“Mr. Vice President,” Colonel Jenkins interrupted his thoughts.
“Yes, Colonel.”
“Let me be the first to volunteer.”
“Thank you, Colonel.”
“Do you have any intelligence on their whereabouts?” Colonel Jenkins asked.
The vice president said, “I’m afraid we do not. Only that they were supposed to arrive by tomorrow. If they don’t show up by then, the president has ordered us to evacuate and head to Mount Weather.”
“Understood.”
“Would you be able to assemble a team of let’s say, maybe two or three men?” The vice president asked.
Colonel Jenkins nodded, then said, “With me, my men, the pilot, and the family, that would be about the payload of the chopper anyway, so I believe that should be sufficient. I have just the men in mind, sir.”
“Excellent. I’m sorry we don’t have more to offer. Others need to stay here and protect the house.”
“Understood, sir. I will assemble my best men.”
“Great! Take to the sky. You’re more likely to see something from far off.”
“I agree 100%.”
“Why don’t you get your team ready.” The vice president glanced down to his watch. “Be on the helipad in an hour?”
“Roger that, sir.”
After one hour, Colonel Jenkins and two other men stood at the entrance of the semi-circular opening, waiting for the gate to rise. When the sunlight peeked through the hole, Colonel Jenkins lifted his head to the sky, but closed his eyes beneath his Oakley sunglasses so he could feel the warmth of the sun on his face. He had to remind himself he was still human. Even though it had been less than a day since he’d felt that warmth, he still coveted that feeling, even now.
Each man was equipped as if they were heading out to war, decked out with tactical helmets, sunglasses, an abundance of water pouches, extra magazines, boots, and automatic rifles slung across their chests. Their hope would be to find the family unharmed and find them quickly. The longer this mission took, the more dangerous it would become, especially after nightfall.
The sound of churning rotors echoed against the mountainside. As Colonel Jenkins led his men in a jog toward the chopper, he peered outward. In the distance, there was a collection of infected stacked behind a twenty-foot chain link gate. He stopped running at once, as did his men. They, too, turned their attention toward the gate. There must have been hundreds of them. An army waiting, staring at the colonel and his men.
“Sir, should we engage?” said Brian Bald, a member of TACP an Air Force special forces unit.
“No. Stand down. Our mission is the family. If the infected are still there when we return, we’ll ask the vice president how he wants to handle them. For now, it looks as though they are at bay.”
“Copy that, sir,” Bald said.
The colonel ran forward. When he reached the chopper, he stood still by the door, and watched his men climb inside before giving one last glance to the legion of infected men and women who remained still.
Once inside the chopper, each man hoisted a headset over there ears so they could hear one another.
Shortly after takeoff Masterson asked, “Where to, Colonel?”
Colonel Jenkins continued staring at the infected. The line of people went on for almost 1,000 feet.
“Colonel! Sir!” Masterson urged from the cockpit.
Shaking himself from the reality of what waited below, he answered, “Take us north.”
“Do you have a destination in mind, sir?”
“Once we get north of the city, we’ll head west into the mountain range, but I don’t think we need to head far. Maybe twenty miles inland. When the heavy trees diminish, we’ll take our path back north. Cover as much land as possible. The vice president advised us the family should be close.”
“Yes, sir,” Masterson said, then rotated the nose and flew north.
As they flew, Colonel Jenkins spoke to another one of his men. “Hey, Drake.”
Chauncey Drake was another airman. His specialty was a pararescue-man. “Yes, sir.”
“This remind you at all of that op in Afghanistan?”
Drake smiled. Both had been in country during the rescue. “The one where we had to rescue those trapped Marines up on that bluff?”
Colonel Jenkins grinned. “That’s the one.”
Drake turned away and peered at the trees below, maybe gathering his thoughts. “That was a fun mission, sir, but rescuing fifteen trapped marines on the top of a mountain in Afghanistan when we knew their location is hardly the same as locating one family in the middle of the Rocky Mountains blind.” Drake grinned.
