Winchester Undead (Book 6): Winchester [Triumph]

by Lund, Dave

  And even if we had, Jason was married to his high school sweetheart.

  Erin was glad that the cult in Colorado had shot and killed his wife, but in a flash, before even finishing the thought, she felt guilty for even thinking such a thing. Sadness waved through her body at the thought of Jason’s profound sadness and grief that he still felt, the guilt he felt for falling in love again and so quickly.

  Angry at herself for being selfish about her emotions, Erin released the brake and began driving again. There were only about 90 minutes of sunlight left and they needed every second to find and secure a place for the night. They were still north of the city proper, but they were close enough that they might as well be in the city.

  “I love you.”

  Jason turned his head and smiled. “I love you too.”

  They drove and looked for a good place for the night, discussing their options, before settling on a pharmacy on a corner of a large intersection. The glass doors and glass entryway were shattered, but the roll-down security gate inside each door appeared to be intact. If that was true, then they would have a fully stocked store to raid for supplies. That chance alone was worth checking it out. Erin drove around to the back of the business where deliveries were made. The strong metal door was locked, but Jason was able to breach the door with his shotgun after a few attempts. After Jason threw a couple of empty beer bottles into the dark interior, they waited. The only sound they heard was the sound of shattering glass from the bottles. Nothing else stirred, nothing moaned, and nothing lurched out of the darkness toward them.

  “That’s a good sign,” Erin unnecessarily said. In her mind, a switch was flipped. No longer introspective, Erin was ready to fight and was focused completely on her task.

  Twenty minutes later, they were confident that the large pharmacy was empty and their suspicions were mostly correct. The store had been looted, slightly—probably by an employee due to the lack of obvious entry by anyone else—but most of the store remained intact. It was exciting, like winning the post-apocalyptic lottery. The smell of rotted food wasn’t too terrible, either due to the food decomposing far enough that it didn’t smell too badly any longer or perhaps due to becoming acclimated to the smell of rot and death. Erin backed the MRAP up against the back door, effectively sealing themselves inside from the dangers outside.

  “Shop first, sleep second.”

  Jason’s smile was barely visible in the darkness pierced by their flashlights. “No, baby, shop first, eat second, sleep third.”

  The pharmacy area inside the main structure was further secured with a roll-down metal curtain and some locked heavy metal doors. Once again, Jason was able to breach the door with his shotgun, giving them access to medications that they might need for themselves or for trade. Painkillers, antibiotics, just about anything they recognized as a useful drug went into their basket and set by the back door for loading into the truck in the morning. Almost two hours later, after they both worked hard to load their newly scavenged goods into their truck, Erin and Jason enjoyed a meal of canned ravioli and Gatorade with some Oreos for dessert. For a brief moment, their life felt nearly normal.

  CHAPTER 15

  April 17, Year 1

  Nevada

  The convoy was officially detoured and stopped for the moment, the vehicles parked in a low spot below the crest of the hill the group was on. The civilians and some of the Marines were holding perimeter security while Aymond and Gonzo lay motionless further up the hill a few hundred yards away. Gonzo had his big rifle and optic, and Aymond had a spotting scope and a notepad.

  The scene in front of them was bad, but it could have been worse; they might have run into a company-sized PLA element. After getting off the highway and setting their observation post on the hilltop a mile away from the paved road, Aymond had some tough choices to make. Aymond continued to jot important notes about the number and type of enemy troops, their vehicles, and movements. So far, through the night and into the early dawn, the company had stopped for the night, the personnel sleeping in shifts, as would be expected. There were four radar trucks visible, and the company had larger APCs than the four-wheeled variety they had seen so far.

  “Do we have to assume that their ability to off-load container or cargo ships has been restored since they have larger equipment now?”

  “Or they have their standard military transports working. My theory is that they used cargo ships at the start to put what they needed in place before the attack. A large overt military movement would have been too obvious and disrupted the surprise attack,” Aymond whispered.

  They both figured the leading edge of the company’s position was approximately a half-mile away, about 900 yards. Swarming around the encampment were Zeds, thousands of them churning and moving, clawing at their prey only to die by the invisible fence that the radar trucks created. By the movements of the personnel, it appeared that they were ramping up to get the company moving again soon. The APCs were idling and warming. Some troops were still eating breakfast, some held security, but it didn’t appear that any of them were still sleeping.

  “Chief, what if we took out the radar trucks again? Think it would work?”

  Aymond turned his head and looked at the sun; it was still low on the horizon and at their backs, which was fortuitous.

  “I think we should. Give us a few moments to get the group ready to haul ass if we need to. Best case, the PLA are overrun; worst case, they are now down their protection and have to expend ordnance and time protecting themselves.”

  Without waiting for an answer, Jerry Aymond slid away from their position, staying low before getting to a point where he could move freely, the hill crest blocking any possible view of his silhouette against the sunrise.

  “Look alive, folks. Get the engines warming and be ready to roll. We’re going to engage the enemy troops and take out their radar trucks. If it works, we won’t have to haul ass. if it doesn’t, be ready to bug out.”

  Aymond made his way back to Gonzo’s position, crawling on his belly the last bit and back to his spotting scope. “SITREP.”

