by Lund, Dave
“Yup, good guy, but I don’t think he made it. Groom Lake is a fucking hole in the ground now.”
“You flew over?”
“Yes, right before coming here, apparently right after you guys left. They shot a missile at me, luckily missed, and here I am.”
“Andrew, you and I have a lot to talk about.” Pearce began climbing down the platform. “Mr. Jones, I’ll be back in a few minutes. You’re doing great.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Aymond walked up to Major Pearce and Andrew as they walked toward Andrew’s plane. “Major, we’re just about ready to roll.”
“OK, I’ll be wheels up in three hours, as planned, but I have an idea for Mr. Andrew here, if he’s willing to do it.”
Pearce laid out her plan, which Aymond liked and Andrew reluctantly agreed after a few moments of consideration. Flying at night wasn’t high on his enjoyable activity list any longer, not with so much unknown, no lights on towers, no lights on runways or roads, and Zeds filling every shadow.
CHAPTER 18
Groom Lake, Nevada
April 16, Year 1
Andrew banked lazily in the dark sky. High clouds obscured the moonlight but didn’t interfere with Andrew’s ability to see. He trimmed the aircraft and softly held the coordinated turn with one hand and one foot, while the other hand held up binoculars. The night optic that Andrew gave him to use lay in the bag in the back seat. The PLA had floodlights setup shining inwards toward the crater and buildings, as well as outwards from their own encampment. Multiple radar trucks like what Aymond had sat in a ring holding perimeter against the Zeds and boy were there a lot of Zeds; Andrew was amazed at the swath of death that churned in the dry lake bed. In all of his travels, Andrew hadn’t seen a swarm with so many reanimated bodies. It looked like there were hundreds and hundreds of thousands of Zeds. There were also a lot of Zeds on the highway where Aymond had driven his truck through a while earlier. It’s strange: outside of the major cities, the number of Zeds seemed to have diminished. His best guess was that they grouped up in herds and shambled through the countryside via major roadways (where the terrain was easier and open), but this was bizarre. Pearce and Aymond said that the PLA had dropped a massive piece of ordnance, much like what Andrew suspected as a bunker-buster type bomb, so maybe the tremendous shockwave had attracted every Zed who felt or heard the explosion? If that was the case, then it would be possible to setup Zed traps with radar trucks and began culling the greater Zed population of North America, but that was something he could discuss in the future. Right now, he was concerned with Aymond.
He knew roughly where Aymond and Gonzo would be, on which ridge east of Groom Lake, but it was impossible to see them in the darkness and shadows, especially since this was what they were good at, and they were expert warriors, operators in every sense of the word. He couldn’t even find their large truck even though there was no vegetation to speak of.
Careful not to fly near Aymond, Andrew stayed toward the southwestern edge of the complex and scanned the lit moonscape of death below him. Andrew had a radio that was usually carried on someone’s back wedged into his aircraft, the handset dropped over the back of his seat so he could reach and use it.
Andrew clicked the mic once; two clicks was the reply. He had just informed Aymond he was on station and Aymond replied that he understood. Aymond would break radio silence with specific reports for gun and bomb runs once it was time, but for now, they needed to remain hidden.
More Zeds streamed into the lakebed as Andrew peeled off to take up his station further south at a higher altitude. He climbed to nearly 10,000 feet AGL and resumed his station, making lazy figure-8s in the dark sky.
Andrew’s radio crackled to life. It was Major Pearce who had just taken off from Nellis and was en route to Groom Lake. After making contact, Andrew gave a situational report with general troop and material position and numbers. In her cockpit, illuminated by dim red light, Pearce made notes and formulated her own battle plan in case Aymond didn’t give her what she needed to rain steel on the assholes that killed her wingman.
The overall plan was that Aymond and Gonzo would recon the area and give specific courses of fire to Pearce and that Andrew was going to act as a radio relay and initial recon for Pearce. It wasn’t glamorous and fit the role that airborne communication and radar systems typically filled, but it was significantly important to coordinate everyone with continuous radio contact, unlike last time.
