Fortunately, the runway lights were still lit, powered by the base’s solar-powered backup supply, as were the perimeter lights that shone onto the razor wire-topped fences in the distance.
The massive aircraft cruised off the runway and crossed the tarmac before stopping a few hundred yards from the nearest hangar.
Andrews listened in his headset, then switched channels and spoke to them. “This is as far as we go.” He pointed at Mason and McGhee. “You two will need to go get the truck and bring it here.”
The two men nodded, then unbuckled themselves from their restraints. Standing, McGhee looked at Mason.
“You learned how to pump the fuel, but did you learn how to drive the truck?”
“No,” Mason replied, grinning, “but I used to drive a tractor back on my family’s farm. Can’t be that much different, can it?”
McGhee stretched his massive muscles as he shook his head. “This is going to be interesting…”
Sergeant Jacobs looked over at Reed as he unbuckled his restraints. “Time to set up the perimeter, Doc.”
“Sounds good.” Reed released his restraints then stood up and stepped across the cargo area to where Steight’s carrier was secured. Reaching down, he opened the carrier’s door and urged the dog to come out. She did so readily, her tail wagging happily. Knowing how well he’d trained the dog, Reed didn’t bother putting her on a leash, he simply grabbed his weapon from the rack on the aircraft’s inner wall, checked it quickly, then followed Jacobs out of the aircraft and onto the tarmac. The dog followed him, stopping near his right leg and sitting down next to him.
The forms of Mason and McGhee were already shrinking in the distance as the two men jogged towards the aircraft hangars.
Standing there in the darkness, Jacobs looked up at the tall doctor. “Alright Doc, if it’s alright with you, I’ll cover the other side of the aircraft and let you watch this side.”
“Sounds good.”
“Alright.” Without another word, the slim white man turned and jogged towards the front of the aircraft, then ducked under its nose and disappeared.
Looking down at Steight, he asked, “Need to go?”
The dog stood up and wagged its tail.
Reed pointed towards the grass area that separated the tarmac from the runway. “Go ahead.”
The dog bounded away, running over to the grass. It squatted and did its business, then rushed back to Reed’s side, taking a seat next to his leg on the pavement.
A loud rumbling came from the area near the aircraft hangars. Looking in that direction, Reed saw the headlights of a large truck coming towards him. The two men had found the truck quickly and were returning.
As the big truck approached, Reed knew they’d maneuver around the back of the aircraft to his left so they could park close to the middle of the right side of the aircraft, so he moved to his right, affording himself a clear view of the direction they’d come from. The noise from the truck was loud, especially in the uncanny stillness of the dark and quiet military base, and it would be easily heard by anyone inside a mile.
Slowing as he began to pull around the aircraft, Mason leaned out the window and spoke to Reed.
“We’ll pump what’s in here, then we’ll have to go back and get a second truck.”
“Alright. I’ll keep watch,” Reed replied, nodding. In an ideal situation, they’d use an aircraft with better fuel economy than the C-17, which burned about 21,440 pounds per hour, but there weren’t any other long range aircraft at Mount Weather. With the massive aircraft’s fuel consumption, they’d need two of the 6,000 gallon fuel trucks to refill about a third of the plane’s 34,000 gallon fuel capacity. Fortunately, the trucks’ fuel transfer systems pumped at a rate of about 600 gallons per minute, so if all went well, they’d be done with the entire evolution in about thirty minutes.
Continuing to watch the hangars and the surrounding area in the distance, Reed heard the men on the other side of the aircraft discussing the process as they went through the fueling checklist with Andrews. A few minutes later, he heard the truck’s external pump start as they started refueling the aircraft.
Next to him, Steight sighed, whining slightly out of boredom.
‘Probably thought we’d go out for a run,’ Reed thought to himself, smiling slightly as he peered into the darkness.
After a short while, he heard Mason’s voice calling out from the other side of the aircraft. “Almost done, here!”
“Sounds good!” Reed yelled in response.
