Winchester Undead (Book 2): Winchester: Prey

by Dave Lund

  The man shook his head back and forth violently. Cliff shot the man in the back of the shoulder. The prisoner screamed in pain. Blood poured down his naked body, the wind whipping the blood around the back of the plane.

  “Where are the women and children being held?”

  “T-t-t-the school.”

  The town of Cortez sped by below their feet. The plane banked hard to the right. Cliff looked over his shoulder, barely holding onto his prisoner, just in time to see a trail of smoke rocketing towards the plane. One of the engines on the left wing exploded in a ball of flame, pieces of wing, props, and engines falling off the wounded aircraft. The plane shuddered hard. Cliff fell on the ramp, remaining in the aircraft only because of the safety harness and tether. His prisoner fell off the cargo ramp into the wind, screaming as he fell into the cold abyss.

  The truck slid against the tie-down straps and the pistol fell out of Cliff’s hand and off the ramp to the earth below. Smoke trailed the plane, and the flames from the wing were visible behind the plane. The ground rushed towards the ramp while Cliff and the rest of the group held onto anything they could find. The plane hit the ground flat and the last thing Cliff saw was the dirt and sky alternating places as the fuselage tumbled violently across the ground.

  CHAPTER 49

  The Basin

  February 17, Year 1

  Jessie wheeled the Scout to what remained of the cabins. A handful of the previously killed bikers now wandered through the parking area, their burnt and broken bodies slowing their ability to move. This time Jessie was sure to thumb the safety to single fire to conserve ammo and quickly dispatch the undead. Jessie walked through the ruins of the three cabins destroyed by the blast. The fires were mostly burned out and the ruins just smoldered, smoke still rising into the cold desert air.

  Grief and loss overwhelmed her as she looked at the destruction that was once their refuge. She couldn’t fathom how a group of people could be so cruel. Her little girl, her princess, dead, and her family left in shambles. Jessie collapsed to the cold pavement, too tired even to cry, just looking at the macabre scene around her.

  I can’t sit like this. I have to survive. I have to focus and I have to take it all one step at a time.

  Jessie stood unsteadily and walked towards the larger cabins. The cabin that had held Jessie and Bexar’s supplies was in complete ruin, but it looked like some of the supplies might be salvageable, including a few boxes of .223 that Jessie saw at first glance.

  Maybe I can check ammo off my must-have list.

  She slowly checked each cabin in the rows of smaller cabins across the parking area. Using the technique that Jack and Bexar had developed the last time they’d cleared the Basin, Jessie opened a door and banged on it and then waited for a response. Every single cabin was found empty. Some had obviously been used by the bikers and their harem women, but some were untouched, clean, and had beds with blankets.

  Now I can check shelter off my list.

  The sun hung low in The Window, filling the cold desert sky with muted colors of purple, red, and pink—God’s beauty overseeing unholy destruction and Jessie’s profound loss. It was nearly dark by the time Jessie finished checking the cabins and the surrounding area in The Basin. There was no sign of Bexar.

  If he was here, I would have found his body.

  Before darkness fell, Jessie moved some of the supplies she’d found in the destroyed cabin to the Scout, including a case of MREs and two cases of ammo for her rifle. Jessie chose the cabin she and Bexar had stayed at over ten years before when they came to Big Bend for their honeymoon. She shut the curtains, locked the door, and collapsed on the bed, absolutely exhausted from the past two days, her ears still ringing from the blast that morning.

  CHAPTER 50

  Near Fort Stockton, TX

  February 17, Year 1

  Daylight was quickly fading by the time the group backtracked and made it to outside of Fort Stockton. The decision was made to drive through the night using NODs. Chivo would rest for the first half and he would switch with Apollo for the second half.

  The drive through Fort Stockton and across I-10 was slow, but Apollo was able to drive around and evade the clusters of zombies, even with the Land Rover’s headlights out, by using the flip-down night optic device. The discussion between Chivo and Apollo on which road to take north was settled for them when they found that Highway 18 crossed under I-10 and FM 1053 crossed over I-10. The number of shambling undead was still high on the Interstate and, after losing Odin, the thought of crossing under the Interstate and all of those zombies did not sit well with any of them.

