Judgment Day (Book 3): Retribution

by JE Gurley

  A few others joined him. Elliot moved to stand beside Vince. “Count me in.”

  One by one, they made their decision. To his surprise, only a handful decided against joining him, mostly the old and the young. When Trish Moon stepped forward, he stopped her.

  “No, Erin needs you more.”

  “I can fight,” she said.

  “You might be the key to saving us all. We can’t risk you.”

  She glanced away and said, “Okay, I’ll stay.”

  Altogether, twenty-six would accompany him to the Phoenix. Even combined with O’Malley’s snipes, they made a very small army. He hoped the extra firepower Vince had insisted on bringing from the Davis-Monthan arsenal would be enough.

  “We can’t bring them here. We don’t have the facilities. Instead, we’ll uncouple several of the cars, leave them at the junction, and transfer the other people to them. I need Erin’s people and a few more to remain with them to help them recover. The rest of us will take the munies’ places on the remaining cars. When we arrive, we break out and do some damage.”

  “What if we run into real trouble?” someone asked.

  He had considered that point. “Once we arrive in Phoenix, our options are limited. If we have to retreat, we board the train and come back. If for some reason we can’t, split up and head south. When you reach the Salt River, head west. We’ll rendezvous a few miles away from the city and take it from there. Our goal is not to openly attack the rear of the Phoenix defenders, but to hit and run, make such a nuisance of ourselves that it draws soldiers away from the attacking rebels. If it gets too hot, we cut and run. I don’t want any heroes,” he cautioned.

  He hadn’t expected a rousing cheer, but the silence when he finished surprised him. Had he asked too much of them? Was he biting off more than he could chew? Vince broke the silence.

  “Can I toot the whistle?”

  “And wear the conductor’s hat if you want.”

  “The military will be well armed,” someone said. Several heads nodded in agreement. “All I have is a hunting rifle.”

  “Vince took care of that. In the back of the jeep are cases of automatic rifles, ammo, grenades, and some heavier stuff, enough to arm a small army.” He scanned the crowd for more questions but no one spoke up. “Well, I guess the moment’s come. Let’s load up and get started.”

  The small convoy of buses, RVs, jeeps and ATVs kicked up a plume of dust easily detectable by any passing patrol plane, but Mace wasn’t concerned. Phoenix was probably too busy defending itself to look for more trouble. They covered the short distance to Wellton with no mishaps following old highway US 8. It ran parallel to the tracks for most of the way before crossing over the northern leg of tracks after the split.

  O’Malley and his crew were waiting for them when they arrived. Mace was surprised to see a smaller version of a locomotive instead of the Hi-Rail crane. O’Malley walked over with a broad grin on his face, his ubiquitous cigar dangling from the corner of his mouth. He waved an arm at the locomotive.

  “How do you like it?”

  “What is it,” Mace asked.

  “It’s a mule, a shunting engine.”

  Mace did not understand the terminology. “What’s it for?”

  O’Malley frowned. “To move the flatcars. Did you intend to move them by hand?”

  Mace tried not to show his chagrin. “I thought the crane …”

  O’Malley threw back his head and laughed. “Civilians, ha! The crane doesn’t have the power. This baby can do it with ease.”

  “Where did you get it?”

  “At the Tucson marshalling yard. All it needed was fuel and oil.”

  Mace realized he would have to leave the details to O’Malley and his crew. “So what’s first?”

  O’Malley checked his watch. “The train should be due in about an hour. We’ll pull onto the eastbound track as we were going to shunt the train north, and then stop it. We secure the train, uncouple the cars we want and board the train. We move the uncoupled cars onto the eastbound line to wherever you want them.”

  It sounded easy as O’Malley spoke, but things seldom went as smoothly as planned. He eyed the terrain with a frown. The plan he had formulated in his head was quickly falling apart. The tracks split in an open area between old highway 8 and Interstate 8. Other than a canal that crossed under the tracks, the nearest buildings were an RV park half a mile away. They had no cover. There was no place to conceal the vehicles.

  “It’s too open,” he said.