Steight jumped to her feet suddenly, looking towards the hangars in the distance intently. A low growl emanated from her throat.
Peering into the darkness at the edge of his vision, Reed’s eyes tried to define shapes there.
Something was moving.
Correction: Some things were moving.
“Guys, we’re about to have company!”
Raising his rifle, he looked through its scope in the direction of the hangars. At first, he didn’t see anything, but as he panned to the right, a mass of people came into focus.
There were dozens of the infected, easily identifiable by their torn and bloodied clothing, crazed appearance, and the breakneck pace at which they were running, racing towards the aircraft. Some of them wore bloodied and tattered Air Force uniforms; others wore anything from nurse scrubs to sundresses to dress shirts with slacks. Infected children trailed the pack, their short legs impacting their ability to keep up with the horde.
Footsteps sounded close by before he heard McGhee’s voice. “What do we got?”
Keeping his rifle pointed in the direction of the pack, Reed used his left hand to point towards the hangars.
“A shitload of the infected, coming this way.”
McGhee quickly brought his rifle up and looked through the scope in the direction Reed had indicated.
“Fuck.”
Lowering his rifle, he shouted to the other men. “We’ve gotta go!”
“What?” Andrews replied from the other side of the aircraft. Seconds later, he was at their side. “What the fuck is going on?”
McGhee lowered his rifle and pointed. “Thirty to forty infected coming this way. We can’t hold that many off.”
Andrew’s eyes widened. “Shit!” Turning, he ran up the steps and into the aircraft. Reed and McGhee heard yelling inside the aircraft before he rushed back out onto the tarmac. “Mason! We’re done! Disconnect now! You and Jacobs get onboard!”
“What the fuck? Alright!” Mason yelled, before asking, “What about the truck?”
Andrews paused. He looked towards the horde of infected rushing towards the aircraft. They were three hundred yards away and closing fast. “Fuck! Move it off to the side!”
Reed spoke up. “Jacobs! Get over here! We need to hold these things off until Mason can get onboard!”
Jacobs rushed around the aircraft and took up position to Reed’s right, on the other side of Steight.
Which reminded Reed of her presence. This wasn’t the time or place. “Andrews, can you put my dog in her carrier when you go back onboard for preflight?”
“Yes, Sir,” the man replied, taking hold of Steight’s collar.
The dog resisted, looking up at Reed with pleading eyes.
“It’s okay, girl, go on. I’ll be there in a minute.”
Steight’s head sank slightly as she allowed herself to be led away from him.
“Hurry up, Mason!” Andrews yelled before entering the aircraft.
Reed heard the fuel hose hit the ground, followed by the sound of the big truck starting up. A loud, grinding sound followed as Mason slammed the truck into gear and began driving away.
“Heads up!” McGhee called out, looking through his scope.
“What the fuck?” Jacobs asked, looking in that direction as well.
“What is it?” Reed asked, bringing his rifle up. With the rapidly closing mass barely two hundred yards away, he didn’t need to use his scope to see what had captured the attent
ion of the other men.
A man was in front of the pack, running hard as he desperately tried to stay out of reach of the infected.
CHAPTER SIXTY-NINE
Central California
Driving on the dirt road, the powerful Mustang’s wide tires chewed up gravel and spit it out, creating a dust cloud that briefly flashed red as the car’s tail lights illuminated it in the darkness of the remote urban area.
“What’s out here, Steve?” Hank asked from the passenger seat.
“Some of my gear,” Sommer/Baldinger replied, staying focused on the road ahead as it curved away, into the darkness.
The other man simply nodded before looking into the backseat area. Trent, Randall, and Graham were all asleep back there. Listening to the men snore, he was glad they were getting rest. They’d had a hard day, punctuated with a heavy dinner and several rounds of hard alcohol, and from what Sommer said, tomorrow would be a full day of intense activity.
It didn’t take much analysis to determine that when he said ‘intense activity’ he meant a lot of killing.