  The last hour of the trip was made in silence, each of the people in the Land Rover lost in their own thoughts. Lindsey held Apollo’s hand while he drove. The open desert of West Texas between I-10 and I-20 was a heavy blanket of darkness, and with no lights, only Apollo could see anything past the hood of the Land Rover. A moan from the back of the Land Rover broke the peace. Apollo glanced in the rearview mirror at Chivo. “Did you let that fucker die and now he’s going to bite your skinny ass?”

  Chivo drew his pistol and pointed it at the man’s head while searching for a pulse with his other hand. “No mano, he’s got a pulse. Wait, do the zombies have pulses?”

  “I seriously doubt it.”

  The man’s eyes snapped open and blinked a few times very hard. Slowly his eyes came into focus and they found the muzzle of a pistol pointed at his face. “WHAT THE HELL?”

  The man tried to sit up. Chivo held him down by his chest and holstered his pistol. “Hey man, I’m here to help. We saved your life today.”

  “What?”

  “Cliff sent us to check on your group. We found you fighting that biker gang.”

  Bexar slowly looked around the inside of the Land Rover and caught a glimpse of long hair in the dark interior. “Jessie? Thank God, baby!”

  Lindsey looked at Bexar, who sat up, not realizing that he had an IV in his arm. “My name is Lindsey.”

  Bexar looked at the woman and realized he didn’t know her, then looked at the man next to him. “Where is my wife? Where is Jessie? She was there. The bikers had her, I saw her.”

  Chivo slowly shook his head. “I’m sorry, mano. You were the only one who survived the blast.”

  Bexar’s shoulders slumped and the life seemed to dim out of his eyes, visible even in the semi-darkness. Lindsey took a deep breath, fighting back the urge to cry for the anguish plainly visible on the man’s face.

  Bexar realized that he was now completely alone. He’d failed, and his family was gone, all of them gone; the emptiness of that realization felt like a lead weight had pulled him to the bottom of the ocean. Chivo pumped up the pressure cuff on Bexar’s arm and took his blood pressure before taking his pulse. Bexar felt the pressure cuff inflate and looked at it disinterestedly, seeing that there was an IV in his other arm. Immediately Bexar came to the realization that he was completely nude. “Where are my clothes? Who are you and where are you taking me?”

  Chivo gave him a half smile. “First, what is your name, guy?”

  “Bexar.”

  “OK Bexar, I’m Chivo, that’s Apollo and Lindsey. The short version is that we work for a government organization. Another person in our organization made contact with you recently via HAM radio. He realized that you could be in danger and wanted us to come by and check on you since we were in the area.”

  “You were the sniper?”

  “Yup.”

  “You set and blew the explosives?”

  “No, I don’t know how that happened. There was a van in the parking area; it caught fire and then exploded. It looked like a vehicle-borne IED, but I don’t think those guys were stupid enough to do that.”

  “That was the bikers’ van; they had a machine gun in it the first time they attacked us.” Bexar drew in a sharp breath. “Don’t you have anything for the pain?”

  Chivo nodded, opened a red bag, dug out a small vial, and, with the hands of an
experienced nurse, drew out the clear liquid before unscrewing the needle and inserting the syringe body onto the IV tube, administering the narcotic.

  “There you go, mano. You know our story. What is yours?”

  Slowly Bexar let his breath out as he felt warmth spread throughout his body from the shot. “I’m a Peace Officer, a cop, or at least I was one when this started. Jessie, my wife, and I, along with our daughter, fled our home to meet with our friends at our cache site ...”

  It took Bexar about twenty minutes to give the Reader’s Digest version of his journey, repeating himself and slurring some of his words as a result of the strong painkiller Chivo administered. A few minutes after finishing his story, Bexar succumbed to the warm comfort of the painkiller and fell asleep. Chivo checked his pulse and, satisfied that Bexar was probably going to be OK, rolled him to his side. It wasn’t for a medical issue, but just because Bexar began snoring loudly.

