by Lund, Dave
Eric had found some handheld radios in the cavernous supply room. They still functioned and he knew how to work them. The thick handheld radio was propped up on the dash of the earth-mover for Amanda and she had instructions to maintain radio silence until, unless, she gets shot at. It was an attempt at an ambush and she was the rabbit to flush the dogs. Even if it was a tactical gamble on their part, Amanda was still using the opportunity to move dirt and continue to build up the above-ground defenses. So far, she had concentric dirt mounts, walls of a sort, with staggered breaks to allow vehicles to pass into the inner section built around the main gate and entrance. Now she was working on the section of fence line that was near the main entrance, the small building that rises to allow access to the entry ramp.
Amanda had calmed down some since she began working nearly two hours before, but every thump, every crack of a rock being tossed into the air by the tires made her flinch. She would rather face down 100 Zeds by herself than sit exposed in a metal and glass box. Amanda took another deep breath, wiped her sweaty palms on her pants again, and kept working. Groom Lake had informed her that they had taken big steps to increase the security against another attack, although they didn’t really go into detail since everyone assumed at this point that the PLA were monitoring their communications. They had no proof, but according to Eric, COMSEC—communication security—was a big deal and they basically had none, which he explained after Amanda lost her cool trying to get a real status update and being given the runaround by the other radio operator.
She knew Groom Lake was in good hands. Although she hadn’t had a chance to speak with Aymond for any real length of time, Amanda was confident he would do the right thing. Another point of stress was Andrew and Chivo. Chivo she knew would complete his mission even if he had to come back as a Zed and chew his way into the missile facility, but they hadn’t made contact in a long time so she had no idea what was going on. Clint needed to die almost as much as they needed to stop a rogue nuclear launch. She had a plan, or, more accurately, the idea for a plan once they had made contact and eliminated the threat. She wondered if there would be a history of these events in the future and if there was what scholars would think of her actions during these events.
If there is a future history, if I do have a future legacy, then that means I was successful and so fuck what those people might have to say as long as we all survive to rebuild the nation.
Amanda took a deep breath. Lost in concentration, she had been holding her breath without realizing it. Smiling at herself, she wished there was a bottle of Merlot and a hot bath waiting for her when she was done, but there wasn’t. There were no bathtubs in the facility that she had found and she had no bottles of wine, something, Amanda thought, she should remedy when they had a chance.
A hard thump against the windshield startled Amanda, the tell-tale sign of a round having impacted the bullet-resistant glass of the front of the cab right in her line of sight. Amanda stopped moving and raised the heavy steel implement, blocking her view but also blocking anymore rounds. Backing away from the threat, Amanda left the wide steel front loader, not sure what it was really called, up and blocking anymore rounds while she retreated. The plan was laughably simple. Eric was going to track and hunt the shooter, both of them having correctly assumed it would happen again, after using Amanda as bait to find where the shooter was.
She heard the distinct sound of rifle rounds striking the steel bucket, the right side mirror exploding in a shower of shattered glass and ruined metal. Using the remaining mirror, Amanda continued to back away, trying to get to the first set of dirt berms. The front right tire made sounds like someone was hitting a basketball with a bat, the hollow sounds changing when a round pierced the heavy rubber tread and the tire began losing air. More rounds impacted the tire and a few moments later, the tire was flat. Amanda tried to keep moving, dragging the ruined tire as the heavy hub turned and spun inside of the flat tire until she wasn’t able to move any further.
More rounds impacted the earth-mover, the steel bucket, and the left side front tire.
“Eric, what the fuck? I can’t move, over?”
“Be calm. Standby.”
Amanda cursed loudly and waited. She could either wait and hope Eric was successful, or she could try to climb out and make a run for it, which would most likely result in her being shot or killed. She couldn’t hear the rifle fire inside the cab, only the sounds of the rounds impacting hard on the armored equipment. Just as quickly as the assault began, it was over, only the sound of the heavy diesel motor rumbling behind the cab remaining. Amanda waited.
After what seemed like hours but was really only a couple of minutes, her handheld radio crackled to life. “Threat neutralized, two tangos killed, one captured, moving toward you now. How copy?”
Amanda keyed the radio with a sigh of relief. “Clear copy, two killed and one captured. The front-end loader is disabled in place, over.”
“Roger.”
Amanda decided to wait until she could see Eric and his prisoner before she climbed out of her safe-for-now armored steel and glass box. She didn’t know if they had any tires or other parts to repair the damage done to this front-end loader. They did have another one, but it would be a waste to leave this one to rot out in the Texas weather.
“Coming into the open.”
Amanda looked up and scanned the tree line and saw Eric appear out of the shadows with another man walking in front of him. The man had his hands on top of his head and Eric had his rifle ready to kill him if there were any attempts to escape or fight.
“Roger. I’m climbing out.”
Amanda could see Eric nod. She shut off the engine and climbed down to survey the damage. She was two for two now, first being the destroyed and ruined MRAP that she left at Groom Lake and now the front-end loader. She couldn’t keep this up or they would soon run out of things that had wheels and actually worked.
