by RW Krpoun
“Nope.”
“Crap. OK, work on your TV.”
“About time.”
Marv sat in the passenger seat watching the road roll towards them at sixty miles per hour, the lengthening shadows prompting them to drive a bit faster as they wove their way across back roads. JD was driving, Addison was taking a shower, and the rest were watching HBO on the TV. Doc’s interaction with CNN had lasted for the few seconds it took Bear to pry the remote from the medic’s hands.
Lifting his jury-rigged sat phone, Marv checked the bars and hit Dial. Colonel Nelson picked up on the second ring.
“Fastbox Two reports, sir.”
“Glad to hear you, Sergeant. Status?”
“We just crossed into Alabama, sir. I think it’s better I don’t tell you our exact location until we’re ready to set up the extraction.”
“Understood.”
Marv described the FASA roadblock. “We’re better armed and still rolling, sir. They ought to have lost any ability to track us. How did Fastbox One turn out?”
“Delivered and disbanded. It wasn’t easy-they threw every asset they had on hand in an effort to capture or at least stop it. But the payload is in a secure facility and work on it began some hours ago.”
“Good news, sir. Sundown is less than an hour away-we’ll start looking for a place to make camp in about forty.”
“Fine. I am finalizing the assets to pull you out, and I will contact you as soon as I have a fully developed plan.”
“That’s good to hear, sir. Fastbox Two, out.”
“We hit Alabama over two hours ago,” JD observed.
“Yeah. Which means if FASA is listening in, they think we’re a hundred miles further east than we really are. Alabama’s one hundred ninety miles across, east to west; since we’re sticking to back roads I figure two-fifty actually driven. With luck we’ll be around one-fifty in by the time we make camp. FASA knows where we are coming from and they know where we’re heading to in Texas, but we can do what we can to keep them off-balance in between.”
They rolled on in silence for a while. “What are your plans, you know, once we deliver the payload?” JD asked.
Marv shrugged. “I’m a Ranger, so I’ll end up fighting zombies. What about you?”
“I don’t know. If Belize is safe, I’ll have to find some work-I doubt pro wrestling is going to have a good year.”
Dyson stepped between the seats with the cover-less road atlas in hand. “Found a RV campground a little less than an hour from here,” he pointed it out on the map.
As the Ranger bent over the map, JD glanced up at the Georgian. “What’s your plan, post-mission?”
“Get to Maine and find my girl,” the martial artist shrugged. “After that, who knows?” He looked over his shoulder. “Bear, what are your plans?”
“Get to Texas, find another bike,” the big man said laconically.
“Doc? Captain? Addison?”
Addison shrugged, uninterested.
“Get back to the CDC,” Doc said, still bent over his latest project. “Where I can perform my research.”
“Back to the Regiment,” Captain Jack adjusted his beret. “Thereafter my time is not my own.”
“It’s good to have a plan,” Marv said absently. “Yeah, let’s try this RV park. Why is it out away from everything else?”
“State park,” Dyson tapped the map. “They don’t have very good facilities, it’s a primitive park. Hence the business opportunity just outside the state-owned area.”
“ ‘The Mighty Quinn RV Park’,” JD read out loud. “Funny name.”
“I don’t care I they call it Graceland,” Dyson shrugged. “It beats parking in the open.”
Chapter Five
The sun was on the horizon when they rolled up to The Mighty Quinn RV park and shadows were deepening under the surrounding trees. The park was ten acres of cleared ground in a sea of tall pines, encircled by a tidy waist-high split-rail fence. The arching gateway spelled out the camp’s name in unfinished limbs, with an Indian tribal mask as a centerpiece at the high point of the arc.
Inside, a gravel circular drive provided access to the parking spots, each with a graveled RV parking area, a covered concrete picnic table with a grill, a car-sized secondary parking position, and electricity and water hook-ups. Set square with the gate was a white double-wide trailer with a redwood deck. Signs proclaiming OFFICE and VACANCY hung on the deck’s railing, and an older, solidly-built woman wearing white crop pants and a floral stop sat at round table with a tall sun shade, reading from an electronic tablet. She stood as the RV rumbled through the opening.
