by Dave Lund
“How many riders are in the group traveling east, and any indication what their destination is?”
“Twenty-three riders, and we don’t have any indication of their destination, but they’re traveling in the general direction of the other survivors from Big Bend.”
“Should we tell our Texas friends about the motorcycles?”
“Not yet, they’re still well away from the Park, and we don’t even know if they’re headed there. Monitor the motorcycles’ progress and see if we can plot possible destinations. When’s the next KH overflight?”
“Tomorrow at 10:02 local time.”
Emory Peak, Big Bend National Park, Texas
Bexar was quite sure that he and Jessie hadn’t had this much sex since the romantic Alaskan cruise they had taken as a “let’s get pregnant” trip nearly three years ago. It was hard to believe that it had already been three years since before they were pregnant, or had their precious little girl. Condoms were in short supply in their provisions so Bexar was pulling out; he and Jessie weren’t sure they could bring another baby into this brave new world.
Jessie scanned the ham frequencies, but they were unable to make contact with anyone, and she couldn’t even find any evidence of other transmissions. It was over a month since the other two survivors in the area had been heard on the radio. Bexar wanted to believe that those two old cowboys were still surviving, and that there were other survivors out there to be found, but the endless static was beginning to erode his hope.
Jessie set the ham on the frequency they’d been using to communicate with their new friends in Area 51, and powered up the shortwave radio. Scanning through the known frequencies, Jessie suddenly heard a voice, and stopped the scan to listen.
“Listen Bexar,” she said, “it’s just a woman reading random numbers. That’s really creepy.”
“Those ‘number’ channels have been around for a while,” he said. “Some channels are random numbers, some channels will have random words, some letters, and some a combination of them. The conspiracy theory types on the interwebs believe the channels are secret government communications to spies out in the field, although in this day and age that doesn’t seem likely, with the ability to communicate with the Internet.”
“So we don’t know who’s broadcasting them or who would be listening?”
“Nope, no one seems to know who or where with those channels. The conspiracy theories range from American spies to the Bilderberg group to alien bases under Denver International Airport, but that’s crazy. Who knows, hell, Cliff says he’s at Area 51.”
“Do you think he is?” Jessie asked.
“I don’t know. He could be, or he could be psychotic. I can’t imagine that the end of the world with the dead rising to hunt the living could be good for anyone’s mental health.”
Jessie looked at the sun nearing the middle of the sky overhead. “I think we have time for one more before we’re expected on the radio, if you’re up to it, lover boy.”
Bexar smiled and nodded, and Jessie pulled her blanket aside, revealing her naked body.
Groom Lake
“Okay Sarge, it should be about noon their time, I’ll get Mr. Cliff.” Arcuni nodded and the airman left the commo-hut. Arcuni pushed a frequency preset and the radio changed from a scanning mode to the frequency used thus far to communicate with the group in Texas.
Twenty minutes passed before Cliff opened the door to the commo-hut with the airman in tow.
“Nothing yet, Cliff.”
Cliff nodded and sat down next to Arcuni, donning a headset for the radio. Nearly ten minutes later, the speakers crackled with Bexar’s distant voice, “Good afternoon secret alien base, are you on the net?”
Arcuni looked at Cliff, who smiled and shrugged. “Roger that Texas folks, any updates in your status?”
“Nothing of note, but we are away from our base camp, up on one of the mountains to get reception for radio communication.”
“Copy that. We have some updates for you. The Dallas herd continues in a southwesterly direction, following the I-20; however, some smaller groups of undead have broken off from the herd. The largest of those is traveling south following the I-35.”
“Do you think either of those will affect us at our location?”
“We’re not sure yet, but we don’t think so. We will continue to track and keep you updated.”
“Thanks, Area 51. We picked up a BBC broadcast on the shortwave. It said that the British thought most of Europe was a total loss, followed by some discussion on nuclear fallout. Do you have any more information about that?”
Arcuni once again looked at Cliff, who shrugged. “We are just now getting up and running after pulling together some other survivors. We’ve been focused on the CONUS and will have to investigate further.”
Bexar shook his head at Jessie in disbelief, and keyed the radio again. “Also, Area 51, we picked up one of the old ‘numbers’ broadcasts on the shortwave, is that you guys?”
Cliff looked at Arcuni. “Shit, we need to get a shortwave in here to monitor that. If that’s not an automatic relay and they’re still up and broadcasting, we might have some problems.”
Arcuni started to ask a question, but Cliff’s raised hand motioned him to be quiet as he keyed the radio microphone. “No Texas,” he replied, “that’s not us, it’s probably just an old recorded message on repeat. Can you contact us again tomorrow at noon your time?”
“That’s affirmative, Area-51, contact you noon our time. Texas out.”
CHAPTER 57
Marfa, Texas
“PROSPECT UP!”
Two prospects, wearing smooth leather vests with a single “Prospect” rocker on the back, ran quickly to Russell, the sergeant-at-arms.
“You two get the crank pump and fill the bikes, then top off the gas cans and the support cages.”
