The soldiers exchanged glances.
“We saw some of the outside,” Hathaway stated.
“It’s like an iceberg, the majority is unseen and in this case, underground,” Brandon said.
“With your rank, that puts you in charge of this little unit,” Hathaway said, changing the subject.
Brandon turned and looked at him with raised eyebrows, one raised eyebrow.
“Sergeant, I’m a researcher not an operator. My field experience is limited to going out to the range once a month and qualifying. I spent most of my time in a lab looking through a microscope,” she explained. “You were the operator and it looks like you still are,” she said. “You’ve kept these soldiers and yourself alive out here for a long time. I’m not one to step in and tell you how to do it. You guys would call me a Fobbit. I think. Or something about rear echelon something or another. REMF, or something like that. I’m not even remotely qualified to take over command of this unit.”
Hathaway nodded slowly. He didn’t want to put Brandon in command. He could run the unit by himself. But, she was an officer and there was a major reason to put her nominally in charge. This reminded him of his SF days. Back then, rank wasn’t an issue unless you were on post. Deployed, no one cared about rank; no one wore rank unless they needed to impress an indigenous politician in a third world shit hole. But, the other units were very rank structured. Big Army had become more of a political machine then a war fighting finishing school.
“I doubt there’s any Fobbits left. Or any rear areas. If it’s all the same to you, ma’am, I’d like to re-establish the chain of command. Before you, we were acting under the assumption that somewhere there was an operational command structure. We haven’t found one yet. Now, with you here, we have that. It doesn’t matter to me where you came from but, I’d feel a whole lot better,” he inclined his head in the direction of the two younger soldiers in the front seats. “If we re-established one so there’s no confusion,” Hathaway said looking at her. They both knew what he meant about there not being any more rear areas or FOBs. Everywhere was now a hostile zone. He didn’t add the chain of command was sacrosanct and even if the world was over, they still needed the hierarchy of rank or they would be nothing more than military deserters. At least with an officer in charge, they’d have a rank to look to for orders. Hathaway would make sure that they stayed alive and moderately safe. In actuality, he wanted to give her a point of focus so she wouldn’t be constantly dwelling on what had happened to her.
Brandon looked at him about to object but then realized what he said was true. By having a clearly defined chain of command, they would continue to operate as a military unit. She looked at him in silence then nodded agreement.
“Very well, Sergeant,” she said officiously, “I want to see your map to verify we’re heading in the correct direction,” she said extending her hand towards him. “By the way, that makes you the senior NCO. You okay with that, Top?” she asked.
Hathaway smirked as he pulled the map out of his vest and handed it to her it with a subtle wink.
“I think I can manage that,” he replied.
Brandon allowed a grin before opening the map and orienting it to their direction of travel. She noted the red circles marking hazards and unknown areas and the green lines of travel that Hathaway had marked on the map.
“Corporal Axtell, what’s our fuel status?” she asked.
“Less than half full, captain,” Axtell reported.
“Corporal Valdez, do you see the sign for a truck stop?”
“Yes ma’am, we’re four klicks out from it.”
“Corporal Axtell, make sure you find it soon. Once we get there, Sergeant Hathaway will have overall tactical command,” Brandon announced as she folded the map up and handed it back to Hathaway who hid the grin on his face at the subtle redirection she had used. He was glad to see that she could read a map and wouldn’t need to be instructed on land navigation. At least not too much.
“Hoo-ah?” she added.
“Hoo-ah!” all three soldiers chorused.
They rode in silence until Axtell slowed to a stop, pulling off to the side of the road out of habit. A few hundred yards up ahead on the opposite side of the road was a small truck stop. Several semi trucks were parked in the lot. Only two vehicles were parked out front facing the large, now dark, glass windows. One was an older sedan, some kind of family car with four doors and lots of windows. The other was a late model pickup. Both vehicles had flat tires and a coating of dust, dirt and the remnants of a light snow. Small patches of white were scattered on the ground where the sun hadn’t melted it giving evidence that the temperature was dropping.