  CHAPTER 51

  Cortez, CO

  February 17, Year 1

  Cliff’s consciousness trickled slowly into his mind like a dripping faucet filling a sink; it took him a few moments to realize where he was and where he had been before everything filled with black. Cliff checked his body for injury, starting with wiggling his toes, and made a mental inventory of any major injuries. It took longer for Cliff to realize he was hanging upside down and outside of the aircraft. The sun barely peeked over the western horizon, giving Cliff a little light to investigate his surroundings.

  I’m outside of the plane, but I feel the fuselage against me. I’m upside down and swinging. I’m in the safety harness. I think my rifle, my pistol, my gear, and my magazines are still on my body. The plane is nose down in a river or creek or canyon.

  Cliff righted himself and felt like the world was spinning. A strong wave of pain rushed over him. He threw up, covering his chest with vomit, realizing that he must have a bad concussion. He gritted his teeth and determined that he might have cracked a couple of ribs, but everything else seemed intact. Cliff was finally able to figure out that he was dangling by the safety harness and lanyard outside of the open tail of the aircraft. Both of the wings appeared to be missing and the front of the plane was missing. Slowly, Cliff climbed up the side of the fuselage before cutting the lanyard and freeing himself from the plane. At least my rifle is still slung across my body. Using the light on his rifle, Cliff scanned the ruined interior of the C-130. The pickup was still lashed to the cargo floor but was very badly damaged, and around the truck were the bodies of the PJs. All three of them were dead.

  Damn.

  Cliff climbed down the net seating to where the mangled bodies lay and was relieved to see that they did not and would not return as the undead. Cliff retrieved the loaded M4 magazines from their gear and did his best to secure them on his body. He didn’t know exactly where he was, but Cliff knew from experience that he would need all the ammo he could find and carry. Cliff went through a mental checklist of gear that he should have on his body and, like a pilot pre-flighting an aircraft, touched each piece of kit to make sure he really had it.

  No pistol.

  It took a moment, but Cliff remembered holding the pistol and the prisoner on the ramp when the rocket struck. He realized the pistol had been lost and retrieved another one from Rick’s body and placed it in his own holster. The fact that the prisoner had taken an impromptu skydiving lesson didn’t bother Cliff in the least. He had the information he needed from that piece of trash, and had been planning on throwing him off the back of the aircraft regardless.

  A few minutes later, Cliff climbed out of the upended fuselage and climbed down to the ground outside. He walked up the trail of ruined aircraft pieces. The remains of the engines still burned in the distance. A hundred yards away he found the nose of the aircraft, part of Garcia’s body, and Arcuni still strapped into the pilot’s seat. The instrument panel was crushed against the lower half of his body, but Arcuni’s arms reached in the air towards Cliff while his teeth snapped towards the meal he so deeply wanted. Cliff raised his rifle and with a single shot released Arcuni to the peaceful death he deserved.

  Shelter, water, and food. I need to get away from this clusterfuck and get shelter before every walking corpse in a hundred-mile radius comes to welcome me home.

  Cliff walked stiffly up the road and away from the crashed aircraft, realizing that if he hadn’t been gently asking his new friend questions at the back of the plane that he would probably be dead now. There are worse things than death. Cliff shook his head at the thought. He’d never given up before and he wouldn’t start now.

  Darkness filled the sky while Cliff walked into the outskirts of Cortez. Headlights bounced in the distance. They turned onto the street Cliff was walking on and headed towards him at a high rate of speed. Cliff melted into the darkness in an alley on his right, behind a dumpster. Barely peeking out from the edge of the dumpster with his rifle raised, he saw an old pickup truck, with three armed men in the bed, drive by quickly towards the crashed Hercules. Cliff edged around the dumpster and slowly walked in a crouch towards the edge of the buildings. His body began to ache from the beating it had received in the violent crash. He felt dizzy and his vision was blurry on the edges. He needed to rest. Rest will come when I die ... if I’m lucky. Cliff took a shallow breath in deference to the pain from his ribs, gritted his teeth, and peeked out of the alley. No more vehicles appeared to follow the first and he didn’t see any undead. He needed transportation like a toddler needs a cookie, so he took another shallow breath and unsteadily jogged back towards the wreckage and the militia’s truck.

  Groom Lake, NV

  “Try again.”

