Donald approached the building vigilantly. There could be business as usual inside (doubtful), a crowd of hungry zombies, or some crazed reckless survivor protecting his stash of weapons. The door opened, but the building was pitch dark inside. Not an inviting combination after everything he had already seen today. Good thing Gwen packed a flashlight.
Once inside, he found the typical small gun shop. Not top of the line hardware, but functional, anyway. They hit pay dirt with a selection of serviceable weapons. He grabbed two Cobra Arms Freedom .380 pistols, two Remington 870 TAC- 14 Shotguns and a Remington 783, Bolt Action, .30-06 Rifle. He found a duffle bag inside the store and filled it with ammo for each gun. Overkill to arm one person, because Donald thought putting guns in the hands of individuals without shooting experience wouldn’t be smart. Gwen might be able to handle a rifle like she did a bow and arrow, but this was a question for a later time. He would provide her some basic firearm training once they got to safety. The discipline she used with a bow would translate well to another weapon. But could she use it on a person?
As he returned to the parking lot, Donald heard a scream. Across the street, a group of bloodthirsty zombies gnashed their teeth while they surrounded a man and a woman. Gwen looked torn between attempting a rescue and protecting the SUV. Donald put down the bag with the guns and took out the hunting rifle. If he couldn’t save them with the 4 shots from the rifle, then the strangers were dead. Gwen mirrored his moves with her bow, and the discipline she showed encouraged him. He propped himself on the hood of the SUV and took aim.
“Remember to take headshots,” Gwen said.
Not the zombie thing again, he thought, and almost said before he thought better of it.
The first round struck one monster in the shoulder (he would need to zero the sights), not a headshot, but the zombie lost the use of the arm. A quick change to his aim and the second round met its mark. Headshot. One monster down. Shot number three hit the target, and again another zombie dropped. Gwen let two arrows fly, and another creature went down.
She yelled to the trapped couple. “Run your asses off! The coast will not get any clearer.”
He grabbed the guns and turned the key in the ignition, and they were off again. A quick stop before they departed, and they had two new passengers in the SUV.
###
They reached the highway entrance ramp with no other incidents and found themselves about 15 miles outside of Worcester. A few more minutes and they would arrive at the T Station where Donald parked his truck. His confidence would increase once he got behind the wheel of his own rig. The Pilot wasn’t bad, but his Chevy Silverado was more capable and massive than the Honda.
It turned out the couple they saved were brother and sister. Sean and Joan Graham lived close to the store where they found them. They had ventured out to pick up some supplies to ride out this disaster. Donald’s unplanned stop at the gun store prevented two more zombies on the streets. Humans had become the endangered species.
Something bothered Donald about these new passengers. Nothing solid he could put his finger on, only a feeling in his gut. Sean claimed to be a cop, and he seemed obsessed with getting his hands on one of the guns Donald liberated from the gun shop. Sean would be a valuable asset if he really was a trained police officer. But Donald’s intuition continued to tell him something wasn’t right about the supposed brother and sister.
###
The 15 highway miles passed without another incident or delay, and they arrived at the parking lot with Donald’s truck. During the drive, Donald discussed his plan with the group. Gwen, Betty, Deborah, and Matthew would ride in the truck with Donald. A lack of trust of the two newcomers led to this distribution of passengers. Sean and Joan would take the SUV and follow them to the campground. Fueling Donald’s ill feeling about the two was the fact neither disagreed with the plan, and Sean seemed eager to get behind the wheel of the Pilot by himself.
