A Place Called Hope (Z-Day Book 2)

by Daniel Humphreys

  The older man hissed as he sat up and grabbed at the leg of his slacks. He pulled the cuff up to reveal the small bite wound on the outside of his right calf. It wasn’t a deep wound, but it was a bleeder, sheeting down his calf and onto the floor. Gray tracks of infection were already shooting up toward Richard’s knee and presumably onward. Sandy doubted the other man felt like taking his pants off to spread the news.

  “Damn it, damn it, damn it!” Richard slammed his fist onto the floor with a thump.

  “We could…”

  “Don’t bother. Even if cutting it off would work, what the hell good am I with only one leg?” He groaned and grabbed his stomach. “Shit, that’s fast. My guts are on fire.” Richard shrugged out of the sling for his rifle and shoved it at Sandy. “Take it.”

  He blinked, opened and closed his mouth, and finally gave the dying man a silent nod. Sandy realized that he still held the emptied pistol. He hit the slide lock, holstered it, and accepted the rifle.

  Richard had a scavenged load-bearing harness with magazine pouches. He shrugged out of it and handed it over. “Just—take care of me, Sandy.” His face was pale, drawn, as the first creeping threads of gray sprouted from under his collar. “Don’t let me turn into one of those damn things.”

  Numb, Sandy flipped the safety for the rifle and nodded. Despite the urgency of the situation, he found he couldn’t muster the strength of will to raise it. With a sigh, Richard grabbed the barrel and brought it to his temple.

  “You’ve got to look after them now, Doc. I wasn’t sure about you at first, but you’ve got guts. It’s on you.”

  “I’ll try,” Sandy managed past a thick throat. “I’ll try.”

  He pulled the trigger.

  Chapter 19

  March 25, 2026

  USS Georgia—Coast Guard Base Kodiak, Kodiak Island, Alaska

  Z-Day + 3,080

  Save for the time he’d used it as a forced mediation center, Pete had spent most of the transit holed up in his cabin, sketching out the finer details of the operation with Lieutenant Ross. He’d never been on a sub before, but he’d rather enjoyed the experience. Pete had always been the sort to enjoy close confines.

  Despite the distances involved, they made good time, forgoing the usual stop to bust through the ice at the pole. Pete didn’t mind. He’d delegated the day-to-day maintenance of the unit to McFarlane and spent most of the time in meetings with the squad leaders or in mission planning with Ross. They’d been quite productive as a result, and he felt more confident than ever that they might be able to pull things off if old man Murphy didn’t throw a wrench in the works.

  The sun hung low in the western sky as he stepped out onto Georgia’s conning tower. They’d split the supplies into two redundant packages at Perry, with oversight from Foraker and the other senior NCOs. The brass had promised that the helicopters for this mission were good to go; prepped with a fine-toothed comb, but Pete had too much experience with things going to hell out on the sharp end to take them on faith. If one or more of the helicopters they were about to inherit fell out of the sky, he wanted to know that no aspect of the mission package was a total loss. The crew of pilots and crew chiefs selected for the machine had sterling reputations, and even though they’d spent the sail with no official orders, they’d participated in every preparatory activity alongside the front-line Marines. The next leg of their journey would be on the surface, which would give the crew chiefs and pilots the opportunity to shift gears. If chaos reigned, Pete felt comfortable in the knowledge that he had capable backup hands that could shoot, move, and communicate.

  On the way south from Alaska, the copter teams would spend most of their time going over the helicopters they’d be using on the mission despite the promises of the higher-ups. Once that work was complete, they’d begun the process of setting up the sling loads for the helicopters. The crates of ammunition and weapons could fit inside a helicopter’s crew cabin, but there was other, more specialized equipment on the ship that wasn’t quite as compact. In a way, the Marine air unit would be working harder than Pete’s combat team. Until they were feet-dry, there wasn’t much to do other than pore over maps and practice entry walkthroughs.

  Not that he planned to take it easy on them. The corners of Pete’s eyes wrinkled in a secret smile.

