Winchester Undead (Book 6): Winchester [Triumph]

by Lund, Dave

  Feeling marginally better after some water and the crackers, Jessie sat on the truck’s bumper while Jones told the story about how he and Simmons survived the initial outbreak while at Twenty-Nine Palms, the journey to San Diego, and the battle against the Chinese and Korean forces. Movement coming from the facility entrance interrupted their conversation; survivors from the overrun facility were coming topside. Jessie walked toward the first of the group of people who stood blinking at the bright morning sunlight. The woman was someone she knew as Mary but Jessie didn’t know much else about her.

  “Mary, are you OK? Is the rest of your town OK?”

  Mary shook her head, her face dirty, dried blood stains on her clothes. “I didn’t get bit if that’s what you mean, but dammit,” Jessie gave her a hug, and Mary choked back a sob, her voice cracking, “that place is a god-damned tomb. Not like before, much worse.”

  “I know. We were down there yesterday.” Jessie could see the image of Sarah, the dead and reanimated Sarah in her mind. “I thought everyone was sheltering in place.”

  “We were. Some guys in camo told us to get up here, that it was clear behind them so we did. There are bodies everywhere, all our friends, all we worked for the past couple of months, all of it destroyed.”

  Jessie glanced at Bexar and tried to cover her fear and sadness at it all with a face of determination. “Nothing is destroyed. As long as we have a single survivor, we will make it work; we won’t be beaten down.”

  “What about Jake? Where is he?”

  Jessie slowly shook her head; Mary held her hand over her mouth in shock.

  More survivors came out of the entrance, huddled in small groups. Jessie looked at them; all of them looked rough, bloodied, tired, faces with the look of defeat.

  “Mary, would you mind asking everyone to gather up with us over here?”

  Mary nodded and walked away slowly.

  “What’s going on?” Bexar asked his wife.

  Jessie stood silently focused in thought for a moment before answering. “We did this before, only it wasn’t this bad. We will need to organize work crews to drag the bodies topside, others to dig a mass grave, but before we can do any of those things, we have to see to all of these people’s needs. They need a safe place to be sheltered, a meal, and fresh clothing. Meals and clothing are easy, sort of easy—a large storeroom is on the fifth level, MREs, clothing, blankets, ammo, all that we would need is there. We just need to be able to get to it.”

  “OK, let’s say that Chivo and Aymond clear the floors all the way to where all of that is stored. What about the shelter?”

  “Southwest of here, a couple of blocks are a couple dozen dorms. If we clear one, that’s a start. That would be a place to give these guys shelter. Maybe we’ll be lucky and they are powered by the same systems that power this facility or something like that.”

  Before Bexar could ask any more questions, the survivors that had come topside began forming around them, waiting silently. More survivors trickled out of the entrance and made their way toward the small crowd. Jessie didn’t wait for the new arrivals to start describing her plan.

  “I’m glad all of you are OK. What we know so far is that our facility was attacked by Chinese and Korean forces. The Marines that are clearing each of the levels of reanimates happened to arrive just in time to prevent a much worse outcome.”

  Some of the people grumbled amongst themselves. Some began asking questions of Jessie, who held up her hands and continued, “President Lampton was here, but left this morning to go back to the Texas facility. She left me in charge for now and we have a lot of work to do. We owe it to our lost friends to not give up; we can’t give up. While the Marines are doing their job underground, we are going to begin clearing one of the dormitories near here.”

  Many of the people looked confused or puzzled.

  “I know, I’m sorry. There are above-ground dorms that Jake and I had discussed clearing out to expand our quarters for some of the survivors after the last outbreak, the idea being that all of our eggs wouldn’t be in one basket. Anyways, I’m sure that all of you followed the group bite inspection protocols, but I’m going to ask that we all check again. As you can see, the partitions along with most of this hangar were destroyed in the attack and I’m sorry, but if we’re going to get everyone into new accommodations before sunset, we can’t waste time. I’ll be the first to be checked and then I’ll need four volunteers to help Bexar and I begin clearing the first dorm.”

  Most of the survivors were exhausted and after the ordeal, the violence and fear of a massive outbreak contained in their underground bunker, the sight of Jessie stripping her clothes off gave rise to no reactions.

  “What are you doing?”

  Jessie gave Bexar a half-smile. “Bite check. One of the protocols we put in place after the last outbreak. We had a Typhoid Mary spark that one off and so we decided this would be a good attempt to keep that from happening again.”

  Fully nude, Jessie’s pregnant belly was even more obvious even though she was only about twelve weeks along in the pregnancy. Jessie held her arms out and turned slowly; Bexar ignored the others, smiled at his beautiful wife, and remembered their morning together.

  Deemed bite free, Jessie dressed and slung her rifle. “Who are my volunteers? Let’s get you checked next so we can get started.”

  Four people stepped forward, one woman and three men. Each of them removed their clothing and were visually inspected. Once again dressed, Jessie began walking them toward the FJ. With six of them, it would be a tight fit, but they would make it work.

  “What about that guy?”

