ROTD (Book 3): Rage of the Dead

by Dyson, Jeremy

  “You’re trespassing,” he tells Blake. “This land belongs to the nation of the Pueblo Indians.”

  “This is still America last time I checked,” I say. “Dumb fuck.”

  Blake turns around and glares at me.

  “Damn it. Shut the hell up,” he tells me.

  Coming from him it takes me by surprise. So much so, that I actually listen to him.

  “We’re just trying to get to Los Alamos,” Blake explains to the man. “We have scientists with us. They are going to try and stop the things that are happening.”

  The man looks at him disdainfully and the group behind him keep their weapons pointed at us.

  “We’re not here to harm any of you,” Blake says. “We just want to stop this. Do you understand me?”

  “This scourge,” the man finally says, “is just the most recent crime against the Earth that has been committed by your people. Ever since your people colonized and stole our land you have spread one disease after another.”

  Blake listens to the man rant about bullshit that happened centuries ago. It takes every ounce of willpower I have to resist making a move.

  “We don’t have to stand here and listen to this shit,” I gripe.

  “Jesus! Shut up, Chase,” Blake repeats.

  “Now the time has finally come. The Pueblo nation is taking our land back,” the man says. “The white man is no longer welcome here.”

  “You better check your tone there, old man,” I snap as I raise my rifle.

  “Hold it!” Blake says. He raises his arms up and steps between me and the tribe; then he turns and glares at me.

  I lower the rifle so it isn’t pointing at his chest.

  “Get back in the truck,” he orders me.

  I spit on the ground near his feet in disgust, but then I remove myself from the situation and make my way back to the truck. If they decide to shoot his ass in the street, it will be his own fault now.

  Stupid dick.

  I climb back in and watch from behind the wheel as Blake attempts to resolve the situation.

  “What did they say?” Scout asks me.

  “White people aren’t welcome here anymore,” I tell her.

  “What?” Claire asks.

  “It’s all bullshit,” I tell her. “These fuckers have the nerve to blame us for destroying the planet when they got a mile high pile of fucking hot garbage right there.”

  I point to a junkyard off to my left. Hell, I can even smell the stench from here.

  “This is insane,” Claire says.

  “Didn’t you explain what we’re trying to do?” Scout asks.

  “They can’t be reasoned with,” I tell her. “They just want blood.”

  I stare back up the road at Blake talking with the chief. I’m kind of amazed they haven’t killed him already. He must be begging for mercy. The chief just stands there with his arms crossed, listening. His expression never changes. Probably learned that by playing hours of poker in the damn casino.

  “Just be ready when the shooting starts,” I say to Scout. “Don’t let them get the drop on us.”

  “Take it easy, killer,” Fletcher says. “Let’s just see how this plays out.”

  I wait for it. The moment one of these guys loses their patience and drops Blake in the street. He might somehow be stupid enough to believe you can be civil with people, but I’ve seen firsthand how well that goes. The chief holds up a hand, and then I know it’s only seconds away.

  His hand falls to his side again. The men lower their rifles.

  Blake turns around and jogs back to the pickup with a relieved smile on his face.

  “It’s okay,” he says.

  “What did you say to them?” I ask him.

  He ignores my question and moves toward the bed of the truck.

  “Hand me that box,” he says to Fletcher.

  Fletcher picks up the box of food that Claire and I brought from the house in Alamogordo.

  “Hey,” I say. “What are you doing with that?”

  Blake takes the box from Fletcher and turns to walk back toward the tribe.

  “Peace offering,” he says.

  “What?” I say.

  He just continues walking away with the cardboard box.

  “Don’t you give them that!” I say. “That’s my food!”

  “Let it go, man,” Fletcher says. “We got plenty to eat still.”

  “Fuck that,” I tell him. I open the door, but Claire grabs my arm to keep me from getting out of the truck.

  “Chase,” she says. “Just let them have it. It’s better than all of us dying out here when we’re so close.”