Marv grounded his weapons and MOLLE vest before stepping out. “Good evening,” he smiled. “We need an RV spot.”
“Got one left,” the woman stepped to the deck’s rail. “You in the Army, son?”
“Yes, ma’am. Hitching a ride back to my unit. There’s six more on board, all adults, all well-behaved. They’re civilians.” He noticed that the woman’s top was slightly askew, from a pistol tucked in the rear waistband of her crop pants, he figured. There was a long gun’s wooden stock peeping out from beneath the rail where she was standing, the weapon likely resting on hooks just out of sight.
“Georgia dealership plates,” the woman observed thoughtfully. “I’m Brenda, by the way. My husband and I own this park. Our oldest is in the Navy, on board the Nimitz, he’s up for Chief soon, career Navy. Have you seen much trouble getting here?”
“More than a little,” Marv admitted. “Its getting…very strange out there. The flu acts fast, and it makes people act insane.”
“Makes them zombies, is what I hear,” Brenda observed.
“I won’t tell you it doesn’t,” Marv nodded. “Aim for the head, and don’t hesitate.”
“That’s how I’ve been hearing it. How long are you planning to stay?”
“Until dawn.”
“The electricity isn’t working, and the vending machines sold out before noon. You can take number nineteen, its clockwise to your right, the only empty.” Brenda hooked a ‘NO’ sign in front of the VACANCY.
“What do we owe you?”
“Nothin’,” Brenda shrugged. “Water’s from our well. If you stay on we get a little to help us keep the place up, but the Lord wouldn’t put us here to turn anyone away in times like these. We don’t tolerate foolishness or disruptive behavior, and from ten until seven there is not to be noise or music or anything of that sort. Mind your own row, and lets others mind theirs.”
“We will, ma’am. We just want to get some rest and hit the road at first light, as moving after dark is a bit dicey at times. We covered a lot of miles today, and plan to cover that many or more tomorrow.”
“Well, good luck and God Bless.”
“Thank you, ma’am.”
Marv swung back up into the RV. “OK, number Nineteen.”
“I heard. Nice lady, and ready for trouble.” JD swung the big vehicle to the right. “I don’t know if you saw, but somebody, I figure hubby, was behind the drapes to your right, and I’m guessing he wasn’t just watching.”
“Trust in the Lord, and prepare for the worst,” Marv grinned. “Good people. Captain Jack, work out a guard roster, let’s keep one on watch throughout the night. JD, can we run the AC all night? There’s no electrical hook-up.”
“Shouldn’t be a problem, the battery bank is fully charged. If we can get some gas, I’ll set up the generator to kick on if the charges drop too low.”
That the RV park was full was an understatement. RVs took up over half the positions, with camper trailers covering about a quarter more. Tents filled the rest and occupied a small picnic area in the center of the park as well; there was even a box truck with a moving company logo in position Eighteen. The truck’s hood was raised, and two men in company logo shirts were laboring on the engine.
“Texas plates,” Addison observed as JD backed Gnomehome into its position.
“OK, everyone stick close
and keep quiet about what we’ve done and seen. Doc, you’re restricted to the RV. Do not leave under any circumstances.”
“Can I mount my antenna on the roof?”
“For the TV?”
“For Internet access.”
“Yeah, but that’s it. Guys, lets get a meal and then get some sleep. Tomorrow’s going to be a rough day, if today is any standard.”
“We’ve got beds for seven if everyone’s OK with sharing,” Bear observed as Dyson and JD cranked out the extensions that expanded the RV’s floor space. “The dinette bed is a single, and the settee’s fold-out is best for the smaller guys. With one on watch it shouldn’t be too bad.”
“I’ll crash on the floor with a couple sleeping bags,” Marv said. “No bugs and AC are all it takes to make me happy. That leaves five between four beds. The king-sized is the only one that will have to double-up, and only for part of the night.”
