by Cliff Deane
“Sorry, Doc, but the cabinet is locked up tight as a drum.”
The First Sergeant overheard the conversation between Jake and Frank. When Jake came back online, he heard the Top Sergeant say, “Sir, a spare key is located in the top, middle drawer of my desk. It is also locked, but you should have no real problem in prying it open. It’s okay, do it now.”
Dave sat before the Top’s desk and taking his Bowie Knife quickly pried the drawer open. He quickly found a set of keys and offered them to Jake, who signaled Frank to hold on to them.
“All right, Top, we have your key set. There must be twenty keys on this ring. Do we have to try them all?”
“No, look on the top, right side of the cabinet, and you will see a number. The cabinet keys have a number on them. Match the numbers, and you’re in.”
“Are you Prior Service, Doc?” asked the First Sergeant.
“Yes, a long time ago. How did you know?”
“You called me Top, I wouldn’t expect a civilian to know about that moniker.”
“Oh, yeah, I guess that would be a dead give-a-way. Top, is there a way for us to get a couple of vehicles running? We have a van, but I would be much more comfortable with a lightly armored scout vehicle with a Squad Machine Gun mounted on top.”
“I really think the info I have will be important to the CDC,” said Jake.
“Yes, but I will have to meet you at the Armory. The keys to the Motor Park and Vehicles are locked in the Company safe. I can get us in a couple of vehicles, but the MGs will have no ammo. We weren’t scheduled to go to Summer Training until Mid-June, so the small-arms ammo hasn’t yet been delivered. Unfortunately, we aren’t an ammunition storage facility. We have the weapons, just no ammo.”
“Look, give me an hour. I’m pretty sure that I can get to you, but, please, keep an eye out for my arrival. I may need to be let in quickly. I’ll put on a uniform and be right there. Professor are you safe? Do you have any weapons?” asked the First Sergeant.
“Yes, on both counts. Be aware that several Mags are wandering around. I think they are in the process of creating clans, so, please be careful.”
“Roger that, I’ll get there as quickly as I can,” said First Sergeant Izzy Sanders.
“Roger, Top,” said Jake, “we’ve got no other place to go until you get here.”
Once the connection was broken, Jake briefed his team on the conversation. Jake began looking at the Military phone book. He quickly realized that the instructions were so alien to civilian auto-connect assist modes that he quickly gave up and decided to wait for Sanders to arrive. In the meantime, three team members began packing up the gear. The remaining three were put on guard duty; one at each entrance and one going from room to room checking to make sure that no windows were broken.
4 April 2118
Hotel St. Michael
Gurley St,
Prescott, Arizona
Cindy Sharp became aware of crashing sounds of destruction coupled with the howls of still more monsters. She was three steps from the stairwell when the door of Room 300 burst open as the Mag threw his body crashing against a door that could have been opened by the simple downward motion of the door’s handle.
The Mag fell to the floor on top of the door which had come completely off its hinges. He quickly looked around and roared a challenge to Cindy as he lept to his feet with amazing speed. With equal speed she raised her pistol and fired two times, striking the Mag in the chest.
Cindy had noticed three things about this monstrosity, he was very strong, very fast, and his eye orbitals were rectangular rather than oval. As an afterthought, she also noticed that this thing was wearing only boxer underwear and a Tee-shirt.
A stray thought crossed her mind; Zombies? No, these things are far more dangerous.
Cindy carefully made her way down the five flights of stairs. She utilized her training in clearing a building, weapon held straight out and advancing in a crouch. There were no further encounters until she reached the lobby and found three human bodies. The initial evidence indicated that each had been killed by a blunt force trauma to the head.
The bodies of what appeared to have been a family, fortunate enough to survive the pandemic intact, found death at the hands of raging monsters. Their bodies lay in a tragic heap, the result of a sudden and terrifying attack.
Cindy was a warrior, and this senseless murder scene did not cause her to fear. No, it angered her down to the marrow of her bones. At that exact moment, Cindy knew she would dedicate her life to the eradication of these monsters, no matter how long it took.
