Up From the Depths Book 4
Movement to Contact
J.R. Jackson
Foreword by Rich Restucci
Up From the Depths Book 4 by James R. Jackson
All Rights reserved.
Copyright© 2016 JRJ/Golf Lima Charlie/Ghost 27. This is a work of fiction. This book and series has no connection to reality. No part of this novel may be reprinted without express permission. Any similarities to real people, living, dead or undead is purely coincidental and accidental. Business establishments, events and locations mentioned or described within this novel are done so with the utmost respect and/or are purely coincidental. Artistic license has been applied. Do not attempt to imitate what any of the characters within this book or series does. To do so is at your own risk. In fact, I’m pretty certain that what they do is illegal in almost every state and most countries. The author disavows any responsibility towards the moronic and/or stupid acts perpetrated by any reader that attempts to mimic anything after reading this book and series.
The Up From the Depths series by J.R. Jackson
Denial Measures (Book 1)
Acceptable Losses (Book 2)
Collateral Damage (Book 3)
Movement to Contact (Book 4)
Defilade (Book 5) Spring 2016
Secondary Objectives (Book 6) Summer 2016
Author’s Foreword
What you’re holding in your hands was to have been the final book in the Up From the Depths series. This project was originally intended to be only a single novel but events transpired and it turned out different.
I had reached a point with this series where I was asking myself what more could I write about these characters without boring the readers to tears. When you think about it, how many times can you put groups of fictional characters into mortal peril and keep it fresh in a world inhabited by rotting puss bags?
After much cajoling, jokes, motivational emails, phone calls, and even a couple of threats of violent actions against my person if I didn’t continue the work, I sat down and stared at the keyboard until drops of blood formed on my forehead.
The original ending I had written for this series and all the characters that pushed, shoved, and clawed their way out of the dusty corners of my mind just wasn’t good enough. It wasn’t fitting for all the adventures we had been through together. A far better ending had to be written, one more extravagant and fulfilling. And sadly, final.
Don’t worry, that ending isn’t in this book. You see, after all that blood, sweat, tears, and mud that was churned up, all the Pepsi consumed, all those late night writing sessions, morning headaches, and power nap lunches there was more to this story to tell. Join us as we continue our tour of the world of Up From the Depths and revisit some old friends.
Weapons up, we’re Oscar Mike.
JRJ
Foreword by Rich Restucci
I’m an insomniac. I’ve always had trouble sleeping. When I was young, and my parents would go to bed, they would always check on me prior to them hitting the sheets, and I would without fail feign slumber, the rise and fall of my chest the only indication of life. I would receive my kiss on the forehead and they would go for their nightly rest. I, not being able to sleep, would wait a few minutes, then break out my bucket of toy soldiers using my bed as a battlefield. Hundreds of battles were fought in that bed, all time periods being represented. From World War Two with my blankets being the towering cliffs of Normandy, to rows of the toys on my sheets fighting at Gettysburg, those figurines lived and died by the dim light of my Buck Rogers night light, entire wars fought in total silence. Squads of greens would clash with emplaced positions of tan or gray, the victors as certain as a five year olds understanding of military history. Tanks rolled, bombs dropped, and bullets flew. I can neither confirm nor deny that some of those conflicts were waged with or against dinosaurs.
One night some desert fighting took its toll on me and I became thirsty. I left my minions and our enemies on the sheets and padded toward the kitchen in my feetsy-pajamas, silent as the grave. The kitchen was to the left, but I couldn’t help but notice the whitish glow coming from the family room down the hall. As I crept down the corridor, I began to hear the faint sounds of the giant console television. My thirst forgotten, I skulked forward moving up behind my father, who was sitting on the couch watching something on the TV. Peering over the back of the sofa, I couldn’t understand why my dad was watching a black and white program, when I knew for a fact that this Volkswagen sized television was perfectly capable of transmitting Bugs Bunny cartoons in the brightest Technicolor 1974 had to offer. I sat behind him, gazing at the screen as the two men on it argued about locking a basement door. I rolled my eyes. Why was dad watching the news at this hour, and why was it in black and white? Why was he even up? He might catch me playing when I should be sleeping. That thought got me going, and just as I started to tactically withdraw to the kitchen for my drink of water, a hand shot through the window on the screen and grabbed hold of one of the guys who had been arguing. The guy started yelling, and my dad sat up. The TV flashed to a bunch of people stumbling through the dark toward a farmhouse…
Those people scared the shit out of me.
They had dark circles around their eyes, vacant expressions on their faces, and somehow I knew they were… off. I planted my butt right back down, sat cross-legged with my elbows on my knees and my chin in my palms and was glued to that television. Much later in the movie, after Tom and Judy are eaten, and a little girl carves up her mom with a garden trowel, a guy in a hat with a rifle on his shoulder and an ammo bandolier says something that shook me to my core: They’re dead, they’re all messed up.
Wait…what? Dead? I had heard of cannibalism in my young life, but being consumed by a dead person? This was a new level of fear.
A sharp intake of breath later and my father was staring down at me hands on his hips asking how long I had been there and how much of the movie I had seen.
