by Lund, Dave
“It was the PLA. There were some soldier graves with helmets. They executed them, cuffed them all, and shot them in the back of the skull at close range.”
Jessie held Bexar’s hand, which was all she could do to help at the moment. “What should we do now?”
Bexar reached into his pocket and pulled out the piece of paper that Chivo had given him with an impossibly long access code. “We’re going back to Texas.”
The Skies over Montana
Before they left, Bill gave Chivo a single sheet of paper with all they knew about Dorsey and where he might be. In the hours after escaping the goat fuck that their stop in Idaho had turned out to be, Chivo had a chance to read the document, read it again, and commit it to memory. Some of the information was what Dorsey had transmitted via the spark gap radio, and some of the information is what Bill and the few remaining airmen knew about ICBMs, the Minutemen III launch facilities, and the area around Air Force Base in Great Falls. Still, the mission brief, which is how Chivo thought about the document, was really light on information.
It reminded him a bit like the early days in Afghanistan, bringing community leaders into the fold as fragile allies to get information. Actionable intelligence is what they called it; information that could lead to the capture or death of America’s enemies. Now at about 5,000 feet above the ground, Andrew and Chivo had no tribal leaders to help, no allies except each other, to hunt down one of the craftiest traitors that history will record, if any history will exist in the future.
On the back of the single sheet mission brief, Chivo drew a map. It wasn’t the best, and the cold air breezing through the cockpit didn’t help. The aircraft’s simple heater was on, an air exchanger that used the heat of the exhaust to warm air entering the cabin, but mostly it was cold. The plan for now involved an aerial survey, unless they saw a missile control center that was quite obviously the one. The problem was that although they were easy to stop, it would be hard to determine which one might house Dorsey. The facilities were remote, with a large ranch-style home looking structure, but they also had antennas, a tower, a helicopter landing pad, and a serious fence. The launch control facilities were separated from the actual missile silos, but if they found the heavy concrete pads of the underground silos, they would be close.
Chivo had one such facility marked on his hand-drawn map. He didn’t think it was the right one; the fence was down, the above-ground structures were partially burned, and there weren’t any signs of living persons. The site was near the interstate and for that proximity to the snow-covered ribbon of asphalt, Zeds moved through the snow inside what was the fence line of the facility. Next to the mark on the map, Chivo wrote the number three. He was grading the sites found as one, two, or three: one meaning that it was likely to be occupied, three being the opposite.
“Are you OK landing in the snow?” Chivo yelled over the engine noise. His breath hung as an icy cloud in the air.
“Kind of. Depends on how soft the snow is and more importantly it depends on what is under it. If we hit something, we’d be royally fucked. Hey, do those Zeds look like they’re moving slowly, like slower than usual? Want to check it out?”
Andrew banked the aircraft left and pointed to the interstate. A small herd of Zeds, maybe a thousand strong, trudged through the snow, or what was left of it on the roadway. It appeared that Zed movements had plowed the road, or something akin to it.
“You’re the captain of this spaceship; I’m just the door gunner. So if you think we should check it out, then go.”
The aircraft’s nose pitched down slightly as Andrew slowed the motor and began descending while banking to turn for a closer flyby of the Zeds. After a few moments, Andrew flew by the group fairly low, only about 100 feet off the deck, banking the Husky so they could see out the window.
“Good eye, Andrew, they are moving slow.” Chivo flipped his map over to the mission brief and circled where it was said that Dorsey had relayed that extreme cold slowed the zeds, sometimes stopping them altogether.
Chivo decided that it didn’t matter if living in the high altitudes of the Rockies meant a higher safety from Zeds. For him, it wasn’t worth being this cold. He hated the cold. Chivo took a deep breath and focused his thoughts; he had a mission to accomplish. Besides, he had been on missions much colder and more remote than this. Andrew turned back toward their original path and slowly climbed toward 5,000 feet AGL.
There are a number of different ways and patterns to conduct a search. While en route to Great Falls, Chivo had asked Andrew to conduct a grid-pattern search and described how to accomplish the search.