“I’m not shy,” Dyson shrugged. “I’ll split a bed with someone who’s platonic.”
“I’ll stay on my side,” JD offered when no one else spoke up. “I doubt I’ll be dreaming about my wife.”
While the others sorted out the sleeping arrangements and the dinner duties Marv slipped his pistol into the back of his pants and stepped outside. Night was falling and the temperature was dropping a bit, although it was still in the low eighties. He checked the RV’s tires before hooking up the water connections and then wandered over to the truck in Eighteen.
“Engine trouble?” he asked.
The closer of the pair straightened and turned, a young man carrying a lot of excess weight over solid muscle and good bones, with long hair and a straggly beard that outlined a broad, round, and open face. “Life trouble, dude, life trouble. Serious karmatic issues coming back with a vengeance, is what it is.” He carefully wiped his hand on a rag before offering it. “Chip Wilson.”
“Marv.” The kid’s grip was strong. “What deeds are haunting you?”
“I have no idea, but they are serious ones to judge from current events. The wrench-head there is Ivan Lischensky, better known as Brick. We were doing a long-haul from Houston to Jacksonville Florida, shifting some fat-cat’s household goods with experience, care, and style. You been to Jacksonville recently?”
“We’ve been in that general area of Florida,” Marv admitted.
“We were in a gated community outside the burbs-the radio said things were getting rough, so we made no delay in getting gone once the job was done. And that’s the only reason we’re standing here.” Chip paused, and Marv recognized the look in the young man’s eyes-he had seen in it Afghanistan, on guys who are surprised that they are in fact still alive. “They came at us like…a flood, man.” He paused again. “Look, dude, no lie: freakin’ zombies.”
“Yeah,” Marv nodded. “We’ve had a couple run-ins ourselves. It’s a virus, rides in the saliva, I’m told.”
Chip looked surprised and oddly comforted. “Exactly, dude. Its…I thought I was going nuts, but Brick saw them, too. Most of the people here we’ve talked to think we’re crazy.”
“How did you end up here?”
“We’re trying to get back home, to Houston. Brick said to take the back roads because the main roads were starting to fill up, and to head inland. Now we’ve got engine problems.”
“Rings shot.” Brick advised, straightening. His face reminded Marv a bit of the new James Bond, the actor who always looked like he had tasted something sour, with a shaved scalp and eyebrows so fair they were nearly invisible. His broad shoulders and heavy muscles made him appear larger than his average height, and he moved with calm confidence as he packed away tools in the free-standing Craftman tool chest.
“Brick can fix anything,” Chip gestured expansively. “He learned in the Polish Army.”
“Am now US citizen,” Brick said without looking up.
“You need anything fixed? We could trade for food-we’re a little short.”
“We’re OK on repairs. You have any gas?”
“Yeah, I suppose-this thing runs on diesel, not that we have much left, but we got a can of gas off an abandoned car.”
“I’ll send one of my guys out with a few meals for the gas and can, I’ll throw in a couple cans of bug spray, too.”
“OK. Say, you guys wouldn’t be heading towards Texas, would you?”
“We’re full strength at the moment, but let me talk to my guys.”
“The gas will keep the generator going for a couple nights,” JD observed as the Gnomes sat down to a meal; he and Marv were sitting in the front seats. “They hit me up for a ride. Seem like decent fellows, and the Pole is a mechanic.”
“Yeah, it’s a thought. They’re up to speed on the crisis, but I’m a touch nervous-FASA is looking for us, and now we run into two guys from Texas heading home.”
“The first guy you and I met was from Texas and heading home,” JD pointed out. “Everyone we’ve met is running from someplace to someplace.”
“True.”
“And everyone in this camp was heading for the tall timber, whether they know about the infected becoming zombies or not,” Dyson pointed out from the settee.
“If FASA knew we were here, they would do more than slip a couple ringers into the group,” Bear offered. “They would simply whack us out.”
“Seems like a lot of trouble for killing a couple of their guys,” Doc observed.
“They probably blame the roadblock on us as well,” Marv shrugged. “How’s the Net connection coming?”
