by Lund, Dave
“No idea. Maybe it was that guy that showed up to Groom Lake. Wasn’t his plane yellow?”
“I mean, what are the chances of that, Bexar?”
“I don’t know. Not a lot of aircraft out flying around nowadays and we are near the SSC, so maybe it isn’t that odd of an idea.”
Jessie winced and rubbed her pregnant belly.
“Feeling OK? You should go sit down.”
“No, I’ll be even more uncomfortable sitting down. I forgot how bad this last trimester sucked with Keeley.”
“It’ll be over soon.”
“No, it’ll all begin soon. We’re about to get really busy, but at least neither of us will have to go back to work again and leave our baby in daycare.”
With a sharp intake of breath, Jessie grabbed her belly and winced again. A moment later, the contraction passed, and it left Jessie panting.
“Jesus, that was a big one. I think we’re going to have a baby very…”
Jessie didn’t finish the sentence, another contraction waving over her body. Bexar grabbed his wife by the shoulders and helped steady her. Once the contraction was over, he began helping her inside the house.
“Oh God, my water broke.” Bexar saw that Jessie’s loose athletic pants were soaked and smiled before giving Jessie a gentle kiss on her forehead.
“I love you, baby. You can do this, we can do this; I’ll be with you and we’re about to meet our son.”
“You mean our daughter.”
Bexar kissed his wife again and helped her to the bed. They had a birthing plan, for all the good it would do them, but Bexar was committed to trying to stick close to that plan so Jessie wouldn’t be stressed about it.
SSC
Andrew taxied to his spot and shut down the engine. After climbing out, one of the topside workers helped him push the yellow Husky back into the open-top hangar bay made out of walls of sandbags and cinderblocks. After thanking the man, Andrew walked to the entrance and began down the ladder to the underground facility. He had ended up here after flying around the country for a couple of months
The SSC was being run nothing like Groom Lake had been. Aymond implemented a command structure within the survivor groups that had taken residence at the facility. Instead of towns and mayors, civilians were organized into different-sized groups that eventually structured down to four-person “crews.” It was a basic variation of a fire team and platoon structure from the Marine Corps, but so far, it had really worked. There were nearly200 people, civilians, military, and even some kids living and working at the facility now. Bill was dead, but another survivor who understood radios arrived a few weeks after Amanda had sent out her welcoming message, so he was placed in charge of all communications. It seemed like for most of their needs, a person with that skill set would arrive. It wasn’t perfect, but it was so much better than they could have expected. Some of the survivors were from Texas, but some of them were from as far away as Maine and even Mexico.
After checking in with Bob, who was working door security that shift, Andrew walked into the main facility to make his way to Amanda’s office. He reported directly to her. After knocking and waiting for a response, Andrew walked into her office and found Chivo already sitting on a stool in the corner. The Oval Office it was not, in fact, it was fairly small, besides having been constructed in a typical square shape.
“What do you have for us, Andrew?”
“Another survivor homestead that we should check out.”
“OK, then why not give the information to the survivor contact team?” Chivo asked.
“Something is strange about this one. The entire home looked fortified, like covered completely in sandbags and built up with them too, like a fortress.”
“Huh,” Amanda began. “We’ve made contact with similar groups; what is so special about this one?”
Andrew took out his map and showed them roughly where the home was located in relation to where the SSC was. After some lively discussion, it was decided that Chivo would take whatever he felt was necessary and would check it out himself. There wasn’t a lot of urgency, except that between Andrew’s flying and the security patrols conducting recon in the surrounding area, they had noticed a serious uptick in Zed activity. It was like something was moving large numbers of Zeds in place in the region, which they assumed would be the PLA and that it wasn’t just a coincidence. Figuring that some survivors might be caught unaware, they tried to make contact with groups to see if they could use any help, any food, any medical supplies, or weapons. Amanda knew that not everyone would want to be in a community bunker, but she was committed to helping every last one of her fellow citizens.
Near Hillsboro, Texas
Carl came into the barn. Ken was working on the filtering in the process to convert old nasty cooking oil into bio-diesel. “Hey, Ken, there was an airplane, man.”
He nearly had to shout it, as the pumps made a lot of noise. Ken held up a finger to say “just a minute” and walked with Carl toward the door. Once outside and with his earplugs out, Carl repeated himself.
“Really? What kind of plane?”
“Small, man. Yellow.”
“Like a private plane, not a military aircraft?”
“Yeah, Ken. How cool is it that someone is tooling around in an aircraft? Like Truman Sparks, man.”
Carl was baked, but that was normal. Ken wasn’t sure he had ever seen his friend not stoned. Ken realized that he didn’t care; Carl was brilliant and a good friend. It was odd having personal epiphanies this late in life in a situation Ken could never have imagined.
“Ken, are you going to plot it and see if it is one of theirs?”
