by W. J. Lundy
“That’s how people are; they start living well then think they have to take shit from others. Like the outside problems aren’t enough, they think they have to make new ones.”
Brad grunted. “Assholes—always have been, always will be.”
“Amen,” Luke said.
The convoy slowed again, and they entered an onramp then started traveling east on a wide highway. Brad recognized it as Interstate 90, which cut through Indiana and Ohio and ran right into Toledo. Luke moved onto the road, and the vehicles changed position, spreading out but maintaining the slow speed. Luke relaxed after reaching the steady speed. “You know how it all started?” he asked.
Brad had been over this a few times before. Every region seemed to have an answer, and they always turned into arguments with little facts to add to it. He’d heard everything from mutated Ebola from the Congo, to rabies out of Canada. Some even claimed it came from poison water deep in the Earth. And then there were the religious groups, which were the worst of all. Nobody knew the truth, but how could they? He shrugged, looked at Luke, and said, “I’ve heard things; what about you?”
“Was a terror attack,” Luke said matter-of-factly—not as a suggestion, but as a statement. “An engineered bioweapon rapidly deployed around the world, all on a precise schedule. Some places did better than others at stopping it. Actually, the only reason we are even alive now is because the US was prepared. Well, it was half-assed and could have been better if they’d come clean with the public from the get-go, but at least they had people out in some bunker coordinating a response. If not for them, we probably would all be zombies right now.”
“Bioweapon?” Brad was shocked to hear that answer, and more shocked to hear about the coordinated response team. It was a phrase he’d nearly forgotten about.
Luke looked at Brad then back at the road then back to Brad again. He saw the shock on Brad’s face, and that caused him to grimace. “Wait, you aren’t surprised by my answer; you’re just surprised that I know. You already knew this, didn’t you?”
“I knew some of it.”
“How?”
Brad took another drink from the water bottle, draining it before sticking the empty bottle back into his cargo pocket. “When I was stranded over in the Stan, I ran into a pair of operators that were returning from a mission to stop the attacks.”
“Stop the attacks?” Luke laughed. “They happened across the globe.”
“Yeah, I get that,” Brad scoffed. “They were one team of many. They failed in their mission, by the way; they never prevented their attack and the city fell apart all around them.”
“Where?” Luke said, his tone serious.
Brad shook his head. “Uzbekistan. It was across the border from the place we met up. I can’t remember the city name.” He rubbed the scruff on his chin, scratching at his jaw line. “How about you? How did you know?”
“Close to the same, really. Gyles up there,” Luke looked up and pointed a finger toward the turret. “The mission he was on wasn’t really about my city. He was on some run to pick up doctors, people that were hunting for a cure. They failed too. I guess all of us did.”
“Yeah, I guess we all did, even after the cure–—or at least the vaccination—I thought this would all be over.”
“You get the vaccine?” Luke asked.
“Yeah, I got it. You?”
Luke nodded. “Last year, a group came through here; they had a bunch of it. They said they wanted to vaccinate fighters first then the hunters, gatherers, people that left the walls and those at greater risk. They had hundreds of doses and said they’d come back.”
“They didn’t?” Brad asked.
“No, they didn’t. Never heard from them again.” Luke paused; there was a metal thunking on the roof. Luke strained his eyes, looking for trouble, then gunshots and muzzle flashes struck ahead.
Gyles dropped down out of the turret and shouted, “Contacts ahead. Fucking screamers are jumping down onto the convoy from the overpass.” The man stood back up, and his machine gun let loose. Brad watched as tracers arced out from above. The impacts sparked and ricocheted all along the face of the overpass.
“Go, go, go, race through it!” came a garbled shout through the radio.
Brad felt the vehicle speed pick up. Gyles’s fire on the overpass was effective, but the flow of Primals wasn’t slowing. They were massing and flowing over, dropping onto the vehicles ahead and pouring off the sides. As they drew closer, Gyles dropped back into the MRAP and slammed the hatch shut. In a matter of seconds, a gun behind them picked up the fire, and the waterfall of bodies poured onto the MRAP. The vehicle bumped and shuddered as it rolled over a mound of the dead.