They’d started the day with a trip to the Police Department in the Northwest section of Fresno, where, after a relatively minor confrontation with a trio of police officers who’d mistakenly thought they’d be safe there, they’d procured bulletproof vests, helmets, and all the guns and ammunition they could want.
After loading the weapons and gear in the Mustang’s trunk, Sommer made them spend the afternoon completing ‘missions’, which he deemed of critical importance due to what he called ‘upcoming time off-task.’
Simply put, if they weren’t actively working to reduce the number of lesser humans, they were letting them reproduce.
“Now is the time,” he told them, “to clean this country. While there may be only five of us, we will do what we can to rid this country of the inferior beings that inhabit it.”
He held up his hand, extending his forefinger as he spoke. “Every worthless piece of colored trash we take out is progress.
“The virus presented us with a tremendous opportunity to get ahead of this...well, infestation. It gave us the opportunity to remove the vermin that have become a stain on our society, the ones that deteriorate the very fabric of America with their mixed-race breeding, their politically correct, equal rights bullshit, and their insistence that we treat those who aren’t of the Aryan blood as equals,” he said loudly, almost shouting as he breathed heavily through his nose.
“Are you fucking kidding me? Those dirty pieces of shit wouldn’t be living in the United States, enjoying the benefits our country has to offer, if it weren’t for the White Man. They’d still be in fucking Africa, getting chased by fucking lions, or in the jungle, climbing fucking trees, if it weren’t for our people.”
Taking a breath, he regained his composure before he went on.
“The Rage virus helped us reduce their numbers already, and though we’ve lost some of our own, as society recovers, we,” he pointed at each of them, then himself, “will be the ones to make sure only our kind are eligible, available, and considered for positions of power.
“The way it should be, am I right, brothers?”
They’d all agreed readily, nodding as they did. Trent raised his fist up and shook it.
“Fuckin’ A, boss,” he said.
Sommer pointed at him and nodded before he went on.
“Our time is now. If the current government gets this thing under control, they’ll be too busy trying to distribute a vaccine to even notice what we’re doing. People will assume the reduction in the number of people is associated with the virus. Only we will know the truth - that we’ve been cleaning like fucking wetback maids.”
He chuckled, joining the others as they laughed at his joke. When the laughter dissipated, he continued.
“We’ve done good work so far, but we’re not even close to being done, and I don’t know about you, but I don’t want anything interfering with our efforts.
“Right now, someone is trying to deliver a girl who is immune to the government so they can develop a cure. We’re not going to let that happen, are we?”
The men all answered in the negative.
“Good, ‘cause I’m just getting warmed up.”
Baldinger/Sommer pulled the steering wheel to the right, entering a dirt driveway. He eased his foot on the gas, slowing the vehicle as it drove under the branches of overgrown trees. Dried bits of grass dotted the ground on either side of the drive, which was lined with rocks of various sizes, providing guidance through the dirt and dried vegetation.
After a few hundred yards, the Mustang reached a lighted area that was centered around a long ranch-style home. While the interior of the house was completely dark, landscape lighting lit up the overgrown vegetation around the home in multiple areas, and a powerful security light shone brightly above the front door.
Sommer stopped the car in front of the home, turned off the engine, and engaged the parking brake. Raising his voice, he said, “Alright, fellas, we’re here,” before stepping out of the car and closing the door.
Hank watched the men in the back for a moment to make sure they were waking up before getting out of the vehicle. By the time he did so, Sommer was almost to the front door. Walking quickly, he rushed to catch up to the man.
“Wait up, boss,” he said in a hushed tone, keeping his voice low to avoid alerting the home’s occupants, though he doubted anyone within would have missed the loud, rumbling engine of the powerful Mustang. “You sure no one’s here?” He asked, catching up to the man.
Sommer looked over and grinned. “They’d better not be, or else they’re trespassing.” Pulling a key from his pocket, he stuck it in the lock and turned it.