My dad put me to bed with a Dixie cup of water, and the grays and tans walked a little slower after that. They stumbled.
As I grew older, the toy soldiers came out of the bucket less and less, but my fondness for the zombie only increased. I couldn’t get enough of movies or books containing the living dead.
As an adult, in my constant search for more undead entertainment, I was fortunate enough to come across James Jackson’s Up From the Depths series. I read book one and was hooked, eating up the pages of the rest of the series not unlike some of the ravenous creatures portrayed. After I read book four, Movement to Contact, I did what any sane person would do; I read it again. I couldn’t get enough of the military expertise depicted in the pages. Movement to Contact contains dozens of well-developed characters, settings, heroes, and villains. A hit man, a virologist, and Military operations against an enemy without compassion or remorse, (and I’m not talking about the zombies) are all portrayed with visceral realism, with a side order of terror.
But let’s not forget about the undead. That’s why you’ve got your nose in this book, for the zombies, and there are more than enough to go around. The pandemic is global, and James Jackson uses Captain Deck O’Toole to battle the undead in rainy Washington State. Forward Recon Team Sierra 3 engages the dead in a post-apocalyptic New York City, and the flesh-eaters get diced by Kukri wielding Ghurkas at a military academy in England. My personal favorite is ex-Assassin John Mecceloni and his friends fighting the menace in New Mexico.
The Up From the Depths series is so much more than a zombie tale though. This sequence of stories is a military thriller, full of intrigue, violence, and not a little gore. Movement to Con
tact adds to the epic, but for me it was more than that. This book brought me back to that spot behind my dad on the couch. I looked over Captain Declan O’Toole’s shoulder at the undead as I had once looked over my father’s.
If you’re here, you’ve probably come far in James Jackson’s world of the undead. If you would take one small piece of advice from a fellow zombie fanatic and preparation enthusiast this is it: Continue.
-Rich Restucci
Author: Unlikely Hero, The Human Race, Antithesis, Run, Chaos Theory.
To all those that made this possible, thank you.
The world changed in a day.
A genetically engineered virus designed to eradicate the disease known as ‘Man’ was released in major population centers around the world. The chaos that ensued left the civilian government and the military chain of command in shambles.
The survivors struggled to adapt to their new reality.
This is their story.
Fear not death for the sooner we die, the longer we shall be immortal
-Benjamin Franklin
Chapter 1
30 miles into SW Wyoming
The military Hummer crossed over the state line from Idaho to Wyoming. The layer of dirt and mud almost obscuring the woodland camouflage pattern and making it appear faded and gray. Staying off the high traffic thoroughfares and using US Forest Service road, jeep trails and farmer’s fields, had taken a toll on the vehicle and its occupants. What was labeled as a road on the map was usually only a road in name only. The three men had switched off driving to put as much distance between them and the Dupont Federal Center while their passenger fitfully slept. The constant rumble from the diesel engine, the rattle of loose gear and the slipstream of wind whistling through the gaps in the overhead roof hatch had lulled the occupants into an almost vegetative state. The decision to leave the area the way they did fell on the senior NCO of the small unit. He had led them out of the nightmare of Idaho Falls when they had been cut off by hordes of infected. It was also his decision that had led them in the direction of what they had hoped to be an active government or military installation. Appearances are not always what they seem as they soon found out upon arriving at the subterranean complex. Scouting the perimeter, they had witnessed a prisoner transfer. Something about that evolution didn’t look right. Following the transport vehicle, the three National Guardsmen had watched as the prisoner detail drove to a very remote location, parked, tossed a body bag into a nearby ravine, and prepared to sexually abuse their prisoner. In this changed world, that activity was becoming more and more commonplace. Rescuing the prisoner and removing the guards had led them to where they were right now.
“Sergeant,” Axtell said to get Master Sergeant Alan Hathaway’s attention in the back seat. “Hey, Sergeant,” he called out a little louder.
“What you need, Ax?” Hathaway replied. He had been looking out the side window lost in his own thoughts.
“We need fuel soon,” Axtell stated. “And some serious rack time,” he muttered to himself, stifling a yawn.
Hathaway pulled out a trucker’s road map that he had appropriated from the same truck stop as the cases of bottled water that were stacked in the rear cargo area.
“Just outside of Alpine there should be a fuel point. We’ll check it out,” Hathaway said as he consulted the map. Beside him, Angelina Brandon moaned a little then jerked upright, eyes wide, looking around.
“Easy there, Captain,” Hathaway said, “You’re among friends.”
Brandon frantically looked around the inside of the Hummer then calmed down enough to sit back in her seat. She looked over at Hathaway who was studying her.
“I remember you,” she said before casting her eyes down at the silver space blanket she was wrapped in. The swelling around her right eye had gone down enough allowing her to regain limited vision. Looking up and meeting Hathaway’s eyes she caught his eye and indicated if he was responsible for the blanket and bandages. Nodding in answer, Hathaway shifted in his seat and reached into his pack, opened the first aid kit and removed a chemical cold pack. Cracking to activate it, he handed it to Brandon who placed it over her swollen eye.
