Primal Resurrection: A Whiskey Tango Foxtrot Novel: Book 8

by W. J. Lundy

  Sean saw the mob change directions and said, “Hold your fire; you’re pulling them to us.” He pushed back and rolled around to the back of the Ranger. “Brooks, you got any Mark 18s?” he asked.

  “Pair of white smokes, but they’re in my gear pack. Front pocket,” Brooks said.

  “And where is the pack?”

  “Passenger side. Top of the Tahoe,” Brooks answered.

  “Seriously?” Sean said. Scooting forward, he leaned out and looked to the vehicle across from him. “Of course, it is.” The Tahoe was on the opposite side of the street and fully exposed to the incoming fire. More rounds pinged off the concrete between the vehicles to emphasize the distance. Sean took a deep breath and readied himself. “When I pop smoke, be ready to roll; I ain’t coming back to get you. We get concealment and we roll.”

  “We got it, Chief,” Brooks shouted back.

  “Then give me some cover,” Sean yelled as he rolled from his position and sprinted for the Tahoe. All around him, he heard his men’s rifles opened up and directing fire at the rooftop snipers. The incoming rounds stopped as he found the pack and ripped open the pouch on the front. Pulling back the pocket flap, he found the two cans. Without waiting, he popped the first and rolled it just yards in front of their position. He had the second canister on the way before the first popped and spit flame and grey smoke. Sean waited for the smoke to obstruct his view of the distant town then yelled, “Move!” He rolled out from the Tahoe and ran for his seat in the Explorer.

  The men piled in, and Brooks had the vehicle running almost instantly, but with the trailer behind him, he couldn’t back up. He raced forward, driving through the smoke, unable to see as the snipers’ rounds pinged off the truck. Brooks powered through, knowing the snipers were firing blind into the smoke. He cut the wheel again, the tires spinning behind him and the trailer bouncing on the shoulder. Leveling out, he mashed the pedal and made for the open road heading east. Sean looked over the bench seat and could see that the others were behind them in the Tahoe.

  The road arced away from the town and was quickly tucked into hills. “What the hell was that?” Brooks said.

  “That, my friends, was the New Republic,” Riley grunted.

  “The New what?” Sean said.

  “Republic; what you all call Carson’s army.” Riley shook his head. “I thought all the raiders would have kept pulling east, but if they’re setting up Monster blocks then they’re here.”

  “What the hell is a Monster block?” Sean said, yanking a bottle of water from his pack.

  “It’s what you just saw. They root out the attic of a house and let the creepers surround it,” Riley said, taking the bottle from Sean as it was offered. “They use it to block traffic on a road.”

  “They intentionally surround themselves with those things?” Brooks asked.

  Riley nodded. “It works for them. They’ll stay put for a week or so, and when it’s time to move on or change guards, they’ll use a high truck and ladders.”

  Tugging on his beard, Sean looked down at his knees then across at Riley. “If they have a road—er—Monster block then they must be close.”

  Riley nodded. “Yeah, they’d be holed up somewhere. I’d guess north, but could be south; you never know what direction they were intending on blocking.”

  Sean shook his head. “Not south; there would be nothing around here to block from the north—they’re looking to slow down Texas.” Sean pulled a county map from his pocket and traced fingers over the roads. “Brooks, you find a spot so we can head north.”

  “We looking for ’em, Chief?” Brooks asked.

  “Not yet, but I want to get into their backyard.”

  Chapter 16

  Thirty Miles North of Coldwater Compound. Michigan Safe Zone

  They moved through a narrow void with a high ceiling. “Where are we?” Brad said. He looked at the floors and dark, musty walls. It reminded him of the dark access tunnels under city streets or the basements of big buildings. Ventilation ducts, water pipes, and heavy bundles of electrical wiring and computer cables hung from conduits.

  Gyles stopped and looked at him, holding a finger to his lips. “Quiet,” he whispered. “We’re in a maintenance hallway. On the other side of this wall is the gymnasium.”

