Wilder shook off his thoughts as he continued to look around. Lago Vista was a peaceful-looking town with lots of rolling hills and open space. Off in the distance, Wilder could see what looked like a golf course. A little beyond that, he saw the shores of Lake Travis, and smiled.
“Come in, Sir,” Wilder said into the handset to Butsko.
“I’m here,” said Butsko.
“Follow me, Sir,” Wilder said as he turned off of route 71.
*****
The roar of the trucks started to draw unwanted company, and Wilder could see an increase in the infected. He looked through his rearview mirror and knew the others had seen the same thing.
Mears, one of the soldiers in the second Growler, unlatched the .50-calibre BMG machine gun and swiveled it back and forth.
Of the twelve men and women that had joined Wilder and Butsko, only five of them were trained soldiers. In this new world, everyone was a fighter, but the amount of professionals was quickly dwindling.
Butsko had made sure the five soldiers were distributed among the four vehicles so that there was combat experience spread among them all. In the lead truck with Wilder was Wallack and Fisher. Fisher had grown up on a farm in west Texas and was a skilled hunter, fisher, and handled any gun Wilder put in her hands. Wallack, on the other hand, was a city boy and didn’t have the survival instinct like Fisher. During a few running missions, though, Wallack had proven his courage and willingness to do what it took to get the job done.
Cain was the other civilian-warrior, as they called themselves, in the truck with Wilder. He’d been in Austin on a business trip from Colorado when the shit hit the fan. He thought about his wife and kids every day, but there was no way to get back to his family in the early days of the outbreak. He’d stayed with his old college roommate in Austin, and his roommate thought it was a good idea to get out of the city and head to Fort Hood. Cain agreed that the military base would be a safe haven. Why wouldn’t it be? Little did he and the rest of the world know that the outbreak originated at military bases worldwide.
In the Growler behind Wilder was Vasquez, a tough-as-nails, combat-proven soldier that Wilder felt lucky to have along for the ride. The others in the Growler were Melvin and Steele. Melvin looked exactly like his name and had never so much as held a weapon in his life. Melvin had been a video game developer and was also the smartest guy Wilder ever met. What Melvin lacked in practical combat experience he made up for in knowledge. In order to create realistic types of battle/combat video games, Melvin had studied and intellectually mastered many various disciplines, including the tactics of some of history’s greatest strategists. He’d studied everyone from Homer and Thucydides to J.C. Wylie, Julian Corbett, Carl von Clausewitz, and everyone in between. One night, he and Wilder had talked for hours about classical historical battles, and Melvin had pointed out to Wilder where the strategists had gone wrong. Melvin was also a walking encyclopedia on most topics that had anything to do with science and technology.
Steele, on the other hand, was a monster of a man, standing at six-foot-ten, and covered in muscles and attitude. In the first days of the outbreak, Steele had lost his wife and twin baby girls. Every time Wilder looked into the man’s eyes, he saw the pain and the anger that constantly burned. Two years had done nothing to extinguish Steele’s experiences, and Wilder was secretly glad. He was afraid that if the pain and anger weren’t still there that Steele would be an empty husk of a man, and the truth was that they needed Steele. Steele was the best fighter they had who wasn't a soldier. He was deadly with a gun and even deadlier with a sledgehammer, his weapon of choice.
*****
Steele leaned against the wall of the truck and felt the vibrations against his back. He felt the weight of the wooden handle of the sledgehammer as he remembered the first time he used the weapon. It’d been in the early days of the outbreak. Steele, like the majority of the people in the world, had thought the infection was just a new strain of the flu that the media had blown out of proportion.
When it became clear that it wasn’t the flu, Steele had started to listen more closely to the advice of the medical experts. He bulked up on supplies, hunkered down in his house with his family, and avoided populated areas. That wasn’t too difficult. Steele had built his home in a secluded area. He liked his privacy.
As most people early on during the outbreak learned, you could isolate yourself and loved ones for only so long from the infection. Eventually the infection found you.
