Primal Resurrection: A Whiskey Tango Foxtrot Novel: Book 8

by W. J. Lundy

  “We learned the hard way that locked doors are the best way to prevent the spread of infection. You’ll find a lot of barriers here.” The old man waved Brad forward. “Welcome to Coldwater Station. I don’t normally greet visitors up here, but I thought you’d want to see this.” He pointed toward the window. “What do you see down there, Sergeant?”

  Brad stepped closer and looked through the window. He was in a high control room that overlooked the former factory floor. He could view the open market he’d seen the night before when they’d arrived. He looked to the old man and said, “A refugee camp?”

  The old man shook his head. “No, Sergeant, this is a community… a chance at a fresh start.”

  Brad frowned. “You can call me Brad. I’m not sure I’m a sergeant anymore.”

  “Oh, I would have to disagree; we can’t afford to lose anyone from the ranks right now.” He looked at Brad’s soured expression and quickly changed course. “Men like you, people like us, are the only chance those people have. The infected are now a greater threat than ever, Sergeant. How do you suppose we fight it without soldiers?”

  Brad rubbed his chin and took a quick look at Chelsea before turning back to the senator. “I think there has been a misunderstanding on why we are here.”

  The senator turned away and walked toward a desk. Removing a stack of papers, he flipped through them before identifying a page and separating it from the stack. “There is no confusion as to why you are here. You claimed to have been working with Texas; you said you killed the one they called General Carson.”

  Brad sighed and moved to a wall, leaning against it, still looking down into the community below him. “Yeah, Carson is dead. But I wouldn’t say I was working with Texas. They just happened to be a part of it.”

  “Where are they now?” the senator asked. “We’ve been waiting on their arrival. They promised us help.”

  Brad tilted his head toward his shoulder. “I don’t know. Virginia, I guess. Look, we didn’t come here as any sort of emissaries for Texas. We came because we heard Michigan was safe. If I was wrong about that, then just turn us around.”

  “No.” The senator shook his head, suddenly aggravated. “You said you were with them, that you killed General Carson. Listen, maybe you want to put all of that behind you, but this is important to us.” He pointed to the market below. “It’s important to them.”

  Chelsea—having remained quiet the entire time—finally stepped forward and looked at the senator. “There is something you aren’t telling us.”

  The senator put his hands up in frustration. “What do you want me to tell you? It’s no secret that we’ve had problems with raiders from the East. The infected are back, massing all along the wall. You see that down there?” he said, pointing to the window. “A month ago, I had over forty colonies just like it. Now I have half of that. If Texas doesn’t get here soon, I don’t know how long before we are all gone.”

  “But, Carson is dead,” Brad said.

  The senator laughed. “Son, I’m starting to think your cornbread ain’t all the way cooked in the middle. I don’t know… maybe you’re tired from the travel or maybe it’s the stress, so I’ll slow down and spell it out for you.” He took steps closer and faced the window. “Without the help from Texas, all of those people down there are going to die. This New Republic—or whatever they’re calling it today—in the East, it’s planted and rooted in deep and has destroyed what we once called the Midwest Alliance. They’ve caused damage to the walls and have the infected spun up, leaving nobody left to guard them. They have raiders out there raising hell, trying to get whatever they can from us. Carson was just part of it, drawing a path of destruction to the south. His death won’t even slow them down.”

  “What do they want?”

  The senator let out a long sigh and pursed his lips. “They aren’t like us; they want it all. They want the land, the resources, the people. There is a misunderstanding amongst the citizens here. They think I refused to surrender… refused to join the Republic. They think that’s why all of this is happening.” He took in another deep breath and clenched his fist. “There is no surrender, only submission. Ohio tried to surrender to those animals, and they are gone now. Same as Indiana—all of it is gone. They don’t want surrender; they want us to give up what we’ve made here and move east.”

  Brad’s jaw began to hang with the realization of the trouble they were in. “How much time do we have?” he asked, his voice low and serious.