As plans went, this one initially worked as expected he expected. Everyone got out of the Pilot and Donald walked to the truck to unlock it. Gwen stowed her bow and arrows in the truck’s bed. After he opened the truck, Donald turned back toward the Pilot to grab the bag of guns and ammo. Before he reached the SUV, Sean and Joan jumped in and sped off with the Pilot and the bag of guns. A pistol from the gun shop remained tucked in his waistband, and Donald had a loaded .50 Caliber Desert Eagle Pistol in the truck, but he chose not to fire either weapon at them. Carjacking isn’t the worst thing they experienced today, and he wanted to save those rounds in case he needed them later. Plus, hitting a moving vehicle across a parking lot with a pistol was a difficult to impossible task. Not like the movies where every shot from the hero’s gun hits its target and they never run out of ammo. So, they all got in Donald’s truck and headed to the campground and the shelter of his Airstream.
CHAPTER 6 - MEL JACKSON
BEFORE HE STARTED this trip, the only exotic travel Mel had ever done was to Vietnam as an 18-year-old soldier. He had pride in serving the country he loved for two tours of duty in the Army. Eager to start their life together, Linda waited for him to return, along with their first son in their New England home. When he returned, he found the America he loved became an unfamiliar place. People spat on uniformed veterans who served their country. Disrespect became the new normal, and it persisted in America today.
Mel got a good-paying and stable job with the local water company. It provided a lifetime of security for his family. The boss grew up in a different time and still respected the men who sacrificed to serve their country. Mel spent his entire career at the water company, doing almost every job (except the role of the big boss) during his working life.
Soon after his return from Nam, their second son came along. He loved being a father and having the time to spend with his sons. His job provided him with both the money and time he needed to provide for them. Last, their baby girl came into the world and she completed their family.
Mel served both his country as a soldier and his county as a trusted employee at the water company. Linda had loved the time spent with her family, too. Time marched on, and the family grew, and then one by one the kids moved away. Their children wanted something more for their lives than what rural New Hampshire offered.
After their last child moved out, Mel came up with his crazy plan to travel the country he loved and had served all those years ago. So, Mel and Linda Jackson sold their house and most of their possessions when they retired. They had raised three kids in a rural town in New Hampshire, but all those obligations that trapped them there for years ended. Retirement would bring them into a new era and a traveling lifestyle in their new RV.
###
Linda and Mel had traveled by RV for over 10 years now. They had visited every state (they flew to Hawaii) and some parts of Canada (when they drove to Alaska). Their lifestyle of exploration and constant travel brought them to the campground north of Worcester, Massachusetts, when the end of civilization started.
Two days before, a polite man pulled into the spot next to theirs in this campground. The Bounder looked a little rough when parked next to the shiny aluminum Airstream trailer. From their first interaction, Mel knew he liked this guy. After getting his trailer set up on the campsite, he came over and introduced himself.
“Hi, my name is Donald Bishop. I’m traveling from Virginia and came here to Massachusetts to catch a Sox game.”
“Nice to meet you. This is Linda, and I’m Mel. Are you on vacation?”
“Retired from a field service job in the utility industry. Last month. Where are you two headed?”
“We are trying to figure that out now. One son is in Florida, and we thought about visiting him but have put it off because of the hurricane they keep talking about on the news. Our other son is up in Maine, but he says our granddaughter is sick with the new flu bug going around. Our daughter is in St. Louis, and we thought about heading there, but we heard rumors of riots in the city. She is an elementary school teacher
in the suburbs.”
They went back and forth about their lives for a few hours. Donald became as close as a family member after this first visit. He even helped Mel out with a couple of minor repairs on the Bounder during their afternoon visit. He proved to be handy and respectful to his elders. Two characteristics Mel appreciated since they had disappeared from American society.
The next day Donald left early for Boston to see the Red Sox game and play tourist in the city. That had happened yesterday, and Donald hadn’t returned. The Airstream’s panels shined from its parking spot, but the Silverado’s parking spot remained empty. Mel and Linda worried something happened to him in the city. He preached words of assurance to Linda and they became a hope for him too. He might have gotten lucky in the city or the game may have ended late, so he spent the night in a hotel.