“Woah, you live here, boss?” Graham asked, his eyes wide with surprise.
Sommer looked at the man for a long moment. “Nothing gets by you, Graham,” he said, turning away and throwing open the front door.
“Come on in,” he told them as he turned on the home’s lights. The front room of the home was big, nearly as wide as it was long, and numerous recessed lights lit up the space well, showing a room that was tastefully decorated. Multiple large couches were centered around a large coffee table on one side of the room, their focal point being a sixty-inch flat screen television that was mounted high on the wall. Across from the sofas, a pair of recliners sat facing a large picture window at the rear of the home. Beyond the recliners, the room transitioned to a dining room, complete with a table and six chairs, and beyond that, a modern kitchen with granite countertops and stainless steel appliances.
Walking through the living room, Sommer tossed the keys on the kitchen counter before opening the refrigerator and taking out a six pack of beer. He passed one to each of the men, then returned the spare to the fridge.
“You guys make yourselves comfortable,” he said, taking a swig from the bottle he held. “I’m gonna grab some more supplies.”
“I thought we already got all the weapons we need?” Trent asked, taking a swig from his beer.
Sommer grinned as he grabbed the keys from the counter. “I’ve got something special.” As he opened the sliding glass door at the back of the home, he looked over at Hank and said, “Come give me a hand, will ya?”
Without saying a word, Hank followed the man outside and into the darkness of the backyard. Following a path lit by lighting, the two men walked towards a large vinyl-sided shed that was positioned near the rear of the home, neatly placed against a wooden fence.
“How long you live here, Steve?”
“On and off for about five years. I bought it while I was in the Marines, but live in it for over a year after I got out. Too many people looking for me.” He turned and looked off into the distance, where the fields stretched outward into the darkness. “Fortunately, the military never had any definitive evidence against me, so they had no case. The only thing they could charge me with was desertion, and though most employers aren’t fans of that sort of thing, local
law enforcement stopped coming by to check on the place after about six months.”
“The county didn’t try to reclaim it or put it up for auction?”
“Nah. Made my Mom a part owner, and she agreed to come check on it once in a while, just enough to keep the county uninterested.” Spitting on the ground, he added, “I had an account making payments for the property taxes. Military said it was proof that I was still around, but I put enough money in the account in advance to not need more. With no deposits being made, they had nothing to pursue.”
“But it would have run out eventually,” Hank suggested.
Sommer chuckled. “My mother would have sold it. To Steve Sommer.”
Arriving at the shed, Sommer brought up the keys and inserted one into a large metal padlock. The lock popped open with ease, indicating it had been oiled on occasion. Sommer threw the door open, then reached inside and flipped a switch, bathing the space in light.
The interior of the shed was heavily cluttered. To the left was a massive Kobalt tool chest next to a long wooden workbench that had a mounted vice, table saw, and miter saw. Woodworking tools of multiple sizes and shapes lined the wall, and a large, inverted vacuum system had been installed for clearing wood shavings. indicating with all kinds of tools and landscaping equipment. To the right, a riding mower sat atop a large canvas tarp in the middle of the floor. On the wall, a trimmer and edger hung next to a series of shelves that were filled with assorted lawn care materials. Bags of concrete, pieces of rebar, and stacks of cinder blocks sat at the back of the shed.
After a moment of examining the interior of the small structure, Hank looked at the other man, confused. “I don’t see anything.”
Sommer grinned wider this time. “Exactly.”
Stepping past Hank, he strode into the shed, brushing aside a cobweb that hung from the frame of the door. Walking over to where the riding mower sat, he got behind it and easily pushed it out of the way. “I disengaged the drive train,” he explained before returning to where the tarp rested on the floor. He lifted the tarp from the floor, tossing it to the side, then went to the wall and grabbed a weirdly shaped tool. Bending down, he inserted the tool between the slats of the wooden flooring. Pulling upward, a small, six by six section of the floor popped out, revealing another padlock.
Surviving Rage | Book 2 Page 50
