by Jake Bible
She intends to fix that.
“Go get Santiago and Spence,” Moore orders.
“Spence is outside, sir,” Billy says. “She’s scouting the streets to make sure we have a clear run for the turnpike.”
“Fine, send me Price instead,” Moore says. “Once you do that then you’re on the doors. First hint of trouble and you let me know. We are still leaving in five minutes.”
“Yes, sir,” Billy says and nods. “Good luck.”
Moore shakes her head and frowns as she walks away. A harsh blast of wind whips through the bay doors, following her like a frigid taunt. She curses under her breath, breath she can now see, as she marches towards the back of the warehouse. Small barrel fires light her way and she pauses briefly to press her hands against one, getting the muscles and tendons warm in case she needs to give Mr. Cain Goss a lesson on how things work when down in the wasteland of Denver.
“There she is,” a deep voice laughs. “Right on time. Was it Chase that went and tattled to Mommy?”
“Cut the shit, Goss,” Moore barks as she shoves through the crowd of reclaim crew members to get to the foreman holding court. “This ends now.”
“Does it?” Cain Goss laughs again. He holds out his hands and looks around. “We barely got started, TL Moore. And we don’t intend to leave until we are finished.”
Six feet even and almost two hundred pounds, Cain Goss is a well-muscled, fit-looking man in his mid-thirties. Close cropped hair, weathered brown skin, and hazel eyes, Goss has been one of the Strongholds’ more successful reclamation crew members, having a knack for sniffing out caches of hidden resources. He has a reputation for earning high rations bonuses which means the crew members that face him all have a vested interest in hearing what he has to say.
They don’t have much interest in what TL Moore has to say considering her view is to abandon the treasure trove around them and risk it being assigned to another reclaim crew.
“The pyres are red,” Moore states. “Protocol is to fall back to the trolleys and assess from there. Staying here is no longer an option. So I need everyone to stop listening to this jackhole and return to gathering their things.” She looks about, but no one moves. “Or leave your things, I don’t care. Either way, this salvage op is over and we are moving out in two minutes.”
“You are welcome to leave, TL Moore,” Goss says. “But we are staying. We’ll lock down the bay doors and ride out whatever is going on out there. This isn’t my first time in danger.”
“It isn’t?” Moore chuckles. “Oh, okay then. You’ve been in danger before. Good for you.” She scratches her head for a second and glances around at the crew members. Most of them are giving her hard looks, but she can see fear on some of the faces and knows all she has to do is push a couple of buttons and Goss’s hold is broken. “What happened when you were in that danger?”
“I survived,” Goss says, grinning from ear to ear.
“I can see that,” Moore sighs. “But how did you survive? By fighting off a horde of Zs on your own? Or did you take out a gang of crazies that had come to rape your ass? Did you use firearms?” She pats her M-4. “Put a couple rounds between some crazy eyes? Is that how it went down?”
Goss doesn’t say a word in response, but the murder in his eyes is all the answer Moore needs.
“Exactly,” Moore says. She turns to the crowd. “You know how he survived his dangerous situations? By having his ass saved by a Team. I should know since I was there one of those times.” She smiles over at Goss. “Remember that time in Sector Twenty-three? The hotel incident? Why don’t you tell them about that?”
“I would have been fine,” Goss growls. “There was a fire escape right outside the window.”
“A fire escape that was made of rust and spit,” Moore laughs. “My Team had already scouted it and declared it useless. If you had stepped onto it, you would have fallen five stories to that Z-choked alley below. Even if the fire escape didn’t break, there was the Z-choked alley! Where the fuck were you going to go?”
“I’ve survived worse,” Goss says.
“Jesus, Goss, let it go,” Moore says. “This situation sucks for me and my Team too. We stood to benefit from the rations bonuses as well, so I know exactly what losses we are taking here. But none of that matters. Red pyres. We are leaving now.”
Two Team Mates come jogging up behind Moore, both of them large and well-scarred, looking like they have zero intention of letting their TL’s orders go ignored again.
