by Lund, Dave
“And they didn’t when you first built your rifle? You carried it on patrol.”
“Well, yes, but that’s different. I mean, yeah, my life depended on my rifle working if I had to actually use it and engage in a critical incident, but now it is every fucking day. I have no idea how many rounds I’ve fired since December, but I know it has been a lot, and every single one was because our lives were in immediate danger.”
Jessie shook her head as Bexar continued to mumble to himself. It had been a long time since she heard him so stressed out and worked up. She wasn’t sure that if they left this underground oasis in the Texas desert that they would survive, but she was sure that Bexar would consume himself if they stayed. Her Bexar would come apart for the lack of danger.
“We should leave tomorrow morning.”
“We’re not even sure what time it is, babe.”
Jessie laughed gently, her ankle throbbing from the effort. “Then go topside and look. Get your new watch out, set it to the correct time, and come back down here to me. The next morning we have, we should leave.”
Bexar finished assembling his AR and stomped off to test fire it. The rifle looked like a gun porn pinup rifle from a magazine—select fire, rail, optic, Magpul furniture, IR laser, weapon light, suppressor—it wasn’t all new, but it was all clean and it looked sexy, if Bexar had even cared. His rifle wasn’t a toy anymore and it hadn’t been for some time; it was his daily tool of war against the dead and the dead’s allies.
The large tire was new but with very large holes from what Bexar assumed to have been Chivo’s .50-caliber rifle. After pacing off about 15 yards, Bexar shouldered his rifle and squinted through the optic, a glowing red triangle placed just right over his target. After a few dry runs, Bexar took a deep breath, exhaled, and fired a single round. The suppressor was quiet, but not movie quiet. It was practically nothing was like it had been in the movies, but even in the enclosed space, the noise wasn’t overbearing. After firing a full magazine by ones and twos, getting a feel for the balance of the rifle and the stroke of the new trigger assembly, Bexar loaded a fresh 30-round mag, slapped the bolt release, and thumbed the selector switch all the way over. The action was smooth, the rifle easy to control, but 10 quick trigger pulls later, the bolt locked back on an empty magazine. Quickly, Bexar turned the rifle in front of his face. His eyes stared through the rifle at his target as the empty magazine fell away and a fresh one slammed into place in the magazine well. Bexar’s thumb hit the bolt release and he quickly emptied a third magazine. This continued until the rifle was hot and smoking, a small pile of empty mags laying on the ground and spent brass rolling around the shiny concrete floor. With a faint smile, Bexar climbed back into the electric cart and drove back to where Jessie waited, still laying on the cot and reading the manual for one of the new “toys” they found.
Jessie smiled at her husband, who was noticeably more relaxed. He broke the rifle down on the table, set the magazines in a pile on the end, and began cleaning, inspecting each piece of his rifle for any damage or unusual wear, especially the new parts.
“Once I’m put back together, I’ll go topside and use a GPS unit to update with the time from the satellites. With that, I’ll set my watch and come back and we’ll put a plan in place.”
Jessie nodded.
“Also, I was thinking instead of Maypearl, we should find someplace closer to the SSC, maybe in Waxahachie or Ennis or Italy or something. I want to be far enough away to be hidden and not included in an attack, but close enough that we can get to a good facility when we have our baby or if anything happens.”
“Mmm-hmmm.” Jessie rolled from one side to the other, the pregnancy already far enough along to be uncomfortable lying on her back.
Bexar bent down and kissed her on the forehead before finishing with his rifle, loading the magazines, and heading out to get topside for a few minutes.
Groom Lake, NV
Aymond grunted. “That fucking place is dead and overrun. As I understand it, the remaining survivors were some PJs who came with a secret squirrel that reopened Area 51 here, but they were lost in enemy action in Colorado.”
“So what you’re saying, Chief, is that we can’t do it?”