  “As normal as any of this is, Chief, but their movement increased. They’re probably going to be wheels up in 30.”

  “Then we better get started.” Aymond glanced at his notes and the sketch of the PLA position with vehicle locations and ranges. “Target, radar truck one, 820 meters…” Aymond continued with the rest of the information that Gonzo needed to take the long shot and then the follow-up shot. The wind was calm, the temperatures moderate and comfortable. All in all, this would be an easy shot on the range, but this was not the range and they had to hit on the first shot or things could go poorly.

  “Send it.”

  The rifle roared and a breath later, Aymond saw the round impact nearly center of the big square transmitter erected on the radar truck.

  “Hit.”

  Gonzo shifted slightly as Aymond read off the information for the follow-up shot on the next truck. The second shot hit high right on the transmitter, but it appeared to be a good hit. The Zeds were already spilling through the large hole in the PLA’s invisible fence. The soldiers on the ground scrambling to get into their APCs, while others were trying to engage the Zeds with small arms fire. Their training or discipline wasn’t very good because the troops appeared to be panicking, letting loose with full auto bursts from their rifles. It all appeared undisciplined.

  The third shot found the third radar truck. As planned, they left the fourth truck intact, hoping that they might be able to recover it at some point, but also hoping that it wouldn’t be enough to keep the PLA alive. They would hard kill that truck if they had to though. The scene before them was exactly what they had hoped for. The sound of panicked uncontrolled rifle fire filtered up from the scene below. Men were running around, and APCs were trying to drive and get clear without any real direction or coordination. It was pandemonium a
nd it was a lovely sight to behold for a professional war-fighter. A faint smile spread across Jerry’s face; his day had just improved.

  After the airport raid in San Diego and now the scene in front of him, Aymond really began to think of the Zeds as not necessarily an ally, but not an enemy to be feared any longer. He could control them, use them as tools to defeat the real enemy, just as long as he respected them and what they could do if fully trusted.

  “Gonzo, disable some of those APCs. Box them in. We’ll worry about any squirters after giving the Zeds a chance to catch them.”

  Gonzo smiled—well, as much a smile as the man ever had. He understood what Aymond was doing, and his first shot was already on deck before anything was said. The first shot boomed down range, and then another before Gonzo inserted a fresh magazine with the comically large rifle rounds.

  Aymond watched one of the disabled APCs smolder and smoke before flames began licking through the commander’s hatch. Another APC ran into it, becoming disabled from the wreck. Men poured out of the back hatch and into the waiting arms of the dead. If the A-10s were armed and airborne, a couple of strafing runs with the enormous rotating gun of death the plane was built around would have ended the PLA’s slim chance of surviving the sniper attack.

  Dark flies churned above the scene, obscuring the carnage. The mass of flies was so thick, but after about 10 minutes, the sporadic rifle fire had died down. The remaining radar truck appeared to still be functional; a swath of Zeds lay motionless on the ground arcing out from the erect transmitter. They would attempt to retrieve it, but first, they had to wait for their Zed-led war assistants to finish with their task of decimating the invaders and begin to filter off. With the excited frenzy of gnashing rotted teeth below them, Aymond knew it might be a while, maybe even be a day or two. There was no other option; they would have to wait.

  Middle of Nowhere West Texas

  Neither Jessie nor Bexar knew what the name of the last town was they drove through. It was small, and as one would expect, it was also destroyed. The fact that it was destroyed was odd since it was on a small Texas highway and not near the interstate. So far, most of the towns they had gone through that weren’t on or near the interstate appeared to be mostly intact, vacant, some damage, but not devastated like this one. Entire buildings had collapsed, cars wrecked and moved; really, it appeared like a group of survivors had tried to make a last stand in their town and failed spectacularly. Picked-through corpses of various states of decomposition littered the streets, but all of them stayed on the ground, either never reanimated or after being killed for a second time. The carnage convinced them both, quite easily, to keep on driving and hope for shelter somewhere else for the night. They settled on an equipment shed set off from the road on some unknown ranch. It was cold, but they were prepared for the weather with their new gear and the shed was better than nothing.

  Jessie was finally able to put a little weight on her foot again, but not much. She couldn’t really walk at all, but she could now be helped to the spot and position and be left to use the impromptu restroom without Bexar needing to help and hold her. Bexar had a small book that came out of one of the larger crates in the back of the old FJ. If Jack and Sandra hadn’t bought and built up one of the larger old FJ transports, there was no way they could have hauled all of this gear. At this point, Jessie sort of wished the vehicle was smaller, as it felt like they had too much stuff. Bexar read quietly as they both enjoyed the cold sunrise with mugs of hot instant coffee in their hands. This was more like a gypsy caravan than another bug-out maneuver.

  “Good book, baby?”

  Bexar looked up. “God bless the U.S. Government for writing comprehensive operating instructions for the common man.”

  “What?”

  “It’s the manual for a weapons system. Neat stuff.”