“Mates Santiago and Price? I want this reclaim crew ready to march out in thirty seconds,” Moore says. “Anyone that refuses will have their name reported to the Stronghold council’s office. Their rations will be forfeit. That includes any due to their family members.”
There is some loud grumbling and Moore turns on the crowd, her face red with anger, matching the pyres that light up the Denver sky.
“I am not fucking around!” she shouts. “You leave now or suffer the consequences!”
There’s a high-pitched whistle from the bay doors and Moore turns to look down the long row of boxed TVs towards Chase.
“Go see what he’s got,” Moore orders Santiago. The man turns and sprints back to the bay doors. “Price? Help these fine citizens of the Stronghold gather their belongings as we leave this damn place.”
“Yes, sir,” Price nods and turns to the crowd. “Come on, people! Meeting is over! Let’s move!”
“I’ll be talking directly to the council about this,” Goss snarls as he stomps up to Moore. He towers over her, but the small woman doesn’t even flinch as she stands in his shadow.
“Oh, no, not the council,” Moore says. “What ever shall I do?”
“We have rights, you know,” Goss spits. “The Teams may be the backbone of the Stronghold, but that doesn’t mean they always will be. Cultures change and when they do, sometimes there are casualties left behind.”
Moore is about to haul off and slug the man in the gut when a cry from the bay doors gets her attention. It’s a panicked cry, one filled with immense amounts of fear. And fear is contagious. In less than a second, more cries ring out and the warehouse is filled with scared voices and those shouting for answers. But answers to what?
“Not over,” Moore says, pointing a finger at Goss. “We’ll both discuss this again in front of the council. Then we’ll see about your culture change, you fucking opportunistic cowardly piece of shit.”
She takes off running, leaving Goss to stand there and fume.
***
Her uniform covered in blood, Team Mate Kerry Spence sits just outside the warehouse’s bay doors, her legs dangling over the loading dock, one arm hanging limp while the other is pressed against her neck, a once white rag now dark red.
Billy stands behind her, his M-4 up and pointed at the crowd of reclaim crew members, his eyes narrowed and steady.
“She’s been bit!” a woman shrieks, pointing at the sagging form of Mate Spence. “You have to put her down before she turns!”
“She isn’t going to turn right away,” Billy snaps. “And nothing happens to her until TL Moore gets here.”
Mate Spence looks over her shoulder and several people gasp. Even more back away, some crossing themselves at the sight of her face.
Long strips of skin hang from her cheeks. Half of her nose is gone as is a huge chunk of flesh from just below her right eye. Blood has soaked her uniform and she looks like she is three seconds from passing out. But her eyes are clear and determined and she glares back at the panicked crowd.
“Listen the fuck up,” she snaps in a voice thick with pain. “I’m not coming inside, okay? All of you back the fuck off and get ready for lockdown.”
“What?” Billy asks. “Lockdown? What the hell is coming, Spence?”
“Everything,” Spence says. She sways a little, but holds on as she glances up at Billy. “A whole fuck lot of everything.”
“What’s going on?” Moore shouts as she shoves her way through the
crowd. “Chase? Why the hell do you have your weapon pointed at these...? Holy shit, Spence.”
“Yeah,” Spence says. “I’d get up and salute, but that’s not happening.”
“Report,” Moore says.
“Zs,” Spence replies. “I barely got away. A couple hundred are only a half mile away, blocking our run to the trolleys.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Moore says. “Then we’ll have to go around.”
Spence shakes her head. “No, you won’t,” she says. “I had a feeling the horde was just a symptom so I climbed the steel tower over on 47th Street. There’s nowhere to go, TL. There’s a herd coming that has to be over a hundred thousand strong, easy.”
“A hundred thousand?” Moore asks. “You’re mistaken, Spence. You’ve been attacked and you aren’t thinking straight.”
“Oh, I’m thinking straight,” Spence says. “I’m thinking you’re all going straight to hell if you don’t get this warehouse locked down now. You have maybe five minutes. Ten tops until they are on you.”
