked to the east, across the river. Hundreds of thousands of infected lined the shore, all staring directly into the setting sun.
This was our first opportunity to have a meeting. Jackson and I had spent much of the day in the field with the Rangers, routing out and killing infected. I was hungry, tired, and nearly obsessed with worry about Rachel and Dog.
“Hell of a day,” Crawford commented, tearing into a large piece of fried chicken. “Let’s all get on the same page. Captain, you’ve been running SAR flights all day and getting our remaining train ready to keep rolling. What’s our status?”
Blanchard placed his fork down next to his plate, finished chewing, drank some water and wiped his mouth with a paper napkin before he started talking. Jackson and I kept right on eating, devouring the food on our plates like starving dogs.
“Sir, we’ve had multiple search and rescue operations underway all day. First mission was to look for survivors from the battle with the Russians. I’m sorry to report that the only survivors on either side were the three men you captured. Next we ran two operations. The first operation was a Black Hawk detailed to search the river for the woman and dog.” Blanchard turned to me before continuing. “We have searched for fifty miles downstream from the bridge, two passes over the water and one pass each on the two shorelines. So far we have had negative results, and I’m not optimistic that we will find them.”
I started to open my mouth, but Crawford beat me to it. “Put up another Black Hawk now that the sun is down. Maybe we’ll get lucky with FLIR.” I nodded my thanks to the Colonel and went back to my food. I had lost my appetite, but forced myself to eat. Food is fuel, and without it the body will suffer. I needed to be in as good condition as possible.
“Yes, sir.” Blanchard made a quick note in his small, spiral notebook before continuing. “The second train out of Nashville was our large SAR operation. When the air units arrived it a
ppeared that the train had been completely overrun by the infected, but there was one livestock car that had been able to keep the infected out. Using air assets we were able to clear enough of the infected away from the car to start lifting people. Some were lost, but we did manage to rescue…” he paused to flip through his notebook. “We rescued 411, mostly women and children. They are now with the other evacuees at the first train.”
“411? That’s it? There were nearly 10,000 people on that train when it pulled out of Nashville.” Crawford didn’t try to conceal the pain in his voice.
“Yes, sir. That was all we could save.” Blanchard answered in a quiet voice, looking down at his plate of cooling food as he spoke. We all sat there in silence for a couple of minutes, each of us lost in our own thoughts as we processed the number of people that the infected had ripped apart.
“Moving on to the train, with your permission sir?” Blanchard waited, Crawford finally nodding before taking another bite. The look on his face told me he was only eating because he needed to. None of us were enjoying the meal.
“We have found a retired railroad engineer in Little Rock that is being flown to us. We have also found plenty of passenger and livestock cars on a siding ten miles to the west. When the engineer arrives, Lieutenant Anker will assist him in getting the extra cars coupled to the train so our evacuees aren’t having to sit on top of each other. This should take a couple of hours, so before midnight we’ll be ready to load and depart on your order. That’s all I have, sir.” Crawford nodded and looked first at me, then Jackson to see if we had any questions.
“Can I tag along on the Black Hawk you’re sending out to keep looking for Rachel?” I asked, but Crawford was already shaking his head before Blanchard could respond.
“Negative, Major. We’ve got some Russians downstairs that I want you to have a chat with.”
“Me?” I had forgotten he’d read my file.
“Yes. You were trained in advanced interrogation techniques, and I know you’ve put that training to use successfully, several times.”
“Yes, sir. I have, but that was a long time ago. Surely there’s someone with more current training. Better techniques.” I’ve never liked being the interrogator. It’s a brutal, soul sucking job, and you come away from it feeling like you need a shower, no matter how many times you bathe yourself. There are times it is absolutely a necessity, but if I had my choice I’d rather leave it to the guys that actually like doing it.
“Nice try. You’re the man. You don’t have to like it, you just have to do it. I want to know everything those goddamn commies know. The two enlisted won’t know shit, and the Captain may not know much, but he’ll know something. I’ve lost all contact with command since before we reached Memphis, and I’ve got a really bad feeling. Right now, as far as I can determine, I’m the ranking officer out of the entire US military.”
I’d been so busy and pre-occupied with worry over Rachel and Dog that I hadn’t realized Crawford was working without a parachute. All of command was gone? That most likely meant Mt. Weather in West Virginia and Cheyenne Mountain in Colorado had been compromised. How the hell had that happened? My first thought was an outbreak, but dismissed that as too unlikely. Both facilities experience another outbreak that is severe enough to knock them completely out, and it happens at the same time? Very doubtful. That left the Russians. But how?
Both bunkers were designed to withstand a nuclear bomb going off on the ground, right above their heads. How the hell could the Russians have penetrated not just one, but both of them? The one thing I knew for sure was the Russian Captain wouldn’t have that information. He was way too far down the chain of command. But he might have information about what the Russians were planning, where they were staging, and how many of them there were.
“Yes, sir. I’ll take care of it.” I said, suppressing a sigh.
“Unless there’s anything else, we all have work to do.” Crawford looked around the table, and when no one spoke up, “Very well. Thank you. Dismissed.”