  He hadn’t known what to expect when Timmons told him they were bound for Alaska. He’d never been to this part of the country, but on first blush, Kodiak Island—or this part of it, anyway—looked a bit like what he’d seen of the Pacific Northwest in movies. Mist-shrouded peaks, damp woods, and a bit of a chill in the air.

  All the green reminded him of home, being honest.

  Twin piers stuck into the narrow bay the sub had come to a stop in, and Pete watched for a moment as Timmons supervised the docking operation. Normally, he’d have been more concerned about the surrounding area, but a shipping container blocked off the head of each pier. Spools of concertina wire decorated the outer border of each.

  With a frown, Pete studied the base that occupied the rest of the bay. Eight years of overgrowth shrouded the buildings. Some of them had suffered collapsed roofs—from snow, he guessed. Even after all this time, he was on occasion amazed by how rapidly nature worked to erase the marks that mankind had left upon the world.

  Timmons—presumably satisfied that the connection to the pier was secure—climbed up and stood beside him on the conning tower.

  Pete nodded toward the blockades. “Island not clear? Figure we would have attracted some attention by now.”

  The captain chuckled. “Oh, it’s plenty clear. We didn’t have much to do with it, though. I don’t know how many zulus there were on the island, but by the time we got here to see if there was anything of use at the base, it wasn’t a problem. Which says quite a bit, because the island’s pre-outbreak population was well over 10,000.”

  Pete frowned. The other man was clearly enjoying the riddle. “I give up.”

  Timmons scanned the base for a moment, then pointed. “There. See the brick building with the red roof? Watch.”

  He followed the captain’s finger and scanned the front of the building. It was tall, three or four stories, and a few intact windows winked at him in the fading sunshine. He lowered his gaze, then turned and refocused as something moved through the overgrown grass. Through the undergrowth, the mass was hard to make out, but as it stepped onto a paved road and paused, Pete’s jaw dropped.

  The round, fluffy appearance of the brown bear made it look friendly and appealing, but even at this distance, Pete guessed that it would have topped him by several feet on its hind legs. Most of the game in the Midwest had taken on a lean, half-starved look over the years, but this example seemed almost plump. As he watched, two miniature copies toddled out of the lane the bigger bear had plowed in the grass, and then the three of them continued on their journey, disappearing into the growth on the opposite side of the road. He glanced at Timmons.

  The captain shrugged. “Best we can figure, the bears took advantage of the collapse in human population. They were native to the island chain before—now they’re all over the place. Plenty of wild game around, and they’ve learned not to bite or eat the zulus when they attack them.”

  “I’d guess not,” Pete mused. “My nephew and I saw a coyote go at one once. It died within a few moments of biting it.” He shook his head. “Let’s ship a few down south. They can sweep out the country for us.”

  “There you go,” Timmons agreed with a laugh. “They’ve cleared the island, for sure. If there are any left, we haven’t seen them. Though I don’t know what’s worse—zulus, or bears that have forgotten that mankind is something to be wary of.”

  “Oh, shit, not the bears,” Ross said with a laugh. The SEAL stepped up behind Pete and Timmons. “We made an executive decision that any gear left on the base wasn’t worth the price of admission. The mommas get a little salty if you get too close to the cubs.”

  “I’ve got to admit, that’s
the last thing I’d thought I’d see today,” Pete said. “It’s good to know there’s still some awe and wonder in the world.”

  “Oh, yeah, awe and wonder. You’ll think awe and wonder when a thousand pounds of fur and claws is running you down.” Ross grinned. “But thankfully we don’t have to mess with that. Our chariot awaits.”

  “That it does,” Timmons murmured. He pointed aft. Pete turned to look.

  He could make out the faint shape of the USS Jack Lucas on the horizon. If anything, once it docked, the transfer process would be even quicker than the one in New Hampshire—it would be a short walk across the pier. The hardest part would be moving the cargo, but the crew of the Georgia had made a steady effort during the officers’ nature repose, and piles of crated gear and equipment sat on the pier, waiting for the Lucas to arrive.