And one warm, sunny afternoon the infection had found Steele and his family.
Steele remembered watching his wife hanging the laundry in the backyard when the infected came running out of the woods around his property. It had happened so quickly that Steele hadn’t had time to do anything but watch as four of the infected tore his wife apart.
Steele gathered his kids together and hid them in a closet. He knew his kids would wait there until he returned. They ran daily drills practicing such a scenario.
He kissed his kids, grabbed his weapon, and went to the window.
In the early days of the outbreak, Steele’s weapon of choice was his AK-47. Before he was married, he collected guns and sold them all to buy his wife a ring, but he never parted with his AK-47.
In his anger, Steele had kicked down the backdoor and walked outside as he sprayed the zombies huddled over his wife with bullets. The gun buckled in his arms, but his powerful six-foot-ten frame easily absorbed the recoil.
The bullets tore through the zombies, and by the time the AK-47 was empty, there was barely anything recognizable about any of the creatures.
Behind him, Steele heard glass shatter and knew the infected were in the house. He’d turned toward the house and felt something behind him.
He leveled his weapon and was about to shoot, but as he turned, he found himself staring his wife in the face.
He hesitated, a mistake he would never make again.
His wife jumped on him, her mouth wide open.
Steele dropped the machine gun as he tried to get his dead wife off him. They stumbled around as if in some bizarre dance until Steele had tripped over the stump of a tree.
They’d fallen to the ground, and Steele had kept his wife’s mouth away from him. She’d been a petite woman, and Steele had been surprised at her newfound strength.
With a final push, Steele had thrown his wife off, and she’d landed with a thud on the tree stump. Steele had been using a sledgehammer to pound metal rods around the stump to remove it. He’d tried to pull one of the metal rods out of the ground, but it’d been lodged securely in the tree’s dead roots.
He’d seen the sledgehammer next to the stump and grabbed it.
He’d slammed the head of the sledgehammer into his wife’s chest and could feel all her ribs shatter as her torso caved in.
His blow had knocked her back, but had not killed her. Not giving her the chance to attack, he’d raised the heavy weapon and brought it down on her skull. Her head had split like a watermelon, and her lifeless corpse had fallen to the ground forever.
A tear had pooled in the corner of his eye, but he hadn’t the time to mourn his wife.
Steele had heard the screams from inside the house and knew his kids were in danger.
But he’d been too late.
As Steele sat in the large transport truck, his back vibrating against the wall, a cold shiver ran up his spine as he remembered finding those bastards in the living room fighting over the bodies of his children.
Steele didn’t remember much after that other than the uncontrollable rage that’d filled his head. With the sledgehammer, he’d killed five more of the infected on that day.
When it was all over, he’d held a bloodied sledgehammer in his hands as he looked at the crushed bodies of five zombies. Steele had stood there with his hands on his knees as he tried to catch his breath. The muscles in his shoulders and arms were on fire from swinging around the sledgehammer.
He looked down at his child
ren and cried. Steele had never cried before and hadn’t cried since, but the sight of his dead, bloodied children had been more than he could handle.
He hadn’t been there for them. On that day, he’d failed his family.
He’d watched his younger child’s foot twitch and had known what was about to happen. He hadn’t want to see his kids reanimated. He hadn’t had it in him to watch them become monsters.
So, with his remaining strength, Steele had raised that sledgehammer two final times that day, and had made sure his children would never come back.
He’d sat on the couch and cried for what felt like days.
*****
In the other M939 transport truck were Butsko, Mane, Trunst, and Megan. Mane was a soldier Wilder and Butsko had met at Fort Hood and proved to be invaluable as they fortified the military base. Mane had seen combat in a few different theaters before the outbreak and had made it his job to learn every nook and cranny of Fort Hood once he was stationed there. He was a meticulous soldier, trained in explosives, and a fierce warrior.