Mel acknowledged the strange occurrences that happened around them this morning. Families flocked to RV parks during the busy summer tourist season, but this campground still had many vacancies. The morning news reported stories about overcrowded hospital emergency rooms and riots breaking out in the streets in cities throughout the country. In the middle of the news broadcast, the stations stopped broadcasting. No luck finding any news on the radio either. Only static or a reoccurring Emergency Broadcast message anywhere on the dial. Did the entire city of Boston disappear overnight? People predicted California would slide into the ocean, not Boston, Massachusetts.
Linda started having some sniffles yesterday, and now a hacking cough followed. Mel worried it might be the latest flu strain because the news had said recovery would be tough. She rested inside the Bounder because the fever had drained her energy. They both were old, but they had been active all their lives, so sleeping during the day for either of them was highly abnormal. Normal didn’t explain any of the day’s activities.
With worry about riots, his wife, Donald’s absence, and not much else to do, Mel pulled out and cleaned his old Remington shotgun. He sat outside and enjoyed the bright sunny day while he cleaned, lubed, and loaded his gun. Linda hated the fact he brought the gun with them, but Mel always said, “Better to be safe than sorry.” Yes, it was cliché and Mel knew it, but he had a sick feeling in his gut things weren’t right in the world anymore. At least less right than things had been. What else would explain all that happened so far this morning? He hadn’t had a premonition of dread this alarming since his time in Vietnam. When he fought the VC, he didn’t have to worry about Linda’s safety like he would have to now.
After he finished cleaning his gun, Mel took a sandwich and book outside so he wouldn’t disturb Linda while she slept. He had loaded the shotgun, but he returned it to its spot inside the RV. Things might not be right, but things weren’t bad enough to sit outside with a loaded shotgun in his lap. Warm sun, a full stomach, and a comfortable camp chair caused Mel to drift off to sleep.
###
He awoke while he experienced the dream about his time in the war. Somehow, small arms fire from the dream leaked out into his woken present. Gunfire in the campground? Couldn’t be. Mel realized he slept no longer, and the gunfire persisted. It came from the direction of the campground’s entrance and not from the state forest behind him. Hunters might roam the woods, but they wouldn’t shoot up the park. His 72-year-old body ambled into the RV. Thanks to his forethought, the shotgun sat ready to fire. Mel didn’t know if he was ready for the battle or not. Over 50 years had passed since he had been in an actual firefight. He thought of Linda and his desire to see his kids and grandkids again, so Mel knew he would do what he had to.
Both a shotgun and a small caliber pistol echoed through the campground. The pistol sounded like a 22 or 38, but either still packed a big enough bullet to kill someone if they were hit. Mel figured there were two attackers from the frequency of fire and the two distinct weapons being discharged. In his youth, facing down two undisciplined gunmen provided no challenge, but at his age Mel wasn’t so sure.
They had parked their RV at the far back corner of the campground. Behind them the state forest sat and not much else. If Linda hadn’t been sick, disappearing into the woods until the attack ended would have been his plan. Some may say it sounds cowardly, but Mel was practical since he had become an old man. He wouldn’t leave his wife behind, so he needed to make his stand here in the campground. Aluminum walls and thin wood paneling provide little cover from even the smallest caliber weapon, so he needed to find some real cover. Mel hoped this wouldn’t be his last stand as he tried to form a survivable plan for the two of them.
Minutes dragged on like hours while Mel waited for his targets to appear. Shouts and gunfire continued to break the odd moments of silence. Some thought the worst thing about combat was the non-stop action when the bullets flew. Mel discovered this wasn’t true. The worst thing he found was the wait. Adrenaline and training got you through the fight, but fear and the dread of the what if zapped your attention and reserves of energy.
Mel debated setting up his own ambush versus waiting inside the RV for the fight to come to him. What were the chances they would drive by and not notice them? The RV wouldn’t provide any cover (even RV refrigerators aren’t solid metal) when the bullets flew, and they could hit Linda in her bed. This led Mel to leave the relative safety of the RV to set up his own ambush. He took the Remington and the box of shells and went outside to make his stand.