Brad turned back and saw Chelsea kneeling behind him, looking through the windshield. “There are just so many of them.”
Gyles laughed. “You ain’t seen nothing.” He hit a switch, pouring on floodlights mounted to the top of the MRAP. The lights shone bright, illuminating the road ahead and far to the right and left of the vehicles. They were moving into a massive horde. The trucks ahead were effectively breaking a path through, but they were taking a beating.
“How the hell do we get through this?” Brad said.
“We just drive and hope it lets up.”
Chelsea pointed a hand at the windshield. “This isn’t a thunderstorm.”
“Yeah, but it’s a storm of sorts; we’ll break through this mass and hope to hell Toledo is still there.”
“And what if it’s not?”
Luke shook his head slowly. “Like I said, let’s hope to hell it is, and that they agree to let us in.”
Chapter 25
Three Corners Outpost, West of Lancaster, Ohio. The Dead Lands
Sean heard the gunshots and sat up in the rack just as the bells began ringing. He pulled away the sleeping bag and leaped to his feet, his handgun already in his hand. He looked around the tent. Aside from Riley, who was looking directly at him, the other racks were still empty. More gunshots quickly turned into a full battle. He jumped into his clothes and saw Riley doing the same. “Where are the others?” he asked.
Riley began to speak when Henry came through the door with the boys following close behind. “Camp’s under full attack. Couldn’t get a look at it, but sounds serious. I saw some folks that said they was bugging out.”
“Bugging out? How?” Sean said as he finished strapping on his boots and grabbed his rifle.
Henry clenched half his face. “There’s a tunnel that leads to an out building; guess they think it’s a way out.”
Grunting, Riley was on his feet and stepping toward the still-open door. “It’ll get them killed if they find Primals on the other side. Only choice is to hold this place. There’s no running from this shit.” The man stomped through the doorway. Henry looked to Sean for guidance. Sean waved a hand, signaling for them to move out after Riley.
The boys turned around to follow, and Sean stepped out alongside Henry. He wondered where Brooks and Joey would be if the Outpost was truly surrounded. He frowned and shook off dark thoughts; they were outside where they belonged. Nothing would get Brooks if he was in the open and had space to operate. Through the door, the interior of the courtyard was dark. Fires had been extinguished. He looked up into the windows of the buildings; all the lights were out. The only illumination was coming from the muzzle flashes of the defenders.
There were screaming and shouting groups of people running past him with packs on. Sean reached out and grabbed a frail old man in a canvas coat. “Where you going?”
The man spun toward him, his jaw was shaking, his eyes dilated with fear. “The tunnel.”
“Where does it go?” Sean asked.
The man pointed toward the southwest corner of the compound. “There’s an old block house that way. Used to be an auxiliary warehouse for this place. Made of concrete blocks, steel roof. Only one door and it’s locked tight.”
“Why?” Sean asked. “You want to go hide in a box surrounde
d by those things?”
The old man gave Sean a confused look. “It’s a bunker; it has supplies.” The old man pulled away, and Sean went to snatch him again, but the man didn’t run. “It’s a place to hide while the camp is defended.”
Sean nodded and waved the man off. When he turned back, he could see that he’d been left alone. Henry and the others were now approaching the main gate where a wagon was positioned, and a man in dark coveralls was handing out rifles and bandoleers of ammunition. As men from the camp ran past, they took the weapons and disappeared into a doorway. Sean saw that Henry and the others had bunched up at the wagon, watching the commotion but taking no steps to do anything themselves.
Sean could see Riley standing by the entrance to the door, holding one of the rifles and with the ammo bandoleer hanging over his shoulder. Sean stepped in his direction, when he heard a shout from behind.
“Hey, you guys! Hold it right there.”