“On us?” Billy asks. “What do you mean by us, Spence? What about you?”
Mate Spence smiles up at Billy. It’s a gruesome sight and the man can’t help but shudder.
“Me?” Spence laughs. She pulls her 9mm pistol from her hip. “I’m taking point. See you all in Hell soon.”
She puts the pistol to her temple and pulls the trigger. Blood and brain splatter across the loading dock as her body tumbles forward, landing on the old concrete below. People start screaming and scurrying about, retreating back into the warehouse as they try to put as much space between them and the horror outside as they can.
“Motherfucker!” Moore yells and then points at Billy. “Strip her gear and pull that body inside! I don’t want it to attract Zs, do you hear me?”
“Yes, sir,” Billy says, his voice choked with emotion.
“These doors are yours to close and secure,” Moore shouts. “I’m going up onto the roof to see if what she said is true. I’m praying she was losing her mind because of the trauma.”
“Me too,” Billy says as she slings his M-4 and leans down to pick up Spence’s 9mm from the loading dock. He straightens and tucks it into his belt. “I got this, TL. You go see what’s coming.”
***
Goss sneers at the panicked people that stream past him, all racing to get to the center of the warehouse and the carefully stacked boxes that Reclaim Crew Twelve had set up when they’d first arrived just in case they needed a semi-secure fall back point. Now it looks like they do.
“What’s happening?” Goss asks, grabbing a young woman by the upper arm as she hurries past. She struggles for a second, but Goss just grips her harder. “Hey! What is happening?”
“Herd of Zs,” the young woman replies. “One of the Mates blew her brains out because she got bit. She said there are like a hundred thousand of the monsters coming this way.”
“A hundred thousand?” Goss chuckles. “Okay. Sure.”
He lets the young woman go then searches the crowd for a familiar face. There, off against the far wall, TL Moore is dashing through a doorway, a pair of weird-looking goggles in her hands. Goss shoves people out of the way, determined to follow the woman and see what bullshit she is up to now.
He makes it to the doorway, ignoring the shouts from desperate people trying to get his attention, and shoves through, finding himself facing a dark stairwell. He hurries up the stairs, cursing as the door below him swings shut and he is plunged into darkness. One hand grasps the railing, bits of old, flaking paint scraping against his calluses, as the other hand feels along the wall.
He slows down and carefully takes the steps one at a time, not wanting to be the idiot that dies because he trips in a stairwell. It takes him a lot longer than he’d like, but Goss finally makes it to the door at the top of the stairs. He shoves it open and sees TL Moore standing by the edge of the warehouse’s roof. She turns to face him and takes off the weird goggles.
“Here,” she says, offering the goggles to him. “Best you just see for yourself.”
Goss is puzzled. He expected her to yell at him for not being downstairs. Or at least yell at him for following her and trying to interfere. He didn’t expect her to offer him the use of what he can now see are one of the rare pairs of night vision goggles the Teams are assigned.
“What is it?” Goss asks, crossing to TL Moore and taking the NVGs. “What am I looking at?”
“You’ll see,” Moore replies, a soft chuckle mixed with a half sob.
“Where?” Goss asks, putting on the goggles.
“Everywhere,” Moore replies, switching the goggles on for him.
The Denver night erupts into greens and grays, a world of light and shadows like nothing Goss has ever seen. At first he finds it hard to focus past a few feet then he lets his eyes relax and do what they naturally do. That’s when he sees the tsunami of Zs that is overtaking the warehouse district they are all now trapped in.
“Oh, my God,” Goss whispers. “How many are there?”
“Thousands,” Moore replies. “Tens of thousands. Maybe more.”
“Maybe more?” Goss asks as he stares through the goggles at the impossible number of Zs that fill almost every roadway for as far as he can see. “How many more?”
“You do the math, Goss,” Moore says. “Once you get past tens of thousands, what’s next?”
“Hundreds of thousands,” Goss replies, his earlier bravado completely gone. Now he sounds like a man that just wants to hide and curl up into a ball. “How do we survive this? How do we get away?”