  “You said we were secure in here,” Brad whispered.

  Gyles dipped his chin and nervously scratched his shoulder. “We are, but those things are just on the other side of this wall. If they pick up on us, they’ll get all riled up. It’s best to not let them know we’re here.” Gyles turned and continued down the hall until he reached a barricaded set of double doors. Brad stood looking at them and the heavy linked chain that was wound through the handles. He began wondering how they would get through, when he saw Gyles had walked into a corner and was climbing a roof access ladder.

  Gyles climbed without giving any instruction, so Brad grabbed at the ladder rungs and followed the man up. Before reaching the top, Brad watched Gyles step off onto a platform that he hadn’t been able to see from the ground. The man scooted out of the way, making room for Brad to step in beside him.

  “What the hell are we doing up here?”

  Gyles frowned. “I wanted to tell you about this last night but thought it’d be easier if I showed you.”

  “Showed me what?”

  Pursing his lips, Gyles looked away and moved along the catwalk that cut into a square high in the wall. Brad followed him into the space and was immediately hit with a musty stink of bad air. It reminded him of calving pens when he was a kid, but pens that had gone months without a good cleaning. He reached to his neck and pulled his balaclava up over his mouth and nose. He looked down below them and could see a false ceiling grid suspended by wires. Over their heads was a ceiling supported by black steel beams.

  They shuffled along the catwalk to a narrow set of stairs that led to a door that was about two feet wide by four feet tall. Gyles stopped and knelt beside it. He looked at Brad and signed, You ready?

  Brad shook his head and tried to hold in a frustrated glare. He grunted, and waved the man ahead to say, Let’s go.

  Gyles moved down to the door and cautiously opened it; light quickly spilled in through the opening and was followed by another blast of the dank air. The man stepped low and moved through the opening. Brad followed closely behind him then paused with his hand frozen to the handrail as he looked below. The catwalk extended out into open space. Below him was an old basketball scoreboard, and below that, a long drop to a gymnasium floor filled with Primal bodies. Not creepers, but fully functioning Primals scattered around the space in groups and clusters.

  Ahead, Gyles was still creeping along the catwalk. Brad could see the things below him moving about. Others were nested together, sleeping in piles of filth. In one corner of the gymnasium, he spotted a mass of them feeding on something. It looked like a large animal—possibly a deer; they were pulling pieces off it then running away with it to their own spaces to devour it in smaller groups.

  “No,” Brad said, shaking his head. “Oh, hell no; I’m going back.”

  Brad scooted backwards and, once through the low door, turned and walked back up the narrow steps to the top of the catwalk. Once there, he didn’t stop. He moved all the way back to the ladder and leaned against the wall. After a short wait, he watched Gyles return. The man moved through the doorway and closed the door then tossed up his hands at Brad.

  “What the hell, man?”

  “Da fuck was that?” Brad asked. “What the hell are you thinking?”

  “It’s what I needed to show you. I’ve tried telling the others, but they don’t want to listen.”

  “What? That there’s a shitload of Primals with a nest inside a school? Screw you, Gyles; that ain’t some new science. There’s shit like this everywhere.”

  “Not like this!” Gyles said with his jaw clenched. “I ain’t stupid. I’ve seen hives before, but this is different… the numbers are doubling every day. They’r
e pouring into the region.”

  “Different how?” Brad asked, still shaking his head but wanting to calm the man.

  “It’s not a hive. Those things are living down there; they’re thriving. It’s more than a hive, it’s… it’s like a home, like they’re surviving here. Breeding here. And the walls to the south are keeping them here. Southern Michigan isn’t safe anymore. They’re migrating here for some reason, and I think that reason is us.”

  “Migrating? Shut up, Gyles,” Brad said, unable to hide the shock in his voice.

  Gyles looked down and exhaled loudly. “I can’t prove it, but I think they’ve devoured all the food elsewhere, and this place—shielded by the wall—is a happy hunting ground. Why else would they all come here?” Gyles looked up at Brad. “Why, Sergeant? Tell me.”