  My blood boils beneath my skin as I sit and watch Blake hand over the box to the fucking bandits, but I stay in the truck. I don’t do it for myself, or for Claire. It’s just because I don’t want to do anything that will make all the sacrifices of my platoon be for nothing.

  Still, my way would have been easier. We should have just shot those scumbags.

  Blake climbs back into the truck as the vehicles blocking our route pull onto the shoulder to clear a path. I start the truck again and spin us back around.

  “All we had to do was give them a little food,” Scout says. “This could have gone a lot worse.”

  “Not exactly,” Blake says. “I had to promise to never bring Chase back, too.”

  They all get a kick out of that.

  “Ha, ha, ha,” I say as I shake my head. “Real fucking funny, smart guy.”

  “That’s what they said,” Blake tells me. “I’m not even joking.”

  Thirty

  By the time we start driving up the mountains, I manage to quit complaining about Blake giving away my food. Mostly just because everyone in the truck is begging me to give it a rest. I’m still sore about it, but I finally just stop talking.

  Nobody ever takes my side. Even when I know I’m right.

  We finally reach the outskirts of Los Alamos, and since I have no idea where the lab is from here, I pull off at an overlook about a half mile from town. Hoff pulls the SUV up alongside me and rolls down the window.

  “Does anyone know how we find this place?” I ask him.

  “Doc says he does,” Hoff says.

  “Him?” I ask.

  “This is gonna go just great,” Fletcher laughs.

  “He seems pretty sure,” Hoff says. “At least for the moment.”

  “Well then,” I sigh. “Take the lead. I’ll follow you.”

  Hoff nods and then pulls out of the gravel lot and back on to the road. I pull the truck out behind him and trail the SUV the rest of the way.

  I have no idea what to expect in Los Alamos. To be honest, I originally thought that was the name of a facility before and not a whole town. It can’t be that big then, I reason. But still, following a guy who walks around with no pants all day and thinks nothing of it, doesn’t exactly seem like the best way to go about things.

  Let’s just hope his mind isn’t completely gone.

  Instead of heading up the main road into town, Hoff leads us down a backroad that runs farther south along the mountain.

  “This doesn’t seem right,” Claire says. “The town is over there.”

  “He’s probably going to get us lost in the mountains,” I agree.

  The road curves around a bend, then passes a small pond. Just as I am convinced we’re going the wrong way, we drive around another a hill and a vast complex of buildings comes into view. Most of them are nondescript industrial buildings shaped like giant blocks, but in the center sits a tall structure with a curved facade and steel blue windows.

  The lab probably once seemed like a monument to science and technology, though now it looks like it might just collapse. Half the windows are shattered or cracked. Scattered papers, broken equipment and debris litter the ground surrounding the building.

  “No,” Claire mourns. “It’s destroyed.”

  “I don’t know what you were expecting,” Scout says. “Everything is destroye
d.”

  There are bodies all over the ground. A couple of deceased scientists and security guards wander amongst the structures, but the complex is essentially vacant.

  Bullet holes and blast shadows mar some of the buildings. Other walls are tagged with graffiti, primarily indecipherable letters or crudely drawn dicks, but one wall has an ornate skeleton wearing a black cloak and holding a scythe next to the words, “Don’t fear the Reapers.”

  Plural. Capitalized.

  Reapers.

  I don’t think it was just carelessly written.

  So, I have to wonder, who the fuck are the Reapers?

  “This was all for nothing,” Claire says and interrupts my train of thought. Her voice wavers, and she struggles not to cry.

  I was not completely surprised to find the facility like this, especially considering how long it took us to get here. For Claire, seeing one of the most advanced laboratories in the world destroyed like this must be devastating.

  “Maybe we can still salvage some equipment,” I offer. “Try to fortify this place.”

  It sounds ridiculous even as I say it, but I don’t want this to all be for nothing either. Not after everyone that I’ve lost.

