by JE Gurley
Lacey wondered what the big South African would think if he knew that six nuclear-tipped missiles lay housed less than a mile away in the abandoned underground Red Rock nuclear first strike base, each capable of delivering over five kilotons of destruction. Part of his mission was to secure the nukes and transport them back to Phoenix. First, they had to clear the area of zombies.
“Don’t worry. My boys will protect you, so you can sleep tight. You just see that the trains can run. If we’re going to reclaim the cities, we need the rails. Fuel’s too scarce for airplanes. The oil fields and the refineries come next.”
“We’ll do our job, boss. You do yours.”
With that, Soweta turned his back, whistled loudly, and trudged off toward the crane. The others followed behind him. Seated inside the cab, he moved the boom over to a line of wheel assemblies and dropped the cable. Two workers clamped the cable to one of the assemblies and stepped back as Soweta lifted the rusty wheelset, and then gently lowered it to the flatcar. Lacey wondered why he was bothering salvaging a hunk of rusty steel.
“We can refurbish the wheelsets,” O’Malley said observing Lacey’s concern. “Most of the bogies, or trucks, that the wheelsets attach to beneath the cars were too damaged by the wreck to salvage. We’ve got plenty of rolling stock but no way to re-forge damaged wheels. Once we get the marshalling yard in Tucson back in operation, we won’t depend on Phoenix for everything.”
Lacey nodded. O’Malley’s job was handling his crew and repairing the rails. His was commanding his troops. “I’ve got no problem with that.” He jutted his chin toward the work crew. “They look like they know what they’re doing.”
O’Malley grinned. A fresh cigar protruded from his mouth. Lacey wondered where he got them. He seemed to have an endless supply. O’Malley removed his battered Union Pacific cap and wiped his brow. “Soweta’s been doing this since he was fourteen and swinging a hammer in South Africa. He came over here at twenty-one to learn about American railroads and stayed. Zombies trapped him and six others in a repair yard in Cincinnati. He’s the only one who made it out alive. He can do as much damage with a twelve-pound spike hammer as you could with a machine gun. Don’t underestimate this crew, Captain. Railroad men are born brawlers.” He pointed to a pile of burned corpses Lacey had dismissed as more rubbish. “They just don’t like to fight and work at the same time.”
“I’ll keep that in mind. Can we go farther?”
O’Malley shrugged. “Sure. We’ll have to go back about half a mile to a spur to get around the work car.”
“Good. I want to be back before my men get here. We’ll set up a base camp here; then we’re going there.” He pointed to the airpark across the I-10 expressway.
O’Malley squinted to see where Lacey was pointing. “What’s over there? Looks like some old planes. You want to take a spin in the sky?”
“I’m more interested in what’s below ground.”
O’Malley shuddered. “You army boys scare the crap out of me. Well, hop in if you want a lift.”
The railroad man reversed the jigger to a point just past a turnout, hopped out, and threw the switch. The switch points moved smoothly into place. He then guided the jigger past the turnout.
“I’ll leave the switch open for our return trip. I’ll be glad when we get power to all the electrical switches. If we have to throw the switches by hand, it’ll take days to get a train from Phoenix to New Mexico.”
“They’re working on it,” Lacey replied.
O’Malley rolled his eyes. “They’ve been working on it for two months.”
They passed the repair crew and continued south until they encountered another train blocking the tracks. Lacey spotted a few zombies in the distance but none paid attention to the small jigger or its occupants. He pulled out a map, checked it, and then surveyed his surroundings. He spotted downtown Tucson in the distance.
“Looks like we’re near Orange Grove Road. There’s a Costco nearby. It might be worth investigating.”
“Not now,” O’Malley ventured.
“No, not now,” Lacey agreed. “I’ll bring some men with me.”
“You know,” O’Malley said, stabbing his cigar toward the train, “if I can get the engine started, I might be able to switch this locomotive to another set of rails on down the line, free up some track.”
“If you can get it running, we need it in Phoenix.”