St. George
Erin woke with a start. Jason snored softly in the front of the MRAP. He was supposed to be sitting watch but had apparently fallen asleep. At first, Erin was annoyed that he had fallen asleep, but the reality of the situation was that it was exhausting trying to maintain a constant watch with only the two of them. She couldn’t be mad at her love and best friend, instead trying to think of better solutions to their situation.
If we hide the truck from enemy forces, the Zeds can’t hurt us. We’re elevated and secure behind the armor, except for a massive herd of Zeds, and they would roll and push the truck out of their way.
Vague thoughts drifted in and out of Erin’s mind as she shook the sleepiness and exhaustion from her head. They could discuss different plans and ideas after they had both woken up and got moving. St. George was of no use to them. The survivors they sought were presumably dead, along with the rest of the town. Erin sat up and made her way to the cab of the MRAP. She glanced out the windshield and froze. They were about to be swarmed by Zeds, a wall of death shambling up the driveway from the road. Terrible rotted faces, eyes missing in some, jaws snapping and gnashing in excitement. She couldn’t smell them yet, but the swarm of flies above the approaching disgusting mass of bodies gave warning that they smelled horrible.
“Jason, wake up. We have a problem,” Erin said in a quiet whisper. Her hand over his mouth, she shook him gently.
Jason’s eyes blinked open. She could see his eyes slowly focus on her. Erin placed a finger to her lips to indicate to Jason to be quiet. He nodded and she removed her hand from his mouth.
Erin pointed out of the windshield. Jason sat up and looked, his eyes widening. They couldn’t drive through that many Zeds, even in a big armored truck. Jason just smiled. He climbed behind the steering wheel and flipped on the master switches. Soon, the truck was ready to start. Jason pressed the button for the starter and the heavy diesel motor rattled to life with a loud roar. The Zeds became visibly excited; their jaws mov
ed more quickly, arms were raised, fingers clutched at the air in front of them, trying to find purchase with their prey. Erin press-checked her M4 and sat up in the passenger’s seat, ready to fight if they had to. Jason reached up to the dash and grasped a small box with a safe switch. He flipped the safety cover and then depressed the clacker. The clacker wires ran out of the truck through the roof hatch and into the gathering crowd of Zeds.
An intense explosion ripped through the massive herd of death. Bodies fell, some badly maimed, some killed by the steel ball bearings ripping through their skulls, launched by the Chinese-made Claymore mines. Jason had set out only two of them, unsure if they would be effective against the dead. Overall, they were effective in clearing a bit of a path, but many of the Zeds that had been knocked down were clambering back to their feet. Unlike the living, Zeds didn’t really notice hundreds of ball bearings ripping through their flesh.
Jason took their closing opportunity and drove forward at a walking pace, trying desperately and failing to miss the Zeds with the tires. They both cringed with the feeling of bones crunching beneath the heavy-duty tires. Jason glanced back and forth from where he was driving to the gauges showing system air pressure and tire pressure. A flat tire would be a big deal at this moment in time. Jason wiped his sweaty palms on his pants, the intensity of his concentration and the nervous fear of the situation causing him to sweat.
What seemed like hours later, but was actually only a few minutes, the MRAP emerged from the main congregation of Zeds near the interstate. Jason turned and drove the wrong way on the access road. He drove around the wrecked and burned-out pickup truck, under the overpass, and drove up the on-ramp to the interstate. They were headed to Texas now. Their first stop was a bust and nearly a disaster, and they both hoped that their second destination was more successful.
Hillsboro, Texas
Ken stood near the group’s main cooking fire, a large brick-lined structure, and the fire was stoked under the cooking surface like some sort of oven. He hadn’t seen anything quite this involved before. Most of the outdoor oven or built-in grills he had seen in people’s backyards were smaller and less elaborate. He was impressed, even more so at how well the brick oven seemed to function. Less fuel was needed to cook their food since the heat was captured and directed to the cooking surface instead of radiating in all directions like a campfire. It had only been a few days, but Ken was being accepted into the group of survivors. He was happy to help where he could; for not knowing him from Adam, the survivors had really taken care of him, besides saving his life.
After his morning walk around the camp to wake up, Ken walked toward his duty station for the next few hours in the radio shack. Others were monitoring the radio he helped build, but he took the main shifts because he was the most familiar with not only the radio, but the Morse code that was required to transmit and receive on it.
Ken walked into the metal shipping container that held the radio equipment. The other person, a teenager, stood and handed his notes over. The yellow pad of paper had a full page of tightly written notes for Ken. The notes were a synopsis of important conversations, information about other survivor groups, and other general information that their group wasn’t aware of yet. It was basically a summary of all the radio traffic from the previous night.
After he read the notes, Ken sat at the radio and smiled, ripping off the top page of notes for a fresh sheet of paper. A few moments later, the teenager returned with a cup of coffee and sat down next to Ken, handing the steaming cup to him with a smile. Ken was amazed at how kind everyone seemed to be in the group, but there was an edge to the kindness, an edge that they wouldn’t put up with any nonsense and they could easily and readily defend themselves.