Dorsey had transmitted that he was south of Great Falls in an early message, and Chivo was happy that Bill’s crew kept good notes, because that shortened their search box by quite a bit. Although none of them knew if there were even any launch facilities north of Great Falls in the first place. Reaching the northern limit of their search box, Andrew turned east and flew approximately the distance to the next search grid. The grids were spaced out further than Chivo would have liked, but he felt like it would be OK. Chivo scanned the snowy scene out the windows, seeing patches of earth and grass sticking out of the snow like a leopard’s spots. Once they found the right location or a handful of locations, they could either land nearby or land somewhere safer and try to find a vehicle that still ran. Humping it through the snow on foot was not Chivo’s idea of a grand adventure.
Las Vegas, Nevada
Erin fumed in her seat, already not in the best of moods due to feeling like crap. The cramping really hurt this month and Erin dreamed of being able to soak in a hot bath to ease the pain.
“Every fucking month my uterus punishes me for not getting pregnant. It sucks, and I don’t like it.”
“I’m sorry, baby, but I do like you. Do you want to find a safe place to hole up for a couple of days?”
“I don’t know, maybe. I mean, I’m not fucking sick, it’s just being a woman sucks.”
Jason took her hand. “Yeah, sure, it sucks right now, but if I’ve learned anything from my past life is that in another week, you’ll have swung the other way and will feel great.”
“That’s the problem. In another week, my uterus will want to make a baby and will drive my hormones to make me make that happen, but after another cycle of not getting pregnant, I’ll be back in the same place, with a body that hates me.”
“In that case, maybe we should wait and find a safe place to hole up next week. That sounds like the right time to me,” Jason said with a sly grin.
Erin slapped his shoulder hard enough it stung. “Let’s do both. Find me a place to wallow in my misery now, and I’ll find a place for you once I’m past this.”
The thought brought a wide grin to Jason’s face. He loved his wife and he practically exploded with happiness knowing how much she loved him too.
“OK, step one: we get off this god-damned highway and away from all of these Zeds. Once we’re in place, then I’ll go scavenge for some feminine products and Tylenol for you. Any requests?”
“Some chocolate if there is any, and if you’re running to the store, maybe you should pick up some condoms so we’re ready for stage two of our cunning plan.” Erin reached across the wide center console and kissed Jason on the cheek.
Slowly, the MRAP continued to nudge through the enormous crowd of Zeds on the highway. They were past the first big group of housing developments on the north side of Las Vegas and were still making progress headed eastbound. The road signs were missing, knocked down by the shambling herds of Zeds, so neither of them were very sure what highway they had just run into, but they did guess that they should turn left and head northeast instead of turning right and pointing back toward the center of Las Vegas. Crossing the bridge to take a left on the feeder road, the new highway appeared mostly clear in the direction they wanted to travel; from what they could see on their right, it was most
certainly not clear. A lone road sign stood on the edge of the right of way on the feeder road that informed them the highway was actually I-15. Erin sighed and shook her head.
“What? Are you OK?”
“Yes, it’s just that fucking I-15…we spent a long time going the long way around to here. We could have gone out of the east gate of Groom Lake and ended up on I-15 in less than a day.”
“It’s OK, baby. We didn’t realize we were going to end up here. Our plan was a much different route.”
Erin shook her head, angry at their folly, and slightly annoyed that Jason wasn’t annoyed. Now free of the thickest of the Zed formations, Jason sped up to a more respectable 45 mph, rocking the big truck around Zeds as they found them. They drove in silence. Jason was mature enough to know to be quiet and let Erin work through what was upsetting her without his futile attempt at helping.
Only the sound of the big diesel motor rattling the MRAP down the roadway filled the cabin. After a few minutes, Erin reached over and took Jason’s hand, tracing the lines in his palm with her fingers.
Jason slowed and took the exit ramp. The sign for a Love’s truck stop still stood triumphantly in the air in defiance to the collapse of the world around it. If the building still stood, if it wasn’t burned or completely looted, it would be a good place to go shopping. After crossing the overpass, Jason was relieved to see that the Love’s was still in good shape. There were a number of semi-trucks parked at the stop, which meant they could siphon diesel fuel from the truck’s saddle tanks too.
