by Lund, Dave
That was it, target practice. This feels like on the range…maybe it is because no one is shooting back or maybe I’m just an asshole.
With an annoyed grunt, Chivo focused on his task and began actively scanning the full 360 around him while making a fast magazine change on his rifle. The above-ground fuel tanks were located on the northern end of the ramp and about 50 meters off the end of a long hangar. Chivo had walked around the southern end of the hangar, across the back, and back in view of Andrew during his dream-like shooting gallery jaunt. Chivo stopped and raised his rifle. The pilot’s head and shoulder fit square in the optic on the M4, the reticle resting on the bridge of Andrew’s nose from Chivo’s view. Chivo’s shoulders shifted slightly and he squeezed the trigger.
Andrew spun and fell to the pavement under the wing of his aircraft; Chivo sprinted across the tarmac to where Andrew lay. “What the actual fuck is wrong with you,” Andrew yelled, his ears ringing.
Chivo pointed behind him. Andrew sat up and turned his head, seeing the rotten corpse of what appeared to have been a teenage girl lay in a crumpled heap on the tarmac, her head ruined.
“Holy shit, Chivo, the fucking crack of the bullet passing was LOUD. I can’t hear shit out of my left ear.”
“You’re welcome, mano; now quit being a little punta and get up. I’m going to get a couple of rooms at the inn. You finish fueling, and I’ll come get you in a few minutes.”
All Andrew could hear in his left ear was a loud ringing; the crack of the bullet was so close that he first thought he had been shot himself. Chivo trotted off toward the northeast and the first row of hangars beyond the fuel tanks. A few minutes later, Andrew had finished fueling the Husky and Chivo came back. A few more minutes were all that was required to push the plane along the ramp and to the hangar that Chivo had secured. The resident Cessna 182 was pushed out of the hangar and up the apron to be replaced by the yellow Husky. Chivo slid the hangar doors closed, dropping the door pins in place to keep them from being opened again from the outside. The only light left filtered in from the open side door, which Andrew closed behind them after they both left to explore the airport and look for anything that might be useful.
Las Vegas, Nevada
“I don’t know, babe, seems it is more risky than is prudent.” Erin looked toward the west and the setting sun that appeared hazy through the bullet-resistant side window of the big MRAP. She held up her hand; the sun was four fingers off the horizon. “We only have about an hour of daylight left. Let’s find a spot for the night.”
Their MRAP sat in the middle of the roadway. They hadn’t traveled very far on Highway 95 after spending a good deal of the day getting the new truck all put together. They were on the northwestern edge of Las Vegas where there were obvious signs of Zeds—a large number of Zeds—having come through the area, and Jason had to concede that Erin was right. It would be stupid to attempt to get past Las Vegas with only an hour of daylight left. Not only due to the likely chance of the city being completely overrun by Zeds, but that neither of them had ever been to Las Vegas, much less knew their way around the city.
“Do you want me to drive us closer and try to find us some shelter?”
“Nope, I want to find us a spot outside the city where we can keep the truck hidden. We can sleep in the back or even on the roof if it is too hot tonight.”
Jason turned left and drove across the median of the highway, across the other lane, and down the hard-packed desert shoulder where it appears many people had done the same thing before. The vehicle path off the highway went around the end of a fence and then along a seemingly endless line of high-tension power lines. They could see some dark clouds rising over the mountains in the distance. The desert floor laid out between them and the mountains were as flat as a table, but he could see the towering mounds of dirt and rock just a bit further. They found that the mounds of dirt and rock were for some construction that had been going on before the end, but it didn’t matter; the mounds gave a place for Jason to hide the armored truck from view until morning.
CHAPTER 11
April 14, Year 1
Crystal Springs, NV
“Fucking shit!”
Bexar burst back inside of the store, rifle raised and ready after the sound of his wife angrily cursing and the sound of stuff crashing to the floor. Jessie lay on the floor and she did not look happy. A low product display behind her had been knocked to the floor, which mostly explained the cursing, the anger, and the sound of a crash.
“What happened?” Bexar asked as he helped his wife off the floor. Her ankle looked like hell, swollen and badly bruised. Flecks of vomit were still on her shirt and Bexar could now see a small puddle of vomit on the floor next to the product display knocked askew. Jessie shook her head at his question as he helped her across the room to sit in a chair they had brought from the single office in a room behind the counter.
“I’m tired of this shit. Get us to your friends. I’ll heal up after we’re safe there.”
“Are you sure we should travel?”
“No, but I’m done. I’m nauseous from this baby, I’m in a lot of pain, and all I want to do is sit in your old recliner at home and feel sorry for myself.”
Bexar gently stroked the side of Jessie’s face. “I don’t know if we’ll ever get to go back to our old home. I’m not sure I want to.” His mind flashed to Keeley’s room at their home in central Texas. Even if the home was still standing, he couldn’t bring himself to set foot in her room ever again.