“So, you say,” Colonel Jenkins smiled back.
“Just being honest, sir.”
“Keep that honesty to yourself,” Colonel Jenkins chuckled.
Flying over the ridge of Cheyenne Mountain, Colonel Jenkins glanced toward the ground. From far off he saw a beautiful hotel and golf course. Instantly thoughts of his brother’s wedding rushed to the surface of his mind. As the best man, he’d arranged the bachelor party. A round of golf had been included in the wedding package. He recalled nearly holing out from the fairway on the first hole, as they played before the big day—a great start. But unfortunately, the round, and the next day had come with their own set of problems. He’d ended up shooting over 100, and the bride to be had left his brother at the altar.
Now, though, as he looked at the course, he saw random bodies running over the beautiful plush fairway, rushing toward something. When he followed their path with his eyes, he saw a collection of other infected surrounding a nearby tree.
Leaning forward in his seat, he figured there must be someone in that tree.
“What is it, sir?” Bald asked.
But the colonel didn’t answer. His eyes were fixated on that lone tree. Until it was uprooted. “Holy shit,” Colonel Jenkins said. “Did you see that?” His face wore shock as he looked into the chopper for an answer.
“What happened, sir?” Bald asked.
The colonel returned his attention outside as he witnessed a person fall from the tree just as the group of infected pounced on him.
When he turned back into the chopper, he sought Drake’s eye and said. “You’re right, Drake, this is nothing like Afghanistan.”
14
South Park, Colorado
The county road stopped at a T-shaped intersection. After a quick glance to his right, knowing it was unlikely anyone would be driving their way, Colt spun the wheel to head east on US 24. Still, he wondered why more people weren’t doing the same. Why weren’t people driving toward a bigger city? Why hadn’t they seen more than one other person alive? Then he realized the types of people who lived in the mountains were self-sufficient. Maybe they thought it was smarter to stay in their homes than to make a run for it. Chances were, most would survive longer if they opted for that choice. But they would need a stockpile of Beritrix. Maybe, though, Colt thought, maybe there just aren’t many left.
To the south, Colt glanced for only a moment. Forgetting what was there, he recognized Spinney Mountain Reservoir. Just the sight of the water brought a smile to his face and nudged him out of the current state of mind he was in. He and his sons had frequented their favorite fishing spot often. He’d brought them ever since they could hold a rod in their hands.
Dylan caught sight of his father looking in his direction and said, “What?”
Colt smiled and said, “You remember that monster rainbow you pulled out of there last summer?” Colt nodded to the reservoir.
Dylan spun around and looked out his window. The reminder of the fish brought a smile to his face as well. He loved the sport too. “Sure do. Caught it on my fly rod. Stripping a streamer while you and Wesley were out on your float tubes.”
“Oh, trust me, I remember,” Colt said. They locked eyes and grinned. “You fell into the water trying to net that beast.”
Both chuckled at the sweet memory, but were
soon shook back to reality when Wesley chimed in from the back seat. “Daddy.” He pointed through their line of sight. “What’s that?”
Colt shifted his attention back on the road to see a line of stopped cars. The line was heading in both directions. Colt approached the vehicles slowly, only stopping thirty yards from the rear bumper of the car in his lane and the front bumper of the car moving in the opposite lane.
“What the hell?” Colt said, then opened his door and stood tall on the running boards and over the roof of his truck.
The line stretched for miles. Blocking their path. Dylan mirrored his father’s movements. And as they stared at each other while standing over the roof, Dylan said. “How do we get around this?”
Colt racked his brain. There was one way, but it was a detour, and would add more miles to the trip. He glanced over his son’s head and looked south toward Spinney Mountain Reservoir. Without saying another word, he dipped into the truck. Dylan followed suit.
“Boys. Buckle up.” Colt shifted the truck into drive, then turned off the highway and drove into the dirt and high grass of the shoulder.