A grouping of six campsites made up this side access road where the Bounder and Donald’s Airstream stood. Boy, Mel wished Donald were here to help him with this fight. Even a few of his elderly buddies from Nam would have helped. They were at the far end of the circle of the road. Next door was an open site, but the first site had a family-sized trailer and a heavy-duty Ford Pickup for its tow vehicle. Mel decided the engine block of the truck would provide his best option for cover and it would allow him to position himself for the surprise attack he had planned.
He crouched down behind the front passenger's side of the truck to wait for his opportunity to storm the enemy. The Battle of Bunker Hill took place in Massachusetts, and just like that battle, he would have to wait until he saw the whites of his attackers’ eyes before he fired. The Remington packed a powerful punch, but it only held four buckshot shells, and he expected at least two attackers. Plus, the buckshot reduced the effective range of his weapon.
While Mel waited, he prayed for his and Linda’s safety and a quick death for those who wanted to do them harm. He floated a prayer for Donald, too. What could it hurt?
The sounds of a one-sided attack continued to close in on his location. No return gunfire, so it was a total massacre at the campground. What happened to the armed guard who patrolled the grounds?
Then Mel saw them. A new red foreign SUV of some type with two armed people inside. The vehicle crept down the road with two weapons stuck out the front windows. A shotgun barrel (like his) stuck out the passenger side while the driver held a compact pistol out their window. Mel had to time this right since their lives lied in the balance. He waited as the SUV edged forward.
When it came within range, he fired. Boom, his shotgun roared. The windshield shattered into a million pieces. Pump, boom! This time the driver’s door filled with pellet holes. Pump, boom! The front tire went flat. Pump, boom! Nothing to hit this time. Coming to their senses, the attackers put the truck into reverse and hit the gas hard. Easy pickings of their previous victims made them complacent. As they retreated to regroup, Mel ducked below the hood line of the Ford to reload.
Mel waited but heard no sound, so he peaked above the hood to see what the invaders were up to. Maybe he hit them with the volley from his shotgun, and they were bleeding out? As he rose to look over the hood, a rifle round shattered the windshield of the truck he hid behind. Guess they aren’t dead, after all. They had a high caliber rifle, and he only had this shotgun with buckshot shells loaded into it. Not a fair fight for him. Two more rounds struck the body of the truck while he remained crouched behind it. If it were him, Mel would k
eep the enemy pinned down with the rifle while his partner outflanked their attacker. He wouldn’t stay here waiting to die, but this was his best and only sure option for cover.
Mel’s only chance was to outflank the enemy trying to flank him. A surprise attack in the face of their surprise attack. So, he moved toward the back of the truck while the bullets continue to ping off the Ford’s sheet metal. The trailer would block their view of him, even if it didn't provide adequate cover from the rounds of a hunting rifle. Beyond the trailer laid the woods, and he slipped in without making a sound. Again, Mel prayed he would succeed with this crazy plan, and Linda would remain safe. It felt a little like he abandoned her, but if he stayed in place, they would kill him. Then it would become Linda’s funeral too.
He crept through the woods back toward the road the attackers had come down on. If anyone tried to flank Mel, this would be the most likely route for them to take. He found a hundred-year-old oak tree, and he used it for cover. Its trunk was big and solid and would stop any bullet (including the hunting rifle) from reaching him. Now Mel hoped and prayed his guess proved correct. If he guessed wrong, they both would end up dead at the hands of the two gunmen.
Within a minute, the woman from the SUV came into view. She inched through the underbrush, but not as quiet as an experienced woodsman. The tactical shotgun she carried erased any doubt of her being an aggressor. With the patience of an experienced combat soldier, Mel waited behind the tree and took aim. Bullets still pinged against the truck and trailer he had hidden behind. They still thought he hid behind the big Ford pickup truck. He had a surprise for them.
Operation Z | Book 1 | Uprising Page 5