Back at Groom Lake, Jones had everyone ready to drive off if they needed to. They were also ready to drop the trailers loaded with munitions and parts for Pearce’s aircraft to haul ass to Groom Lake as a ragtag QRF.
A few minutes later, movement caught Andrew’s eye below him and he could see the shadow of Pearce’s A-10 flying low and ridiculously fast. His radio crackled to life. “I’m on station.”
Radio silence for Aymond was over and he gave a mission brief and his requested course of fire. Inside her red-tinted cockpit, a faint, cold smile crept across her face, her professionalism keeping her from having more of an outward reaction. Major Pearce flexed her fingers and made ready. Aymond scanned the southern ridgeline, watching for the most beautiful ugly aircraft he had ever seen, and he couldn’t find it until a faint silhouette erupted from the ground shadows. The aircraft climbed hard and steep before winging over and pointing nose down. Fire belched from the plane’s maw like a fiery tongue of death, screaming angry terror to the troops and equipment below.
Zeds swarmed thickly around the PLA lines, thick flies buzzing in a heavy cloud above the Zeds. The flies looked like static in the night optics that Aymond was wearing. The PLA had poor light discipline; they had large flood lights shining out and away from their encampment, showing all the zeds and any enemy forces that might try to approach. They obviously did not expect an air attack.
Pearce banked over and peeled off, diving for the lakebed. Chafe and flares dropped from the underside of the Hog while two missiles streaked toward her in a burst of trailing flame. Gonzo was waiting for that moment. His big .50-caliber rifle barked twice in relatively quick succession. Everyone who he saw with a SAM or who launched one was going to die.
Andrew called out movement and damage assessments from high above the lakebed, the need to relay radio transmissions being moot with Pearce on station and in radio range of Aymond. Major Pearce climbed and banked over for another run. Gonzo scanned the ground forces and fired three more times, after one of which a missile fired harmlessly skyward for a flash of time before detonating just a few yards off the ground, which appeared to kill many PLA near the blast. As the A-10 banked back over and began firing, two of the radar trucks exploded in a shower of fire. Instead of banking away, Pearce leveled her dive and released some of the gravity bombs she had under her wings.
More chafe, more flares, and another missile that streaked up, attempting to meet her. Aymond estimated troop strength at approximately 1,500 men and that the Zeds on the lakebed had to number at least 100 times that much. More zeds continued to stream through the mountains and desert to the dry lakebed. Gonzo switched magazines and killed the offender who had fired the latest missile. It was the scariest thing Aymond had ever seen. The sight of all of those Zeds chilled him deep within his bones.
“I have enough for one more, over,” Pearce’s voice crackled over the radio.
“Roger. Northeast quadrant and I think you’ll have made their situation unrecoverable, over,” Aymond replied.
After Pearce’s positive reply, Aymond caught a glimpse of her aircraft across the mountains to the west as she setup for her last run before heading back to Nellis to re-arm and reassess their next move. The A-10 banked over and the main gun erupted, the sound echoing off the sky and ground around them. Pearce was angry. She wanted revenge more than anything else she had wanted before in her life. She pulled the nose up and began to release the last of her gravity bombs
as three plums of fire streaked from the middle of the PLA forces. Flares and chafe fell from the aircraft as she banked it hard to the right and dove for the lakebed. Gonzo worked his rifle fast and hard to kill the men who launched at her. Aymond watched the dark silhouette of Pearce’s aircraft through his night optics and squinted as he saw the bright plume of fire from the rocket motor come into frame. The explosion temporary blinded his night optic, but it recovered just in time for Aymond to see Pearce’s aircraft tumble out of the sky; the entire starboard side wing appeared to have been destroyed. Major Pearce and her aircraft cart-wheeled across the dry lakebed in a ball of fire. The major was dead.
“Fuck.” Aymond keyed the radio. “Andrew, Pearce is KIA, get to Nellis and organize the men to bug out; we no longer need any A-10 equipment. We will rendezvous near the halfway point and convoy to Texas. It’s time for us to get to Firebase Bravo.”