“Yeah, in a minute.” Ken went inside and checked on the filtration process then decided to let the pumps run on a timer. They didn’t leave the process unattended very often, but Ken figured he would only be gone a few minutes. A few moments later, Ken and Carl stood in the dining room inside the house, both standing in front of a large Texas map mounted on the wall. A red push pin was placed where the homestead was and another red push pin had been placed where the SCC was. On the table, the spark gap radio that Ken had built for them stood silent. He would check on the net tonight after his daily chores and dinner was done. Carl picked up a glass pipe sitting on the table, filled the small bowl with ground marijuana he kept in a pouch in his pocket, and began smoking.
“So, is it, man?”
Ken pulled a string from the red push pin at their location along the path that Carl said the plane had traveled; it led right to the SSC.
“It is.” Ken picked up a notebook by the radio and jotted down some notes about the plane, location, and direction. Right now, they may not any use for the information, but it could be useful in the future. Regardless, Ken kept meticulous notes of sightings and meetings with other survivors. Survivor activity around the SSC had picked up considerably, which they knew from the radio traffic, but also from encountering refugees of the new world trying to make their way to the no-longer-secret underground facility.
Months ago, Ken decided that his test phase was over and that he was going to stay with Ken and Carl and not worry about trying to get to the SSC unless he needed to. These old hippies, surprisingly to Ken, seemed to be a much better fit for him and made him more comfortable than the group that had saved him further south. That feeling was reinforced over the past few months as the other survivor group had not survived a mutiny attempt. About half of the survivors in that group had died and the rest scattered to the wind. The secured facility with all the metal shipping containers was partially destroyed in their battle for leadership. Followed by Groom Lake being destroyed by some sort of Chinese and Korean bomb, the idea of hiding in a hole in the ground for the PLA to find and kill him or to be caught up in some survivor dick-waving contest did not appeal to Ken at all. He found a lot of peace and was quite content to live with his
hippies on their compound and have a peaceful life.
The radio traffic sealed the deal for Ken. Survivors around the country, but mostly near the west coast, had begun radioing PLA sightings. Those had begun sporadically, but that all changed about six weeks ago. Those sightings grew into continual reconnaissance with some survivors trailing company-sized formations of Korean and Chinese forces as they worked their way across the countryside. Most of those trailing recon teams reported that any survivors that were encountered were killed. Also, the PLA’s fighting style relied heavily upon the use of radar trucks, which anyone with a spark gap radio knew about in full detail now. Someone at the SSC had transmitted instructions on how to kill one of those radar trucks along with other instructions on how to operate one and what to do if you have the chance to steal one.
With the SSC’s encouragement, a low-intensity conflict had begun with survivors banding together in loose mostly unorganized groups that led harassment raids on the invading forces. Trucks, vehicles, parts, food, weapons, and ammo were all stolen from supply convoys or recovered from killed forces. Ken knew how well-motivated people could be against an organized professional military force; he had experienced it all too well from the other side of the line.
Pecos, Texas
The date of Erin and Jason’s invasion of the now foreign world above them had arrived. The calendar that hung on the wall had the days of the month crossed out with the corrected dates written in their place. There was nothing special about the date; it was just one they chose for being about the right time to head down to Big Bend for the weather. They were close, too, only a few hours to the north, at most a two-day drive from the park. The MRAP was fully fueled. They found that the facility had massive underground tanks of diesel fuel and jet fuel of some type. Neither of them knew much about it and didn’t really care, except that the diesel was apparently treated because it still ran really well in their big armored truck.
Most of their day-to-day lives were spent below ground, but both of them made it a point to get topside for at least a few hours a week. They hadn’t at first and the lack of sunlight and full-time living underground had really wrecked their emotional health. After some weeks of living in an emotional hell, Jason went topside to go scavenge for some liquor and maybe some drugs to help them cope and found that being in the sun had dramatically improved his mood. He recharged in the basking glow of sunlight, as it were, before returning below ground to retrieve Erin after he had found and raided a nearby trailer home for cheap booze. She was in a foul mood, but after a drink and a couple of hours of sunlight, Erin was feeling better. They sat on the roof of the MRAP at the end of the runway and watched the sunset before going back below ground that day. That was four weeks ago, the day that they decided to make a drastic change and leave for Big Bend. Erin had decided on the former National Park instead of heading back east to where she was from because of a few reasons. She knew how fucked everything out in Tennessee was and she knew what Jessie had told her about Big Bend and the area. If even half of the improvements that they had made while Jessie and Bexar had been in the park were still there, then Erin and Jason would be living on easy street. If those improvements were destroyed, they would still have a place to live with water and food to hunt or gather, far removed from population centers, far away from the interstates, and hopefully far away from the growing war.
The heavy truck shook slightly from the rumble of the big diesel motor, the exhaust echoing throughout the pristine concrete floor and ceiling. Slowly, the drive opened, rising out of the ground, sunlight crept into the darker space. A few moments later, they drove up the ramp, across the old airfield, and onto I-20 to head toward Highway 285 and south toward Ft. Stockton and onward to Big Bend.
“Stop!”
Jason slammed on the brakes and the MRAP shuddered to a stop. Jason scanned the area and his mirrors, looking for what Erin had seen to cause her to call a stop. Jason couldn’t see anything.
“What is it, baby?”