Sean smiled and slowly turned back. Behind him and moving his way were the officer and his two troopers. Sean’s smile faded, and his hand tightened on the grip of his rifle. The officer stomped closer then looked directly at Sean. “What’s happening here?” the officer asked.
Sean looked left and right. “Well, I’m no genius, but sorta looks like the camp is under attack.” Sean looked to Henry. “What do you think? An attack?”
Henry did the same twist of his head. “Aye, yeah, this seems to be your classic Primal attack.”
The officer scowled. “Primal? Where the hell you from? You military? Nobody says Primal around here.”
Henry shook his head, and the officer turned to face Sean. “What about you?”
Sean smiled. “I was.”
The officer softened his scowl and smiled. “Listen, my name’s Captain Leroy Spencer. I’m only here passing through. I need some help to find out what the hell is going on and how we can help.”
Nodding, Sean pointed to the open doorway. “You can call me Sean; this is Henry and his nephews. We’re in the same boat as you: just traders who heard the bells and came this way to see if we could help.”
“Very well,” Spencer said. “Follow me.” The officer charged past them with the two younger soldiers quickly in tow.
Henry glanced at Sean. With a grin, he waved a hand. “Beauty before age.”
Sean flipped the older man the bird and moved into the building. Inside, he could see groups of men standing over a bench, loading rifle magazines. At the end of the room, Spencer was talking to a bearded man in a red-and-black flannel shirt. The man pointed to a stairwell on the opposite wall. Spencer nodded and turned back to Sean, waving for them to follow as he moved out toward the stairs.
Sean and the others followed. The stairs, which were wide and made of smooth concrete, looked like they belonged in an old school building. Men were running up and down, panicked faces covered in sweat and grime. The echoes of gunshots roared into the building’s confines. Sean popped in a pair of earplugs he carried in a shirt pocket and continued his trek upward, toward the fighting.
He exited from a roof access door and out into the darkness. The air was heavy with blue smoke and the stench of carbon from heavy rifle fire. Muzzle flashes refracted through the smoke like strobes. Looking down a long flat roof with men lining the outer edges, barrels of water, rubber hoses, and solar panels littered every open space. Sean pushed his way to the firing lines and looked down into the faces of thousands. The trenches that surrounded the building were already full, strands of wire and chain link fencing dragged across the yard.
Sean felt the captain standing beside him. “What’s gotten into them? The infected don’t mass like this anymore.”
“Hunger,” Spencer said. “In small groups, they do okay in the wild. A mass like this? No. They’re starving, and it drives them wild. Feeding the hunger comes first for them.”
Sean leaned out and looked down. The things were pressing against the walls—some against windows and doors. He scanned the men on the perimeter. There was no organization to their firing; anyone with a rifle was firing into the mass directly to the front.
“We’re losing. We need to organize our fire to the ones hitting the gates and windows,” Sean said, pointing to a large mass pressed against the main entry.
Spencer nodded his head. He grabbed one of the young soldiers behind him. “Start directing fire to the attacks on the doors and windows. Don’t concern yourself with those pressed against brick.”
Sean still hadn’t fired a shot. He stepped back and could see that Henry and the two boys were close beside him. Riley had vanished. He pulled Henry in and relayed the same instructions Spencer had just given. “We’ve got to organize these people or we are done.”
Henry nodded and took off, grabbing men on the walls and directing their fire, giving them points of aim. Sean felt a tug on his shoulder. Spencer was pointing down the roofline to where men were pulling back from the edge. Looking below, a bit of the outer wall was buckling from the weight pressed against it. The window barriers were holding but not for long. “We’ve got to find out who is running this goat fuck,” Spencer said just below a full yell. He pointed at the road. “Nobody will have the ammo to sustain this fight. Even if the structure does hold, we’re going to have to plan an egress.”
Sean nodded in agreement, the thoughts having already crossed his mind. He turned back to the fighting, scanned the terrain, and spotted the distant block building. It wasn’t much, just a two-story cube with a pair of steel garage doors. He tapped Spencer and pointed. “I heard one of the civvies say there is a tunnel that leads to that building. We focus all the Primal attention here and they might have a fighting chance.”