  “Sir, no response, no radio contact.”

  “Jon, when will the next bird pass overhead Cortez?”

  “Two hours, sir. Their comms could have failed.”

  “If that was true, Arcuni wouldn’t have transmitted a mayday. Damnit. Damn this fucking new world.” Wright threw his notepad across the room, “I’m going to check on our civilians. If I’m not back in thirty mikes, send someone to come kill my walking corpse.” Wright stormed out of the radio hut.

  The two airmen looked at each other. “What do you think?”

  “I think they’re dead or will be. No way they can survive on that side of the wire.”

  “Try raising SCC again to warn them of the arriving group. According to the memo that the major left, they should be arriving in about eight to ten hours.”

  “What the major needs to do is find a colony of hot female survivors in need of companions and bring them here.”

  “Hell yeah!”

  The two young airmen high-fived.

  Cortez, Co

  Two men, dressed alike, both stood in awe of the incredible destruction found in the C-130’s wreckage, while another climbed into the upended rear of the aircraft.

  “Good shot, Brother James.”

  “Thank you, Brother Nick. I didn’t think that the rocket would track that high.”

  “I wonder if this is the same plane that attacked our Brothers before?”

  “How many other C-130s can there be flying around?”

  Both of the men stood facing the furrow of destruction across the ground from the plane’s crash, looking at the part of the fuselage sticking out of the creek bed. The third man climbed out of the tail of the aircraft, which stood twenty-five feet in the air.

  Cliff slowly approached their old truck from behind, moving as quiet as a shadow, as fast as the wind. He knelt beside the truck and took aim at the man raising himself out of the destroyed fuselage and squeezed the trigger. The man’s head snapped back and he fell into the plane’s interior. The two other men stood with their backs to Cliff, both believing that their fellow militia member had slipped and fallen. Cliff took aim at the man on the right and pulled the trigger twice. The top of the man’s head exploded in a red mist; the other man turned to face his falling friend with his mouth agape. Cliff fired once and struck the man in
the right shoulder before standing and sprinting towards him. The man turned to face Cliff and tried to draw a pistol on his belt, but Cliff shot him in the left shoulder before closing the gap and stroking the man in the face with the butt of his rifle. The man’s nose and mouth filled with blood and he fell to his knees, unable to raise either arm to hold his injured face.

  Cliff kicked him to the ground, put his right boot on the man’s throat, and held the muzzle of his rifle just inches away from the man’s face.

  “Who the fuck are you people?”

  “The Chosen Tribe of Man.” Blood spat from his mouth as he tried to talk.

  “What is that?”

  “The Prophet told of the end of the wicked, and we are now tasked with populating the Earth with the descendants of the Chosen Tribe to fill the New World with the righteous.”

  “The fuck you are.” Cliff snapped the trigger of his M4 to the rear, punching a .223 hole in the man’s forehead.

  A damn cult. Well, that explains why they wanted the women and children.

  Before leaving the bodies, Cliff checked their pockets for anything useful. Both men stunk as if they hadn’t bathed in weeks, and they had only pocket Bibles in their back pockets.

  Cliff checked the truck. It was old, but it started and ran; it would have to do. He needed a bus, something bulletproof like an old school bus, if he was going to be able to rescue the women being held prisoner. But this would have to do for now.

  CHAPTER 52

  Near Crane, TX

  February 17, Year 1

  Bexar didn’t really fit in the spare pants and shirt that Apollo gave him, but it was significantly better than being completely nude on a road trip with three people he’d just met. However, he had no boots and no underwear, so they would stop if they found something they could raid. In this part of Texas, Bexar knew that people drove to Odessa or Fort Stockton to shop. He couldn’t believe that he was traveling back towards the Metroplex, not after what it had taken to get to Big Bend in the first place. Now that his daughter and wife were dead, Bexar simply couldn’t bear the thought of going back to The Basin. His best friend, his best friend’s family, and his entire world had been killed there. Anger bubbled from deep in Bexar’s being. He couldn’t believe how stupid he had been to think they were safe anywhere. They should have stayed hidden and run instead of getting into a battle with the motorcycle tweakers.