“Thank you,” she said in a stronger voice. Hathaway nodded then returned to his map. Brandon adjusted herself in the seat before settling down and looking out the window on her side. Miles passed in silence before she spoke again.
“Where are we?”
“We just passed into Wyoming a little ways back,” Hathaway said as the Hummer bounced through a drainage ditch before turning onto a two lane highway. “Right now, we’re looking for a fuel stop.”
Brandon nodded.
“Do you have any water?” she asked.
Hathaway reached back, poked his finger through the shrink-wrap, and pulled out a bottle of water from one of the cases and tossed it to her. Brandon caught the bottle with ease, letting the cold pack drop to her lap while she unscrewed the top of the plastic bottle and downed most of the contents in a few swallows, wincing at the pain from her split lip. Looking out the window and taking a deep breath, she savored the taste of the water. Placing the water bottle between her thighs, she returned the ice pack to her face, tilted her head back and closed her eyes again.
“Where did you come from?” she asked, eyes still closed.
“Idaho Falls. We were involved in evacuating the city,” Hathaway said. “Before everything changed.”
“Long ways from home,” Brandon said.
“That we are,” Hathaway agreed.
“It’s almost unbelievable,” Brandon said.
“Believe it. We were there,” Hathaway said.
“No,” Brandon said. “That’s not what I meant. I believe you were there, it’s just we were told that there was no one left topside. The virus had killed everyone. Infected them. Killed or infected, pretty much the same thing.”
“Who told you that?” Hathaway looked at her sideways.
“The Commanding General of the complex, General Spears, and his executive officer Major Quintana,” Brandon stated, shuddering at the mention of the man who had tortured and beat her.
“General Spears announced a few days after we lost contact with the surface that there was nothing left up here. Everyone was dead.”
Valdez and Axtell shared a look while Hathaway just shook his head in amazement.
“Asshole,” Axtell muttered quietly from behind the wheel.
Hathaway was silent. He was glad that they hadn’t walked up and knocked on the door to the Dupont Federal Center. Who knew where they might be now if they had.
“He lied to all those people and we believed him,” Brandon said.
“You really a captain?” Valdez asked turning partially in his seat to look back.
“Yes, I am,” Brandon stated. “I’m Captain Angelina Brandon.”
“Well, shit,” Valdez started to say before he caught himself. “Sorry ma’am, uh captain.”
“It’s ok corporal…ah?” Brandon said.
“Valdez, ma’am, Corporal Emilio Valdez,”
“Pleasure to meet you, Corporal Valdez,” Brandon stated lifting her head and looking forward.
“Who’s our driver?”
“Corporal Axtell, Ma’am. Marcus Axtell,” Ax stammered out from behind the wheel.
Brandon looked at Hathaway with a question on her face.
“Master Sergeant Alan Hathaway, captain,” Hathaway announced. Brandon looked at the bottle of water between her legs then craned her neck to look in the rear cargo area.
“Looks like you boys have been at this for a while. That’s a fair amount of supplies. How long have you been out here?”
“Since before,” Hathaway said.
“Before what?” Brandon asked.
“Since before the dead started walking around. Now all the dead are dead or thereabouts and the living are dying,” Hathaway said. Brandon looked at him confused.
“A couple of days after it all started. We,” Hathaway indicated towa
rds the two other soldiers, “We were called up for civilian relocation and protection. Higher didn’t tell us what was going on. It was all need to know. By the time we knew anything, we were in a world of shit,” Hathaway explained, folding the map up and stuffing it inside his vest.
Brandon looked at the left shoulder of his uniform seeing the Airborne, Ranger, and Special Forces tabs stacked on his sleeve creating the ‘Tower of Power’ as some referred to it.
“Special Forces huh?” she asked with a nod.
“That was some time ago, captain. Back when I was young, dumb and full of piss and vinegar,” Hathaway said. “Now I’m just a NCO in the Guard or what’s left of it,” Hathaway said realizing the National Guard was probably a thing of the past as was a vast majority of the US military. As much as he didn’t want to admit that out loud, that was a solid reason for the loss of communication with command. It wasn’t equipment failure. That had been ruled out. It was something far worse, something he didn’t want to admit to himself. There was no one manning the commo nets because they were dead. That meant that there was no command left to report to.
“You’re still operating as a unit. That says something for your leadership skills,” Brandon noted.
Hathaway chuckled darkly.
“Some leadership skills. Most of my unit is dead. All that’s left are these two chuckleheads.”
The interior of the vehicle was quiet as each of the passengers thought back to their own personal losses in the months since infection.
“What was that place, Captain?” Hathaway asked looking at Brandon. She fixed him with a questioning look then realized he was asking about the Dupont Federal Center.
“Project Blue Light,” she replied. The blank looks at her response meant she had to elaborate on her answer. “Back there, not far from where you found me, the Dupont Federal Center. It’s a huge underground complex. They called it Project Blue Light for some reason.”
Up From the Depths: Book 4 Movement to Contact Page 1