“Negative, Major, I’m saying it’s going to be a full-on goat fuck, but we can do it. It’ll be a damn sight better than trying to slug our way all the way to Tucson, that’s for sure.”
The nearest Air Force Base that had A-10s stationed there was Nellis outside of Las Vegas. It wasn’t the good news that Aymond had wanted to hear when he inquired about rearming the deadly aircraft. Pearce and Hoose sat at the conference table, and after more discussion, a plan was beginning to come together. Hoose stood at the whiteboard and drew a rough sketch of the runways at Nellis as well as he could remember them. They were both stationed in Georgia, but had been to Nellis before. The mission planning would have gone much smoother with some overhead imagery or even a tourist map, but they had neither, so adapt and overcome they would. Two hours later, a primary, a backup, and a tertiary plan were agreed upon and they decided that they would leave at first light the next day. There was still much preparation before they could leave. It would be a full day of work, but with the threat of another possible attack by the PLA looming over their heads, they needed to act.
“Happy, would you take our guests to supply and get them kitted up for tomorrow? Test fire everything and get them safe. I’ll get Jones to fuel and arm up the MRAPs for a road trip. We’re also taking the radar truck.”
Everyone rose and pilots Amanda Pearce and Henry Hoose followed Happy to get outfitted for a ground mission. Aymond walked out of the room to find Jones. They had a lot of work to do and a short time to do it. Oreo trotted out of the room following Aymond, his tail wagging.
Montana
“Unless otherwise directed Steve, the president needs this facility online and ready without delay.”
“I’m on it, Chivo. The sooner you get your ground-pounding legs in that Husky, the sooner I can get back to work,” Steve Dorsey replied with a smile.
Everyone shook hands, and Andrew and Chivo climbed into the yellow Husky aircraft. Dorsey heard Andrew call “clear” out of the window before engaging the starter. The motor whined and coughed to life, idling with the distinct rattle of an air-cooled motor. Dorsey turned and began walking up the drive toward the above-ground portion of the launch complex. He closed the gate behind him to the sound of Andrew running the engine up, going through his pre-flight checks while the engine warmed. When he heard the engine go to full power, Dorsey turned to watch the aircraft nimbly float off the ground after a very short rollout. He sighed; there was a lot of work to be done. At this point, Dorsey was sure that the only reason he had been kept alive was to be a helper due to the amount of work. The other concern is that he didn’t know and Chivo didn’t know if Clint had some sort of mission kill switch where his handlers would know if he disappeared or died. Like maybe he had to transmit a signal every few days to verify he was still alive and if he didn’t, the PLA would send forces to investigate. After walking inside, Dorsey looked around and decided that he would need to be underground for his safety, for the safety of his mission, and only come topside for emergencies. The spark gap radio was too unwieldy to easily carry down below, so that would need to be left topside for the moment and that was pretty much the only thing of value that Dorsey needed remaining above ground. He opened the hatch and began the descent, hoping it wouldn’t be his last time on the surface.
Hillsboro, Texas
Ken stepped out of the radio shack and blinked at the sunlight of the late afternoon. He hadn’t realized how much time had passed since he got up that morning. He had forgotten to eat lunch, but the radio net was abuzz with reports of Chinese and Korean forces. The number of soldiers and vehicles reported were very low, like scouting elements reconnoitering the countryside before the full-scale attack. Som
e of the people reporting in didn’t believe that a full-scale invasion was coming, that what they were seeing was all there was; others were fortifying their positions against a full-scale attack. President Lampton had been mostly quiet. All the official traffic seems to have been transmitted from Groom Lake, not that Ken had the equipment to really DX a signal and figure out where it was coming from. On the shortwave, Groom Lake was transmitting helpful guides on how to build up defenses and offer basic counterattack theories and practical suggestions. When Ken looked out over the CONEX-built camp of these survivors in his mind, he could see one of seemingly countless hilltop firebases in Vietnam; all they were missing were sandbags. Near the latrine were two 55-gallon drums ablaze with diesel fuel burning everyone’s shit from the past few days. That was a smell he hadn’t smelled in many decades and it really brought memories back.