  Most of the Marines had already made their way out, and they waited on the pier as well. A few simply curled up with their duffels and rucks, while others studied the bay’s terrain. Pete gave Charlie a nod, and the other man raised his eyebrows as if to say, “You seein’ all this?”

  Ready or not, he and the rest of Team Icarus were cooling their heels for a bit until their next ride tied up. He leaned on the side of the conning tower after scanning the faces of his men. Morale seemed high, though he was sure that might change once they got the mission briefing. By the same case though, the overall mood seemed almost too chipper, and as best he could tell it had something to do with their ship. To put it bluntly, more than one of his Marines were pointing to the approaching ship and grinning like loons.

  Pete knew who Jacklyn “Jack” Lucas was, of course. He supposed some Marines who didn’t enjoy history hadn’t, back when he’d first served. He didn’t think that was the issue at this moment. It was possible they regarded the ship as a good luck charm, but based on the almost universal reaction, Pete thought there was more to it than that.

  After the surprise attack on Pearl Harbor in 1941, then 13-year old student Jack Lucas walked out of school, convinced the necessary parties he was of age, and enlisted in the Marine Corps. When his orders assigned him to a training battalion after boot, Lucas went AWOL and hitched a ride to Pearl Harbor. Once there, he tried to finagle his way onto the front lines, only to find himself assigned to duty as a truck driver. He went AWOL yet again, this time stowing away on a ship bound for Iwo Jima.

  When the Marines assaulted the Imperial Japanese stronghold, Lucas joined them. Since he wasn’t supposed to be there, he was without equipment or weapons. He made the beach landing armed only with bare hands and an excess of zeal. Along the way, he picked up a rifle from a fallen Marine and continued his mission.

  Lucas joined up with another unit. They took a fighting position in a trench, only to find that an enemy unit had flanked them. When the enemy got close enough, they’d resorted to a more explosive effort in an attempt to clear the trench of Marines. Lucas had jumped on not one, but two hand grenades, and lived to tell the tale. After recovering from his injuries, he became the youngest service member in World War II to receive the Medal of Honor—at the ripe age of 17.

  He wasn’t the greatest example to follow in terms of discipline or following orders, but in all other aspects, Lucas was nigh legendary. “Indestructible Jack” was a larger than life figure who exemplified the refined steel the Greatest Generation had become after the forge and anvil of the Depression.

  Pete watched his team mingle and joke and considered that these times were not so different, and had forged another generation with an opportunity to quite literally change the course of human history. Given the fact that their current course headed toward extinction, he couldn’t help but wonder what the history books would have to say about all this. When and if they made it, of course.

  And they’re all damn kids, he marveled. He glanced at Chief Foraker and muttered under his breath, “Well, most of them.”

  Pete rubbed his eyes and tried not to think about how tired he was. They’d finished the plans. There’d be plenty of time to sleep while they were underway. A laugh broke out across the deck, and he sighed. He considered the shape on the horizon for a moment, then sidled further down the rail. “All right, Ross, fess up,” Pete said. “What’s got everyone so chipper?”

  The SEAL smiled ever-so-slightly but kept his poker face intact for the most part. “Why, Major, whatever do you mean?”

  Pete gave him a look. Finally, Ross shook his head and laughed.

  “All right, all right. Are you familiar with the Arleigh Burke class of destroyers?”

  Pete gave him another look. “The only attention I ever paid to ships was where they were taking me, Lieutenant. But yeah, I know what a destroyer is.”

  “Okay. So, first things first—that ship out there isn’t the USS Jack Lucas, but it is.”

  Pete rubbed his forehead. More puzzles. Does something on my face say that I’m in the mood for puzzles? “And why is that exactly?”

  “Before the outbreak, the hull intended to be christened DDG-125 – Jack Lucas – was still under construction.” He pointed. “That ship is a testbed. It’s an Arleigh Burke, but it’s been scaled up. The day of the outbreak, her crew was conducting sea trials. I don’t know how many infected they had on board, but it wasn’t many, so they were able to hold the ship without damage or major loss of crew. Once the fleet came together, it needed a name. General Vincent lobbied hard for Lucas, so there it is.”