“We should be able to make it to Utah today. We’ll want to leave soon to give us a buffer though.” Bexar wanted to get there. He knew that even if Guillermo couldn’t do anything for Jessie’s ankle, they could get her in a bed, get her foot elevated, and he would have more hands on deck to help his wife. Jessie was pale and Bexar hoped that was mostly due to nausea from the pregnancy; at least her head didn’t feel feverish.
“Give me a few minutes to prep for our departure then I’ll help you get to the FJ.”
Jessie gave a shallow nod and leaned forward in her chair. Her head in her hands, she took quick shallow breaths. Bexar was sure she was going to throw up again. “Can I help?”
His response was a flip of her hand shooing him away, so he walked outside to pull the FJ around to the front of the building. As Bexar walked down the stairs and scanned the area for more Zeds, he could hear Jessie throwing up. Bexar shook his head. He wished there was more he could do, he wished there was anything he could do, but there really wasn’t except to get her to the compound in St. George.
Ten minutes later, Jessie sat in the passenger seat, still looking green in the face. Bexar took a right turn out of the parking lot onto Highway 93 and onward to a hopefully uneventful drive. Jessie rolled down her window and let the wind blow in her face, which seemed to help a little, except that pain shot up her leg from her ankle with every little bump in the road, which there seemed to be a lot of.
“According to the atlas, if we can keep the pace to about 50 mph, it might only take us about three hours. We’ll have to refuel en route, though.”
Jessie didn’t reply with more than just a sideways glance, which Bexar correctly took as his clue to keep his mouth shut. The countryside was beautiful; they really were in a nice part of the country, although Bexar suspected that it was quite warm in July and August, seeing how warm the daytime temperatures already felt in mid-April.
A bit over an hour later, they drove past the small green sign next to the highway announcing that they were now in Caliente, Nevada. The speed limit sign still stood as well, which meant that one of the big herds of Zeds hadn’t come through the town, at least on this road.
“Keep an eye out for a fuel source we can scavenge.”Jessie nodded for a reply. They rounded a turn in the highway and saw a Family Dollar store on the highway across from the railroad tracks. The railroad could be an interesting though
t. In Bexar’s mind, it would be easier to get trains running again in some fashion more so than automobiles or semi-trucks. Then it would be easier to move a lot of gear or people without all the problems with driving on the highways. Even still, Bexar’s mind wandered and began flipping through a list of problems they would have to overcome to do much of anything besides simply survive in small groups. He wasn’t sure that the United States or any country of what was now the old world would rise from the ashes of the death and destruction the Koreans and Chinese rained upon the western world.
After passing the Dollar Store, they saw a volunteer fire department, a small hotel, and a gas station that appeared to have had served as the town’s central social hub, restaurant, and daily shopping spot. Bexar stopped the FJ in the middle of the road across from the gas station. It appeared to be a disaster; the awning over the fuel pumps had collapsed, apparently from a truck crashing into the awning support and pumps. The building and store were partially burned and there was movement in what was left of the dark interior. Continuing, they slowly drove through more of the small town, passing more small restaurants and homes. Overall, the town wasn’t in bad shape. Perhaps it was far enough off of the interstates and other major highways to be spared from the worst of dead’s curse, but they didn’t see any movement as they drove through the town except for a handful of Zeds.
“What if there are survivors in towns like these, but they keep hidden when a vehicle or people come through? Think about it. We’ve had absolute shit luck with some other survivors—I imagine others have as well—so when we drive through, if there is anyone alive, they watch us to make sure we don’t stop and that we’re not a threat. They’re not going to show themselves though.”
“That makes sense. It just seems like we should be finding more survivors out here in wilds.”
There was no way that the question could be answered at the moment and Bexar slowly accelerated the FJ back to a better cruising speed of about 50 mph as they exited the town.
“Those poor cows.” Jessie pointed out the window to a fenced pasture where dozens of heads of cattle lay rotted in the grass. Buzzards and the rest of the ecosystem had made good work of nature’s reclamation of the dead cows, but sunbaked bone and hide lumps were still easily identified as they passed. Bexar didn’t answer Jessie, too lost in the thought of how insurmountable survival seemed. Even if they made it and their baby lived to adulthood, what world awaited her? A desolate wasteland? The shadowed ruins of a once-great society that destroyed itself? Or would people be able to start up farming operations again?
“People will figure it out. For thousands of generations, our species has adapted and survived,” Jessie said as if reading his mind. Bexar nodded and kept driving. She was still obviously in a lot of pain, but that didn’t keep Jessie from holding Bexar’s hand as they drove.
Outside of Las Vegas, NV
The morning began as normally as it could in the world they now lived in: just a young couple madly in love, standing armed, watching over each other as they took turns taking care of their morning business. Erin and Jason chatted, the difference being not just the lack of a bathroom door, but the lack of a bathroom. Sort of like the van life movement, they traveled the countryside, except that they were in a heavily armored truck instead of a beat-up old VW.
“The roadmap shows a loop, but you know it’s still going to suck.”