  Jessie was vaguely interested, but figured that Bexar could fill in the details later or she could read the manual. Either way, Jessie wasn’t interested in Bexar’s excited little kid-like rambling about his new war toy. She went back to scanning the area for any threats while finishing her coffee. They would get on the road in another half hour or so, and even though it was late in the morning, the sun was well overhead and they had hundreds of miles yet to travel. They both didn’t want to leave their quiet morning for the dangers of the road.

  SSC

  Andrew banked the yellow Husky over the lake, which, if he had floats, would have been perfect to set down on, as the water was surprisingly smooth. They would have to settle for the roads near the lake. Above ground was a person, a man, who waved at the plane.

  “Expecting some company,” Andrew yelled over his shoulder to Chivo.

  “No, but I’m not surprised either.”

  A few minutes later, the plane was on the ground between two plots of farmland on a small country road. It was straight and a nearly perfect runway for the small bush plane. Chivo was surprised; quite a bit of work had been done above ground since the last time he was here. The man waved from the front gate, but stayed in position and close to cover, his rifle at the ready.

  Moments later, the aircraft was secure and they were at the front gate.

  “You must be Chivo and Andrew. Welcome back and good job. Is Clint dead?”

  “Yes, and you are?”

  “Eric. I arrived here recently. Amanda and I caught a sniper and we need your help debriefing him.”

  Chivo’s facial expression didn’t change. He liked that Eric was blunt and to the point with his SITREP, but that didn’t mean that Chivo trusted him—especially alone with his president.

  “Dad, Amanda says to bring them below so she can bring them up to speed.”

  The boy was peeking over the top of one of the berms near the main entrance toward the north. The head disappeared below the berm as the boy ran off.

  “I like the improvements. Your idea and work?”

  “No, sir, it was all Amanda’s idea and work. I’ve mostly been trying to learn how to run the facility and explore all the nooks and crannies. There are layers of access, like secrets in secrets.”

  “Like an onion,” Andrew piped up.

  “Exactly. Also, Amanda said that once you’re rested, fed, and fueled that you’re free to head out. She said that your dog is still in Nevada?”

  “Oreo, and yes. I need to get some food and fuel first, but I don’t want to stay too long.”

  “We can whip you up something hot to eat; I imagine you’ve been eating like shit while away. Come on below, gentlemen. We need to discuss our other guest.”

  The trio walked through the park’s main gate, which they had to zig-zag between dirt berms to reach. Chivo was happy to see it because it would help slow any attackers. Once inside the perimeter, they walked toward the below-ground entry. Chivo had a feeling he was going to be very busy for the next few days.

  Area 51

  Happy pointed toward the east. “Put in another tank trap there and there. Build the berms up with what is dug out.”

  “What about the runway and taxiway?”

  With a shrug, Happy answered, “Lots of air traffic nowadays? Well, we still have all the other runways available and the entire lake bed; I’m not too fucking worried about it.”

  John, one of the survivors, worked construction in what felt like a past life. Even though he was more used to operating smaller equipment, the big Cat front-end loader wasn’t too big of a leap to operate. So far, he had been instrumental in helping finish the CONEX wall around the main hangar and back-filling the metal boxes with dirt to keep them in place. Happy surveyed the scene and smiled…as much as a professional war-fighter would smile when his plans for fighting positions were coming to fruition.

  The comically large front-end loader lumbered off, trailing black smoke from the exhaust. John reached the position, pushed the leading edge of the loader into the desert floor, and beg
an the construction of another tank trap. It wasn’t that the PLA had been seen operating tanks—they hadn’t yet—but the traps should slow the APCs, as well as any personnel trying to get over the wall. If Happy’s plans worked out the right way and the enemy cooperated, the remaining Marines and civilians would have fortified fighting positions and the PLA would have a hell of a time with their next attack. It wasn’t that anyone was sure another attack was coming, it just seemed unlikely until after the invaders were defeated that Groom Lake would be safe from any more attacks. It would be suicidal in a military tactics sense to leave a frontier fort with resistance fighters after conquering a nation, and the modern history of the U.S. Military taught Happy this lesson time and time again.

  A team of civilians worked in shifts to fill sandbags, hundreds and hundreds of sandbags, that were used to reinforce the CONEX boxes around the entry below ground. Jones found a maintenance shop that had some stick welders that still functioned, as well as a crate of welding rods. One of the civilians who had some welding experience, although she was not a professional welder, was cut loose welding the CONEX boxes together the best they could. She worked tirelessly and was a very quick study. Even if the PLA never came back, Happy was confident that the Zeds would never stand a chance against them. The radar truck remained inside the perimeter, standing by to protect the below-ground entrance in case of a swarm and a wall breach. The radar truck was far too valuable to let loose outside of “the wire.” Wire was one thing Happy wished they had. Big spools of razor wire would have made the firebase, which is how he also thought about the above-ground reinforcements: nearly perfect, but compared to how they were operating in San Diego and in Yuma, this was a paradise of unlimited bounty.

  Dust swirled in the air and felt like a sandblaster with each gust of wind. Groom Lake was a shithole in the middle of nowhere, but it was their shithole and they would fight to keep it. Oreo nudged Happy’s leg, who absentmindedly scratched behind the dog’s ears while surveying the above-ground improvements.