“Whatever you say, Captain. What now?”
The sound of zombie calls in the distance sent a shiver through him. Movement near the expressway caught his attention. He spotted more movement closer to them on the opposite side of the expressway. The zombies were closing in on them using a typical hunting pack technique. He would have liked to stay and watch it unfold, but they were outnumbered and too vulnerable to attack. He had his rifle sitting beside him in the jigger, but he didn’t relish the idea of defending the small open car against a horde of zombies.
“Now we go back.”
O’Malley threw the jigger in reverse and headed north. He didn’t bother looking over his shoulder to see where they were going, but Lacey did. He didn’t share the railroader’s confidence that the vehicle would stay on the rails. A few zombies came and stood at the edge of the tracks watching them leave, but did not pursue them.
He was eager to tackle the challenge of Tucson. Once they had secured the city with deadly Sarin gas, the entire southwest would be accessible by rail west to California and east to New Mexico and Texas. Too bad he had to depend on a cigar-chewing Irishman and a black Hulk to get the job done. He chuckled at the thought.
“Something funny, Captain?” O’Malley asked.
Lacey shook his head. O’Malley cast a suspicious look in his direction but said nothing. Lacey closed his eyes and listened to the rhythm of the rails.
6
Agua Caliente, Arizona
Brisbane’s funeral was short and sad, marked mostly by its lack of ceremony. No one spoke a eulogy. They sang no hymns. They could not gather outside in large groups for fear of discovery by satellites or planes, so they paid their respects in groups of three, all except Erin Kostner. Brisbane’s death had deflated her like an empty bladder. She felt used up, spent. She sat on the cold ground beneath the cover of one of the sheds and stared at the small, unmarked grave. Only ashes remained to bury. The grave’s very diminutive size dismayed her, so child-like. It seemed impossible that all that Brisbane had been, his laughter, his youthful awkwardness, his dedication to work could fit in such a small vessel.
She recalled her colleague Lyle Medford’s gruesome death in Atlanta. At the time, he had simply been a colleague, not a friend. She did not have many friends or the time for them. She had been a loner, dedicated to her job. She had watched the zombie-bitten Medford die slowly as the virus changed him into a snarling, vicious creature. Elliot had shot him in the head when he turned. At the time, she had hated Elliot for it, but now she was grateful for his act of kindness. Since then, she had witnessed too much for it to affect her as Brisbane’s death did. Maybe it was because it seemed so senseless, so futile, like their efforts to find a permanent vaccine. Perhaps it was because she now thought of Brisbane and the others as friends. The world had grown too small and too empty to remain alone in it.
The Level 4 lab was in shambles, their samples gone. They could do no work. They had enough Blue Juice to last a month at most, and its effectiveness was still in question. Faced with the enormity of rebuilding the lab, Erin questioned the wisdom of continuing for the first time in her life. It was as if she had been pounding a door with her fists seeking entry and suddenly discovered that she longer wanted what was on the other side. The military had all the resources and the munie blood supply. She had been fooling herself to think that they could find the answer when others had not. Maybe it was time to give up, live what life she had left. She rose from her seat and sought out Elliot.
She found him in the vehicle shed speaking with Vince and Mace. She approached him
silently and slipped her hand into his. He glanced at her, squeezed her hand gently, and smiled.
“We were discussing a little trip,” he told her.
“Where?”
“Elliot thinks we’re being spied on,” Vince said.
Elliot shook his head. “Not spied on, maybe, but I think someone’s out there.”
“It won’t hurt to look,” Mace suggested. “I’ll leave before dark.”
“Alone?” Erin questioned.
“Elliot has volunteered to go.”
Erin looked up at Elliot. “Why you? Why not Vince?”
“I suggested the trip. It’s only right that I go. Besides, Vince just got back. He needs time to recuperate.”
Vince said nothing but shuffled his feet.
“Can I go?” she asked hesitantly. She didn’t really want to leave the safety of the camp, but she also didn’t want to be separated from Elliot, not when her morale was so low. He always managed to lift her spirits.
