by Lund, Dave
“How is that? With your radio?”
“With that, but also with people in Groom Lake. There are enough survivors that they practically have too many. Besides, we’re setup better here for future farming. Although the preserved food stores are extensive, they’re not endless. We have to prepare for the next step of survival where we can no longer depend on what was made before the attacks.”
“You don’t look like a farmer.”
“You’re right, I don’t, but I was the Secretary of Agriculture.”
Eric gave Amanda a suspicious look.
“Well, none of that matters right now. I’m guessing the clothes fit, that your shower was nice, and the food was good enough?”
“Yes, ma’am, thank you, but now what?”
“You’re welcome to stay, you’re welcome to go. If you are willing to stay, there is work for us to do to get ready.”
“Ready for more people?”
“No, ready for the attack.” She held up her hand, stopping the question before it had come out of Eric’s mouth. “The Koreans with the Chinese caused this mess. It was their attack, their EMPs in our atmosphere, and their development of the bacteria that caused the dead to reanimate that nearly wiped us off the map. That much you probably have figured out by now. The problem was that it didn’t wipe us off the map. We think they expected less resistance, but they’ve invaded and are trying to take our country…what is left of it.”
Eric stood quietly for a moment. “Well…even with all the destruction and death, the natural resources are astounding. It is still bat-shit crazy. Maybe they have a way to kill the dead for good?”
“They do. Some of our Marines captured a type of radar truck that basically zaps the Zeds and kills them for good.”
“Huh.” Eric gave his son a look. “Tell you what, we’ll stay for a bit to see what we can do. Besides, it will be a nice break from trying to survive on the surface. What are you doing to prepare?”
“Did you see the earth-work topside?”
“Kind of.”
“Groom Lake was attacked by a PLA team of what could best be described as some sort of special forces. We came out on top, but we wouldn’t have without help and a bunch of luck. Part of the problem is that Groom Lake didn’t have any above-ground defenses or fighting positions. It was a situation where they could lock down underground and hope to survive the siege or fight back. We all fought back with some losses, but we won. Not wanting to go through another siege scenario, since I’m 100 percent sure the PLA knows about this facility, I’m getting the above-ground portions ready to fight. At least I’m trying.”
“I’m not a veteran, I was an engineer, but we’ll help best we can.”
Amanda smiled. “You know, there’s a bunch of DVDs in the recreation room near the bunk rooms. Why don’t we see if there’s something your son would enjoy watching?”
CHAPTER 12
April 15, Year 1
Hillsboro, Texas
Ken woke up to the sound of car horns blaring in the distance. He didn’t think that it was the same car horns from the previous night, from when the group had pulled his ass out of the swarming Zed death. It could be someone else, or maybe they use the horns as distractions while they scavenge for supplies, Ken thought, but he didn’t know. What he did know was that his radio had been a huge hit and they had turned everything on just in time to catch the president’s transmission. This group had no idea; they didn’t know about the invasion and they didn’t know about Groom Lake or President Lampton. Needless to say, Ken was kind of popular at the moment. Information in the post-dead world was a currency more valuable than gold.
April mornings were still cool outside in this part of Texas, but Ken knew that they wouldn’t be cool and comfortable for long, so he should enjoy them while he could. He assumed that the underground facilities would have some sort of climate control so July and August wouldn’t be too terrible.
Ken was already dressed—well, mostly dressed—his boots open and ready next to his cot. Shipping containers had been modified for use as the group’s buildings. They would probably be quite hot inside of the containers, cooking in the heat come summer, but so far that morning, it wasn’t too bad. After tying his bootlaces, Ken stood, stretched, slung his M1 Garand, and walked outside into the morning air. Toward the north side of the courtyard was a fire ring and a spit. A whole hog was dressed and spread over the smoldering coals, roasting slowly. They were going to eat well tonight! Feral hogs had been the bane of Texans for centuries, even though they were good eating, but now their abundance was a blessing. Between the hogs and deer, depending on what part of Texas someone was in, they had the ability to eat well if they could hunt. The problem would be food preservation, but there were enough people in this compound that eating most of a hog over the course of two days would probably be quite easy. Either way, Ken thought while gnawing on a hard MRE cracker, a pig roast sounds delicious!