“Captain, how do you want to play this out?” Hathaway asked.
Brandon looked over at him then leaned forward to get a better a view of the truck stop. She knew what he was doing, making her understand that she was technically in charge. Leaning back and putting the ice pack back in place, she looked over at him.
“Tell you what, sergeant, you take charge of this and if I see any deficiencies that need to be addressed, I’ll let you know,” she stated.
“Fair enough, captain,” Hathaway said grinning. Brandon was falling into the OIC delegation role as he expected she would. “Ax, take us to that tanker truck. Valdez, when we stop, you flank right I’ll go left. Hoo-ah?”
“Hoo-ah,” both corporals responded.
The Hummer slowly crept across the road and stopped next to a silver semi tanker that had the DOT numerical label for diesel fuel, 1202. Axtell shut of the engine as Valdez bailed out his door and ran to the front of the truck, weapon up and tracking.
Hathaway piled out and jogged to the rear of the trailer and scanned the parking lot over the sights of his rifle. Axtell stepped out and stayed by the driver’s door as he looked around slowly, his rifle barrel down but ready. Brandon, a little slower than the others, for obvious reasons, was out her door and looking around. It was quiet; save for the stiff, cold breeze that rattled papers and other debris in the parking lot.
Brandon involuntarily shivered as the chill wind tore through the light-weight, blood stained, day-glow orange coveralls she still wore. Hathaway hissed from his position then motioned Axtell to start fueling. The corporal jogged to the rear of the vehicle, let his rifle hang by its sling, and unstrapped the two fuel cans then carried them to the side of the tanker. He crouched down and looked under the large truck before straightening up and studying the controls to operate the pump.
“Top,” he called out quietly, “I don’t know if this will work,” he said. “We’d have to crank the truck to get the pump running and that would let all the eaters in the area know we’re here.” Axtell looked around then at the hose that lay in the trough next to the large cylinder that contained fuel.
“This isn’t going to work. The hose won’t mate to the can,” he said. There was a considerable size difference between the two openings. Hathaway jogged back to where Axtell was crouched and looked at the hose then the fuel cans.
“Well shit,” he muttered. This was the first time they had attempted to refuel in this manner. All the previous times, they had siphoned fuel from other vehicles using a length of garden hose.
“Forget that, move up to the tractor tanks and start siphoning those,” Hathaway directed. He hated to leave all the fuel in the tank behind but there were no other viable options. He made a mental note to mark this location on the map as a possible refueling point.
Axtell shot him a sullen look while shaking his head. He hated using the hose, last time he had received a mouthful of diesel that took a week to get the taste out.
“Problems?” Brandon asked.
“We’ll have to siphon from the tanks, captain. The hoses aren’t going to mate with the tops of the cans,” Hathaway explained.
“Wait, do any of you have a water filter?” Brandon asked. Hathaway looked at her strangely then realized what she meant. “It will mess up the filter but we can use it to pump
out the fuel.” He caught her use of ‘we’ but didn’t say anything.
“Ax, get your water filter,” Hathaway ordered. Axtell jogged back to the Hummer and dug out the MSR hand pump water filter from his pack. He held it up, fixing Hathaway with a puzzled look.
“Put the siphon end into the tractor tank and the other end into the fuel can,” Brandon explained. Axtell snagged one of the cans on his way past then unscrewed the cap on the tank. Dropping the siphon end into the tank, he started pumping the handle of the filter. Fuel slowly began to flow into the can. He looked up with a big grin.
Hathaway gave Brandon thumbs up then moved back to his position behind the tanker thinking about where they could locate an actual hand crank fuel pump. Maybe at a small fuel distributor or a mobile heavy equipment service company they could find a hand-operated fuel pump. He continued scanning his area then focused on a phone booth just a short distance away. Public phones, and booths were almost an anachronism as everyone seemed to have some sort of cell phone.