  Jessie didn’t know who in the small crowd asked the question, but she knew they were talking about Bexar and she also knew they were right to ask. She turned to her four volunteers. “Get with Jones over there. He can get you something to eat and show you where to top off your ammo. Bexar, come back over here with me; you need to be bite checked as well.”

  Annoyed, Bexar did as his wife directed and set his rifle on the ground before shrugging out of his clothing. Jessie looked at his nude form; it had been weeks since she had really seen him naked. She hadn’t spent much time looking over his body during their romp in the tent that morning. A bright, fresh scar filled a dent in his leg where he had been grazed by a round in Terlingua. Other scars, cuts, and bruises were present where they hadn’t been before the attack and the start of this whole mess. The faded tattoos on his chest and back spoke to happier times, memories, and their family. Bite check completed and once again dressed, Bexar and Jessie walked to the waiting group by the FJ as the other survivors continued with the bite checks. Jessie climbed behind the wheel and started the engine. The sound of a commotion and yelling drew her attention back to the group. A half-nude woman ran from the group and toward the dry lakebed, an arm across her bare breasts, the other holding her bicep. Jessie realized it was Mary. A volley of rifle fire followed her before she tumbled to the ground, where she laid facedown and motionless. Another woman walked out of the group and toward where Mary’s body lay. She drew a pistol and fired a single shot into the back of Mary’s head. After holstering her pistol, the woman fell to her knees, her head in her hands, and sobbed. Some others helped the woman who put down Mary up and dusted her off, embracing her as she sobbed.

  Jessie looked back at the group of survivors. The bite checks continued as she drove away toward the dorms. Bexar was surprised at the brutality of the scene but also impressed at how tough these survivors were. It takes a strong person to kill an infected friend for the good of the majority. He didn’t expect people living in virtually a post-apocalypse five-star resort to be this hard; maybe there was hope for these people yet.

  Ulm, Montana

  “I don’t see how the fuck you expect to accomplish that. Respectfully, sir.”

  Dorsey saw Col. Smith’s plan for what it is, removing all the c
hecks in place to prevent an unauthorized launch of the flight of ICBMs that the facility controlled. The obvious and most well-known safety feature is the launch keys, both of which have to be turned nearly in sync, and the control consoles were spaced far enough apart that no one person could accomplish the task. It takes two people, always has taken two people, and shouldn’t be changed to allow for a single person to start a nuclear holocaust. Regardless as to the moral implications, what Col. Smith had in mind would take serious time and would require rewiring some systems. It would also require control of a purpose-built laptop that Smith claimed to have in the MRAP above ground.

  Clint’s expression didn’t change; this sort of espionage was exactly what he was trained for, and playing the role of Col. Smith, he really could use Dorsey’s help to accomplish the system changes. The hardware hack alone would take Clint a week to accomplish by himself.

  Clint reached into his flight suit and retrieved an envelope and handed it to Dorsey. Dorsey turned the envelope over in his hands; the heavy stock paper had a blue embossed seal of an eagle, the seal of The President of The United States. Ripping open the end a single folded piece of paper, once again on heavy paper stock and also embossed with the president’s seal at the top center of the sheet of paper, the letter contained exactly two lines of text with a signature. Under the signature was printed the name Amanda Lampton, and the two lines of text was a presidential directive to complete the retrofit of the ICBM launch systems. In his years of service, Steve Dorsey had never seen anything like this. Even during times of armed conflict, nothing in any of the top-secret briefings for the missions he had flown had been like this. Steve glanced at the pistol in the shoulder holster that Smith wore, skeptical of the entire situation.

  “OK, Colonel, so how do we start? This is a monumental undertaking.”

  The Suburban

  Wind whipped through the interior of the old SUV. Jason drove, and Erin sat in the back cleaning the big Barrett 50-caliber rifle. Since the morning of the attack on Groom Lake, she had flat-out abused the rifle and she was concerned that it would fail her if she continued to thump on it. The Suburban bounced along the deserted highway at a steady 50 miles per hour. Jason glanced at the fuel gauge and hoped that it was accurate. Not wanting to chance it, they would need to scavenge for gas soon. If they could find some spare fuel cans to carry, he would feel better about their journey. According to the highway signs, they were approaching the town of Pahrump. He hadn’t heard of the town before, but the signs they passed were for a business he had heard of before, The Chicken Ranch. He always thought that was in Las Vegas, but he wasn’t sure. As he continued to drive, Jason wasn’t sure why any of it mattered at this point.

  The sparse desert with distant mountains wasn’t like anything he was used to from his hometown of Cortez, Colorado, but after the fight with the cult and his wife being killed, he never wanted to return to Cortez. Not really paying attention to the road and letting the Suburban drift, the rumble strip brought Jason’s attention back to driving just in time to swerve hard to miss a reanimate that stood motionless in the roadway. Jason slammed on the brakes as the big SUV slid off the pavement and into the hard sand.

  “What the fuck?”

  “Sorry,” Jason said sheepishly.

  Erin, apparently finished with her rifle, climbed back into the front and next to Jason on the bench seat. The corpse that Jason nearly struck shuffled toward them, following the skid marks left by sliding off the road.

