by Lund, Dave
“Do you remember where they are?”
“I can do you one better than that, I have notes and marks on my maps.”
Amanda smiled. “That is wonderful. What about other survivors?”
“I have notes and marks for them too.”
“Were most of them friendly?”
“Uh, most were, some weren’t. It was really odd, but after the Groom Lake radio stuff, people got real happy.”
“The shortwave transmissions?”
“No, yes, well, not just that, but they gave out instructions on how to build a radio using some car parts and other junk. It’s an odd mix but people can bang out Morse code on them and communicate.”
“Wow, I had no idea.”
“Really? I mean…”
“No, it’s OK. Another member of a secret government organization was trying to keep me safe by keeping us hidden and silent. I missed out on some stuff for it.”
“Seriously? That sounds like a terrible movie. What happened?”
“I can’t lead if I’m sequestered and being hidden in a hole in the ground.”
Andrew nodded.
“So, Andrew, if you know how to make this radio and you know where the groups are, you could visit them with plans for the groups who aren’t already communicating, right?”
“Well, yeah, but who would they talk to? The guy on the other side of the radio was supposed to be here.”
Amanda stood still, quietly contemplating for a moment. “How far does your aircraft travel without needing to refuel?”
“That depends on the winds aloft and the weight, but 500 miles is a good safe number. That’d take a few hours, but that depends on the winds too. It cruises at about a buck forty, but ground speed can be just about anything depending on what’s going on.”
“So you could get from here to Dallas in a day or so?”
“Yeah, well, it isn’t that easy. I’d need probably at least two fuel stops; I don’t like pushing the limits when having to scavenge for gas.”
CHAPTER 3
April 8, Year 1
Groom Lake
The old Suburban shook and squeaked as Erin and Jason bounced from the rough dirt track and onto the smooth paved surface. A dark ribbon of roadway cut through the lone desert. They followed the pavement around the mountain and toward the south, passing the ruins of the wrecked PLA cargo aircraft. Only the wind and rumbling drone of the old V8 engine filled the still air inside the cab. Jason drove, not convinced that they were making the right decision, but certain he was with the right person. His wife died escaping the brutal cult in Cortez and it felt like a lifetime ago, even though it had only been a number of weeks, not even half a year. The realities of the new world they lived in was one of fleeting life, with a sudden and early death more likely than not. The pervasive luxuries of mourning; help from the community, friends, and family to make it past the bitterly stark pain of loss had since passed. Their new society was one of lifetimes lived in tense and sparse moments, balanced precipitously on the edge of human extinction. His heart still ached for his wife and he would always love her, but he knew that she would be angry if he died alone. Jason glanced at Erin. She was stoic, the raging emotion of finding her mother and having to put down her reanimated corpse burned deeply. Erin’s feelings were pushed so deep, so removed from the surface as to not be noticeable; her face appeared like etched granite in its beauty and terror. Thoughts of running away to start a new life, a new family has been the long dream of youth past. That dream remained, although the reality of running away for a new life is that they would likely be running for the rest of theirs, as short as it would likely be. Jason took Erin’s hand, gently caressing her calloused palm with his thumb.
“Let’s elope.”
Erin turned to look at Jason, silently.
“I mean, we are going to drive by Las Vegas, want to get Elvis to marry us?”
“Zombie Elvis?”
“Well, that’s probably all we’ll find there.”
A faint smile crept onto the corners of Erin’s mouth. She intertwined her fingers in his, and Jason continued, “You were right, are right. I love you and our ages don’t matter, not now. I don’t know how long I have left before my luck fails us, but I want to spend what luck I have left with you.”
“You’re not allowed to die.” Erin slid across the bench seat and rest her head on his shoulder. “I love you.”
Jason smiled at her. “Until death does us part.”
“No, until death binds us together for eternity.”
Groom Lake
“If at first you don’t succeed, you’re going to die.”
“Great pep talk, coach! Really fucking motivational” Bexar sarcastically replied to Chivo.
Their team, now short two members, exited the ironically more secret bunker inside of a secret underground bunker after rearming in the secondary storeroom. Inside the concrete and metal stairwell, muffled rifle fire could be heard from an unknown level above them.
“Mrs. Bexar, would the others inside be fighting their way out?”
“They’re not supposed to; we have rules in place that locks the facility down like a high school. Doors are shut and locked, people are supposed to keep quiet, and the sweeper team clears floor to floor. Once the all clear is given, then the doors can be unlocked.”
“What do they do while locked down?”
“Everyone gets a full physical inspection for bites or other wounds to stop a secondary outbreak.”
“Slick, that’s not a bad plan. Bexar, how did you ever convince her to marry a serial fuckup like you? I’ve seen you naked; I know it isn’t because you have a massive schlong…”
“He uses it well,” Jessie interrupted with a wink, causing Chivo to chuckle.
The rifle fire increased in tempo and ferocity.
“OK, kids, so we have a group of unknowns going full rock and roll up there. My guess is that Aymond and his Recon boys came down to help.”
“So what do we do?”