  O’Malley scratched his head and removed his cigar. He jabbed it at Mace. “I noticed that, but I thought maybe you had a plan.”

  “You’ll have to flag down the train further up the tracks, say near those silos.” He pointed to a pair of grain silos half a mile away. “There are buildings nearby we can use for cover.” He looked at O’Malley. “Is that a problem?”

  “No, we can stop her anywhere. I don’t think the driver will miss seeing this mule on the tracks.”

  Mace nodded. “Good. I’ll scatter everyone. We brought some real firepower if we need it.”

  “Don’t damage the engine,” O’Malley cautioned.

  “Right.”

  The railroad crew wasted no time getting started. They went directly to the switch section and began oiling the moving parts and digging loose sand from between the rails. It seemed everyone was as impressed by Soweta’s size as Mace had been. They watched in awe as his broad shoulders swung the heavy hammer he carried to loosen rust from the gears. When he noticed them watching him, Soweta’s laughter filled the air, putting them at ease. Phillips was delighted to see women among the crowd, moving from one to the other in an orgy of pleasure.

  It took almost an hour to hide the vehicles and get everyone in position. Vince deployed .30 caliber machine guns on each side of the train. Mace was glad they had cut the timing so close. It meant less time for everyone to get nervous. O’Malley’s men were in the greatest danger. They rode on the outside of the mule, easy targets for the military. He hoped he had made all the right decisions.

  His heart began pounding when he heard the train’s whistle a few miles away. They had noticed the mule on the tracks. There was no more time for second guesses. O’Malley’s answering blast pierced the still air. The train slowed to a crawl and stopped just a dozen yards short of the mule. O’Malley waved at the engineer and smiled. Everything looked normal, until one of the car doors and fifteen soldiers leaped out and took up positions alongside the train. Hijacking the train was not going to be as easy as he had hoped.

  Guy Ferguson had pushed the heavy train up the steep grade on the west flank of the Gila Mountains outside Yuma, Arizona, past Sheep Peak and down into the flat floor of the Dome Valley basin. Once on the flat, the train picked up speed. He checked his watch. He was on time and running smoothly. Once or twice, he had blown the whistle to hurry deer or stray cattle across the tracks, but he had seen no people or zombies.

  Months earlier, the entire area along the Colorado River had been in the path of hordes of zombies migrating north out of Mexico. They had left few survivors in their path of destruction. Yuma was deserted, a ghost town. Once fertile fields gone idle now sprouted with weeds and a resurgence of desert flora. He remembered his earlier trips through the area on the Sunset Limited when children waved from trackside and urged him to blow the horn. Now, it was like driving through a graveyard.

  He spotted the small locomotive on the tracks as he entered the outskirts of Wellborn and slowed, wondering if there was trouble ahead. He sounded the horn to let them know that he saw them. He saw the railroaders standing around the mule and waved. O’Malley waved back. He stopped almost nose to nose with the mule engine and was not surprised when soldiers exited one of the cars alert for any sign of trouble.

  “Dumb ass soldiers,” he said aloud. “Who in their right mind’s going to attack a train?”

  He stepped out of the cab into the chilly air and leaned on the rail as the soldiers fann
ed out alongside the tracks. He waved once more to O’Malley, somewhat surprised that the usually talkative and cheerful Irishman looked so somber. He wondered why he had not yet exited the cab of the mule. He noticed that O’Malley’s men were armed but gave it no second thought. Everyone carried a weapon in zombie country.

  “What’s the matter, O’Malley?” he yelled. “Too good to come out into the cold?”

  He noticed movement out of the corner of his eye just as O’Malley’s men dropped to the ground and aimed their weapons at the soldiers.

  “What the fu…?” he mumbled.

  The soldiers noticed as well and raised their weapons.

  “Don’t shoot!” he yelled, but it was already too late.

  The soldiers opened fire on O’Malley’s men. Ferguson didn’t know what was going on, but he knew which side he was on. They were attacking his train. He dropped to the deck and crawled back into the cab for his pistol. He felt a sudden surge of adrenalin course through his veins and smiled.

  “I guess I ain’t too old after all.”