  The old man rubbed the stubble on his chin. “Their scouts have been spotted on the highway less than twenty miles from here.” He turned and looked Brad hard in the eyes. “It’s not only that. They’ve broken parts of the wall and led infected to it. The infected we can handle in small groups, but in the massive numbers we’ve spotted, it’s impossible. It keeps us behind the walls and inside, unable to support the colonies farther east.”

  Brad looked at Chelsea then back at the senator. “If the enemy can move with Primals on the loose, then so can you. Are you saying you abandoned the positions east of here?”

  “We were cut off from them,” the man said, his voice growing angry at the accusation.

  Brad scoffed. “Whatever helps you sleep at night. Like I said, I think there has been a misunderstanding as to why we are here. I’ll be gathering my gear and departing soon. I’m sure Texas will be sending people here shortly; you can explain your failures to them.”

  Before the senator could respond, sounds of automatic weapons fire echoed from somewhere outside the building. As if someone had pressed a mute button, everything became silent—including the crowd below on the floor. There were two loud mechanical clicking sounds, and the lights went out. A third click, and the room lit with a low red glow.

  “What’s happening?” Chelsea asked.

  Brad moved to the overlook window. In the crowded market below, he couldn’t see a single person. Lights were cut off, the shanty doors all closed and secured. The large entry doors at the end of the factory floor were sealed shut. Brad panned the shops; goods still lay on tables and shelves, but it was like the people had vaporized. He spun toward the senator, looking at him for a response.

  “It’s the attack protocol,” he whispered, holding a finger to his ear. Soon the sounds of weapon fire were joined by the pitch of a siren. “It’s the infected,” he said, letting out a sigh of relief.

  “How do you know?” Chelsea asked.

  The senator looked to the guard at the back of the room. The uniformed man put a hand to the door and rattled it, confirming it was locked. “It’s the attack protocol. We cut the lights, get quiet, and lock the doors. The sirens are let off to guide the infected into a designated kill box.”

  Chelsea moved closer to Brad. “Why lock the doors?” she said.

  “It’s like protecting the compartments of a battleship; we seal everything off to limit the spread of infection.”

  “And just like the colonies to the east, you sacrifice parts of the body to save yourself.”

  The man shook his head furiously. “It’s not like that at all.”

  The gunfire outside raged and was soon joined by explosions. The senator’s face went pale. Brad quickly recognized the fear. “What was that? Not part of the protocol, is it?”

  The senator ignored the question, shook his hand at the guard, and pointed to a different bolted door on the far side of the room. “Open it; we have to go.”

  “What happened to the battleship?” Brad said sarcastically.

  “It doesn’t work against people. People have always been more dangerous than the infected.”

  The guard unbolted the door and swung it in, revealing a set of stairs going up. The senator looked back at Brad and said, “My men will escort you back to your room. You’ll be safe there.”

  Brad could see in the man’s eyes that he was lying. “And what about you?”

  An explosion shook the building, and more gunfire ripped from outside. The senator shook his he
ad. “I have to get back to the capital. We’ll talk again.” The man stepped into the stairway, his guards rushing in behind him. The door shut, and Brad heard the bolt clunk. For a moment, he thought he’d been abandoned with Chelsea in the control room. He heard movement in the other stairwell, a clicking of the lock, and a screech as the door pushed in.

  A burly soldier pushed through, his rifle in his hands. Brad recognized the man from the night they’d arrived—Sergeant Rufous Brown from the watch at the gates. The soldier stepped into the room and scanned left to right. “I see our fearless leader has already left us.”

  Brad was taken aback by the comment. He pointed to the second sealed door and nodded.

  Brown scowled. “He’ll be back on his helicopter, headed north. We’d all be dead out here if he had his way. He wants the territories, just doesn’t want to defend—” Another sustained burst of weapons fire turned Brown’s attention back toward the windows. He moved forward and looked over the encampment on the factory floor then rushed to the door. “Come on; we have to hurry,” he said, running into the stairwell.