  Ross had piqued Pete’s interest. “So why scale it up?”

  “It was a proof-of-concept model for the next-generation of nuclear-powered surface ships. It uses a molten salt reactor, which is safer than a standard one. It isn’t small enough to fit on a standard destroyer, so they designed this hull to go around it.”

  Well, there go my concerns about refueling. He’d been half-wondering whether they needed to worry about scheduling fleet colliers on the trip, and how that might impact operations once they reached their destination. In a sense, that sort of thing was a Navy function. Pete had also spent too much time at the end of the supply chain, during his prior time in the service as well as post-outbreak, to not stop and consider all the angles when it came to beans and bullets. There was a reason his and Larry’s store had done so well after he’d first retired from the Corps—in his heart of hearts, he was a pack rat, and the store had given him the excuse he needed to get his hands on all the cool toys he’d craved over the years. He hadn’t had to worry about it with the Georgia, and the Detroit hadn’t made a long enough trip for fuel to be a concern. The final stage was different, and it had been a nagging concern in the back of his mind.

  “What else were they testing? With all that room in the hull, I’m sure they didn’t stop with a reactor.”

  “Oh, no. We’ve got all sorts of goodies. Expanded helicopter bay and launch deck. It will hold the two Sea Hawks and the Little Bird we asked for with room to spare. It lost the offensive capacity from the vertical launch bays, but the cells are still there. They packed in a bunch of experimental drones instead of cruise missiles. It’s an amazing reconnaissance platform. It can launch and recover them in a cycle that enables continuous overhead coverage. We lost the satellites, but we’ve got the next best thing now, Major.” Ross favored him with a wicked grin. “And that’s not even the best thing.”

  Pete cocked an eyebrow but remained silent.

  “She mounts a pair of second-generation rail guns. She can drop a round a second on a target the size of a ranch house at 5,000 miles per hour.”

  Pete couldn’t help himself. He laughed. “Been a long time since I’ve had artillery support.” He stared at the ship that was to be his home for the next month. “I can’t lie, I almost look forward to it.”

  Ross shrugged. “Major, there’s not a Marine or SEAL this side of the globe who hasn’t been bailed out of a sticky situation by the Indestructible Jack. The carriers may be the heart of what we’ve been able to do, but she’s the guts.”

  Pete grunted in appreciatio
n as he stared across the water. “So y’all just decided to leave me out of the joke?”

  “There may or may not have been a betting pool,” Ross allowed. “I’m not sure who picked just prior to departure.”

  “Well, I hope they enjoy their winnings.”

  April 7, 2018

  On the Mississippi River

  Z-Day + 171

  The loss of Richard shouldn’t have made such a severe impact on their ability to carry on, but it had. With three sets of hands instead of four, they still should have been able to unload the Humvee and stock the boat, but none of them had been able to muster much of an effort. As though by some unspoken agreement, they left the lion’s share of their loot in the truck. All they brought back with them across the river were two backpacks of medicine and their weapons. Try as he might, Sandy couldn’t put the reason for it into words.

  That lack of understanding, he was coming to realize, was a limitation of his own life experience. No matter how much he tried to react to events around him in a logical matter, that wasn’t always the way that other people reacted. It was, in a very real sense, a severe vestige of his own social awkwardness. He was the only child of parents who themselves were only children.

  Up until the outbreak, the major influences in my life were still alive. Older, but still kicking. He straightened up in the boat as a realization hit him. Hell, I’ve never even been to a funeral.

  Now, though, his parents, friends, and his neighbors were all liable to be dead. And despite the shame that coursed through him, he couldn’t muster more than numbed fatigue at the very thought of it.

  You killed a man. You should feel something.

  It was a semantic argument. Sandy had pulled the trigger, but Richard was already dying. Was it a good thing or a bad thing to help someone to go out on their own terms? Would it have been less offensive to wait until the infection rendered his friend into a cannibalistic beast?

  He shook the troubling thoughts away like a horse shooing a fly. That internal debate was a road he didn’t need to go down on. He’d have to deal with it at some point, maybe, but introspection was a luxury for people who slept in safety.