“We don’t,” Moore says, gently pulling the NVGs from Goss’s face. “Looks like you get your wish. We’re locking down and staying here.”
“I… I don’t want this,” Goss says.
“Well, want it or not, we got it,” Moore says. She grabs him by the elbow and spins him around to look directly at her. “Can I count on you to help or will you continue to undermine my authority tonight?”
“I’ll help,” Goss says. “Just get us out of this shit.”
Moore gives him a weak smile.
“Sorry, Goss,” she says as she walks back to the roof access door. “I don’t think any of us are getting out of this shit.”
Goss watches her go, his mind struggling to make sense of her last statement.
“What? Wait! What do you mean we aren’t getting out of this shit?” he cries once his brain catches up. “Moore? It’s your job to keep us secure! Moore!”
***
Team Mate Billy Chase’s efforts to get Spence’s body inside, and her blood scrubbed from the loading dock, make no difference. The woman left a trail of her scent all the way back to the warehouse, leading the massive herd right to the bay doors.
“Stack the boxes deeper!” Moore yells at the people struggling to shove dollies filled with the largest, heaviest boxes they can find against the bay doors. “We need more weight!”
Unfortunately, the electronic equipment that existed when Z-Day hit was made of light plastic and barely weighed more than a few pounds. Gone were the days of heavy TVs and massive Hi-Fi stereo cabinets. Even twenty boxes high and just as many deep, the barricade is more volume than mass.
Goss’s voice echoes through the warehouse, coming from the opposite end as he orders crew members to work harder and faster.
Two sets of loading docks. Two sets of bay doors. The warehouse was set up so that trucks could access it from both sides. One side for deliveries, one side for pick-up. American commercial efficiency at its finest.
“How’s Goss doing?” Moore asks as Santiago runs up to her.
“He’s doing his best,” Santiago reports. “But we’re going to need a backup plan. Maybe start tearing down the shelving? Or try to move the structures intact? If we can get just a few of them in front of these bays then we might have a chance—”
The rest of his sentence is drowned out as the bay doors in front of them shudder and clang. Voices quiet an
d people stop moving, all eyes and ears focusing on the noise. For a few seconds nothing happens and some people begin to relax, ready to start moving boxes again. But the silence doesn’t last and the doors shudder once more.
Then they don’t stop shuddering.
People begin to cry out and scream as the sounds of thousands of Zs just outside the warehouse reach their ears. The task of stacking boxes is quickly forgotten and loaded dollies are shoved aside as people scramble to get as far away from the bay doors as possible.
“Shut up!” Moore calls. “Be quiet, you idiots!”
But the people do not get quiet, they do the complete opposite as the bay doors begin to bend inward from the outside force. Men and women scream and run, heading towards the opposite side of the warehouse.
Moore shouts at them, telling them to get themselves under control, to stop acting like wasteland rookies and start acting like citizens of the Stronghold. Reclamation Crew Twelve was not made up of newbies. They were an experienced crew that had been down in the heart of Denver many times. Back when Moore had been TL of DTB1, before Stanford Lee took it over when she was injured in the last DTA trials, she’d accompanied Reclaim Crew Twelve on dozens of missions.
It was one reason she and Goss didn’t get along so well. They had plenty of history, not much of it very good.
But, as Moore stares at the panicked people, she doesn’t recognize any of the fearlessness and grit that has historically made up Reclaim Crew Twelve. All she sees are scared sheep bleating and shaking where they stand. And that shaking and bleating is making things worse.
“I’m going to start putting people down,” Moore snarls.
Santiago looks at her quickly, his eyes wide. “You don’t mean that, TL,” he says. “You can’t shoot people for being scared.”
“I can if they don’t shut the fuck up,” Moore replies. “The crybabies are going to get us all killed unless they calm down and SHUT THE FUCK UP!”
Her voice cuts through some of the panic and the din decreases to half. Which is still too much noise, proven by the bay doors bending even further under the weight of the crush of Zs outside.