“Captain,” he called out.
Brandon looked over at him as he gestured for her to come to him. She cautiously walked towards him, her head on a swivel trying to watch all directions at once, her movements and the wind tossing her matted hair. Hathaway reached down with his left hand and drew his M9 handing it to Brandon butt first.
“Doesn’t do any good to have you stand out here without a weapon,” Hathaway said. “You good to use this?” he asked. Brandon nodded and accepted the sidearm. He watched as she checked the loaded chamber indicator, ejected the magazine, reinserted it, then flipped the safety off. All while keeping the barrel pointed in a safe direction and her finger outside the trigger guard. Hathaway was glad to see that at least some rudimentary range safety skills had been retained. Satisfied that she was comfortable with the weapon, he gestured for her to take his position then jogged to the phone booth. Opening the phone directory, he paged through it until he found the listing he wanted. Tearing that page out of the book, he stuffed it into his vest, and then jogged back to Brandon who had tied her hair into a knot at the back of head.
“This is taking entirely too long,” he said quietly as he glanced towards Axtell then continued to sweep the lot.
“I agree,” Brandon said, “but what other options are there? I didn’t notice any lights on when we pulled up and that usually means there isn’t any power. There might be a backup generator but we have no idea where it would be or if it even works. After all this time, finding someplace with its own power would be like winning the lottery.”
Hathaway shot a sideways glance at her; the young captain was catching on pretty quick to life in the world outside the safety of an underground bunker. It took over two hours for Axtell to pump out the fuel from the semi tractor’s main tanks and transfer it from the fuel can to the tank of the thirsty Hummer. In that time, they hadn’t seen any infected but the temperature had dropped considerably. Enough for Brandon to be shivering as she stood guard.
Hathaway retrieved the space blanket from the interior of the vehicle and handed it to her.
“It’s going to get colder, you should get inside. We’re almost finished here.” Brandon nodded, wrapped the blanket tighter around her shoulders and got inside the Hummer. At least inside the vehicle the wind was decreased. It only whistled through the hinges and seams around the roof hatch. Hathaway looked out across the plains; the change of seasons was well under way. He knew they would need to find someplace to hunker down for a while and warm up. Probably have to hunker down over winter the way the weather was looking. They definitely needed winter clothing and Brandon could use something besides the bloodstained orange prisoner jumpsuit to wear. Testing to see if he had the start of hypothermia, he tried to touch his pinky finger with his thumb. The lack of coordination was the first thing to be affected. He could still touch those fingers together but it was an effort. He glanced over as Axtell strapped the now full cans to the back of the Hummer. Not a moment too soon as far as he was concerned. Motioning to Valdez, they piled into the Hummer and headed back out onto Highway 89 traveling south with the heater turned on high.
***
Chapter 2
Safeguard, New Mexico
John Mecceloni lay on top of the sheets, one arm behind his head, staring at the ceiling. His mind was elsewhere, thinking back to their trek across the desert to reach the safety of this facility after leaving Clovis. Several times during the long night, he had tried to come up with a reason why someone, in this case, a quasi-religious leader, would intentionally capture infected then release them into a secure area. What was the motivation? Or was it some sort of orchestrated move to prevent society from recovering? His thoughts were interrupted when Cassie rolled over and snuggled up against him, throwing one leg across his lower body.
“Mmmm,” she purred, “That was fantastic. Let’s do it again.”
Putting her arm over his chest, she hugged him tight pressing her bare breasts against his body, basking in the afterglow of their recent activity. She and Mecceloni had spent that last few hours sleeping then waking to have frantic, at times even animalistic, sex. Not like he was complaining but they had been going at it pretty heavy since they returned from Clovis. He wasn’t worried about not being able to perform; he was more worried that she’d fuck him to death. She had been insatiable since their return.