Elliot’s grimace at her request was all she needed to see to know that he would not agree. “What about the lab?” he reminded her gently. “Vince can help locate the material and supplies, but he’ll need you or one of the others to tell him what to look for.”
“What good is it?” she sighed. “We’ve gotten nowhere. Seth’s dead. Lyle’s dead. We’re all going to die before we find a vaccine.”
Elliot squeezed her hand. “You can’t think like that. If the military finds a vaccine, they’ll keep it for themselves. You have to do it.”
She lowered her head and sighed again. “I don’t know if I can. It’s so useless. I feel as if I’m just making work so I don’t feel bad about getting nowhere.”
“If anyone can do it, you can. I have faith in you.”
She looked up at him. His honest, loving smile pained her. “Faith? I’m not sure if faith is enough.”
“Forget faith,” Mace interjected. “The only reason we’re together is the hope that you’ll find a full vaccine. If you give up, we might as well go our separate ways and take our chances. Do you want that?”
“No, but …”
“Take some time off,” Mace suggested. “Get some sleep. Hell, get drunk. Make a list of what you need and where we might find it. In the meantime, Elliot and I will check out his flashing light.”
She turned to Elliot. “You’ll miss Thanksgiving dinner.”
Elliot inhaled deeply. The hearty aroma of roasting chicken and fresh-baked bread fought against the lingering scent of burned metal, plastic and death. In spite of the setback, the festivities would continue. As much as the holiday seemed inappropriate to her, she knew that Elliot had been looking forward to it. Even if she didn’t feel like celebrating, he and the others deserved any comfort they could find.
“Save me some stuffing,” he said. “We’ll be back by morning.”
“Why not wait until morning?” she asked.
“If someone unfriendly is out there, I’d much rather approach them in the dark than in broad daylight. They’re probably friendly, but … just in case.”
She removed her glasses, stood on her tiptoes, and kissed him on his lips. He responded quickly. She broke away and said, “Come back safely.” She replaced her glasses and glared at Mace. “You’d better bring him back.”
Mace grinned. “We’ll watch out for each other.”
While Elliot and Mace gathered supplies for their trip, she stood outside the lab building remembering Seth Brisbane. His youthful exuberance had kept her pushing forward with their work even through her doubts. She would miss his unabashed enthusiasm and conviction that they would find the answer to the vaccine problem. The dynamics of the small research group would once again be twisted and morphed into something different. She supposed that they had been extremely lucky to make it this far without further loss. Through Atlanta, Colorado, San Diego, and Biosphere2, they had faced challenges and had come through them intact. Their luck had changed.
She did not like change, but change now seemed a constant companion.
“Come on, Vince,” she said, “I’ll make out that list of equipment.”
Mace’s mind was somewhat distracted as he powered the Kawasaki Mule 4010 ATV over the rough terrain north of Agua Caliente. His common-law wife, Renda, was now over seven months pregnant and concerned for the safety and welfare their unborn child. Since both he and Renda were immune to the virus, they hoped their child would be, but neither Erin nor any of the other medical people could assure them that immunity was genetic. The rigors of childbirth were problem enough without the added trauma of a child born without immunity to the virus present in the air they breathed. While no one in their group had yet turned zombie, they all knew about the possible failure of the Blue Juice. Mace judged such a failure would be more than Renda could bear.
“Watch it!” Elliot’s voice blared in Mace’s ear as the ATV tilted to the left as the right tires climbed over a rocky outcropping. Mace jerked the wheel to the left and the vehicle shuddered as it righted itself. He also slowed to a more cautious speed. He had been barreling along absentmindedly at close to the vehicle’s top speed of twenty-five miles per hour. He tried to pick the clearest path with the ATV’s headlights, but the uneven terrain and the constant bouncing made seeing very far ahead almost impossible. The four-passenger ATV weighed over fifteen-hundred pounds. If it tipped over, the two of them would never be able to right it. They had plenty of rocks to serve as fulcrums but no trees to use as a lever.