“Jason, I don’t…I mean.… Damnit, I’m worried about Jessie. She is due any day or had the baby or will soon. I need to know before we settle down for good.”
“So we’re going back to Groom Lake?”
Erin sat silently for a moment, the MRAP sitting stationary in the middle of the road on I-20 and a handful of Zeds beginning to take an interest in the rumbling, rattling intruder.
“No,” Erin said quietly. “I fucking hate that place.”
After another moment of silence, Erin continued. “Let’s go to Dallas. We can ask them, they can ask Groom Lake, and then we can point to Big Bend. It’ll probably only be an extra few days on the road.”
“As you wish.”
Jason turned the truck around and pointed eastbound. “You’ll need to get the maps out and plot a route for us.”
“I’m on it,” Erin excitedly replied. She leaned over and gave him a kiss on the cheek. Jason was her favorite person in the world and she was thankful to have him by her side.
CHAPTER 20
October 6, Year 1
SSC
“Madam President, we have received reports of PLA activity in our area.”
One of the radiomen had come in from the radio shack to the control room, which is what everyone had taken to calling the main operations room that Amanda had been using since she first came to the SSC. In this case, the radioman was a radio woman named Sarah, a survivor from the Houston area that had somehow survived getting out of Houston, which from all accounts is a complete loss and overrun by the dead.
“What are the details, Sarah?”
“Ma’am, there appears to be a company-sized detachment heading north, roughly following I-35 from near the Austin area. Our contacts around Waco haven’t seen or heard them yet.”
“OK, let me know when the Waco tripwire triggers.”
Sarah said she would and excused herself. Amanda picked up a handheld radio. “Chivo, over.”
The radio crackled. “This is Chivo. Go ahead, Farmer, over.”
“Check in with Control once you’ve finished topside, over.”
“Roger, out.”
Chivo was topside inspecting the current round of improvements. They had worked tirelessly to build concentric rings of security around the facility. It wouldn’t hold an invading force forever, but it would slow them down enough to try to repel them. A few minutes later, Chivo walked into the control room wearing his full tactical loadout, armor, weapons, and magazines.
“Good morning, Madam President.”
“Cut the shit, Goat.”
Chivo cracked a rare smile. Amanda was the president, but she had also become his close friend.
“OK, Amanda, what’s up?”
“PLA. Report just came in that they are headed this way following I-35 from around Austin, supposedly company strength of fighters.”
“What about Waco?”
“Nothing yet. I want you to move up our timetable, get the completed security rings locked down, and get us ready.”
“Roger that. We’re nearly there already.”
Amanda nodded. Chivo turned to exit and complete his task.
“Oh, Chivo?”
Chivo stopped and faced Amanda. “Yes?”
“Go make contact with those new survivors Andrew found. I think they’re pretty close to being in the path.”
“Can do. I think our security comes first, though.”
“I agree, but don’t task this one out. I want you to make contact.… I have an odd feeling about them and I don’t know why.”
Chivo flashed a thumbs up and replied in Spanish with a smile before leaving.
Amanda sat back and smiled at her computer screen. Chivo was an odd duck and she felt privileged that he considered her a friend. She felt like with Chivo as a friend, nothing bad could ever happen to her.
Outside of
Waxahachie
The frantic, full-voiced cries that only a newborn can make filled the house. Jessie was exhausted. She had labored the entire night and just after sunrise, their daughter was born. They named her Scout Sandra Reed after one of their favorite books and one of their favorite people, who had died in Big Bend. After some difficulty latching, baby and Momma were learning each other and Scout’s feedings improved.
They didn’t have any of the big mesh panties and giant liners that the labor and delivery nurses at the hospital would use post birth for the mother, so Bexar had thick towels in place to attempt to contain the bleeding and discharge after giving birth. Jessie was sore, exhausted, and glowing with the glow that only a mother has immediately after giving birth.
Bexar had no camera, no way to take pictures, no way to share them, no way to make a baby book. No, all Bexar had was his ability to focus and hopefully remember these moments. He watched his daughter feed, and his wife smiled and talked softly to Scout while she caressed the tiny body. They didn’t even know how much Scout weighed or how long she was. It didn’t matter; Scout was beautiful. Bexar gently touched his newborn daughter and silently made a promise to her with the memory of digging Keeley’s grave repeating again and again in his mind. Bexar promised would make sure she lived and had the chance to grow up. No matter what, no matter the consequences, Scout would survive.
North of Hillsboro, Texas
A high-pitched whistle caught Ken’s attention. He stood outside the barn, waiting to go back inside to continue his chores. Looking around, he took his hearing protection off and heard the faint whistle grow quickly into a loud, piercing scream.
“Oh.… OH! FUCKING INCOMING!”
Ken ran toward the barn and slammed his body against the building, curled into a ball, and covered his head. Flashes in his mind, he felt like he was back on a hilltop in Vietnam.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck…”
Ken opened his mouth and waited from the crunch. He felt it more than he heard it. Disorientated, he looked up and saw part of the house was collapsed and smoking, quickly catching fire.