“We really need to get up and get some food into us. All this exercise is great but we need to replace the carbs we’ve been burning up,” Mecceloni said, sitting up and putting his feet on the floor feeling the gentle ache in his muscles that he normally had after a workout.
“Oh, I know,” Cassie said rolling over onto her back and stretching like a cat. “But, do we have to do that right now?”
He had seen this type of behavior before. When someone had experienced a near death event, some felt a need to reaffirm their life, like a celebration that they were still alive. Sex was apparently how Cassie reaffirmed hers.
Mecceloni stood and stretched before walking to the bathroom for a much needed shower. Cassie watched him walk away then jumped out of bed and ran after him slapping his butt on the way by.
“Hey!’ he yelled before chasing her into the bathroom. Cassie had the shower head ready and sprayed him with it as soon as he entered. Fighting through the stream of water to get to her, he grabbed the shower wand, pinned her to the wall and sprayed her all over before he set the wand back in the holder, leaned in and kissed her deeply. She put one leg up and around his, reached down between their bodies and guided him inside her.
***
Chapter 3
Safeguard, New Mexico
“Can you get over how big this place is?” Jessica Burnett asked Allison Drewett as they walked along the hallway leading to the main dining area.
When the two former Air Force officers had first made the choice to leave the MV-22 with the Safeguard group, it was not something they had put a lot of thought into. Their decision had been made based on what they had seen of the group and limited options they had by staying onboard the tilt rotor aircraft.
Now, after having spent time with them, first on the long hike to this location and now inside Safeguard, they felt confident that they had made the right decision. Both women wore more relaxed attire then the flight suits they had been virtually living in since the infection had broken out. Burnett had her brown hair down in a French braid that ended just above her waist. Drewett wore her light blonde tresses at shoulder length. While inside the facility they chose to wear athletic shoes, jeans with either a blouse or a t-shirt. Where Burnett was tall and thin, Drewett was more compact, not overweight just shorter in stature but proportionate in size.
Entering the main dining room, they saw that almost everyone was present. John Stone, the man who they had originally thought was in charge, was standing by a gas barbeque grilling steaks, potatoes and corn on the cob, his attention was directed towards the veranda. Just outside on the veranda that overlooked the
botanical area, Sharon and Elwood St. John were setting the large table.
“Anything we can do?” Drewett asked walking up to Stone and looking at what he was doing.
She made sure to stand as close to him as possible with his bicep dividing her breasts and in such a way that he could look down the top of her V-neck t-shirt.
“Nothing that I can think of,” Stone replied as he flipped the steaks before looking down. “Uh, uh.” his eyes glued to her cleavage and his train of thought lost for a moment. “Check with Sharon, I’m sure she can find something you ladies can do.”
Drewett lingered a little longer than necessary at Stone’s side pressing her breasts against his arm and making sure he felt their warmth before heading out to the veranda.
Burnett pulled her aside as soon as she entered the veranda.
“What are you doing?” she asked in a loud whisper.
“I’m just hedging my bets. There’re two unattached men down here and we’re two unattached females. What other options are there?” Drewett asked looking back at Stone.
“Just don’t be such a slut about it,” Burnett said quietly. “You were practically humping his leg.”
“At least they’re not gay,” Drewett announced loudly.
Burnett rolled her eyes at her friend’s comment.
Drewett stuck her tongue out then walked out to where Sharon had just finished setting out the plates.
“Anything I can do to help?” she asked with a smile. Burnett followed her, amazed and slightly embarrassed at her friend’s actions.
A few minutes later, Durst arrived followed by Mecceloni and Cassie. The latter two looking fresh from the shower, their hair still damp and clothes disheveled.
“Just in time guys, John has the steaks almost done,” Sharon announced. Stone emerged from the barbeque area carrying a large platter stacked with cooked meat, steaming corn and potatoes.
Up From the Depths: Book 4 Movement to Contact Page 2