  When Soweta and the other railroaders dropped to the ground, Mace waved to the men on each side of the tracks. Gunfire erupted as the soldiers fired on Soweta. He had hoped to confront the soldiers with superior firepower and force their surrender. Now, it looked as though they would have to do it the hard way.

  The two .30 calibers opened up, followed by automatic and semi-automatic weapons fire. The soldiers, though better trained, were taken by surprise. They scrambled for safety beneath the train and between the cars. Supporting fire also erupted from the open doors of a second boxcar.

  “Don’t fire at the medical trailers,” he yelled, but wasn’t certain if anyone heard him over the cacophony of gunfire. The trailers were clearly marked with white crosses on their sides, but he was afraid stray bullets might kill or injure some of the patients.

  One of the grenades Vince had brought exploded beside a boxcar, killing two and showering the remaining soldiers with gravel and dirt. This forced them deeper beneath the cars. He watched as Eliot and two others made a mad dash for the rear of the train. They reached it safely and entered one of the medical trailers. After a few moments, he emerged and waved to Mace. At least one trailer of munies was free.

  One of Soweta’s men lay dead on the ground but Mace could not see who it was. They had to secure the train quickly before more people died. Too long a delay in Phoenix might attract unwanted attention. He signaled Vince. Suddenly, a LAWS rocket shot toward one of the boxcar’s open door. Those that saw it coming dove out the door. It exploded, splintering one metal wall and catching the wooden flooring on fire. With the car burning, Mace knew he had to take a chance. He motioned for his people to stop firing. When the gunfire died away, he stood and walked slowly toward the train.

  “There’s no need for more bloodshed,” he called. “As you can see, we have more firepower than you. We don’t want to kill you. We only want to free the munies.”

  “I have my orders,” a voice called out from beneath the train.

  “This train isn’t going anywhere. Your mission is over. Now you have to decide if you want to live or die.”

  “They’re expecting us. If we don’t show up soon, they’ll send more men.”

  “I’m afraid Phoenix has enough problems to deal with. They’re under attack. They won’t send help. Surrender and you won’t be harmed.”

  He waited while the soldiers digested his information. He didn’t know if they were aware of the attack or if they believed him. He felt exposed standing in the open. All it would take was one trigger-happy shooter to start the war anew with him in the middle of the action. To his relief, the soldier’s leader, a young lieutenant, crawled from beneath the car and stood. The lieutenant eyed the men and women behind the guns facing him casually, showing no fear. He took a few steps toward Mace and stopped.

  “Who are you?”

  “We’re just survivors, son. We’re tired of the way the military is treating munies, and we decided to do something about it. Will you surrender?”

  He stared at Mace for several seconds before answering. “Is Phoenix really under attack?”

  “It is.”

  Mace tensed as the lieutenant reached for his pistol, then relaxed as he slowly removed it with two fingers and dropped it to the ground. “Will you allow the doctors to treat my wounded?”

  “Certainly.”

  The Agua Caliente and the TSS people emerged from hiding and walked toward the train. Curious medical personnel exited the trailers and stared apprehensively as they approached. Feeling it was now safe to bring in Erin and her people, he motioned to the bus, safely out of range of gunfire. Soweta walked over to him. Mace noticed the sad expression on Soweta’s face.

  “Who was shot?”

  “Phillips. He’s dead.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  Soweta shrugged. “Men die. At least he finally saw some women.”

  “Let’s move the train and start uncoupling the cars. We don’t have much time.”

  Soweta nodded and walked away. Erin and her medical crew went directly to the cars.

  “Be careful,” Mace warned.

  He had no wish to see more comatose munies. He had seen enough to last his lifetime. While O’Malley and his crew moved the train’s first few cars past the switch and began to uncouple the flatcars with medical trailers, he inspected the boxcars carrying troops. He found three dead in the car struck by the LAWS rocket. Several more had serious injuries. He directed them to the medical cars. As Vince and the others disarmed the soldiers, he was struck by an idea.

  “Lieutenant, have your men disrobe.”

  The lieutenant glared at him. “Take off our clothes. In this weather?”