“If we assume that to be true, then we stay on this level, clear it, and start working our way back up. Eventually, we should meet in the middle or we can put down their reanimated corpses.”
“Or they can put down ours.”
Chivo looked at Jessie. “Confidence, miss. We knuckle-draggers never fail because we don’t believe in it.”
Elsewhere In the facility
“Fucking blow it!”
Gonzo didn’t have to be told twice. A moment later, a hard thump was heard after calling out to his teammates and the grenade’s fury could be felt through the walls and floors. The fire team of Marines reinterred the cafeteria. Pieces of some of the Zeds were scattered, black scorch marks on the floor and tables, a dark red and black spray painting the low ceiling. Teeth gnashed and snapped at their boots from heads that were still reanimated as they stepped inside, quick and accurate shots putting the dismembered bodies down for good. Grenades weren’t all that effective against the reanimated dead, not like living personnel, but in this case, the small clearing gave the special operations Marines the small foothold they needed to begin clearing the large room.
The team split into two groups as they entered the room, every other man peeling off to the left or right. Running the walls is what they called the technique and it was being done in excruciating slow motion compared to how they would do it against armed insurgents. The war against the Zeds was one of slow-motion attrition.
Muffled “clear” calls were heard around the room, which was filled with the smoke of battle. Tables and chairs were tumbled and covered in gore. Destroyed Zeds and pieces of bodies littered the floor, a horribly gruesome site if this had occurred before the rise of the dead. Aymond waved a small circle above his head and his team converged on him. Unlike traditional forces, his men didn’t stand in a circle facin
g him as he talked, years of training and experience had each of them facing different directions while Aymond spoke. It wasn’t out of disrespect but so any enemy snipers couldn’t tell who the senior ranking man was. No Zeds held hidden positions waiting for a clear shot, but deeply ingrained training is hard to escape.
“Ammo check.”
Each of the men double-checked their magazines. They kept count in their head as they fought, but the secondary check confirmed what they did and did not have left. Loaded magazines were passed around to rearm team members who were running low.
“Chief, we’re not equipped well enough to finish this. We need to resupply.”
Aymond didn’t respond to Happy but keyed his radio instead. “Jones, ask Lampton what she knows about this facility. Is there an armory on site?”
A few moments later, Jones replied, “That’s affirmative, Level 5, and she has a dozen cases of 5.56 in her MRAP.”
Aymond looked at each of his men as they held up a number with their fingers, adding up the number of empty magazines his team had and dividing that by the number of rounds in a case of ammo. He keyed the mic. “Jones, I need you to run two cases down the hole, Happy and Kirk will meet you.”
Without any further instruction, Happy and Kirk peeled off and began heading toward the entrance through the path of death they had cleared to get ammo from Jones. The rest of the team took a circular defensive position and knelt to rest while keeping watch. Beyond the cafeteria walls, the moans of the dead could be heard above the thumps and thuds of the bodies against closed doors and walls.
The Radio Hut
Wet thumps of the dead rattled the door which also rattled their nerves. Bill and two airmen pushed a desk against the door, which was locked, but like a child using a blanket to be safe from monsters, the desk helped them feel calmer. The spark gap radio buzzed and popped with transmissions. It had been offline since the attack and the noise generated once Bill got it working again attracted the dead.
“Should we take it down again, Bill?”
Bill looked at the airmen, then the radio, then the door, which visibly shook with each hit from the other side. The transmission being picked up was slow, slow enough that he didn’t have to write down each of the letters to understand what was being said. Glancing at the map on the wall and all the push pins, Bill closed his eyes. Montana...the guy in the silo, Dorsey.
The transmission was confusing, wanting to pass a message to the president, something about a colonel showing up.
“No, Jon, we leave it up. We have a job to do and we can’t stop now. Try raising the SSC again on the terminal; I have a strange feeling about this.”
The Stairwell
The rifle fire had gone silent and the three of them stood quietly in the relative safety of the closed-off stairwell.
“Do we check on whoever that was or do we clear what we have?”
Bexar looked at Chivo who, after contemplating the question for a moment, looked to Jessie. “What do you think, Mrs. Bexar?”
Jessie smiled slightly. She hadn’t been called Mrs. Bexar, always Mrs. Reed, but she kind of liked how cutely Chivo said it. “Everything is fucked, and there’s only three of us. I say we try finding who that is.”
Chivo nodded. “I agree. This is a monumental task for only the three of us. The other option is to get topside and bug the fuck out, which is probably the smartest option.”
Chivo glanced at Bexar who looked at his wife. Jessie shook her head. “No, we can’t do that. I couldn’t live with myself if we abandoned these people. They’re survivors but some of them aren’t tough; they’re here because they’re not tough and they only made it this long through sheer luck.”
“Mrs. Bexar, we’ve all made it this far only through sheer luck…”
Bexar began to speak, but Chivo held up a hand to stop him. “But I understand. My entire adult life has been spent in far-off places under a dark cloak of secrecy helping people who can’t help themselves. Now those people are my fellow citizens, my brother and sister countrymen, and if we can push more luck into their favor, then maybe I’ll earn my spot at the table in Valhalla.”