Upon opening the front entrance of the St. Michael Hotel, Cindy began hearing screams and sporadic gunfire. Good, she thought, others are beginning to fight back.
The gunfire which roared and expelled sudden death was somewhat short-lived in this, the first day of the Mag Invasion. In the first hours, armed Arizonans took a heavy toll of the invading horde. Soon, however, the tide began to turn as the humans began to run out of ammunition. Many began making their way to gun stores, but the ones to survive long enough to get more ammunition were mostly prior military.
Cindy replaced the magazine in her pistol, not because it was empty, but because she wanted to meet any threat with a full magazine. She took stock of her ammunition reserves as she made her way to her car.
As she opened the car’s trunk to retrieve her reserve ammo, a shout of rage screamed out a challenge. Cindy turned quickly to see two Mags running toward her with raised clubs in their hands. Quickly she fired four shots into the chests of the attackers which dropped them in their tracks. From their clothing, they had both been policemen.
Before getting into her car, Cindy retrieved the weapons, ammunition, and radios from the dead. It struck her as oddly funny that these two had once been men whose job was to protect and serve.
Retreating to the minimal safety of her car, Cindy spoke to her Garmin GPS to get directions to the nearest police station. She then checked the radios taken from her assailants and discovered that the batteries of both were depleted.
As she arrived at the nearest police station, Cindy carefully exited her car, then locked the doors. She made her way into the station, and upon finding it deserted, she searched, and found, the weapons locker, which, to her surprise, was standing open. Once inside Cindy began stacking weapons and ammunition near the outer door. Her plan was to take them to her car and then begin to make her War Plan.
Cindy had four fully-auto ARs in her arms as she made her way back to the entrance. Upon entering the main lobby, she found herself facing someone standing in the doorway. Coming from the darkened back rooms, she was unable to see anything but a black silhouette fronting the sunlight streaming in through the door.
Cindy threw the weapons at the figure and reached for her own weapon, when she heard, “Wait, don’t shoot. I’m not one of them.”
Now aiming her pistol at the center of the intruder’s chest she said, “Raise your hands high, then step into the room, and away from the door, so I can get a clear visual on you.”
“Yes, ma’am,” said the stranger who raised his hands and stepped away from the sunlit doorway. “Can I lower my hands now?”
“No,” said Cindy, “keep them high until my eyes can clearly see you. She next said, “All right, lower your hands and empty your pockets. Do you have any weapons on you?”
The young man, in his mid-twenties, asked no questions as he emptied his pockets. He said, “No ma’am, no weapons. That’s why I came here. My Platoon Sergeant always said that in an emergency I should check out the local police station for weapons.”
“Platoon Sergeant? Are you military?”
“No, ma’am, not anymore, I did a three-year enlistment as a Mortar-man,” said the man. “You seem to know what you are about. Were you military?”
Before answering any questions, Cindy directed him to back up while she went through his pocket items. She saw nothing threatening so she said, “All right, lower your han
ds. Yes, I am retired Army, twenty-five years. I don’t think we’ll find any mortars here, though.”
“No, ma’am, but every soldier is a basic infantryman, so, I came here to get weapons to take on that role. Oh, my name is James, well, Jim, Jim Mason.”
At just that instant two Mags burst through the door and before their eyes could adjust, Cindy dropped them to the ground, dead. She then turned back to Jim and said in a voice that belied the fact that she had just killed two Mags, said, “Nice to meet you, Jim, I’m Cindy Sharpe. Do you have family, here, Jim?”
“Holy crap,” Jim Mason nearly shouted, “you just killed them and continued the introductions like nothing happened. What are you, some kinda Delta Force, or something?”
“Nope, I flew Gunships,” said Cindy, “These things are just like Black-Widow Spiders, you see one, you squish it and move on. Now, about family?”
“Oh, not anymore. The flu took my folks and girlfriend. I wish I had time to mourn them, but right now, staying alive takes precedence. I’ll mourn later.”
