by Dave Lund
“Then get your ass back on your fucking bike and go look in that fucking trailer. Buzzer, you go with him. Bring me the woman, bring back the girl, kill anyone else with them and don’t fuck this up!”
Buzzer nodded, walked to his old Harley FLT Tour Glide, and left in an angry roar of a wide-open throttle. Mike scurried to start his bike and catch up to the VP. The old van and other club members remained in the parking area. A half-dozen partially clothed women, heads held low, climbed out of the back of the van. Their long hair partially hid the bruises on some of their faces. Russell pointed at the women. “Two of you whores get in here with me. You’re going to earn your keep,” he ordered before he threw the cigarette onto the ground and walked back into the dark cabin.
The prospect standing next to the van pushed two of the women forward. They kept their heads down and walked towards the cabin, one of them crying softly.
Buzzer and Mike rode across the desert floor side by side, burning up the asphalt at seventy-five miles per hour. Their front tires pointed towards the setting sun, glowing an angry shade of red across the open sky. If they were going to be back by midnight, they would have to hurry.
CHAPTER 20
Groom Lake, Nevada
February 16, Year 1
Lumbering across the mountains, the C-130 descended to the south of Groom Lake and turned final for Runway 32R, flaps extended and engine power reduced. Obviously the flight back was much quicker than the drive to Nellis. By the time the passengers climbed out of the truck in the cargo hold and strapped it to the anchors in the decking, it was time for them to seatbelt in for landing. Arcuni brought the cargo plane to the tarmac with a thump, but unlike last time, all the tires held and he was able to taxi the aircraft safely towards the hangars. He taxied past the disabled and abandoned “Janet Airline” Boeing 737 on the main ramp and taxied to the north end of the flight line. The plane made a large U-turn and stopped next to the hangar that housed the main entrance to the underground complex. The cargo ramp opened and one by one Arcuni shut down each of the four engines.
Standing on the tarmac outside the hangar were two airmen with M4 rifles in their hands facing outwards from the parked aircraft. Near where they stood lay the bodies of a dozen undead former employees of the secret base at Groom Lake. Positive that the sound of a landing aircraft would encourage more undead curiosity, Cliff wanted to get his truck out of the cargo bay and into the hangar quickly, then get everyone safely below ground.
The three new arrivals attached the loading ramps typically used to drive vehicles up the cargo ramp, which had some minor damage from the truck’s hard entry into the cargo hold without the extra loading ramps. No time was wasted before the truck was released from the cargo tie downs and driven into the hangar. With the new silence of the aircraft engines turned off, Cliff could hold a conversation without having to yell. The three new arrivals introduced themselves to Cliff, whom they guessed correctly to be the leader.
“I’m Rick, this is Chris and Evan. We’re with the 66th Rescue Squadron.”
“So you’re PJs?”
“Yeah. So who the fuck are you and what’s up with stealing our plane? Where are we, Groom Lake?”
Cliff smiled a rare smile. “You can call me Cliff. Yes, you are now at Groom Lake. I’m sorry to say we don’t have any aliens or flying saucers, but we do have a large underground complex and well-stocked shelter. We took your plane because we are in contact with a number of other survivors. Some of them need supplies, some of them need extract, and since Arcuni here knows how to fly a little bit, we took the Herc so we had a way to help those survivors. Also, thanks—I’m not sure if we could have cleared that horde of undead back there without all three of you helping.”
The three Pararescue Jumpers nodded and exchanged looks with each other. Rick shrugged. Planned or not, the three of them were along for the ride. They followed Cliff into the hangar and into the large freight elevator, which lowered them below ground.
Terlingua, Texas
“Baby, we can’t think about that. We’ve got to focus on the here and now. Find the basics and then we can figure it out from there.”
“Fine, but then what? How are we going to get all the way to Nevada? What about that biker gang?”
“We can’t focus on that yet; we just need to remain hidden. For now, we need to focus on water, food and shelter. We have the shelter for now, but I don’t think we’ll be able to stay for too long. We’re too close to the park and too exposed. We only have a little food, the MREs and the rest of the five-gallon container of water.”
“We’re in the desert. Where are we going to find water out here?”