  “What in the hell are you trying to say, Gyles? I don’t know what it is you’re after.”

  Gyles dropped to the catwalk and put his back to the wall, letting his legs hang off the steel walkway. “I’ve been telling people, but nobody will listen. I told it to the senator. He kicked me out of his office. I told Sergeant Brown, and he called me an asshole.”

  “Tell me,” Brad said. “What is this about?”

  “Everything has changed. All of it. It’s not safe here anymore,” Gyles said. “They have us outnumbered here, and it’s just getting worse every day. The containment has been breached; we’ve lost. We can’t kill our way out of this.” He shook his head. “Not anymore. We need to get everyone out. Need to get the people north and away from here.”

  “We could burn the school,” Brad said.

  Gyles looked at him and smiled. “You’re not getting what I’m saying. This is just one spot. Do you know how many of them are down there? There are places like this all over between here and Detroit, and it’s even worse to the west. I killed a Primal last week with a Chicago driver’s license. They are migrating.”

  “No… no way,” Brad asked. “Can’t be.”

  The young soldier shook his head. “It’s true; I’ve seen it.”

  Brad examined Gyles’s face then closed his eyes and looked away. “Why did you bring me here? What do you want out of me?”

  “The southern part of the state is lost. We need to pack up and head north.”

  “You already said that.” Brad could see the look of frustration in the young man’s face. He paused and tried to consider the man’s words. “And you told this to the senator?”

  Gyles bit at his lower lip and shook his head. He leaned back against the wall and let his eyes close as he spoke softly. “He doesn’t see it—or doesn’t want to.” Gyles sighed. “We had it clear, man—all of it. Had the Primals close to wiped out north of the wall. But that’s all changed now. He hasn’t really gotten a grip on what’s happening. Maybe a year ago we could have held, but with what’s happening with the New Republic—them knocking down the walls and walking these things to our communities, killing off the populations—we’re done.”

  “We can fight them,” Brad said.

  “We can’t fight both the Primals and the raiders at the same time, and still protect our people.”

  Brad thought about what Gyles was saying and realized he was right. They couldn’t run an offensive war against the raiders while defending their homes night and day against Primals. They just didn’t have the people or the resources—not yet; he knew there was help on the way, or there might be. He looked up. “What about Texas? They have the manpower to make a difference.”

  “They could, but it would probably be too late,” Gyles said. “Even with them, the Primals have us outnumbered a hundred to one. And with the raiders already at our gates… I mean, look what they’ve managed to do to us in a day. All this running, you thought we were hunting them. The entire time we were being played. With that drone, they knew exactly what we were doing, and they followed us.”

  Brad held up his hands, having heard enough. “Listen, I’m exhausted, Gyles. Just tell me what the hell it is you want to do.”

  “I want you to send that corporal and Palmer back to the Coldwater compound. Tell them to pack up and move everyone to the Capital.”

  “And us?”

  “I want you to go out with me alone. We get small and we can hurt them. I want you to help me slow down the raiders. Find out where they are and kill as many of them as we can.”

  “Just the two of us?”

  Gyles nodded. “All we have to do is cause them problems. Keep them busy long enough so our people can move north.”

  Brad stopped to think about the proposition. Maybe that was the way. Get the people out of the way while they get quiet and take the fight to the raiders. Run an old-fashioned block-and-delay action while they wait for Texas. Brad shook his head and laughed.

  Gyles looked at him. “You okay, Sergeant?”

  Brad let his head drop, and he reached into a thigh pocket for a bottle of water. “I don’t think any of us are okay anymore. The more people I kill, the closer I get to being killed. It’s like there’s no place to go to get away from it.”

  Looking down, the young man licked his teeth and nodded. “I’m sorry. I hardly know you… It’s too much to ask. I can go it alone; I’ve been out there on my own before.”

  “Nah.” Brad grimaced. “If there is killing to be done, I’m your man.”