  Chapter 5

  Near Crabtree, West Virginia. Free Virginia Territories

  Sean pulled back on the reins, slowing his horse atop the railroad bed. In the distance, he spotted the silhouettes of riders, two men standing aside their mounts, two other horses behind the men carrying packs. Brooks move up beside him; Sean held his position, not speaking and knowing the younger SEAL would make a quick evaluation. Brooks grinned then made a clicking sound with his teeth and used his heels to nudge the horse ahead. “It’s Henry,” Brooks said.

  “Fuckin’ A. I like that old man.” Joey Villegas called out, rushing his horse forward to greet the newcomers.

  Sean grimaced and snapped the reins of his horse, allowing it to follow the others. For a moment, his mind told him it was Brad and Chelsea—and he had been just tired enough to believe it. He was disappointed in it not being them, but still happy to find the old man. They were moving on into unknown territory, and Henry knew the local terrain better than anyone else. Sean followed the group closer and watched Henry stand alongside his horse, holding his pipe between his teeth.

  “Was wondering when you all would show up,” Henry said, grinning.

  “If we knew you were waiting on us, we wouldn’t have stopped for breakfast.” Brooks eyed the new, red-bearded man up and down. “Looks like you made yourself a friend.”

  “Yeah, that I did.” Henry removed the pipe and tapped ash into the pristine white snow. “He’s okay. Name’s Riley, survivor from Crabtree; he’s just looking for answers, same as us.”

  Sean rode his horse up alongside the others and stopped. “Survivor, you say?”

  Henry licked his teeth and placed the pipe back into his shirt pocket before stepping into the stirrup and mounting his horse. “He’s missing people out east, and I offered to help him out. I reckon’d you all would be traveling the same way, so no reason we can’t ride together.”

  Sean cast suspicious eyes on the stranger. As the big man mounted his own horse, he looked back to Henry. “He got a voice of his own?”

  The red-bearded man grinned. “I got plenty to say, if you want to hear it.”

  Sean looked the man up and down, his eyes stopping on a revolver carried in a gun belt. “You some kind of cowboy?” Sean said, pointing at the handgun.

  “It ain’t loaded. You all don’t happen to have any .357, do ya?”

  Sean ignored the question and locked eyes with him. “If you’re a survivor, why are you out here beyond the walls of Crabtree?”

  Riley shrugged his shoulders and shifted his weight in the saddle, the leather creaking as he moved. “I used the attack to escape and found the old man here up in the mountain this morning.”

  “Escaped? So you were a prisoner then?” Brooks asked, moving up beside them.

  The man nodded. “I was taken from my home out east and used as a laborer. They told me they’d kill my family if I didn’t go with them.”

  Sean eyed the man, his teeth clenched before relaxing and dipping his chin. He turned toward Henry. “If you vouch for him, then I guess there is no reason we shouldn’t ride together. But tell me, how do you know we’re headed in the same direction?”

  “Just a hunch,” Henry said, turning his horse onto the railroad bed, the others falling in with him. “I figured you’d be going east to finish what you started. Why else retrace your steps from a few nights ago?”

  Brooks spat on the ground and let his horse move up beside Henry and Sean so they were now riding three abreast. Joey lagged back, covering the rear, and Riley rode in the front with the pair of pack horses. “We were separated from a man on the train; we’re looking for him,” Brooks said.

  Henry lifted his brow. “Yeah? Which one?”

  “Brad,” Brooks answered quickly.

  “The soldier, aye? Well, he seemed capable enough. I’m sure he’ll be okay.”

  “Yeah,” Brooks said, adjusting his rifle in his grip. “What about you? What’s the story, old man? Where you been holing up?”

  Henry let the reins lie across his lap as his hands rested in his pockets. He spoke slowly, explaining how he’d met Riley up on the overlook and how Riley was in search of his family. He omitted any parts about working for the raiders, not sure of how the boys would react. The men rode on in silence, following the tracks, until Riley stopped ahead, pulling back on the reins of his horse and holding up his hand.