“There are options. The Rio Grande is nearby, a short drive if we had a vehicle. The buildings in this town should have well water, but I’m not sure if we can hand pump it.”
“You need to find us another Jeep. You said there’s some food and more bottled water in the store over there. So you need to focus on getting us out of here.”
“You’re probably right, Jess. The sun is setting. I’ll go out tonight and try to find us something.”
Jessie smiled and kissed her husband on the forehead.
CHAPTER 21
Fort Bliss, Texas
February 16, Year 1
“Apollo, what did you find?”
Lindsey sat quietly at a desk stuffed between floor to ceiling shelving units stacked high with hard cases of all kinds of equipment. Chivo and Apollo combed through the gear, opening each case one by one.
“I’ve got a 117 Foxtrot. Now help me find the SATCOM antenna for it.”
The PRC-117F radio was exactly what they were looking for and what they needed, assuming they could find someone on the other end of the line to answer their call. After seeing the absolute destruction in El Paso and on base, and the throngs of undead swarming in the streets, Chivo began to hold serious doubts that there would be anyone left for them to reach out to for help. Apollo took the Hardigg case and set it on the desk where Lindsey sat, watching Chivo’s flashlight dance in the darkness on the far end of the building.
“Apollo, found one! We’re in luck!”
“OK, bring it up. Let’s get outside, get a good line overhead and see if anyone picks up.”
Chivo sat the small case with the SATCOM antenna next to the door, extinguished his flashlight and snapped his NODs to the mount on his helmet. After pausing a moment to let his eyes adjust to the grainy green images, Chivo slowly pulled the door open inch by inch, watching out the widening crack into the darkness outside. After a few seconds, Chivo pushed the door closed, holding the door handle open so it wouldn’t make a loud click sound.
“We’re overrun, mano,” Chivo whispered.
“What?”
“Yeah, I guess the fence didn’t hold or there’s a breach in it or something, but there has to be at least twenty-five of those dead fuckers shambling around out there.”
“Shit, we don’t have the ammo for all of this. And once we start putting those down, more will come to join the party, then more after that. What the fuck, man.”
“We need to get away from the middle of this post. Maybe get out into the desert, out into the maneuver and training areas.”
“On the upside, we have a bunch of Humvees and up-armored vehicles in the area that we can choose from.”
“Sure, but the downside is that they get gallons to the mile, they break all the damn time, and we won’t have any support vehicles. What we need is another non-standard vehicle, something light and fast.”
Lindsey broke her silence, startling the two men planning their escape. “What is a non-standard vehicle?”
Chivo smiled, even though that was lost on Lindsey behind his thick beard and the darkness. “A non-standard vehicle is like a civilian vehicle, something that the military doesn’t issue, like that truck we had. Back when Apollo and I were in the Stan, we always used Toyota 4-Runners or a Hilux because they blended with the locals and you couldn’t kill on
e. Much more reliable than a Humvee.”
“Couldn’t we take a Humvee to go find a Toyota or truck or something since there seemed to be a lot of military trucks sitting around when we drove in?”
Apollo agreed. “We’re going to have to do that, Chivo. The next question is which one of the trucks out there has a full tank of fuel, will start, and will actually run long enough for a quick escape? Seems like most of them were broken most of the time.”
“We start with the last intersection where the MP parked his. You figure it had fuel and worked a few days ago when he drove it there.”
“OK, we do that, but do we bring Lindsey and the 117 with us, or leave them and make a return trip?”
“Don’t leave me. Please don’t leave me alone again,” Lindsey half cried.
“Well Apollo, guess she’s coming with us. Might as well bring the radio too. How many mags do you have? I’m down to two.”
“I have three.”
“Shit, mano. This is starting to get bad.”
“Not as bad as Tripoli.”
“No, not as bad as Tripoli, but worse than Sukkur.”
They both chuckled with that thought.
“OK, want to bet there are some walkers near that Humvee that have some mags on their carriers?”
“No bet, but maybe if we stay here tonight and each put an empty mag under our pillow the ammo fairy will visit and fill them with 5.56 for us.”
“The only fairy I believe in is your mom, which explains you.”