“YES SIR!” One prospect ran to the van to get the hand-cranked pump they used to pump gas out of the underground gas station tanks, while the other started pushing the full members’ motorcycles towards the access hatch for the tanks.
Twardo approached Russell. “How far out are we now?”
“Two hours or so. We’ll be there by dinner time.”
“Good. I’m hungry, and I want to taste their food. There isn’t shit in this goat sneeze town; let’s get everything we can from our friendly Texans and get the fuck out back to Fort Bliss.”
The one-percenters’ break lasted just long enough for the prospects to fuel up all the motorcycles, the van, and the truck. The full members used the break to smoke, both tobacco and marijuana. Each full-patched member received at least a carton of cigarettes from every gas station and grocery store the club raided; the prospects had to scavenge the leftovers. Twardo was sure that everyone would have to quit smoking cigarettes cold turkey before too much longer; there were only so many cigarettes left in the world.
Emory Peak, Big Bend National Park, Texas
“How far away are they, Bexar?” Jessie asked.
“I don’t know, probably a full day’s drive before the world ended. Nowadays it’ll take much longer, probably a solid week of travel. Depends on if there are any other legions of the undead, and where they are. Anyone would be seriously screwed if we got caught by one of those.”
“I say we make contact with Groom Lake one more time, then head down the mountain to discuss it with Jack and Sandra, maybe start our escape plan,” she said.
“Okay, we can talk it over, but I really don’t think we should leave the Park unless it becomes absolutely necessary. We have a good thing here, Jess, and it could support our family for many years to come.”
Jessie nodded in agreement before turning the shortwave radio back on. Bexar turned on the ham radio and checked that it was tuned to the right frequency to contact Groom Lake. Between him and Jessie, they had figured out how to wire the solar panel to the battery in the radio box, and the battery to their two radios. Without consulting Jack or Sandra, they decided
to leave the ham radio in the sealed, weatherproof metal box on the mountain. Since they couldn’t transmit any signals in the Basin, it would be easier to leave it on top of the peak than to carry it up and down the mountain with each crew rotation. At least with the shortwave, there was a chance of receiving a transmission while still in the Basin.
Groom Lake, Nevada
“Really? I didn’t expect the herds to move that quickly. Sorry, Arcuni, continue your brief,” Major Wright said. He and Technical Sergeant Arcuni, Cliff, and all of the remaining NORAD airmen had gathered in one of the larger rooms for a briefing. Lance and his assistants were still buried in their work in the laboratories.
Arcuni continued, “The leading edge of the Dallas herd is now nearing where I-20 and I-10 meet in west Texas, with the bulk of the herd reaching the interchange in the next two days. Denver has given birth to another herd, which is moving south, roughly following I-25. Same with Houston except that herd is moving north roughly following I-45. Our working theory is that the herds begin to form when no new food sources are found. The reanimates travel in the direction with the least amount of obstacles—so smaller roads to larger roads and to even larger roads. That would explain why they’re ending up on the Interstates—no lakes, no trees, no buildings, nothing but cars and more undead to join their ranks.”
“That makes sense,” Cliff said. “Good thing I got here early or I might have had a harder trip than I did, since I basically followed the Interstate out of Denver. Any updates on the fires?”
Arcuni clicked to the next slide in the PowerPoint presentation, showing a large overhead photo of North America followed by red dots in many locations. It looked to Cliff like America had a bad case of chicken pox.
“Gentlemen, as you can see with our overlay, we have found a significant number of unchecked fires still burning. The list is long, but it includes much of Dallas, Denver, Tucson, San Antonio, Oklahoma City, Lincoln, Austin, Indianapolis, Columbus, Fort Worth, Chicago, Phoenix … to put it bluntly, if it’s a city name you’d recognize, it either is or was on fire.”
Major Wright looked at his notes and back to Arcuni. “Any theories as to why the substantial amount of fire?”
“Yes sir, but they range from utilities such as power plants and gas lines failing, car crashes, aircraft crashes, trains, buses, to even a cow kicking over a lantern. We have a bunch of ideas, most of them likely, but we just don’t have the hard intel to figure that out yet.”
Cliff nodded. “It isn’t important yet, Major?”
“I would tend to agree,” the major said. “Arcuni, please continue.”
“Thank you. So far our radio operators have made contact with roughly two-dozen survivor groups spread out across middle America. None of them are in any city of any size, although some fled larger cities into the countryside. We’re confident that we will continue to come into contact with more.”
Cliff nodded in agreement again. “That’s great news. Make sure that all of the survivors we contact have an open invitation to our location. With that in mind, Major, would you put together a working group to develop a security plan for receiving survivors, including a quarantine period, and a way for a group to make contact with us once they arrive topside?”
“No problem. Are we expecting any arrivals in the next seventy-two hours?” Major Wright asked.
“No idea,” said Cliff. “Arcuni?”
“Not that we know of, but the topside lighting is still on, so if survivors pass near here they might be drawn to it. Same with the reanimates. Our security patrol has been encountering a stark increase in the undead. We should consider extinguishing topside lighting.”
It was Wright’s turn to nod in agreement. “Good idea, get on that when we finish here.”