The gate rattled open and one of the side-by-side utility vehicles rolled inside followed by billowing dust. One of the friendly faces from the previous evening saw Ken and waved him over to the UTV. They were smiling and pointed to the seemingly random pile of parts in the bed and Ken knew instantly what was going on and smiled too. They had a taste of the drug called information and they wanted more.
“Looks like you guys were busy after I went to bed,” Ken said. He hadn’t given them a parts list or any guidance last night. They must have examined his radio in detail to come up with what they needed.
“Yup, but with some changes. We charge car batteries using a system we put together with a homemade wind turbine, so we will be able to run a bank of batteries to keep the radio monitored at all times for now. Mostly, we use those batteries for our distraction noise makers for the dead now which we’ve used to save a number of lives, but a radio is worth the effort, too. There is too much we don’t know and need to learn. We need to be ready for the PLZ, not just the dead.”
“PLA.I think it stands for People’s Liberation Army and we’re not even sure it is really them, since the North Koreans are involved too. Anyways, yeah, what did you have in mind? Are you going to stay here or go to one of the facilities?”
“We had a council meeting last night and we want to stay here, but we want to make contact with President Lampton. I think we’re close enough that we could be of assistance if needed. At the very least, we learned last night of so many other survivors all around the country; we want to be put on the map in case we need help.”
Ken nodded and pointed toward the roasting hog. “Any chance I can stay and enjoy some of that when it is done?”
Samantha smiled. “We hoped you would. First, though, we would like it if you helped Brinson here build our own radio. He’s our resident MacGyver and the one who built our battery-charging system.”
Brinson and Ken introduced themselves and shook hands before agreeing to meet in the “shop” in 10 minutes. The shop was another shipping container, but with tools and workbenches. There weren’t any power tools to speak of, minus some basic electronics gear like a multimeter that miraculously still functioned. Building the spark gap radio wasn’t a hard task, and Ken was looking forward to the work nearly as much as getting the chance to actually chat and interact with another person for a while. Everyone dreams of living alone in a cabin in the woods until it happens to them, then it is lonely as shit! Ken smiled. He wasn’t alone in his hunting cabin anymore and it felt great!
Outside of Great Falls Montana
Chivo stood back from the large window in the house, keeping his form in the shadows of the interior, but looked intently at the scene outside and frowned. They moved much slower than what he had seen in Texas and the southwest, but Zeds were still Zeds: they were still deadly and a serious problem. They were even more of a problem this morning, as they were against the plane.
Andrew was awake, shivering and slapping hims
elf, trying to warm up. It was cold but Chivo didn’t think that it was too terribly cold, not since his winter warfare training in Alaska and Greenland had he ever been that cold. Now, Montana in April felt sort of comfortable, but it was a fool who lost all respect for the cold or the heat because both will kill a man without any regard for who he is and what training he had done.
“What-t-t-t are w-w-we go-going t-t-to do?” Andrew’s teeth chattered as he shivered.
“Distract them, kill them, and see what sort of damage they may have caused, if any. We repair your aircraft if we can. If not, then we move out with our alternate transportation.”
“W-what alt-t-ternate?”
“Our feet, mano.”
Andrew shook his head and stamped his feet like an angry three-year-old, except that he wasn’t angry or throwing a temper tantrum, he was just cold. During the night, he began to start a fire in the fireplace—there was even wood on the back porch by the owner’s body—but Chivo said no because the smoke would draw attention. To Andrew, there weren’t any people to draw attention from, only Zeds, but a single glance from Chivo ended the conversation. For being surprisingly short, Andrew was a bit intimidated by the presence Chivo had. The guy really filled a room and there was no question that Chivo was not only the baddest dude there but also the guy in charge.