Lindsey couldn’t see Chivo and Apollo in the darkness and wasn’t sure they were joking. “What is wrong with you two?”
Chivo laughed. “OK, Apollo, back on task. We get the Humvee, search for ammo, find more ammo on post somewhere, maybe some MREs and haul ass. Am I leaving anything out?”
“Yeah, the 117F.Take it now or come back for it later?”
“I can carry the radio, but I’ll be down to a pistol for the half-click jog to the intersection. If we can move fast enough, it shouldn’t be a problem.”
Apollo gave Chivo a thumbs-up. “Lindsey, stay between us, keep moving no matter what, and we’ll get through this together.”
After stowing the SATCOM antenna in the case with the radio, Apollo placed the case by the door. A spare battery for the radio went into each of their packs. Chivo also stowed a spare antenna and handset in his pack with the radio battery. Chivo stood behind the door’s opening path and slowly turned the handle. Inch by inch, he quietly pulled the door open. Apollo stood back from the opening door, M4 up, NODs flipped in front of his face, and raised his left hand with his palm flat. Moonlight flared in Chivo’s goggles from the opening door. Chivo stopped and held the door still. Apollo switched off his NODs and flipped them up away from his face. The moonlight was bright enough that he didn’t want to waste the battery power, Chivo followed suit.
A thumbs-up and Chivo slowly pulled the door all the way open, held it in place with his foot, and picked up the heavy radio case before giving his partner a thumbs-up. Apollo looked at Lindsey and smiled before sliding out of the open door so quietly he could have startled a ghost. Chivo’s M4 hung on the sling across his chest, his pistol in his right hand, tucked against his chest.
Apollo glided left and immediately saw why the undead milled in the previously secured area. The fence had collapsed inward where they had previously cut a hole. The shuffling feet of the thirty walking corpses by the building sounded like death’s hand knocking, but they mostly ignored the three living people that stepped out into the moonlight until the door snapped shut behind them with a loud clack. All thirty pairs of dead eyes locked onto the three living intruders and the moans of the dead drowned out the shuffling feet, each horrible face clicking its teeth in excited anticipation of a fresh meal. Lindsey wanted to close her eyes, she wanted to stop and hide, but behind her Chivo’s voice was hard. “Move! Do not stop! Keep up and move!”
Apollo’s rifle report pierced the night, “Contact front! Pick up the pace, buddy!”
Apollo stepped on the chain-link fence, which now lay flat on the ground, and began moving in a half-jog. Lindsey locked her eyes on his back, running to keep up while trying to ignore the sea of death surrounding them. The sharp snap of Apollo’s rifle was punctuated with the flat sound of Chivo firing his pistol as quickly as he could, putting down the undead closest to the group. The pistol’s slide locked back on an empty magazine. “LOADING!” Chivo yelled over the rifle fire. Not willing to stop and not willing to drop the radio case in his left hand, Chivo jammed the empty pistol into the top opening of his armor carrier so he could let it go. He then pushed the magazine release button and dropped the empty magazine into his dump pouch before retrieving a fresh mag from his carrier and slamming that into the butt of the pistol. Grasping the grip, Chivo thumbed the slide release, bringing the reloaded pistol into battery as the pistol’s slide slammed forward. “UP!” Chivo yelled to Apollo, who could now bring his focus away from having to cover Chivo’s area of fire.
Apollo reached the Humvee and went immediately to the driver’s door, which stood open. The dead body of the MP slumped into the floorboard. A large and bloody bite mark to his left shoulder gave reason to the apparently self-inflicted gunshot wound to his head. Dried blood, skull fragments, and brain matter were sprayed across the interior of the Humvee. Apollo pulled the body out of the truck and to the pavement. Chivo opened the back door and pushed Lindsey onto the back seat, followed by the radio case, before slamming the door shut. Chivo turned and immediately shot two more undead that were nearly touching him.
“We’ve got to get, mano. Hurry it the fuck up!”
Apollo grabbed two full M4 magazines from the dead MP before climbing into the driver’s seat and shutting the door. His gloved hand grabbed the large three-way switch. He put his foot on the brake, put the transmission in neutral and flipped the switch over to the start position. The big diesel motor coughed to life and Apollo was relieved to see the fuel gauge needle bounce to just past the three-quarter mark. Chivo climbed into the passenger’s seat as Apollo mashed his foot on the accelerator.