  “What do you see?” Henry asked, moving up.

  Riley pointed to the low ground to the left of the raised railroad bed they were traveling on. Below, the snow and vegetation were trampled and packed hard. Henry slid off his horse and pulled his rifle from its scabbard. As he moved toward the spot, he could see that the other men were already fanning out, posting for security. He grinned, knowing he was traveling with professionals. Stepping closer, he took a knee at the embankment. The snow was white and wet with the temperatures rising, allowing him to see boot prints and markings from bare feet.

  He felt Brooks move up beside him. “There’s a lot of them,” he whispered. “All headed east.”

  “Primals.” Henry bit at his lower lip. “Fresh too; the tracks aren’t covered up from the snowfall yesterday.”

  “How many you think?” Brooks asked.

  “A hundred, maybe more.”

  Brooks scratched at the back of his neck. “Something I don’t get though. Why are they all going east? Crabtree is just a few miles away; why not go there?”

  “Chasing raiders,” Riley called out.

  Henry turned and saw the big bearded man standing behind him, looking over the same trail. Brooks rose from his crouch and walked closer to him. “What raiders? I walked this same railroad bed with women and children days ago. We didn’t see anyone out here.”

  “Yeah,” Riley muttered. “Carson’s men—or what’s left of ’em. They were probably hiding in the woods waiting for things to cool down some then headed out, same as us. I imagine some will be bleeding and wounded. Probably picked up a tail, and you know how the infected are: where there’s one, there’s always more.”

  Brooks nodded his approval at the assessment. “How do you know so much about Carson’s people? You said you were just a laborer. Is there more to it than that?”

  Riley turned and looked at Henry who shrugged. “I spent enough time with his people to know they’re cowards, and to know they’d run.”

  “Time?” Brooks said.

  “Yeah, time,” Riley spat back. “They took my family hostage and held me prisoner for close to a year.”

  “I see.” Brooks turned back to the packed trail in the snow. “This family… it’s the same one you’re after now?”

  Riley didn’t speak, looking away from the trail.

  “And you know where they’re at?” Sean said, moving up behind them.

  “I got a good idea,” Riley grunted. The man pointed down at the trail below them. “So, what about that?�
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  Brooks shrugged and re-slung his rifle, moving back to his horse. “Well, this doesn’t change much. We keep in the same direction, but you hold back with them pack horses; I’ll ride point now.”

  Chapter 6

  Coldwater Compound, Michigan Safe Zone

  The sounds of the fighting were muffled in the subbasement. Brad had his rifle again and was running down the hallway with Chelsea, following other soldiers to the end of the corridor. “Where are we going?” Brad shouted. Brown slowed as they reached a locked door at the end of the hallway. Soldiers were stacked up against it. One of the men pounded on the door and waited for the coded response from the other side before turning a key and unlocking it.

  As soon as the door was opened, others filed into the stairwell, moving up. Brown turned to Brad. “Something has the infected riled up; they’re hitting us all along the east perimeter. What’s worse though, someone is out there lobbing mortars at us. My men can keep the infected at bay, but those damn mortars are punching holes in my security fences.”

  Brad scowled. “Where does this put us?” he said, glancing at Chelsea.

  “I have to get back to the Tactical Operations Center, and I plan on bringing you two along with me. The captain says not to let you out of my sight, so I guess you’re stuck with me.”

  Chelsea hit the bolt release on her rifle, racking a round, and looked back at Brown. “Can we just get to wherever it is we’re going?”

  The sergeant cracked a smile. “Stay behind me,” he said, moving into the stairs.

  Brad went to move, but Chelsea pushed in ahead of him, leaving Brad to close the rear. Inside the stairwell, the gunfire was amplified, and in addition, he could now hear the infected. Daylight burst into the stairwell as they turned onto the last landing. Brown took a bounding step outside with Chelsea close on his heels.