  Claire buries her face in her palms as the tears begin to flow from her eyes.

  “Let’s just wait until we see how bad it is inside,” I say.

  We park outside the front entrance. A trio of corpses limp out of the building at the sound of our vehicles.

  Most of the dead are in bad shape by now, but these stiffs were clearly shot to shit. One guy is missing an arm. Another man with a bloody goatee stumbles over his intestines as they drag along the ground.

  Fletcher and Blake hop off the back of the truck and walk over to take care of the corpses on the front steps. The mutt hops down behind them and runs at the dead, snarling and barring his teeth, then turning and running away to hide behind the humans as the corpses lunge for him.

  Instead of shooting, the two men approach the dead. Blake takes out a knife and jabs it upward below the jaw of the one-armed stiff and impales his skull on the blade. Fletcher swings the rifle around and smashes the man that tripped over his intestines until his skull shatters. Blake finishes off the last one, a blonde in a bullet-riddled lab coat, by grabbing a fistful of her long hair and jabbing the blade through her eye. He pulls the knife out, lets her fall to the floor, and wipes the blade on his jacket.

  Maybe Blake isn’t a total pussy after all.

  We climb the steps and enter through the smashed doors of the lobby. More bodies are scattered across the interior floor of the building. Half the furniture and equipment around the reception area is gone, and what is left is completely destroyed. The place has been stripped of anything useful.

  “Well,” Fletcher says to Blake. “You ready to admit that I was right?”

  Blake waves a hand at him and walks away.

  “We come all this way, and for what?” Fletcher asks. “Told you this was stupid. We should have never listened to Lorento.”

  I hear a noise. Like a trickle of water running.

  I turn my head toward the source and find the mutt with his leg up in the air, peeing on a potted plant across the room. Doctor Schoenheim wanders by the dog and continues toward a darkened corridor next to the elevators.

  “Hey Doc,” Hoff says. “Hold up.”

  “Where is he going?” Fletcher sighs.

  We follow him down the hall and into one of the ravaged laboratories. He wanders over to a table covered by papers and bits of broken glass.

  “Why would someone do this?” he wonders. “I don’t understand. I can’t possibly work like this.”

  “No shit, Doc,” I mutter. I pick up a broken piece of a microscope or some shit and toss it on the floor. “Look at this place. We ain’t going to find shit here.”

  “The state of this laboratory is completely unacceptable,” Doc rambles on.

  “Is he off his meds or something?” I ask the others.

  “He’s been through a lot,” Scout says.

  “He’s all chewed up,” Fletcher says, twirling a finger around his ear.

  “So what are we going to do now?” Danielle wonders out loud.

  “We should stay here tonight,” says Blake. “Figure out what the hell we do next. It’s too late to leave anyway. We might as well have a look around and see if we can salvage anything.”

  “You want to keep wasting your time? That’s up to you, smart guy,” I tell him. “I’m done with this bullshit.”

  I leave them all standing in the lab and wander back out to the hallway. I’m not really sure where I am even going, but just being around all of them is more than I can handle right now. I head back out to the lobby and look around at the wreckage again. I right a toppled, broken sofa that only has legs on one end and drop my pack on the floor beside it before laying down on the lopsided surface. I let out a deep breath and close my eyes.

  Instead of falling asleep, I feel something wet brush against my cheek. I flinch from the sensation and open my eyes again and find that damn dog licking me. I sit up and try to shoe the thing away.

  “Get out of here!” I tell it and point at the door.

  It chases its tail around in a circle and looks at me.

  “Go away!” I tell it, still pointing.

  It does another excited circle and stares at me again. Stupid dog.

  “Go!” I yell.

  Damn thing just spins around again and wags its tail.

  “You’re like the stupidest dog ever,” I tell it.

  The thing lays down on the ground, stares at me, and growls playfully.