Andrew acknowledged the order and flew toward Nellis while Aymond and Gonzo watched the pandemonium below. Their plan had worked, the PLA lines had collapsed, Zeds flooded into their camp, and there was a complete loss of order. All but one of the radar trucks had survived to this point, but Gonzo was sure to put that one down for good, too.
“That sucks.”
“Shit happens. OK, Gonzo, see if we can find any remaining leadership and put a stop to any attempt for PLA to reorganize.”
Below them on the lakebed, it was complete chaos. Aymond was sure that eventually their ragtag tactic of taking out the PLA radar trucks with sniper fire and creating a confusing situation would stop working, but he was pleased that it still worked for them. He wasn’t sure how he could help secure the SSC from an attack like the one at Groom Lake, except to hope that the lake above the core of the facility is enough to create problems for any munitions that the Koreans and Chinese could throw at it. He had no idea; Aymond’s expertise was one of an alpha meat-eater, an apex predictor of evil men and not that of fortifying underground bunkers.
The eastern horizon glowed angrily in their night optics; it was time for Aymond and Gonzo to get out of dodge. Thirty minutes later, the pair had left the view of the dry lakebed and made it back to their M-ATV. The sound of sporadic gunfire grew slower and less frequent, which was music to Aymond’s ears. That meant that there were few survivors and they were hopefully running low on ammo and very high on Zeds.
Near Hillsboro, Texas
Ken walked the property. Keith was up and tending to his grow house, and Carl was still sleeping in. The three of them stayed up too late the previous night drinking homemade wine while Ken’s new friends smoked a copious amount of pot. He couldn’t tell why, but Ken liked his new friends. The plan this afternoon was to return to his pickup and retrieve the rest of his gear and supplies. Carl talked about trying to get the truck back to their homestead so they could repair it for him. If they were nice enough to do that, then he might be on his way to the SSC sooner than he thought, except that he still didn’t know exactly where it was. Neither Carl nor Keith knew either. They did think that they had what Ken needed to build them a radio, though. To top it off, the radio could run on the electricity they generated with renewable energy here on their homestead. They really had a veritable Garden of Eden in the middle of Texas; Sam Houston would have been proud. Maybe. Ken wasn’t sure how the hero of Texas would react to marijuana, but it wasn’t really popular back in 1836, so maybe it would have been OK.
Ken shook his head and kept on his rambling morning walk, while he tried to think through the things that mattered most to his survival. He hadn’t left his hunting lease that long ago and he had already been shot at and been overrun by Zeds twice, which required someone to save him twice. Perhaps, Ken thought, I shouldn’t try to go to the SSC at all, but I could stay with Keith and Carl, maybe find a job I can do to help their trio-tribe of survivors. Going outside the wire obviously was very dangerous to do alone.
The idea of staying with his new friends sounded better and better with every passing minute and by the time Ken had come back to the farmhouse, his mind was made up. He would ask to stay for a while, help around the farm, build them a radio, and possibly work on repairing his truck.
CHAPTER 19
October 6, Year 1
Outside of Waxahachie, Texas
Bexar stood on the roof of their house. He was sure that the sandbags were terrible for the shingles, but he didn’t really care. Bexar was trying to improve the drainage of rainwater from the roof and direct more of that water to the water-collection barrels he had at every gutter downspout. A local co-op and some tractor supply stores gave him all the heavy-duty bags he needed to finish building up his bride’s castle. The FJ barely ran; enough time had lapsed that all the gasoline had really begun to go bad. He was mostly sure that bad fuel had gunked up the carburetor. Since no one was making any more fuel or oil, much less drilling and pumping for oil, Bexar knew that their days of easy vehicle-based travel was behind them. During his scavenging excursions, he noticed a significant uptick in Zed activity in the last six weeks, but he didn’t know why. It didn’t really matter since they were far enough off the highways and off main roads that it seemed the roaming herds of Zeds didn’t come close enough to be lured into their homestead.