Hillsboro, Texas
Sweat dripped off his face and fell onto the stock of his M1. Ken knew he was in trouble and he wasn’t exactly sure what he could do about it.
Front sight, breathe, shoot and move. Front sight, breathe, shoot, move. Front sight, breathe, shoot move.
The deep and powerful voice of his drill instructor from decades before resounded in Ken’s head. The tactics were simple and they were repeated so many times in training then reinforced in the jungles of Vietnam that Ken was nearly on autopilot while the rest of his mind spun at 10,000 RPM trying to come up with a plan to break contact and escape. Zeds weren’t people any longer, though, and that meant they didn’t react like people would. The reverberating ping of the M1’s metal clip being expended and ejected enacted another automatic response: left hand to the bandolier belt for another loaded clip, insert into the rifle, and rip the charging handle to the rear. Ken couldn’t stand to lose any more of the ammo clips for his rifle. As semi-expendable as they were before the attack, they were more precious than a magazine for an AR in that it might be hard to find replacements.
Ken spun in place and butt-stroked a Zed that had snuck up behind him, which knocked the dead body reaching for him off balance and to the ground, but it immediately began getting up. One fast shot and the heavy rifle round destroyed its skull.
“Fuck.” Ken spun in place. The first time he looked up from behind the rifle sights in a few moments, which was a deadly mistake. He had to cross I-35 and trying to go through Hillsboro to do it was a bigger mistake than he had realized. His truck was stashed to the east about half a mile, so his quick escape wasn’t so quick now that he saw the mass of Zeds coming from that direction. To the west wasn’t going to work due to another passing herd of Zeds like he had seen on I-45. This herd was headed northbound, so Ken was trying to push south, which was proving difficult. Ken figured all he had to do was survive long enough for the herd to get past and then get far enough south to flank the Zeds keeping him from the truck. Evade, escape, and fight again tomorrow.
The problem was Ken was having a lot of problems trying to evade long enough to escape. “Fuck!”
Another metallic ping and another ammo clip was left in the dirt. Ken’s bandolier was running seriously low and he couldn’t restock until he got to the truck. He didn’t think he would make it to the truck without more ammo. “Fuck!”
Zeds to the left of me, more fucking Zeds to the right, and I’m stuck in the middle with you.
In the midst of Ken’s fight for his life, he couldn’t help but snicker at the humor and inserted another clip into the rifle. The snicker turned to giggling which turned to loud almost manic laughter. Another metallic ping and another reload, except that this time Ken’s left hand came up empty. Glancing down, Ken grabbed each empty pouch in disbelief. Ken looked up just in time to see a woman’s rotting teeth snap at his arm. Ken spun and drove the hard butt-stock to her skull which impacted with a loud bone-breaking crack. The Zed stumbled but didn’t die.
Fucking zombie shows are bullshit.
Ken drew his bayonet from his belt and drove it into the woman’s skull. She crumpled to the ground, taking the knife stuck in her skull with her. Another Zed’s fingers grasped Ken’s shirt, but he spun and butt-stroked this one with the same results as before, this time drawing his pistol and firing a round at point-blank range. Then again with another, followed by another. The Zeds were closing in, some coming off the interstate drawn by the rapid gunfire, others coming from all directions. The barrel of his rifle smoked from the rapid-fire abuse, hot against Ken’s skin through his clothes. Spinning again to the next threat, Ken pressed the magazine release and inserted his last pistol mag, thumbed the slide release, and put another Zed to the dirt. Then another round, followed by another, and another until the pistol slide locked back on an empty chamber. Ken stuffed the empty pistol into his waistband, unslung his rifle, and held it like a baseball bat, the barrel and forestock singeing the palms of his hands. Ken swung as hard as he could at the closest Zed, which fell to the ground and immediately began getting back up. Ken swung at the next one and then the next. His breath ragged and rasping, sweat poured off his face in defiance to his inevitable death.