Trunst and Megan had originally made their way to Fort Hood from San Marcos, but had made the mistake of going through Austin to try and shave time off the hundred-mile trip. They’d worked together at the Nike outlet store, and when it had become clear that the infection had gotten out of control, they’d grabbed some baseball bats and headed over to the Williams-Sonoma outlet where they’d loaded up on all kinds of knives before hitting the road. They still didn’t talk about what had happened in Austin, and when either thought about it, their eyes glazed over. Wilder had seen that before in soldiers who suffered from PTSD.
The last vehicle in their caravan was the other Growler. Since it was the final vehicle, Butsko had decided to have the three combat-ready soldiers ride together. Mears manned the fifty-calibre machine gun, Jones drove, and Hall was the spotter. They worked well together, and had not only gone through basic training alongside one another, but had also served three tours in the Middle East as comrades
Everyone in the convoy was a volunteer, the soldiers included. Wilder and Butsko had told the group the mission they would be going on was dangerous, and that it was most likely a one-way trip. The five soldiers who’d joined them hadn’t thought twice about it. They knew what kind of leader Butsko was and what kind of fighter Wilder was. The soldiers also knew Wilder and Butsko weren’t reckless. If they were prepared to leave the safety of Fort Hood, they were doing so for a reason. A good reason.
The civilians that joined them had come along for various reasons. Steele went because he wanted to kill more of the infected. He knew killing zombies would never bring his family back, but every time he put down one of the infected he felt like he was saving someone who wasn’t even in danger yet. Kind of like paying it forward. Cain had come because he knew they were headed west, and he was trying to get closer to Colorado. He needed to find out what had happened to his family.
The rest of the civilians came, Wilder figured, because they were restless. Being holed up in Fort Hood had taken its toll. Sure, there was a lot of space, but one still felt like a prisoner waiting for the executioner to come get them. Only this executioner was thousands of infected humans ready to tear you apart.
Wilder and Butsko weren’t going to talk anyone out of coming with them. They knew they could use the bodies.
The people at the base were supportive and knew that Wilder and Butsko’s plan, if it worked, would benefit them and possibly the world. Many of the people at Fort Hood believed it might even end these dark days.
They’d loaded up the two M939s and Growlers with as much ammo, water, and food that would fit and hit the road. There’d been an uneasy calm as they left Fort Hood. Everyone in the convoy had felt as though they’d left dry land and were headed out to the deep sea—that they’d never see the land again.
Wilder and Butsko had a plan, and they knew how important it was to succeed in this mission. They hadn’t shared the details of their plan with the others. Butsko and Wilder were worried that if the others knew and were then infected, that somehow that knowledge would transfer, and then be known by all the infected. This mission wasn’t to simply burn a few dozen zombies in a barn. If they were successful, they might be able to save the world.
2
Fort Hood
Killeen, TX
After they watched the convoy leave, the soldiers and civilians who stayed behind knew how important it was that Wilder, Butsko, and the others were successful in their mission. Everyone at the base felt something they hadn’t felt in a long time.
Hope.
It had been about twelve hours since Butsko and the convoy had left, and there was still a palpable feeling on the base that things might turn in humanity’s favor and that everyone might not have to live in fear every second of the day anymore.
The base’s new commander, Brick Phillips, saw the smiles return to people’s faces and hoped they weren’t jumping the gun. Wilder and Butsko had an ambitious plan, and there were about a thousand things that could go wrong with it. Phillips wasn’t a pessimist or a cynic, but he’d been in enough battles to know when something was a long shot.
“Good morning, Lieutenant Colonel Phillips,” said one of the civilians as they walked by each other. It was the morning after Butsko’s convoy had left and many people had celebrated the previous night.
“Good morning, Kristian,” Phillips replied with a smile. Phillips appreciated it when civilians who never served in the military respected the various ranks.
Phillips planned on running the base just as Butsko had. Butsko had never wanted there to be a distinction between civilians and the military. He didn’t want the non-military personnel to be intimidated by the soldiers. Everyone was in it together, and everyone was important to the survival of entire base.