  “Shut up,” I warn it.

  It gives me a little bark.

  “Quiet,” I tell it.

  The dog barks again.

  “Oh my god,” I sigh in exasperation. I lay back down on the sofa, and the dog hurries over to lick my face again.

  “No,” I tell it, but it just gets up in my face even more.

  “I’m gonna fucking shoot you, dog,” I warn it. “I ain’t playing.”

  Someone giggles behind me and I turn to find Claire standing by the front desk across the lobby. Scout, Steven, and his son follow her out from the hallway as well.

  “Kid, come get your dog out of my face,” I say.

  “His name is Stitch,” Stevie says.

  “Whatever,” I say. “Get him away from me.”

  The kid calls the dog, and it runs over and circles around him. He reaches out a hand to pat the dog’s head and the pup looks up and licks his palm.

  I realize I’m not likely to get any sleep, so I sit up again. As the rest of them come over to the couch, I decide to get up and offer Scout my seat. She probably needs it more than me anyway, considering the shape she is in.

  Scout pulls off the satchel around her neck and drops it on the couch. Then she shrugs her backpack off and sets that down beside it. Scout collapses on the cushion beside them with a sigh and rolls her head from side to side massaging the muscles in her neck.

  “Thanks,” she finally says.

  “Dog wasn’t going to let me sleep anyway,” I lament. “You doing okay?”

  “I’ll live,” she says. She opens up the satchel and starts to remove the contents and inspects them before setting them down on the sofa. “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah,” I say. “I’m alright. It’s just kind of hard to accept that everything I have been through since this all started has been for nothing.”

  Scout sets down a worn out paperback, a map of Iowa, and a satellite phone.

  “What’s that?” I ask.

  “This bag belonged to Jess,” Scout says. “She was the CIA agent that was with us in Missouri.”

  “Jess,” I say. I remember the conversations that Logan had with her.

  “Can I see that?” I ask Scout.

  “Sure,” she says, and then she picks the satellite phone up and hands it over to me.

  I hold down the button to see if I can power
it on.

  “I already checked it,” Scout says. “Jess told us that she was in contact with someone, but there are no numbers or messages in there. Nothing. She was always real secretive.”

  The phone hardly has any power left in the battery. I may only have one shot at this. I stare at the keypad and start entering numbers.

  “Who are you trying to call?” Scout asks.

  “Logan had a contact, too,” I say. “Someone at NORAD.”

  “You remember the number?” she says.

  “Pretty sure I do,” I tell her. “I sort of have like a photographic memory.”

  “Really?” Scout says.

  “It’s really more of a curse than anything,” I say as I enter the last number. “But it comes in handy sometimes.”

  I place the phone to my ear. The other end of the line is picked up within seconds.

  “Jess?” says a man on the other end. “Thank god. I thought we lost you.”

  “No,” I say. “This isn’t Jess. She is dead.”

  “Who is this?” the man demands.

  “My name is Corporal Chase Graves,” I say. “I’m with Doctor Schoenheim and Claire Davies at the lab in Los Alamos.”

  “You are?” the man seems skeptical.

  “Yes,” I say.

  “How did you get this number?” the man asks.

  “Agent Logan,” I tell the man. “My unit was with him at Holloman.”

  “I see,” he says. I can hear the relief in his voice.

  “The laboratory here has been destroyed,” I say.

  “I know,” the man says. “I have been monitoring your movements by satellite for two months now. I’ve been attempting to warn you away from Los Alamos but this phone has been offline for the past two days.”

  “Listen,” I say. “This battery is about to die. I don’t have much time to talk.”

  “I understand,” he says. “It is imperative that you get the doctor and Miss Davies to Cheyenne Mountain. I will be monitoring your progress. Good luck, Corporal.”

  Thirty-one

  “Who was that?” Scout asks me.

  “I don’t know,” I say. “He didn’t give me a name. Probably CIA or NSA.”