The survivors had taken to calling their firebase Fort Apache, which was cute and he understood the reference, but he wondered if they would be better off relocating everyone to the SSC.
SSC
Amanda Lampton checked in on their prisoner. Fortuitous as it was, the designers had a small jail—a brig is what Eric had referred to it as—but it made things easier and safer to house their prisoner. POW? Amanda thought. She wasn’t sure, and guessed that it would really depend on how the debrief with Chivo went. Amanda slid a tray of food through the slot in the door. The man didn’t say anything, which was surprising to Amanda, but she assumed he would soon. After some deliberation, Amanda decided that if an international community existed at all, she’ll figure out the definition of her prisoner with them long in the future. She couldn’t worry about such trivial matters if she was going to get her country to survive, much less get on its feet again.
Her last task of the evening complete, Amanda went back to the control room where she found Eric and his son. Eric was hard at work over a yellow pad of paper, and Jacob was playing solitaire on one of the computers. Amanda smirked, glad that the government hadn’t stooped so far as to take the most basic Windows game off the consoles.
“Amanda, I’ve cataloged the systems that I can find and know about in this place and although we’re living OK with just the three of us—well, three plus one—we really need about 30 people to run the facility efficiently.”
“What would that do about our food stores?”
“My best estimate is that with 30 people, we would have approximately two years’ worth of food.”
“What about with just the three of us?”
“About the same actually. Food is preserved in sealed stabilized containers, but they’re very large. Once we open one, there is a limited amount of time we have to eat it before it begins to spoil and rot. There’s no way even 10 of us could eat enough to keep on top of that.”
“Wow, I hadn’t thought of that.”
“We can house a few hundred people and the food would probably stretch to a full year, but it’s hard to say for sure.”
Amanda nodded and thought quietly for a moment before responding. “So…what are you suggesting we do?”
“You wanted to bring in people from Groom Lake, which is fine, except that I think we should open the facility to survivors that are near us geographically. Eric and I bumped into dozens of other groups of survivors and some of them could really use our help. The problem is that none of them had a radio of any kind and have no idea about you or the SSC.”
“What about bringing in a community killer like what had happened to Groom Lake where someone who was bit and infected and hid themselves, resulting in the facility nearly being overrun?”
“We take steps to prevent that. Full inspections of everyone who arrives, but then we would also have the manpower to build up the defenses like you want to do and begin agricultural operations in the surrounding fields. If we have two years of food, then we have two years of preparing, two years of working, and two years of action to put us in a safe place for survival once we reach the end of what we have readily available.”
Amanda sat silently, suddenly aware that Jacob had stopped playing on the computer and was watching intently.
“OK,” Amanda continued, “what do you suggest?”
Eric smiled. “First of all, there are numerous reports of PLA sightings, so I don’t think we should broadcast it over the radio. Secondly, Jacob and I passed through a handful of survivor groups before we made it here. If you would let us take one of the trucks in the tunnel, we’ll load up with supplies, gifts, aid, and set out to pass out invitations to the groups we found to be approachable.”
“How many pounds of beads are you going to take with you, Merriweather Lewis?”
Eric laughed. “No—we don’t have beads for the natives. Think more like Teddy Roosevelt with the Smithsonian. Are there gallons of whiskey available for our trip, Madam President?”
Pecos, Texas
Bexar returned to find Jessie lying on her cot snuggled in a green wool blanket, her rifle pointed toward him before he announced himself. She smiled and lowered the rifle.
“I heard someone coming, but couldn’t see if it was you or not.”
Bexar smiled. “No, that’s good, honey. I want you to be safe. I should have announced myself better, but I didn’t want to wake you. The sun is setting, nearly seven in the evening. I set an alarm on my watch for five in the morning to give us the most time. Until then, I’m going to finish loading the FJ and get you ready to travel.”