  “We need to find some fuel.”

  Erin looked over the steering wheel at the fuel gauge and nodded, then looked toward the western horizon. “We should find a place for the night as well. I don’t think I could sleep in this thing; I would be up all night watching for dead hands clawing through the missing windows.”

  The shuffling corpse was nearly to the rear of the Suburban when Jason turned the wheel and drove back onto the pavement, sand spitting from the rear tires peppering the reanimated dead.

  “This is going to take forever; we’re not exactly making great time on our drive.”

  Erin agreed. “But that’s the only way to do it. We don’t have the luxury of being picked up by a big cargo plane and brought to our new place. Shit, it took Mom and me weeks just to get across a few states.”

  Jason hadn’t experienced an overlanding trip in the new world ruled by the dead. Although an obvious jab, Erin was right. Cliff and his crew of survivors flew a big C-130 to Cortez to pluck them out of the battle with the cult.

  “I saw a sign for The Chicken Ranch. We could crash there tonight,” Jason said with a sly smile.

  “What the fuck is that?”

  Jason laughed as he explained. Erin replied with a middle finger.

  Groom Lake Dormitories

  The northern-most dorms, closest to the destroyed hangar and the underground facility’s main entrance, were the obvious choice to start with. The squat single-story structures looked just as one would expect for a government building, including the same dirty tan color that most of the other buildings on the surface had. Jessie and her small crew had cleared only a small fraction of the numerous random buildings and hangars that were scattered across the secret base. She had no idea what they all held or if some of the buildings may even contain useful equipment or gear. Even though she was standing in the middle of the most widely known top-secret facility that the government had, she still couldn’t make heads or tails of what all was done at Area 51.

  In just over four hours, the first pair of dorms was cleared with little fanfare or hassle, but a worse task remained before they could start the short migration from the underground facility. Working in pairs, each of the terminated Zeds were drug out of the hallways of the dorms and into the dry sunbaked desert air. Still the beginning of April, it was surprisingly hot. Jessie had grown accustomed to the controlled temperatures and conditioned air of the facility. The pregnancy didn’t help; piece by piece, she was remembering all the nuances of her pregnancy with Keeley. Gone was normal sweating to be replaced by what she called “man-boob sweatstains” on her shirt and that was only the tip of that iceberg. No wonder nature had conditioned women to forget the bad memories of bearing children; Jessie was sure if it hadn’t that no woman would ever have more than one child.

  Another 90 minutes and a stack of just over a dozen Zeds lay on the tarmac near the newly cleared dorms. They would add the bodies from underground to the bodies from the dorms once the work parties got started, but until then, they would sit in the open air and rot. The putrid smell of decomposing flesh was the real scent of the apocalypse. Jessie gave Bexar a high five as they walked to the FJ. The playful banter between them was reminiscent of their life in Brazos County, Texas, before the attack—a happy young family trying to make their way just as thousands and millions of others had every single day.

  Thousands of families…my God, how many families are left? Erin without a family, so many others ripped apart.

  One tear rolled down Jessie’s cheek and then another. Quick on the uptake, Bexar put his hand on her back and rubbed it gently. She turned toward him, nuzzling into his chest and crying on his shoulder. Bexar glanced up at the others who stood by the FJ waiting and a little surprised at the Groom Lake woman warrior’s breakdown. Bexar waved them on and after taking the hint, the four climbed into the FJ to drive back to the hangar. Bexar and Jessie would walk the short distance back in a few moments. Now alone with his wife, Bexar held her tight and looked at the scene around him. Standing in the middle of the famed Area 51, a stack of dead zombies near them and the complete collapse of all they held dear hanging over them…this was a future he had never planned for even though they had believed they were planned for the worst. Not once in the late-night whiskey-fueled campfire chats had he, Malachi, and Jack ever come up with this doomsday scenario. Yet here he stood, the only two survivors of their friends, a broken family trying to restart with a
soon-to-be-born baby.

  “What should we name him?” Bexar asked, gently wiping the tears off of Jessie’s face.

  A weak smile tried to hide the pain. “Who says he won’t be a she?”

  “If it is a girl, I hope she has your beautiful eyes.”

  Jessie squeezed Bexar tightly and let go. “We can decide names later, but we have a job to do before then.”

  After she let go and spun in place checking her surroundings, Jessie switched magazines in her rifle for a fresh and full one, press checking the round in battery before slapping the bolt assist a couple of times for good measure. Bexar smiled with surprise. His wife was proficient before, but in the time they spent separated, she had obviously become much more acquainted with her rifle and the new world they lived in.

  “Come on, get your ass moving! You let those little shits drive off with our ride, leaving this pregnant chick to walk all the way back!”

  Bexar smirked and took a few quick steps to catch up with Jessie, taking her hand in his and walking back toward the hangar like high school sweethearts.

  “Do you have any idea when the due date is?”

  “Yes, don’t you remember the last time we had sex in Big Bend?”

  Bexar looked at her blankly, the universal face of husbands around the world when they can’t recall something important to their wife.

  “It was on top of a damn mountain. Seriously? Early October should be our go time, sometime around the 28th.”