Cindy did not fail to notice that despite Jim’s bravado, there was much hurt in his eyes.
Cindy said, “Go ahead and find your choice for weapons. Then we’ll load them up, say, what are you driving?”
“Yes, ma’am, I was raised on a small horse ranch over in Skull Valley, so, of course, I got me a 4X4 Dodge Ram 1500, why?”
“Why? Well, because I’m driving a Toyota Camry, so we’ll take yours,” said Cindy, “and damn it, stop calling me ma’am.”
“Yes, ma’am, er, I mean, Cindy. Okay, yeah, we should take mine. Dang it, Cindy, I was raised on sir and ma’am. So, you’ll just have ta’ bear with me on that, okay?”
Cindy liked this kid and said, “Yeah, sure, but don’t run it in the ground, huh?”
Jimmy smiled back at Cindy, saying, “Yes’m, do you have a plan?”
“Yes, I surely do. The first thing is to go to that radio station, KFNA. Do you know where it is?”
“Oh, sure,” said Jim, “It’s right next to Costco. I shop there a lot, and that’s also where I get my diesel.”
“Well, hot diggity, let’s roll before we get interrupted again.”
“Sure, but why the radio station?” asked Jim.
“Just hang on, Jim, stick with me, and you might learn some things.”
“Yes’m.”
Cindy felt bad about stomping on Jim’s question, so she said, “Okay, phase one is to contact the DJ and get him to make the announcement that we have taken the Walmart, the one just past Lowe’s. We put out the word that we are looking for volunteers to join a small Militia Group.”
Jim interrupted saying, “Militia Group, what Militia Group?”
“You and me, come on Jim, stay with me now, remember I did say a small group. Oh, yeah, and stop interrupting.”
“Yes ma’am, I like it. Sorry to interrupt, please go on.”
Cindy groaned a deep sigh at the ma’am thing but decided to just give up on it. She said, “Thank you, now, as I was saying before being so rudely interrupted. After we get the word out, we ask if the DJ has access to a remote setup. If he does, we convince him to join up. Since there are two of them at the station, we will have doubled the size of the Prescott Militia.
“While this DJ Foote gets his gear ready, you and I will head to the Walmart, clear it, then set up shop. Phase two is enlisting others to join us. So, we had better hope that there are folks out there who are listening to the radio, and the quicker, the better. Even if the radio thing doesn’t pan out the Walmart store will act as a natural magnet for both survivors and Mags. Of course, if we don’t find some help, and soon, we are going to get very, very tired.”
It took about forty minutes to clean out the police station of weapons, ammunition, mace, body armor, helmets face guards, and shields. As the last of the equipment was loaded onto Jim’s pickup, Cindy said, “You ready to saddle up, soldier?”
“Yes, ma’am, uh, Cindy, I’m ready. Let’s go and kick some Mag ass.”
“Well, all right,” smiled Cindy, “good plan. You know, Jim, I think you’ll do.”
5 April 2118
Armory Parking Lot
Moundsville, WV
Sanders drove into the Armory parking lot forty minutes after speaking with Jake. The sound of his truck’s engine caught the attention of two Mags who were father and son. They, at once, began advancing toward this beast. By the time the pick-up engine was shut down, two Mags with clubs were seen watching the truck. It quickly became clear that the Mags were in awe of this monster that spit out another creature, that in some strange way resembled themselves.
The two Mags were so frightened of this monster, they decided not to attack such a huge beast. Having seen many others of these sleeping beasts, they decided to quietly make their way home to communicate with the other members of their new clan.
As they made their retreat, both Mags made their best efforts to give these huge beasts as wide a berth as possible, however, near the edge of the lot the trailing Mag passed a small Volkswagen Beetle. With safety, only steps away, he struck the headlight with an aluminum baseball bat. The blow shattered the light, and the young Mag ran for cover.
Once they were safely hidden, the older Mag struck his son in the chest with his fist as a warning not to awaken sleeping monsters. As they peered back at the VW, both were surprised to see that the blow had blinded what they perceived as a child of the pick-up trucks just before and behind the VW.