Yelling loudly, Ken was swinging for the fences, anger rising and burning deep from within. Ken swung again and missed, spinning off balance, his rifle falling out of his hands. Ken looked up, hatred burned in his eyes, hatred at his arrogance that he could cross the country alone, hatred at the Koreans, hatred for the Chinese and their fucking attack. Another woman reached, teeth gnashing, jaw snapping in anticipation of a fresh bite. The side of her head exploded, showering putrid, dark, pus-filled brain matter and skull fragments down onto Ken. The sound of the rifle shot rumbled past as another head exploded, followed by another.
A car horn? What the actual fuck is going on?
Withering rifle fire rained across the landscape, echoing off the buildings nearby. Once again, the voice of Ken’s old drill sergeant resonated in his mind. “Get your ass to the ground, Hull. Fucking Charlie is going to shoot it the fuck off you, fucking dickhead! Now move! Crawl, Hull! The VC aren’t going to finger fuck you, they’re just going to fuck you raw and then go after your slut sister.”
Ken’s rifle sling was in his right hand, dragging the rifle as he crawled faster than he had since his last combat experience. Whoever was directing fire was creating an escape route. Ken didn’t have to wait for an invitation to go, crawling across the ground over destroyed Zeds, the blood, pus, and spent shells. The unknown gunmen kept up volley after volley, two car horns now blaring a constant note toward the north. They sounded close, but not too very close. After only100 feet of crawling like a new recruit, a woman on a John Deere Gator slid to a stop. “Let’s go, old man, get your ass up. We’ll come back for your truck later!”
He didn’t have to be told twice. Ken jumped to his feet and sprinted the two dozen yards to his rescuer, unconcerned that they might not be a safe choice. They were a safer choice than sticking around with the Zeds.
The Gator was surprisingly fast. “I’m Allison, but everyone calls me Allie. Grab a fresh mag from the bed.” Allie glanced at his rifle. “Or not. What the fuck rifle is that? Anyways, take this.” Allie handed him a loaded pistol. “It’s not a shotgun, but you’re riding it so don’t fuck up.”
Ken took the pistol, press checked
the slide to verify a round was chambered, and held it ready. The car horns continued to blow, but the sound was fading as they rapidly drove the opposite way.
St. George
Back in the FJ, Bexar drove toward I-15 and turned north.
“That’s where we crashed the truck.”
“Where?”
“We drove off the damn bridge. I thought we had royally fucked up—and we had. I don’t remember anything after that, but according to Guillermo, Angel found us on the interstate near their compound. Chivo was dragging me behind him and fighting his way to safety. The fucking goat, I swear to God I’ve never met anyone like him. I’m not entirely sure he can be killed. Anyways, apparently, Clint drove up on us. I’m not sure if he was following us or what the deal was since he tried to kill us in Cortez, but he got into the fight and we would have still been fucked if Angel hadn’t come down the hill on his horse like the fucking cavalry.”
“Wow.”
“Yeah, sorry, I guess I didn’t really tell that story to the fullest before. Things got pretty sideways, but we made it. You and I will make it; we have to for our baby. Besides, love conquers all.”
Jessie held Bexar’s hand as he drove the FJ around small clusters of Zeds in the roadway. Since the last big herd had come through, the number of Zeds weren’t manageable, but there was still the unknown of where the PLA that had attacked and killed his friends were. They couldn’t fret about it; they would either bump into them or they wouldn’t, and there wasn’t anything they could do about it. First, though, they had to drive through Hurricane and Bexar’s last trip through the town went quite badly, driving into a massive herd of Zeds coming out of the desert. It was the beginning of the sequence that resulted in him and Chivo crashing the truck.
Bexar was sad about the loss of his friends. He wasn’t sure if his ability to have compassion or even if his capacity for real sadness was broken, but he wasn’t as affected as he thought he would be (or maybe should be). Like old grizzled cops who had worked in the business too long, it was just another day and it sucked for others, but he and Jessie were fine. It was a tough attitude to have, but it was the only one he had at the moment. Perhaps in the future, after the PLA was run out, after the Zeds were conquered, he might once again find the ability to care about others, but at the moment, it wasn’t going to fucking happen.