  “In one of the trailers. We need your uniforms.”

  The lieutenant didn’t move. “I don’t know what you intend, but it won’t work.”

  Mace shoved the lieutenant in the stomach with the barrel of his rifle, not enough to hurt him but enough to make his point. “We’ll see. In the meantime, disrobe.”

  Erin quickly scanned the first medical trailer trying to keep her emotions under control. The pitiful sight of so many men, women and children treated like medical lab animals stacked along one side of the trailer in two-tiered bunks made her blood boil. Her anger surprised her. She wanted to hurt someone. Instead, she vented her rage on one of the beeping monitors, smashing it to the floor. She began shutting down the sedative drips and blood pumps. Two medical personnel cowered in the corner watching her. Finally, one of them spoke up.

  “What are you going to do with us?”

  She glared at him. “If you help us, nothing. If you try to stop me,” She raised her pistol and pointed it at him, wanting badly to shoot him, “I’ll kill you.”

  “Who are you?”

  “Survivors.” She nodded at the comatose munies. “Like them. I was with the CDC. In case you’re interested, I think we’ve discovered a vaccine.”

  The man’s fear gave way to interest. “Vaccine? How?”

  “How isn’t important. What is important is that you help me.”

  He turned to look questioningly at his companion, and then the two began to shut down IVs.

  Of the over four-hundred munies aboard the train, fifty began to come around quickly. Most had been sedated for so long and were so weak that they would require extensive medical care to recover. She felt the jarring as her car took its place among those uncoupled from the train. It took less than twenty-five minutes for O’Malley and his men to transfer the trailers to the other track. By moving as many patients as they could fit into other cars, they freed up eight medical trailers. They also removed the two boxcars of supplies, including medical supplies. The new train’s makeup consisted of the twin engines, two boxcars and the remaining medical trailers. She hoped it was enough to fool anyone waiting in Phoenix.

  Almost thirty medical personnel had accompanied the train. Among them was one of the doctors she had met
in San Diego, Charles Lucas. He did not recognize her until a bearded young man dressed in white rushed up to her, wrapped his arms around her and called by name.

  “Doctor Kostner!” he yelled.

  She broke free and looked at the young man, finally recognizing him as Mike Jensen, one of her Atlanta CDC members that had gone missing during their escape from San Diego eight months earlier.

  “Mike! It’s good to see you. We didn’t know what had happened to you.”

  “After the excitement you caused died down, they let me keep working. I often wondered what happened to you.” He looked around at the men with guns. “Looks like you haven’t changed much, still fighting. Can I help?”

  She kissed his cheek and smiled, pleased to see him again. In her worst nightmares, she saw him killed in retaliation for their defection. “Yes, Mike. We need you.”

  “Good. I hated this. The vaccine research has gone nowhere. I don’t think they really wanted it to.”

  “We found a vaccine,” she said and watched his face go through contortions as he fought back tears of joy.

  “Thank God,” he said quietly.

  “Is that true?” Dr. Lucas asked. “Do you have a vaccine?”

  “Yes. We found the key.”

  “Then I wish to help as well.”

  “Come,” she said, taking him by the arm. “We need to get these people ready to move, at least the ones who can.”

  As she hurried to the next car, she could not help smiling. It seemed finally that things were going their way.

  23

  Phoenix, Arizona

  After six hours of tank and artillery bombardment, General Hershimer still refused to surrender. Colonel Schumer could not understand why he was not willing to discuss terms. His position must have been obvious. His men were deserting in droves. No help would arrive in time. He looked toward downtown through his binoculars from his position on the overpass at I-10 and Piestewa Freeway. Flames lit up the night and smoke curled up from damaged buildings downtown and around the airport. They had destroyed several planes on the ground, but most of the jets were missing. He worried about those missing jets. The F-16s could cause a lot of damage. They had fought off two foolhardy and badly bungled attempts to rush their position and had received some fire from enemy tanks, but most of them moved constantly and only took ineffective potshots that did little damage. They seemed more afraid of drawing fire from his artillery than in inflicting damage.