The truck bobbed over the uneven terrain, even at a slow speed. Colt did his best to keep his hands at ten and two, but the rocky earth jolted them on the wheel. About 4,000 feet of dirt and dry grass separated them and the first paved road that travelled south.
“Hey, buddy.” Colt looked to Wesley in the rearview. They caught eyes. “Keep an eye out for me, alright? Watch that long row of cars. If you see anything strange let me know, okay?”
Colt saw Wesley nod his head.
“Thanks, little man.”
With Wesley’s attention on the cars, Colt focused on the road ahead, and Dylan looked out his own window, scanning the southern horizon for approaching danger.
A smile grew on Colt’s face when he saw the blacktop of the county road no more than a few hundred feet off. “There.” Colt pointed.
“Uh, Dad, what’s that?” Dylan was still watching out his window.
Colt shifted his attention from his heading and ducked down, looking in the distance. An old Ford Bronco was driving fast, it almost seemed they were trying to cut off Colt’s path as he was about to make his entrance onto the paved surface.
“It’s people. I can see them.” Wesley’s voice raised hope inside of all of them, but his innocence was preemptive.
In the back of the 4x4, a woman stood above the roofline of the topless vehicle, waving her hands in a panic and shouting something none of them could hear.
“What’s she saying?” Dylan leaned forward out of instinct.
“No idea. Roll down your window.” Colt nodded toward the glass.
He did as instructed; still they couldn’t make out what she was saying.
“Slow down, I can’t hear anything.” Dylan eyed his father.
But Colt knew better, he couldn’t stop the truck’s momentum and risk them getting stuck.
“Can’t risk it. Not now,” Colt said.
“What do you mean?” Dylan said.
“I mean, I’m not going to stop. Don’t you remember Walter’s nephew?”
Dylan returned his attention back out the window. “What if they need our help?”
“I have no doubt they do. But . . . I’m not risking your life, or your brother’s.”
Once the front tires of the truck met the pavement, Colt spun the wheel to the right and sped south. The Bronco was closing in. Yet, the woman stood tall in the back seat, waving her arms furiously.
Colt saw her, but his attention was focused beyond the approaching vehicle. He couldn’t ignore that the Bronco was close now. The driver of the truck moved to the center of the lane, driving down the middle of the narrow road until he came to a stop twenty yards in front of Colt’s bumper.
“What’s he doing?” Dylan said.
“Looks like he’s trying to make us stop.”
“Are you going to, Daddy?” Wesley said.
“Not for anything, little man.”
Avoiding eye contact, Colt swerved at the last second, speeding over the shoulder, half off the road, and half on. The tires kicked up dirt and rock as Colt drove on. Amongst the debris, they could still hear the woman’s shrill cries as they passed.
Once around the 4x4, Colt maneuvered onto the pavement and immediately looked in his rearview, joining his son’s gaze, to see what the Bronco would do next. Of course, the driver whipped his vehicle around and made a U-turn. Colt pressed the gas pedal to the floor, but it seemed the driver was unfazed and looking to gain ground. Another fork in the road was approaching. Colt knew to turn left and head southeast, but as the intersection approached, he was too afraid to lay off the gas as the Bronco gained ground behind them.
“Uh, Dad.” Dylan grasped the dashboard, fearing the truck would flip if they continued their current heading at that speed.
“Hold on boys.” Colt laid off the gas just enough to make the left turn.
The tires screeched but held to the pavement as they twisted with the road. Colt knew their new path was a long stretch of open road, but could they outrun the Bronco? Colt glanced down to his gas gauge. The dial hovered just in front of the E.
We’re not gonna make it to Colorado Springs. In his gut, he knew. But couldn’t dwell on that now. If he didn’t shake the current threat behind them, it didn’t matter if he had a full tank of gas or not.