Jessie smiled and pulled her blanket off, revealing her smooth skin, the baby bump much more than just a bump. Jessie radiated beauty. “I need you to do something else first.” Jessie smiled lovingly at her lover, her husband, and her best friend.
“That’s what got you in that condition in the first place.”
“I know and I’m starting to feel better about it all. I think we’re going to be OK.I think baby Scout is going to be OK too.”
“You mean baby Bexar Junior? Can we call him Cub?”
Jessie rolled her eyes. “If you think so, lover.”
A few minutes later, Jessie and Bexar laid on the cot together, holding each other and feeling each other’s skin, both content and in love. Bexar ran his fingers through Jessie’s hair. That it was dirty and greasy didn’t matter—neither of them had a shower since leaving Groom Lake—but he didn’t care, neither of them really cared; they were in love. Just neither of them knew that when they pledged their love together on their wedding day that their relationship would be required to survive the end of the world, the rise of the dead, and the death of so many friends and their daughter. Jessie sighed.
“I found a map—well, maps really—but we have complete Texas maps now. TOPO maps, too!”
Jessie raised her head off of Bexar’s arm. “You found topographical maps of Texas? Holy crap, that’s amazing.”
Bexar smiled. “It is and we should really nail down our destination.”
“That’s probably a good idea.” Jessie had been worried sick about details like birth. Even though the human race had been giving birth for thousands upon thousands of years, the mortality rate with childbirth was still surprising, even with modern medicine. Now, giving birth with even less support than tribes of humans had in the Stone Age, they didn’t even have any tribal help, and the chances of this birth ending in death for the baby or Jessie or both were very real and very scary.
“The SSC is under Lake Bardwell.” Bexar reached under the cot and pulled out a handful of large plasticized sheets of paper, the maps, flipped to the correct page, and pointed to a lake on the map. The contour lines on the map weren’t very close together and there wasn’t a bunch of elevation changes in this part of Texas.
“So I was thinking over here, on this hill. Then we’re secluded, we have space, especially if they get attacked, but we are close enough to get there fairly quickly if we needed to.”
“Baby, if that’s what y
ou think, then we should do it.”
“Really? After everything that has gone wrong?”
“Yeah. I mean, how much of all of this is actually your fault? None. The fact that we’re both alive is amazing and a testament to you.”
“No, it’s a testament to us both, together—love conquers all.”
SSC
Amanda sat at the console, the radio humming in between messages, buzzing and crackling from the electrical spark. On a yellow pad of paper on the table, she had a message written out and a letter key below each word to show the transmission sequence so she would make fewer mistakes with the Morse code. After she took a deep breath, Amanda took the next break in traffic and transmitted the priority message identifier. Then after a moment, she transmitted the identifier again. After waiting to verify a clear channel, Amanda began the transmission with the number identifier to state that the traffic was from the president and for the people at Groom Lake. It all sounded complicated, but the reality was that the number identifiers greatly simplified how everyone acted on the radio. Bill had come up with it, but he said it was a variation of the codes that Western Union telegraph operators used to use.
A few moments later, Amanda was done and someone at Groom Lake, presumably, responded with the correct identifying code to indicate that they received the transmission and would reply with an answer quickly. The radio quietly hummed, absent of the sizzling and popping sparks as other stations waited for the priority traffic to release the channel.
Groom Lake
After a hard knock and before a reply, the door opened abruptly, and Bill stepped into the conference room.
“Sorry to bother you, Chief. Priority traffic from the president.”
Aymond nodded and took the sheet of paper from Bill, read it twice, and handed it back. “Tell her we will leave at first light.”
Bill turned and left to transmit the reply. Aymond leaned back in his chair, closed his eyes, and thought through the problem. They needed Jones for the new A-10 opportunity, but he also needed his men, and there simply weren’t enough of them. They had a raid to Nellis in planning, hence this meeting with the pilots and with some of his men.