Erin agreed. Jason was on the roof of the MRAP standing watch for her turn to squat against one of the big off-road tires on their rig.
“You know, we could follow the dirt access road for the powerlines here. It heads east and we might get lucky.”
“Well, you’re not going to get lucky: I just started my period.”
Jason was silent for a moment and smiled. “Do we need to run to the store?”
“Yes.”
“Well, that settles our debate; we hit the edge of the city and find some supplies.”
“Of all the prepper shit that we packed, I don’t know why I left off any products to help with my period. This is so fucking annoying.”
Erin’s mind flashed to Jessie and her pregnancy. As annoying as dealing with her monthly cycle was, at least she wasn’t bringing a baby into the world. Neither bothered to dig holes or cover their waste after using the outdoor facilities; they didn’t care and they felt it wasn’t worth the effort unless the plan was to stay in one place more than a night. With all the dead and rotting corpses, leave no trace seemed silly at this point.
“At least we have fucking toilet paper!”
“How does toilet paper fuck exactly?”
Erin chuckled at Jason’s reply and climbed into the truck. Jason climbed down through the turret, and a moment later, the diesel rattled to life. They drove out from behind the rock piles and took a left onto Highway 95 with Jason behind the wheel.
“Too bad we can’t get married since we’re in Vegas.”
Jason smiled in response. “Who is to say we aren’t married if we say we are?”
“Really?”
Jason nodded.
“Forever?”
“Forever,” Jason replied, smiling.
Erin squealed and climbed over the center console to kiss her husband.
“When we stop for my tampons, maybe we can find some rings to give each other.”
The desert highway had suddenly given way to suburban sprawl, nearly without warning, causing Erin and Jason to fall silent. From the roadway, they could see hundreds if not thousands of homes built closely together. The highway was getting more crowded with semi-trucks and cars abandoned where they failed after the EMP, but so far, the number of Zeds on the roadway were sparse. As suddenly as the city began, they both quietly suspected that they would also run into a large number of Zeds.
“Maybe if we find a place to shop early we can turn back around and try the desert route?”
Erin’s happy attitude had changed. She was back in her seat and she was checking the magazines to her rifle. Jason was amazed at the transformation. His new wife was a badass, and his warrior princess had flipped a switch and was now prepared for battle. If it wasn’t so amazing, the transformation would have been scary.
Teague, Texas
The previous afternoon was spent passing pump jacks driving to the outskirts of Teague, Texas. Surprisingly, some of the jacks were still pumping, which was odd in that the nearly four months that had passed since the attacks, one would have assumed that they would have failed even if they had survived the EMP. It didn’t matter, though. Ken knew that without people and processes in place to refine what was pumped out of the Texas dirt, the oil would be about useless to the machinery of the once-modern world. The metal shop that he and his truck spent the night in worked well enough. The oilfield trucking yard must have been idle the morning of the attack, or whoever was on duty had locked the place up before leaving, because the tall overhead doors were shut, no trucks were in the shop, and all the doors had been locked. The building was still dirty, the special kind of dirty that only oilfield workers can create. Dirt and grime didn’t bother Ken too much; in his mind, it was a fair trade for the secure night’s sleep he had. The truck was parked inside, all the doors secured, and Ken was hidden from anyone who might notice a living person. Yesterday was a big eye-opener for Ken, as getting shot at by a fellow survivor wasn’t what he had hoped for. So hidden and secure became the touchstone of excellence for his nightly accommodations.
He was now on his third day of a journey that would have only taken a few hours of driving before. Ken felt lucky to at least have a working vehicle; it would have been a much longer journey to just get this far otherwise. After a snack of a breakfast, Ken started the truck and let the engine warm for a few moments while in the large metal shop. This gave him time to roll up the big overhead door and be ready to hop in and drive if something happened.
A few minutes lat
er, Ken took a left turn out of the caliche drive onto FM 553.He cringed and sped up, passing the high school and athletic fields, but the shots never came. Another left and Ken was headed in the right direction while bypassing most of the small town. Teague didn’t appear to have been too damaged during the past four months, but there were Zeds visible shambling near the highway, perhaps attracted to the sound of Ken’s passing truck. Highway 84 would take him to Mexia and onward to Hillsboro, which might be a problem because he would have to cross I-35 somewhere near there. The mass of Zeds that Ken saw yesterday still gave him a chill when thinking about them. This journey was almost more frightening than the trip to the deer lease before. If anything the trip was worst due to knowing he was completely on his own unless he could get to Nevada.
Ken had the realization that his apprehension about trying to cross interstates might be sort of like what the early explorers felt about trying to cross some rivers. Safety was not guaranteed. Not one to borrow trouble, Ken focused on the present and played mind games to keep alert while he drove. The GPS lady was losing her mind, so Ken turned the volume off, but after a few minutes of listening to the wind rattle through the truck’s cab, Ken turned the volume of the GPS back up so there was at least another voice to listen to while he drove, even if she was condescending and judgmental.
Like being married, Ken thought with a chuckle.