Their speed approached eighty as they passed the turnoff for the “Dream Stream”—a stretch of “Gold Metal” water they also loved to fish. Staring behind him again, the Bronco made up more ground. Even at the high speeds, the woman still stood in the back, waving her arms.
“What’s with these people,” Colt said out loud.
“Daddy, they’re scaring me,” Wesley said.
Me too. But Colt couldn’t say that out loud. “I know, little man, I’m trying to shake them. I don’t know what they want us to stop for.”
As Colt continued his heading, they passed Elevenmile Canyon Reservoir. He knew the road curved up ahead, and they couldn’t continue at their current speed—not if he wanted to keep the truck from flipping.
He took a deep breath and let off the gas pedal, then glanced in his rearview. Shock lingered on his face when he saw the Bronco fade in the distance. “What the? Why’d they stop?” Colt said.
Dylan turned around, as did Wesley.
And just as Colt returned his attention back out the windshield, he slammed on the brakes. Each boy was forced forward into their seat belts as their heads whipped back around.
Colt’s arms went rigid on the wheel, and he said nothing as he stared forward.
“Uh, Dad,” Dylan said as dozens of infected stood in the street, leering at the truck. “I think maybe that’s why that lady was trying to get us to stop.”
15
It was the eyes. Jet black, precisely the same color as Anna and Walker’s. The shirtless infected man who stood closest to the truck turned to the side. From his position, Colt could see the same markings up his spine, much like Anna’s when she’d stood nude against the bathroom wall.
Colt was frozen with his hands on the wheel and didn’t dare breathe. Then the man rotated his body and squared the vehicle. Upon his movement, Colt let go of his breath.
“Dad? What do we do?” Dylan pushed himself flat against the seat.
“Wesley, get down. Lay on the floor,” Colt whispered out of the side of his mouth. “I don’t want you to see this.”
Taking his eye off the man standing in the road, Colt spanned his field of vision to the left and out the window. Two infected. Two women walked toward Colt’s door. They weren’t moving fast, just a casual stroll. They stared at him through soulless eyes, but something seemed off. As if they were studying him, sizing him up before they attacked.
With his foot tight against the brake, Colt lifted his pressure from the pedal, then slammed onto the gas. The rear tires spun for a moment, causing smoke to rise from the rubber. When the tires gripped after
the third rotation, Colt aimed his bumper at the man standing in front of him.
At the thud of contact, the man let out a high-pitched screech. Colt expected him to fall back into the road, but instead, the man grabbed a hold of the hood and held on as Colt raced away.
Other infected sprinted after the them, but couldn’t reach the truck in time. The man on hood slammed his fist down, denting the metal. Again, Colt held his breath, and his eyes bulged. His focus remained on the man attached to his hood, and he didn’t notice the road weaving to the right.
Colt felt a drop in elevation as they drove off-road and onto the dry grass. That was when the infected man lost his grip and fell. Colt didn’t stop. Instead, he swerved back onto the main road, nearly colliding with a protruding boulder.
Another bank corner was coming up, turning east. Colt stared in his rearview expecting to see the infected man still chasing him down, but he was gone, vanished. Along with every single other infected that roamed the area. What the hell? Why? This went against all comprehension. Against everything he’d ever thought an invasion might be.
Then Dylan shouted and shook Colt back to reality. “Dad! Look! There’s more.”
Off to the right, more infected stood amongst the grass, scattered like cattle in a field. But they weren’t grazing, rather eyeing the truck as they passed. Again, they didn’t attack, they didn’t waste their energy on foolishly trying to outrun Colt’s truck.
As they drove onward, they passed multiple homes built off the side of the road. Colt wondered if anyone remained inside. Maybe the infected they’d passed had been the inhabitants. He thought to stop, to search for more supplies. Maybe a tent, a lantern, flares to shoot up in the sky. Maybe someone was looking for them? If Jake got a hold of the president, maybe he’d made their whereabouts known. But with the threat of the infected lingering, they couldn’t stop, not now.
Uncivil War: Infected Page 7