They were surprised to discover that the monster clan had not awakened. Surely, thought the elder, the young one must have been killed by the blow to its eye.
This single action was the beginning of Mag theory that a blow to the eye of the beast would kill it. That evening, over the cooking fire, the males of the clan discussed, through grunts and pantomime, the bravery of the young Mag that killed a monster.
During this discussion, one sound was used many times. Soon the guttural utterance of Lha would become a word meaning no. The learning curve of these reincarnated Mags was impressive.
5 April 2118
Radio Station KFNA, 99.9 FM
Prescott, AZ
The drive to the radio station took only seven or eight minutes to reach KFNA. Jim parked the truck directly in front of the station. Both Cindy and Jim cautiously exited the pickup, locked the doors, then began searching the perimeter. The area proved to be clear of Mags, and upon going to the main entrance, they found the door locked and barricaded.
“Well, crap,” said Cindy, “there’s no way they’ll be able to hear us, and yelling may well draw the attention of unwanted critters. You got any ideas, Jim?”
Jim’s face brightened and suggested that they use Cindy’s portable radio and listen to hear if the DJ offers a telephone number. Cindy patted him on the shoulder and said, “Smarter than the average bear, Jimmy, yep, smarter than the average bear.”
She took the radio from her backpack and turned it on. The time was just after the top of the hour, and both listened for a phone number. The DJ finished his news roundup, then said, “If anyone out there hears me, please call 928-315-1589.”
Jim wrote down the number and using his phone called the station. When the DJ answered, Cindy took the phone and explained that she and Jim were at the front door. The Sound Engineer quickly ran to the door and saw Cindy and Jim. He quickly moved the barricade and opened the door. The DJ came around the corner and introduced himself and his Engineer.
Cindy explained the plan to take the Walmart and for Mr. DJ Foote to put out the word about the Militia’s takeover of Walmart. DJ and the Engineer, David Painter, reported that the station did have a remote unit and would be most pleased to join an active Militia. The Walmart would provide pretty much everything they would need to survive for some time. It was agreed that DJ and Dave would fire up the remote and meet them at the Walmart in about an hour. He also said that he would make the first announcement of the Prescott Militia’s new quarters.
&n
bsp; On the way to Walmart, Jim asked Cindy if she thought that DJ realized that the Prescott Militia only had two members. Cindy turned to Jim with a smile and said, “Not a chance. I figured that was an unimportant detail, and he’ll find out soon enough.” This caused them both to laugh loud and hard, something they had not done since the comet’s light show.
5 April 2118
Armory Main Entrance
Moundsville, WV
First Sergeant Sanders was hurriedly brought inside the building, but before proper introductions could be made, Jake directed Sanders to the two Mags that were watching Sanders’ truck. They continued to watch and witnessed the younger Mag smash the headlight of a VW Beetle, then run for his life.
“Holy crap,” said Gale, “did you see that?”
Jake didn’t respond, as he was busy recording both audio and video of the incident. After the Mag duo departed the area, introductions were made all around.
Sanders asked Jake if he lost any team members, family, or friends.
“Yes,” said Jake, “we began our archaeology dig with a compliment of twenty-two. Of those team members still with us, none have been able to contact any family. Now, we are seven. I’m not sure about family and probably will never know. Most are gone, except for and Aunt Bernice and a few cousins. How about yourself?”
Sanders looked down at the floor. It was obvious that he was shaken by the question.
“First Sergeant, I’m sorry, perhaps we should change the subject, at least for now.”
“Yes,” said Sanders, “It’s still too fresh. We were all together when the illness struck. Yes, later, thanks.” He perked up somewhat, as though he had shut a file drawer of memories. First Sergeant Izzy Sanders was a soldier who had seen several deployments to Berzerkistan. His training and life as a warrior had allowed him to compartmentalize the hurt which tore at his soul, but his eyes had lost their shine.