“The interface is loading. I think we should watch the news soon.”
“After Breaking Bad,” Bear patted the remote, secure in his vest.
“It’s a freakin’ marathon!”
“Shhhh…”
“We have three TVs!”
“Quiet, I love this part.”
Captain Jack worked out five two-hour shifts; they cut cards, and established that Doc and Addison got the undisturbed night.
Marv drew the midnight to two watch, and took his position in the passenger’s seat, the heavy drapes drawn to isolate the rest the RV. Using a roof-mounted mini-spot, he studied the road atlas, plotting a slightly northwest course that would take them through Mississippi and Arkansas and on into Texas. Under normal conditions it would be a day’s drive, but sticking to back roads he wasn’t sure they could do it in twelve hours of daylight; in particular getting across the Mississippi River bothered him, as FASA would certainly be keeping an eye on such chokepoints.
This was it, he told himself. His last enlistment. He had fourteen months to go, and when it ran out all obligations would have been met, and he was out. Four tours and this insanity was more than enough. He was still beat to hell from the chopper crash and the pickup rollover-Bruce Willis might take fifteen beatings and still save the girl, but Marv the Maniac was finished after two, and there wasn’t even a girl involved.
That’s how you know you’re not living a movie, he reminded himself: no love interest, no super hot chick suddenly appearing in your life just because everything is going to hell. Just duty, obligation, and mission. Hard living, pain, and meaningless thanks in the aftermath were all you could expect out of heroics. Unless you were Ben Afflack nobody gave a shit how much you had done for the greater good.
Thinking back on the events in the pickup truck, he sighed and shook his head. Those weren’t the first men he had killed, and frankly, he had a far better reason for doing it than he had had for his first kill in Afghanistan. It bothered him sometimes that none of the deaths he had caused bothered him all that much. He dreamt of several of them, but not nightmares, just dreams. All had been actively engaged in trying to kill him, directly or indirectly, which certainly helped.
Those four, though, didn’t bother him at all, aside from the inevitable post-combat shakes. Men that would release zombies as a terror weapon were a new low in the Human expeience.
Light suddenly flared to his left. Instinctively tightening his hand on the M-4’s
pistol grip, he leaned forward to get a better look. He happened to be staring straight at it when a jet of blue-white flame at least ten feet long shot into the air and gyrated like a berserk shooting star.
It took a moment, but it came to him that he was looking at a propane cylinder which had opened or been punctured and had caught fire-all he was seeing was the jet of flaming gas propelling it. A second, vertical jet roared into the air, remaining stationary: a burning cylinder that was fastened down.
The dancing jet crashed to earth a hundred feet from its starting point, and the Ranger saw flames erupt at its impact, a tent lit by the dying cylinder. The double-wide at the entrance was burning, too, he could see, going up fast and bright.
“Fire! Fire at the entrance!” he yelled back through the curtains, and jumped through the door, immediately turning and charging back in. “Gear up-everyone take all their weapons! At least two stay with the RV.”
Back outside he saw that a second cylinder was just completing a screaming, spinning race across the tent area, leaving a dozen bright blazes in its wake. Trotting out onto the graveled circuit road he saw Brick and Chip dragging people and bundles out of a burning tent. Jogging forward, he grabbed the nearest rescuee, a dazed-looking man in his underwear. “Grab your family and belongings and head south, that way-get clear of the fire.”
The tents went up fast, and at least one had set fire to a vehicle that was parked too close. The circuit road kept the blaze contained within the center of the camp, and since Gnomehome was in the outer ring they seemed to be safe for the moment, although seeing bits of burning canvas and paper drifting overhead on the breeze Marv wasn’t sure about how long that state of affairs would last.
Turning to head back, he ran into Doc and Bear, both half-dressed but armed. “Bear, get back and get the RV unhooked and ready to drive-the fire may spread.”
Marv caught the katana’s scabbard as Doc started to rush into the fire-lit central area. “Hold it.”
“Hurt people!” Doc yelled, unwilling to release his sword.