“Didn’t partake in the festivities last night, Sean?” asked Phillips.
“No, Sir,” Sean replied. “I’m excited that there might be a light shining at the other end of this very dark hallway, but there’s still hundreds, maybe thousands of the infected out there.”
Phillips stared into Sean’s eyes and smiled. He knew how much Sean had lost before making it to the base.
“You’re a good man, Sean,” Phillips said as he patted Sean on the shoulder. “Just don’t burn yourself out.”
“You’re about a year too late for that advice, Sir,” Sean said, smiling.
Just then, the two men heard the unmistakable roar from one of the .50-calibre machine guns mounted on top of the protective wall. The person working the machine gun had paid attention to the training and was shooting the Browning in short bursts.
Phillips and Sean looked at each other and ran in the direction of the gunfire. On the northeast wall he saw Ripley as she fired the machine gun, paused while she swung the barrel around, and then fired more. All around the wall soldiers and civilians alike ran to back her up. The peacefulness of the early morning was shattered as more and more M4 carbines joined in, blowing up the dawn.
As Phillips and Sean approached the wall, Sean broke away and joined the others in defending the wall. Phillips climbed up the ladder and situated himself next to Ripley. Phillips didn’t need to ask Ripley what was going on. He looked beyond the wall and saw hundreds of the infected running toward them. He nodded at Ripley and let her continue.
Phillips walked up and down behind the shooters, many of them civilians trained by the soldiers on the base, and reminded them to focus on the task at hand and to remember their training.
What the fuck is going on? Phillips thought. He knew the zombies would never penetrate the wall’s defenses and wasn’t worried. What the hell are they trying to accomplish?
Before Phillips could think things through, he heard the .50-calibre Browning going off on the western wall. The adrenaline hit Phillips all at once. The western wall was too far to see, so he jumped off the wall and ran. He saw a few civilians follow him.
“Stay where you are and protect this wa
ll,” Phillips said.
The civilians returned to their positions and continued firing their M4 carbines.
It was a long run to the western side, but when he was in sight of it, he stopped dead in his tracks. The infected were pouring over the wall.
That’s impossible, Phillips thought, thinking about the deep trench around the base.
The soldier who’d manned the Browning was already dead. Phillips could see Michaels’ hand still attached to the trigger with blood dripping from the wrist. The screams and shouts of the soldiers and civilians began to drown out the machine gun fire as more and more people fell to the invading zombies.
Phillips unholstered his side arm and fired. He shot various infected humans straight in the chest and head, but the bullets seemed to have very little impact. He’d shoot one zombie and four would take its place.
Phillips guessed there had to be at least a thousand zombies around the wall and pouring over it. He wanted to turn around and get the shooters from the northeastern wall to help, but he knew that by the time he got back, there’d be no western wall left.
“Try and hold your positions!” Phillips yelled to the remaining shooters. “We need to hold this wall!”
As if on cue, a section of the western wall collapsed and crushed seven civilians. Zombies jumped on the downed wall and ran into the base looking for humans to infect.
As he fell back, Phillips saw nothing but the infected. Everywhere around him the infected were tearing apart civilians and soldiers alike in a frenzy of blood and gore.
One soldier who ran away quickly turned and aimed his carbine at the closest zombie. The soldier fumbled but managed to fix the bayonet on the end of the rifle and the zombie ran straight onto it with such force that it completely impaled itself down the entire length of the gun barrel. The zombie grabbed for the stunned soldier and bit his nose off. Another zombie tackled the soldier from behind, and the two monsters ripped and tore at the man’s clothing. The first zombie, still impaled on the rifle, left little skin on the soldier’s face. As it tore the soldier’s tongue out of his mouth, the other zombie tore into the soldier’s stomach and pulled out his intestines.
Outbreak (Book 2): The Mutation Page 7