“Sorry,” he mumbled into his headset mic to Elliot. Without the walkie-talkie’s headsets, they would never have been able to communicate over the roar of the engine.
“Just pay attention to where you’re going,” Elliot responded.
Mace tried to push his thoughts to the back of his mind and concentrate on driving but they remained with Renda.
“I’m worried about Renda,” he finally said. “Something’s bothering her.”
“I thought you said her last checkup was just fine.”
He swerved to avoid a patch of prickly pear cactus that suddenly appeared in the headlights; then swerved again to avoid a saguaro that lay beyond it. “I don’t think it’s her health. I think it’s the possibility that the baby won’t be immune.”
“Erin thinks it will be.”
“But she won’t guarantee it.”
“Look, Mace, it’s almost two months until her due date and there’s not one thing we can do about it. Erin seems confident, even if she won’t offer any guarantees. There are no guarantees about anything anymore. Don’t let it eat at you. We’ve got more pressing problems.”
“Don’t you think I know that,” Mace snapped. “The lab’s gone. No more Blue Juice for a while. Try to convince Renda that other things matter more than her child, our child. She’s worried.”
“I didn’t mean to sound so heartless. We’re all concerned that her child be perfect. I just meant watch the road.”
The ATV left the ground as they cleared a ridge and bounced hard as it landed, jarring Mace’s teeth. “What road?”
Elliot had estimated the reflection had been at least fifteen miles away. To be seen at that distance, it would have to be located atop a ridge. They had timed their leaving for just before sunset to arrive after dark, hoping the darkness would provide some cover. After traveling nearly twelve miles in the dark, he wasn’t so sure it had been a good idea.
“I think I see a light ahead,” Elliot said.
Mace slowed to a crawl and searched the skyline but saw nothing. “Where?”
“It vanished as we went over that last ridge. It’s to our right.”
Mace gunned the ATV up the next slope and killed the engine at the top. “I see it. About two o’clock.”
“It looks like a campfire.”
“Let’s approach on foot.”
As he climbed from the driver’s seat, he picked up his AK47 and pack. Elliot grabbed a hunting rifle and his pistol. They decided not to use flashlights. The moon played p
eek-a-boo from behind the wind-tattered clouds, but sufficient light filtered through for them to pick a path. The temperature had dropped quickly after the sun had gone down. Mace’s breath clouded in front of him as he exhaled. There would be frost by morning. He was glad he had worn his gloves. They walked carefully, avoiding twigs and debris littering the ground that would snap under foot. As they climbed the final ridge that separated them from the campfire, they listened for noise from the camp but heard only silence.
Kneeling behind a thirty-foot saguaro cactus, they surveyed the camp. A blue and white helicopter lay on its side, its rotors and tail section sheared off by the crash. One person sat beside the small fire, occasionally feeding it twigs and bundles of dried grass. A second person lay close to the fire wrapped in blankets. Neither appeared armed.
“Do we see who they are?” Mace whispered.
“They’re not military,” Elliot replied. “It looks like some kind of commercial helicopter.”
Mace nodded and stood. He made certain his AK47 was visible. “You by the fire,” he yelled. “If you’re armed, don’t reach for a weapon or I’ll shoot.”
The person sitting jumped up, said something inaudible, and waved his hands.
“We’re coming down,” Mace said.
They approached slowly in case they had missed a third person. The person wrapped in blankets did not move. The other one, they could now see that it was a woman, danced around the fire laughing.
“Thank God,” she cried as they walked into the scant camp. Her eyes filled with tears. “Bob’s badly hurt. His leg is broken and he has a high fever.”
While Elliot knelt to examine the injured man, Mace tried to get a story from the woman. He almost had to restrain her physically to prevent her from helping Elliot.
“Who are you?” he asked.
“My name’s Trish Moon. He’s Bob Krell, the pilot. We were on our way to Yuma when the engine started smoking. That was,” she stopped to think, “that was four days ago.”
“Where are you from?”