“When I go out there, give me a couple of minutes. I’m going to draw the Zeds away from your plane and dispatch them for good; you make your way down there and check for damage. Are you OK with that?”
Andrew nodded, still shivering and hoping that the movement and task would help him warm up. Chivo press-checked his rifle and walked out the front door. After walking a few dozen yards, he began yelling and waving his hands. A dozen pair of dead eyes turned and locked onto him as Chivo walked a line perpendicular to the Husky and the house, leading the Zeds away from both. The angle was still wrong, as he couldn’t begin putting the Zeds down for fear of a round missing or over penetrating and striking the aircraft, so Chivo kept walking and occasionally yelling to keep the Zed’s interested. Turning to head toward the road and the fence line, Chivo watched the Zeds and the aircraft, monitoring the angle and waiting for the time he could begin using his rifle to end this goofy dance of the dead.
They do move slower in the cold. I wonder if they’re not as strong either…maybe, maybe not?
A hair-brained idea formed in Chivo’s special-operations-soldier now turned mad-scientist mind. Now slightly more comfortable with the where he was with the Zeds in relation to the aircraft, Chivo stopped and shouldered his rifle, taking careful aim from a task well practiced. He smoothly pressed the trigger to the rear and watched as the second Zed in the group showered rotted brain matter and sickly black pus across the snow patch and fell in a crumpled heap. Chivo shot the third and the fourth, working his way back through the group of Zeds, the fire muffled by the snow still echoing across the landscape. A few moments later, all the Zeds were dead for good, except for the former leader, now alone. Chivo let his rifle hang on the slingers he drew his pistol and began walking toward the approaching Zed, closing the gap. He saw Andrew on the front porch, staring at them. Chivo flashed a thumbs up and kept walking toward the last Zed. As the gap continued to shrink between the two of them, the Zed’s arms came up, reaching toward Chivo, its jaws snapping open and closed, teeth gnashing in excitement for a fresh bite, a fresh meal of living flesh.
Chivo stopped. The Zed was missing an arm and the remaining hand was frozen and black, some fingers missing, the others broken and bent at odd angles. Chivo shook his head, amazed at his own stupid luck. A single pistol shot put the mangled Zed down for good and now done Chivo set off the few hundred yards toward Andrew and the aircraft.
“How’s the plane?”
“A couple of rips in the fabric, that’s all. We can tape that up and we’ll be OK until I can make more permanent repairs.” Andrew reached into the small luggage compartment and retrieved a roll of black tape that looked slightly like duct tape, but stronger and made of cloth instead of plastic. A few minutes later, the two small tears were repaired, they were in the aircraft, and Andrew was trying to start the aircraft. The starter turned over slowly, too slowly for the engine to catch and start in this cold weather.
“See the pedals on the floor?”
“Yeah, mano, the rudder pedals?”
“Well, yes, push down on both on the bottom; that holds the brake. I’ve got to get out and hand prop my baby.”
Andrew set the choke and throttle, set the master to on, turned on the magnetos, and climbed out, walking around the circumference of the prop.
“Turn off the master key for a second.”
Chivo reached to the front and flipped the little metal key to off. Andrew slowly turned the prop over, the blades popping to a stop after each stroke of the engine. After a few revolutions, Andrew was satisfied. “Flip the key back on.” Chivo did as he was told. Andrew took the highest blade of the prop, swung a leg up, and spun the prop hard with a full body swing. The prop spun over and the engine sputtered, but didn’t start. Andrew tried again. Then he tried again. After two more tries, the engine coughed to life, the cold engine belching white exhaust for a few moments before the idle began to settle. Andrew walked around the spinning prop and climbed back into the cabin.
“Alright, well, we should be able to get the battery to charge while we fly today. We’ll also get the fucking heat on. Let’s get out of here and in the sky where it’s safe,” Andrew said, pointing to a new group of Zeds shambling down the road toward the loud aircraft engine. Before Chivo could answer, Andrew spun the aircraft around and into the slight breeze they had that morning before moving the throttle and running the engine up to take-off speed and releasing the engine choke. He switched between the two magnetos, testing each as he ran up the aircraft. Now at full power and holding, Andrew let the brakes go and they bounced down the country road, snow blowing up behind them like a smoke screen in the prop blast. After a few hundred feet, the yellow Husky lurched into the air and slowly climbed out, away from the Zeds and into the safety of the deep blue sky.