The radio popped and crackled. Ken wasn’t really sure what was being transmitted yet, and he wasn’t ready to start transcribing messages, but quickly the pencil in his hand found the paper. The previous transmission paused for a moment and the rapid short broadcasted notice of an emergency transmission broke the silence. Ken sat up, his pencil ready. Brandon, the teenager next to him, hadn’t heard the emergency notice broadcast before and his questions had to be hushed by Ken so he could keep up and transcribe the transmission.
F-O-R-THE-C-I-N-C-G-O-A-T-W-I-N-I-C-B-M-S-A-F-E
The transmission was a request to other stations to pass the message, which repeated two more times.
After the final transmission, the unknown station fell silent. Ken looked at the transcribed message, trying to make heads or tails of it.
For the commander-in-chief, goat win, ICBM safe.
“What does that even mean, Ken?” Brandon’s face showed the confusion that Ken felt internally.
“Well, it appears to be a message for the president. ICBM is an intercontinental ballistic missile, you know, a nuclear missile. I don’t know what “goat win” means, except that perhaps goat is a name for someone and that he or she won their objective, making the missile safe. Our task today is to now wait and repeat the message every hour or so, attempting to get it passed along to the president, if she doesn’t respond.”
“Isn’t she close, like near Dallas? Why couldn’t we just go deliver the message ourselves?”
“It’s a damn hard life outside of these walls. My short journey nearly killed me more than a few times. I was shot at by unknown snipers, the Zeds nearly got me a couple of times, and frankly, I’m not too keen on leaving the walls of this compound until I rest up enough to be OK to make that journey. What used to be a couple hour’s drive can easily be a multi-day journey now.”
Brandon grunted. Ken could tell that he didn’t think it would be that difficult, but that was the privilege of youth; a privilege lost with age and experience fraught with tough lessons.
Great Falls, Montana
“So I’ve been sabotaging the effort from the beginning.”
Chivo nodded and smiled. “You did good, Steve. Clint and the others like him in the same program were good, damn good and well trained, so if you were sneaking failure points into the process unnoticed, you have scored a major triumph. He would have killed you once you weren’t needed any longer, so besides averting a rogue ICBM launch, the added benefit is that you’re still with us.”
Steve Dorsey didn’t react outwardly to the compliment. He was curious what else Chivo had in mind, because it was now obvious there was a plan he wasn’t aware of. Andrew was still topside prepping his aircraft to fly back to Groom Lake. Clint’s body lay outside the fence line of the launch facility, killed and verified to not return as a Zed.
“Steve, the president has another request for you.”
Dorsey took a breath. The new pitch was to begin and he had to be emotionally ready for what he feared: that the president would want to launch a nuclear attack on the United States hoping to kill off Zeds. He wouldn’t be able to comply with that order; he never would be able to help facilitate an attack like that on his own native soil.
“The president wants the ability to launch a counterattack against targets in North Korea and China. It won’t do a damn thing about the destruction of our country, nor the massive amount of Zeds we have staring us down, but it might stop or slow the invasion forces and give us a chance to catch our breath…a chance to begin reclaiming our land for the living.”
Dorsey sat still, trying to keep his face neutral. The president’s plan was what he was secretly hoping for, but he hadn’t expected it to be seriously considered and now that it was out in the open, Steve felt silly for not believing that a counterattack would be the plan.
Steve smiled. “I guess I have a lot of work to do.”
Chivo nodded. “No, we have a lot of work to do.”
The discussion broke into a detailed review of Clint’s plans, Steve assuring Chivo that all the little mistakes he purposely made in the hacking process were remembered and correctable. Without the framework of Clint’s double agent pla
ns, they would not be successful. They would never be able to launch a nuclear counterattack. Chivo wasn’t sure how long they had been chatting, but it felt to have been a significant amount of time when Andrew burst back into the room. They were in the kitchen of the above-ground structure of the launch facility, but hadn’t heard Andrew come back inside.
“Chivo!” Andrew breathlessly entered and clutched a piece of paper in his hand. “A message from President Lampton. Wheels up in five minutes!”
Pecos, Texas
Laughable, Bexar and Jessie looked like a tactical store had thrown up on them. They found new clothes, including clothes for Jessie after the pregnancy. They packed the FJ with stripped-down MREs, ammo, spare magazines for their rifles, water, and water filters. Currently, Bexar sat at a folding table they had found with his AR-15 taken apart, going through it piece by piece. Beside him, new parts lay ready to be inserted if needed. This was in addition to the handful of “oops” kits of M4 parts that would interchange with his rifle that Bexar put together years ago. Jessie lay on a cot next to the table, her foot and swollen ankle elevated, a chemical ice pack wrapped around her ankle and held in place by vet tape.
Bexar held up a lower from a select-fire M4 and contemplated his decision. “I’m going to have to test fire this to make sure it all works and nothing breaks.”
“OK, but I’m sure it’s going to be fine. When you built your rifle the first time, it was with top-end parts.”
“Top end-ish, really. No matter what I did with my AR though, I’ve never really messed with real M4s before and we can’t have any issues. Our lives actually depend on it.”