  Chapter 17

  Near Athens, Ohio. The Dead Lands

  Leroy Spencer woke to the sounds of gunfire. His head jerked up, and he quickly pulled on his boots.

  “What is it?” he called up to the roof.

  “Just travelers; we stopped ’em. They’re running, scared as hell,” the voice called back.

  The gunfire stopped as he finished lacing up his boots. The things outside the house were still howling and banging against the exterior walls. The place had been selected well, and the man who left him there was right—the home was well-built and could hold up to the masses pushing against the walls. Well-built or not, he wasn’t happy about having been put out on Monster block duty—he was a captain in the regulars; there were better things for him to do than run a three-man fire team on a blocking force.

  Leroy stood from the chair and walked to a ladder leading up to a hole cut in the roof. He was in what had probably been a teenage girl’s bedroom on the second floor of the home. There was a knocked-over dresser and end tables. Posters hung on the wall, there were clothes dumped on the floor, and a bed and mattress were knocked off their frame and pushed up against the only window. He stood in front of an open closet door with a mirror hanging on it, a long crack running from the top to the bottom.

  He ran a hand through his greasy hair as he looked at his reflection, shaking his head at the red and wind-burnt skin on his face. For being barely thirty, he looked forty. His blue eyes were lined with dark circles and the scruff on his beard was coming in grey. “What the hell am I doing here?” he said to himself before his radio chirped. He moved back to the desk and lifted the small Motorola radio. “This is Spencer,” he said.

  “What’s going on over there, Spence? We heard gunshots; you all okay?”

  Leroy held the radio in his hand, looking at it with disgust. The man on the other side was a moron, but still technically his superior. Not of higher rank—they were both captains, but Marcus Wahl was considered senior and had been put in charge of their little group. Unlike most men in the Regulars, Marcus never served in the military. He purchased his commission after the fall, trading everything he owned for a spot in the New Republic.

  Leroy looked at the radio, shaking his head and wondering if he’d made a mistake leaving his unit a year ago. Maybe he should have stayed and died with them instead of moving north. Now what was he? Was he even a soldier anymore? Maybe. He was here in uniform, a member of a recon element of the New Republic Regulars, sent out ahead of a full-strength battalion deployed to crush anything Texas sent north.

  That should have meant hiding and setting up observation posts—not running Monster blo
cks. But Wahl was in charge, so they did things his way. And doing it Wahl’s way meant they were to sit and watch for any signs of Texas approaching. If spotted, they would pursue and report back to the battalion still arriving at the train depot to the northeast.

  He shook his head, thinking of the mission orders. “What the hell am I doing here?” he said again, turning back to the mirror.

  Spencer keyed the radio and put it to his mouth. “Just travelers at the block; the snipers ran them off.”

  “Okay, sounds good, buddy. Stand by; we’ll be moving along to fetch you soon. Boss wants us to pack up and move north.”

  “What about the road? What about Texas?”

  “We’ve located survivors from what’s left of Carson’s group. Texas is on its heels; no reason for us to stick around anymore.”

  Spencer exhaled and clipped the radio to his shirt. “Carson’s group,” he mumbled to himself. “A bunch of misfit assholes doing their own thing. They deserve whatever they got.” He looked back toward the door behind him, ensuring it was still barred shut. He hated guys like Carson—people who thought they made their own law. The New Republic never should have gotten involved with that lot. Now instead of being back home, eating good meals and sleeping in a warm bed, he was out here trying to shut down a war Carson’s people started. And for what? A promise that they could deliver food and survivors back to the Republic? They never saw any food from Carson, and all the survivors had been moved back into Carson’s district. “Survivors,” he spat and shook his head. There were plenty of rumors that the survivors were really prisoners—slaves even. “Fuck Carson.”

  He shook his head before moving to the ladder rungs. “So, we just surrender ground and let them have the road. I’m working with morons,” he mumbled under his breath as he pulled himself up the ladder and through the hole in the roof.