Pecos, Texas
Jessie’s ankle looked worse and Bexar hoped that it was only the deep bruising from the injury coming up to the surface. She still couldn’t put any weight on it and every bump, every jostle of the FJ, caused pain to throb through her entire body in waves from her ankle radiating up her leg. If Chivo’s directions were correct, then they would have a reprieve soon. This part of Texas had always been sparse, populated mostly by oilfield workers and coyotes, but now in the early morning, with the horizon glowing bright yellow in the windshield, they found I-20 practically deserted. At some point, one of the massive herds of Zeds had come through, clearing the roadway of all the disabled vehicles. That made the drive nearly as quick as it would have been before the end of the world; the difference was still the need for top gas mileage, but if Bexar had wanted to, he could have driven 100 mph without worry of a trooper standing at his driver’s window. Gas mileage or not, driving that fast would have been reckless, a quick way to take a Zed down with the grill of their vehicle. No matter what the movies had shown, hitting a person with a vehicle caused considerable damage, damage they couldn’t afford to have. This FJ was the reason why they had a chance for their unborn baby and weren’t stuck with the fanatical whims of others.
So far, the only group of survivors that Bexar would be OK with were killed, their bodies thankfully still in Utah and not reanimated. After Big Bend, after Groom Lake, after the disaster with Cliff and Clint, Bexar was through with others. He would have to convince Jessie, but it might work. He wanted to be close enough to evacuate to a fortified facility in case of a major attack, but far enough away to be left alone with his family. Family was all that mattered and Bexar intended to keep the remaining members alive as long as he could. Although with each passing day, Bexar seriously wondered if it was all just a lo
sing battle.
Malachi was the lucky one. He didn’t have to endure the crushing pain of loss, the fear, the fighting…no, he saw the end and was mercifully saved from the rest.
Bexar shook his head, trying to clear it. The images of Malachi’s reanimated body, Keeley’s little body, digging the graves flashed through his thoughts…but what chilled Bexar the most is that he had killed others, people who weren’t Zeds, and he was OK with that. Their deaths didn’t affect him at all. Those sorts of emotions were dead to him, but Keeley and Malachi kept appearing in his mind, like flashbulbs of views, gruesome and painful with each pop.
They rode in silence. Jessie grimaced with each bump on the road, but she still reached over and touched Bexar’s arm. He wasn’t talking, his dark thoughts contained to only himself, but Jessie knew when her husband, her lover, and best friend wasn’t doing well. Bexar managed a weak smile for his wife. She caressed his arm and smiled back the best she could trying to soothe some of his stress and pain.
All the road signs were knocked down and gone, the mile markers as well. Bexar vaguely remembered there being an abandoned air base along the interstate, but he wasn’t exactly sure where it was. The skeletal remains of a large aircraft hangar grew out of the distance toward the south and with that, Bexar was confident they had the right place. Bexar slowed and drove off the interstate through the desert median and to the frontage road…another driving stunt that a bored highway patrol would have loved to have seen. That life felt so long ago to Bexar that his career as a cop felt like a dream, something that wasn’t even real. Bexar took a deep breath and tried to clear his mind to focus on his task of driving. Just because this leg of their trip had come and gone without any problems or damages didn’t mean that it would stay that way. They could be driving into an ambush; there could be a pocket of Zeds waiting to tear the flesh from their bodies.
Bexar rolled the driver’s window down, the cool morning air having a hint of the coming heat of the day on it. West Texas was not the place to be without air conditioning. It was amazing to Bexar that people have lived out in this part of Texas since before oil was discovered, since he couldn’t imagine why anyone would want to live near Pecos on purpose.