Cliff stood and walked to the lectern. “Guys, so far we’ve made incredible progress, and have confirmed that there are other survivors. Eventually we will form expeditionary groups to go outside the wire and search for survivors, or help them arrive safely here, but we’re much too short on manpower to do that now. Thank you for the good briefing, Arcuni, everyone is dismissed.”
Cliff looked at his watch and walked out the door towards the commo-hut. A few minutes later he walked into the room that was humming with electronics. “Any contact from our group in Texas?”
One of the airmen raised his hand and waved Cliff to his station. “Here sir, they just came online.”
The radio operator handed Cliff the headphones and the mic. “Hello Texas survivors, how are you faring?”
“We’re doing well, Groom Lake. Do you have any updates for us?”
“We do. The Dallas herd is nearing the I-10 and I-20 split out west, and there’s a smaller herd traveling north from Houston on I-45. The good news is we’ve been able to make contact with other survivors in other states.”
“That’s great!” Bexar replied. “Make contact with anyone else in Texas?”
“No contact, but we did locate a group of people on motorcycles traveling easterly on highways south of I-10 nearing Big Bend National Park.”
Bexar shot a nervous look at his wife and keyed the mic, “A motorcycle gang?”
“We don’t have any means to determine that; we only found the riders during a satellite pass of the region.”
“Groom Lake, are they riding spaced out or are they riding side-by-side, and do they have any other vehicles following them?”
Cliff looked over at an airman sitting at one of the computers in the room. “Can you pull up the overhead I flagged with the motorcycle riders?” He hit the mic again. “Standby, Texas, we’re pulling the photo back up.”
After a moment, Cliff spoke again. “Okay, they’re riding side-by-side, and there’s a van and a truck following behind them.”
“Groom Lake, we ran into a motorcycle gang while en route here; they were herding the undead and using them to attack survivors and communities.”
“They don’t appear to have any reanimates following them. They’re moving fast like they have a destination. There are a few small towns in their path, as well as the National Park.”
“Okay, thank you, Groom Lake, I’m signing off, and it’ll be a few days before we can make contact again. If the motorcycles are headed to the Park, how much time would you estimate before they arrive there?”
Cliff looked at the airman at the computer again. “How much time until the motorcycles reach Big Bend National Park?”
“Uh, looks like about four hours, if they stay on course and speed.”
“Texas, we’re estimating four hours.”
Emory Peak
“Christ, babe, we’ve got to get moving. I wish we could talk to Jack and Sandra and send them a warning.”
Jessie turned off the ham radio, unclipped it from the batteries, and stuffed it into the metal cabinet before picking up her pack. Bexar picked up his pack and his rifle and stopped.
“Hang on a second babe, going hot.”
He pointed his AR in the direction of the cabins and pulled the trigger three times.
Chisos Basin Campground, Big Bend National Park, Texas
“Did you hear that, Jack?”
“Hear what?”
“I thought I heard a rifle.”
“Maybe Bexar bagged a deer or something up there,” he said.
“Why would he? We have enough here, and we just killed another javelina before they left. I don’t think he’d do that. What if something’s wrong?”
“If it is, Sandra, I’m sure he’ll come down the mountain and tell us.”
“What if they need us to come help them, should we go up the trail to see?”
“No, if something’s wrong they’ll beat us down before we can make it up there. Here, in a bit I’ll check the dumpsters and the gate just to make sure everything’s okay.”
Jack went back to tending the afternoon fire, burning down his small pile of wood to make good cooking coals for the Dutch oven. The javelina stew was already in the cast iron pot. An
hour later the Dutch oven was sitting on a hot bed of coals, with more hot coals piled on top of the lid. Jack looked at the sun in the western sky and estimated that the sun would have dipped just behind The Window by about the time the stew was done.
Jack left dinner cooking on the hot coals, grabbed his rifle, and drove the Scout towards the dumpsters and gates in the road to the Basin. Arriving at their defensive dumpsters, Jack disconnected the shotgun popper alarms and used the Scout to push the dumpsters together. Tomorrow he and Bexar could drag the dumpsters apart again, but it would probably be good to have the road closed, just in case.
After about thirty minutes of work and observing the road out on the desert floor, Jack strung the shotgun popper alarms across the road about ten feet in front of the dumpsters, so if something came near the roadblock, they would at least have some warning. Just before he climbed into the Scout to drive back to the cabins, he heard a low rumble bouncing off the mountains.
Jack looked at the sky, but could see no storm clouds. Grabbing the binoculars from the passenger seat of the Scout and climbing on top of the dumpsters to get a better look, he could nearly see Panther Junction, although the angle was wrong. The sound grew louder and more distinct in the distance, but still nothing entered Jack’s narrow field-of-view. Eyes widening, Jack finally recognized the sound as it became clearer—motorcycles.
“Damnit, the bikers! So probably the undead too. Damnit!”
Jack jumped off the dumpsters and drove up the mountain towards the cabin as fast as he could negotiate the turns in the Scout.
CHAPTER 58
Chisos Basin Campground, Big Bend National Park, Texas
Jack skidded the Scout to a screeching halt in front of their cabin.