We all stood, collected the detritus from our hasty meal and headed down the spiral, metal staircase. A large, plastic barrel sat outside the control tower door, top cut off so it could do duty as a makeshift trash can. We deposited our garbage and paused in the evening air. A gentle breeze was blowing, blessedly cutting the oppressive humidity of the day. Overhead, stars were twinkling brightly as the sky continued to darken, a thin sliver of a moon providing just enough light for me to see the faces of the men standing next to me.
“Captain, no matter what time it is, please come find me with any news from the search.”
“Yes, sir. I will. Now, please excuse me. I need to get that bird in the air.”
I nodded and pulled out a pack of cigarettes as he walked away. I’d come across a looted convenience store earlier in the day while clearing infected out of the town. The owner was trying to clean up and I’d struck a bargain with him. I traded the little .380 pocket pistol I had taken off the fake cop I’d killed in Nashville for two cartons of cigarettes and a couple of disposable lighters. Knowing Crawford was a smoker too, I’d given him one of the cartons. He knew me well enough by now to know I wasn’t sucking up or trying to kiss his ass, just being thoughtful. Now, as Jackson and I strolled out onto the tarmac, I lit a smoke and looked up at the glass enclosed tower. It was dark inside, but I could see the red, glowing tip of a cancer stick as Crawford inhaled.
“Want some company?” Jackson asked as we walked in the dark.
“I want some sadistic little fucker from the CIA to do this, not me. That’s what I want.”
“Yeah, never had much of a stomach for it either.” Jackson replied. “But we need that information, and we need it fast.”
“I think I already know that, Master Sergeant.” I said, much sharper than I intended. “Sorry. It’s been a bitch of a few weeks.”
“No need to apologize, sir.”
We strolled in silence for a few more minutes, winding up at the guarded door into the small office building at the base of the control tower. The three Russians were inside, separated into different offices and each had his own guard assigned. They hadn’t been allowed to talk to each other since their capture. All had received medical attention for their injuries and been given water, but they hadn’t been fed. They were all probably pretty scared by now. I know if I had been captured on Russian soil I’d be shitting my pants at the moment. The guard opened the door for us, and after crushing the cigarette out under my boot I led the way inside.
8
Rachel had been walking for an hour, but hadn’t covered more than a couple of miles. The flooded rice paddies made the going very slow, and while she had crossed some dikes that divided them, they had all ran north and south. Suspecting there were also dikes running east to west, she changed direction and started walking north. If she didn’t find a dike within half a mile, which was about how often she had been crossing them, she’d turn back west again.
About fifteen minutes later Rachel breathed a sigh of relief when she spotted the ten foot tall berm of dark soil that made up a dike. Splashing through the last of the paddy, she gratefully climbed out of the water. The top of the dike was flat, hard packed earth, wide enough for a vehicle, and she imagined farm hands driving along them to check on their crops.
Rachel paused to catch her breath and waved her arms around her head, wishing for mosquito repellant. There was a cloud of the damn little pests swirling around her, feeding on every inch of exposed skin. She already itched from the hundreds of bites she had received and worried briefly about West Nile Virus. With a start she wondered if the genetically engineered virus the Chinese had released could be transmitted by mosquitoes. There was no doubt they were feasting on the infected.
The only thing Rachel could think to do was to cover her exposed skin. Skidding back down to the water below, she bent and scooped up handfuls of mud and spread it on her arms, face and neck. Soon she had a thick coating of black mud on her skin,
and while the insects continued to swarm around her, drawn by the carbon dioxide in her breath, they couldn’t find skin to bite.
Back on top of the dike, Rachel took a moment to survey her surroundings from the elevated perspective. First she looked for any sign that infected or survivors were in the area and tracking her. There was a small amount of moonlight and in every direction she looked it reflected off the perfectly calm water that flooded the paddies. Raising her eyes, she looked around at the horizon. In every direction except north it was completely dark. To the north she could just make out a faint glow that had to be electric lights. The quality of the light was too steady and too close to the white end of the spectrum to be fire.
Rachel was debating the wisdom of approaching other survivors when the sound of a helicopter reached her ears. Turning quickly towards the sound, which seemed to be coming from the river, she peered intently into the darkness. Where was it? She couldn’t see it, but she could hear a heavy rotor beating the thick, humid air. Black Hawk, she thought, having spent enough time around helicopters in the past couple of weeks to be able to accurately identify them by sound alone.
Black Hawk meant Army, and that meant John was looking for her. Her heart leapt in her chest, both at the prospect of rescue and the fact that John hadn’t given up on her. Hadn’t abandoned her. Even though the river and helicopter were two miles away, and the aircraft was apparently operating without showing any lights, Rachel turned to the east and started to run in the direction of the sound.
She had only covered a hundred yards before skidding to a stop. A couple of hundred yards east of her position the surface of the water in the flooded paddy was no longer glassy smooth and reflecting the moonlight. Looking carefully she could just make out a dozen figures stumbling in her direction. They had to be males since they were moving so slowly, thank God, but between her and the approaching infected she could see water being violently displaced as something moved through it at a much faster pace. Female, and she was coming fast!