“Dude, lights.”
“Yeah.” Apollo pushed the buttons below the starter toggle to black out all the external lights. They didn’t want any more attention than they already had.
“Where now, Chivo?”
“North mano, north towards the ranges. We need more ammo pronto.”
CHAPTER 22
Terlingua, Texas
February 16, Year 1
The moon provided a surprisingly bright light. Bexar left Jessie and Keeley in their new cabin so he could try to find a vehicle that still ran after the EMP. Bexar walked slowly in the moonlight, holding his AR-15 loosely, tired and letting most of the weight rest on the padded sling. The last two days had been incredibly hard on Bexar, and he simply didn’t have the energy or focus to be as vigilant as he should. Fifteen minutes was all it took for Bexar to walk around the back of the Starlight Theatre, hoping to be lucky enough to find a working vehicle close by. Bexar really wished he still at least had the hand-cranked shortwave radio with the hope of hearing some updated news. It would simply be too much to also wish for the HAM radio stowed in the metal cabinet on the top of Emory Peak.
An old F-100 caught Bexar’s eye, but it had been abandoned for a long time and quite obviously had not run for even longer. Bexar, giving up hope of finding anything close, turned and started to walk down the hill towards the highway. He didn’t remember seeing any usable vehicles the previous night, but he wasn’t really focused on looking for one either. Thirty minutes later, Bexar was in the parking lot of the bar and grill he’d passed by the first night, steam rising off his head in the cold winter air. An old Jeep CJ sat in the parking lot, which raised Bexar’s hopes, but when he opened the hood he found the owner had performed an engine swap. A new fuel-injected V-8 wouldn’t work now. If only the owner had kept the original equipment. Shaking his head, Bexar gently set the hood back in place. In th
e dark windows of the restaurant behind him, the shadows moved. Bexar didn’t want to excite the zombies trapped in the restaurant or have to deal with them tonight. He felt like he was on the edge of a nervous breakdown and he wasn’t sure he could take any more problems.
Bexar continued down the hill and was standing across from the small hotel nearly to the highway when he heard the thundering pops of motorcycles riding in fast from the north.
“God dammit,” Bexar whispered to himself. He jogged to a horse trailer parked in the sand near the hotel and lay prone on the ground, his rifle pointed towards the highway. He didn’t want to risk running up the hill and being seen. Bexar hoped the bikers would just pass by their location. He lay motionless, frustrated that he couldn’t get away from the damn bikers and get his family to safety. Adding to his anger was the sight of his lovingly built bug-out vehicle, the Jeep Wagoneer he’d owned since high school, sitting on the road in front of him, totally destroyed from the wreck. The sound of the motorcycles continued to grow louder, and then Bexar saw the headlights appear over the hill and approach his wrecked Wagoneer. Bexar took deep breaths, exhaling through his nose while trying to keep his heart rate and mind in control. He was nearly sure that if the bikers turned the motorcycles off, they would be able to hear his heart pounding in his chest.
The two riders stopped by the Wagoneer and appeared to be talking, but they left their bikes running and Bexar couldn’t hear them. Bexar stopped breathing when he saw the older biker with a long beard point up the hill towards the ghost town and his cabin. The riders turned and began riding up the hill towards him. Bexar’s right thumb pushed the safety on his AR down and he smoothly pressed the trigger. One of the motorcycles swerved sharply, the rider falling off before the bike fell and slid in a shower of sparks on the pavement. The second rider skid to a stop, drew a pistol, and fired wildly in the direction he thought he saw a muzzle flash. Bexar began snapping his trigger sharply, firing the AR rapidly as the biker turned and left in a full throttle cloud of dust and fury of sound. Bexar felt a sudden burning pain in his right thigh. With all of the adrenaline flowing through his body, it felt like someone snapped a rubber band against his bare skin. Bexar thought he saw the bike shudder and swerve, but the rider remained upright and rode over the crest of the hill back towards the park at a high rate of speed.