Bexar shrugged as a form of acceptance. Jessie absentmindedly rubbed her hand across her growing belly and wore the hard look of determination. Chivo led the slow walk up the stairs, carefully clearing each corner.
“Valhalla? So what did you and your vatos call the god of thunder back in Cali?” Bexar whispered.
“El Thoro,” Chivo whispered back.
The Blast Door
Jones had a stack of a dozen green metal cans of XM193, ammo for the M4 rifles the team carried. This was more than they had left over from their meager supplies in the MATVs.“Hey, buddy. Holy shit, where did you get all of this? Santa come early this year?”
“The president gave it to me.”
“Fuck, Jones, she have anything else in her Mary Poppins bag of war?”
“Some MREs, a ruined MRAP, more ammo, and a bad attitude.”
“I’m starting to like this president, like a fucking warrior princess.”
Lampton stood on the concrete apron in front of the demolished hangar speaking to an animated guy who had flown the yellow plane in. Her M4 hung on the sling across her chest carrier, her right hand gripping the rifle, her finger indexed; she looked more like an unconventional operator than the first female president.
“What’s the deal with that guy?”
“He’s been all over the country. I think she’s trying to get him to fly her back to Texas.”
“Fucking Air Force One got downsized.”
“Budget cuts, man, unless you assholes can find some of the missing UFOs.”
“Did she tell you that?”
“Shit, I wish!”
After a quick fist bump, Kirk and Happy each picked up two of the green metal ammo cans by the handle in each hand and started back down below. Jones watched and wished he was going with his brother Marine, but his job was to babysit President Lampton, although he wasn’t sure who was babysitting who.
The Suburban
Hours had passed since they crept out of Groom Lake and they seemed to be sitting still in the vast desert. Progress felt slow, but that wasn’t the first thing on their minds. At this moment, Erin and Jason lay on the roof of the Suburban, the muzzle of her big .50-caliber rifle extended past the end of the roof and past the rear bumper. She was motionless, peering through the large optic on the rifle. Breathing slowly, she whispered to Jason.
“How many do you count?”
“Just four.”
In the distance, heat shimmered off the asphalt of an airfield. Parked in the middle of the field, between the runways and taxiways, sat alone four-wheeled armored transport. It was the same as what they saw during the battle for Groom Lake; it was the invading forces.
“Do we kill them or do we sneak off?”
Jason wasn’t sure. He wanted nothing more than to sneak off and hide out with Erin for the rest of their lives, surrounded by a simple life of the post-death apocalypse. He wasn’t sure that such a life existed, not with an invading army, a new world order of death brought forth by the hatred and strife of another people.
“If we kill them, then there are four less. If we sneak off, they wouldn’t know, but what about 10 years from now?”
Before Erin could respond, a faint dot in the sky grew in size as it flew closer.
“Is that a plane.” Jason moved the spotting scope slightly to see.
“Yeah, babe, it is. Fuck these people, fuck this world…”Erin’s finger slid onto the trigger.
“Wait.”
“Why?”
“The plane.”
Erin understood and indexed her finger, adjusting slightly to bring the aircraft’s approach into view of her rifle optic. The runway that the aircraft appeared to be flying toward s
eemed to be nearly in line with her rifle, and a faint smile crept upward on the corners of her mouth. Watching the simmering heat waves coming off the runway, Erin clicked in the adjustments for a slight crosswind into the optic and waited in annoyed anticipation. Her mother flashed in her mind and then her father. His voice was in the back of her mind, coaching her shot, just like the first time she shot her own deer. Erin slowed her breathing, working hard to control her emotional arousal, to keep her heartbeat steady as she readied the shot.
The landing gear lowered, large tires reaching to the tarmac like a child reaching their toes toward the ground from a high swing. The first shot rattled their teeth, the windows in the back of the Suburban exploding from the pressure wave. Erin didn’t wait to see the shot hit before adjusting and firing again, then firing twice more.
“Hit…another hit.”
Smoke streamed out of the rear of the two engines on the right-hand wing. Jason watched in the spotting scope. Erin had already adjusted aim to the four soldiers near their armored vehicle, watching their reaction, wanting to kill them but waiting.
“Holy shit!”
Erin didn’t see what Jason was reacting to; she fired twice and watched two of the big heavy tires of the armored truck collapse. The four men didn’t seem to notice; they were pointing and yelling. Looking up from the rifle, she was just in time to see the impossibly large cargo aircraft fell the last 10feet to the runway, shuddering as it tried to stop. It bounded off the end of the runway, the nose gear collapsing in the dirt as it slid to a stop. The soldiers turned to their APC and found the damaged tires. They climbed in anyways and began driving toward the aircraft, which was lowering the rear cargo ramp. Other men scurried out of the fuselage and began taking defensive positions around the aircraft, which sat with its nose in the dirt, the two ruined engines still smoking.
“What are they doing?”
“Looks like they’re getting ready to offload, Erin.”