The idea to find a diesel-powered vehicle had occurred to Bexar, in that diesel fuel should last longer than unleaded, especially unleaded with ethanol in it, but he decided it really didn’t matter. They were still able to drive the FJ for a little longer, even if it ran like shit, then after that they would simply live on their homestead and make their lives matter for their soon-to-be-born child.
It was still hot outside; not the 100F weather they had during August, but the first real cold fronts of the year were still a couple of weeks away. They were ready for the cold. The sandbags added a lot of insulation and Bexar had gathered more than enough firewood for the entire winter’s worth of heating and cooking. He had even found a wood-burning stove and installed it in the kitchen. The electric range sat out in the yard in the “could be useful parts” pile of almost-trash.
Jessie waved from by the barn. It was almost lunchtime and then Bexar would need to finish up his daily chores to get ready for nightfall. Poor Jessie looked miserable; she could give birth any day now, any minute really, and she looked beyond ready. He wished he could take photos of his wonderful bride. She might feel miserable and horribly pregnant, but Bexar had never seen a more beautiful woman. She glowed and radiated beauty. His beard was thick and longer than it had ever been. Jessie hadn’t shaved her legs, or anything else for that matter, in months (she had surprised him for his birthday by shaving), and Bexar felt like this was what their lives should be. He was happier now than he could remember in his adult life.
The fall garden turned out to be more difficult than they had thought, but they had quite literally every seed of everything that Bexar could find at the garden supply in town on one of the weekly, sometimes twice weekly, scavenging excursions away from their ranch. It was a nice change of pace though. The summer was a hard transition, especially with no air conditioning or electric fans. This coupled with the Texas heat and a pregnant wife, Bexar was surprised that he lived through August. Tomorrow’s plan was to assemble the new bicycles that he had out in the barn. Still in the boxes, Bexar had four bikes, two mountain-bike-type bicycles for him and Jessie, a utility trike with a cargo basket that could be really useful, and a child’s bike. From their best guess for Jessie’s due date and what the current date was, they would have their baby any day now. Jessie’s projected due date was the 28th, but that was a guess. Also Keeley was born early, not that this baby was going to be the same as Keeley. Regardless, Bexar had a literal room full of diapers that he had spent most of the summer scavenging. All sizes ranging from newborn to pull-up-style training diapers. Wipes, clothes, all of it was stored and cached in large quantities; the only thing that they were really concerned about was baby formula. Most of the formu
la they had was in date, but they didn’t have long and the formula would begin going out of date. Cow’s milk or any fresh milk besides Jessie’s breast milk was an impossible dream for them. To bridge the gap, Bexar had found and scavenged a serious quantity of powdered milk and condensed milk in cans. He worked quite hard this summer to prep for the fall and winter and the new baby. Bexar knew that once Jessie gave birth that he wouldn’t be able to take long scavenging trips into the surrounding cities and that the fuel they had available would be going bad, which was why he had searched for and found the bicycles. Bexar cleaned out a bicycle shop, tires, helmets, inner tubes, chains, tools, a work stand…all of it was in the garage. He would make a work area to service their bicycles, but that was tomorrow and he needed to focus on today.
The breeze carried a faint sound that seemed familiar, but distant and incorrect. It took Bexar a moment to remember what it was.
“Jessie, get back in the barn! Aircraft coming!”
Jessie turned and ducked into the shadows of the barn. Bexar scrambled to get off the roof and under cover so he wouldn’t be seen. It dawned on Bexar that the property would be really obvious when seen from the air. Anyone would be able to tell that someone was living there and making improvements. He really wasn’t sure how to continue to make improvements and live without it looking like he was making improvements and that a family lived there. The engine noise grew louder. It didn’t sound like a jet, but it didn’t sound like a helicopter either. Now on the ground and hidden under the shadow of the front porch, Bexar waited anxiously. Soon, a small yellow aircraft flew over at a low altitude as it passed over the ranch, the wings seeming to save back and forth as if the pilot was saying “Hi.”
As soon as it all had begun, it was over, and the plane was gone. Bexar came out of the shadows as Jessie came out of the barn.
“Who was that?”