Spencer squinted and looked at Sean. The man pressed a gloved hand to his temple and grimaced before pulling back from the wall. “Let’s find their leader.”
Sean spotted the white-bearded man he’d met earlier in the day. He pointed him out to Spencer then they moved out together. As they drew closer, Sean could already see that things were rapidly changing. More men were leaving down the stairs than those who were coming up. Looking at the perimeter walls, the men firing were beginning to thin out. Just before they reached the leader, Sean leaned into Spencer. “Looks like these guys are starting to bail.”
Spencer frowned and dipped his chin slightly. The white-bearded man had spotted them and turned toward the uniformed captain. “We need your help; can you get more soldiers here?”
Holding up his radio, Spencer shook his head. “I tried; no contact with my command.”
Sean caught notice of that. He hadn’t considered there being more people and this captain having potential radio communications with them. “Where is your command?” Sean said, regretting the question before the words fully left his mouth.
The captain eyed him suspiciously and tucked the radio back into his jacket. He rolled his eyes, like he was more frustrated to answer the question than concerned that Sean was gathering intel. “South, but it doesn’t matter. I can’t raise them on the radio.”
“Is that unusual?” Sean asked.
Spencer shook his head. “No. When on mission, we only open communications every six hours unless scheduled. I have a check-in with battalion at 0600 and another at 1200. Outside of that, it just won’t work—I’ve tried. By the time the next check is due, it’ll be way too late for this place.” He stopped and looked back at Seth. “Your people are all leaving, what’s the plan here?”
The old man with the white beard looked down. “I only have a dozen in my guard force, the rest are volunteers; they have families to fend for.”
“If this place falls, so do their families,” Sean said.
White Beard looked down and away. He started to speak, but Sean cut him off. “I know all about the tunnel. So let me ask you again, what’s the plan?”
Seth’s eyes grew wide. He went to speak and then closed his lips again, thinking about it. “Okay, yeah, there is a bunker of sorts. We’re running a phased wi
thdrawal.” The old man pointed to the mass. “You know as well as I do, you can’t beat them this way.”
“Nope,” Sean said, his head shaking side-to-side. “Every shot you fire draws in ten more from surrounding areas; it’s a losing math battle. Your best bet is to get somewhere hard and wait it out. I don’t blame you all one bit for doing it—actually, I’m surprised you’ve planned for it.”
Seth shrugged as group of men all at once peeled off the wall and ran past him, one shouting a wish of good luck as he ran by.
“How long we got until they’re all gone?” Spencer asked.
Seth looked at his watch. “Less than twenty minutes and it’ll just be my guard force.”
“Then what?” Sean asked.
“Then we fight and hope the roof holds.”
Spencer exhaled loudly. “Not much of a plan.”
“It’s all I got. There are a couple hard rooms one floor down, supplies inside for a week. If they get inside the building, it’ll be a race to make it there. I don’t know.”
“Nah, fuck that. Get your people and start peeling off. My boys can hold the roof,” Sean said.
“Wait… what?” Spencer said, putting up his hand and turning.
Sean ignored the officer. “Get what magazines you have loaded up and leave me some of those battle rifles. Get your people and get the hell out.” Sean turned to Captain Spencer. “You’re free to go too if that’s what makes you feel better.”
Seth took a step back, looking at Sean. Without waiting to hear any disagreement from Spencer, he started shouting orders to his men. Within minutes, men were fleeing the roof. Rifles and magazines were dropped on a bench close by. Soon, it was only Sean’s and Spencer’s teams left on the rooftop. The return fire had stopped.
“Who the fuck are you?” Spencer asked.
“I was Chief Sean Rogers, United States Navy. Now I’m me—survivor of the fucking apocalypse, and I know I have a better chance at making this work than they do. I meant what I said, you can leave with the others if you want, but decide quickly because I’m about to blow the roof access. We’ll be trapped up here after that.”
