Precipice: V Plague Book 9

by Dirk Patton

  8

  It was dark and the wind howled, but we were warm and toasty with the fire burning in the fireplace. Clouds had moved in about an hour before sunset, bringing more snow with them. We had sat near the heat and eaten a cold meal of MREs and some canned beans Rachel had found in the kitchen. Conversation was at a minimum as none of us felt much like talking.

  Dog nudged my arm after we finished dinner to let me know he needed to go outside. I didn’t mind as our perimeter needed to be checked, and I also wanted to see if there was an update from Jessica. I grabbed the sat phone off the kitchen counter, shrugged into my cold weather gear, made sure I had all my weapons and they were ready to go then walked out onto the patio.

  The wind hit me directly in the face. Heavy, wet snow was falling and it immediately began to stick to the outer layer of my clothing. I pulled my hood up to protect my head, unhappy at how much it restricted my field of vision and reduced my hearing. Oh well, I’d just better be extra careful.

  While Dog limped out into the snow to find a spot, I moved to an area with a clear shot at the sky and dialed Hawaii.

  “Hi, sir,” Jessica answered on the first ring. “I’ve been trying to call you.”

  “No signal indoors,” I replied. “Something wrong?”

  “No. But I’ve got a plan to get you to Seattle. Want me to text it to you?”

  “Yes, but go ahead and tell me,” I said, glad there was finally some good news.

  “OK. If I go too fast let me know. First, the infected are clearing out of the Twin Falls area faster than expected, so you should be able to pass through by mid-morning tomorrow. Your time, not mine.”

  “Do we know where they’re headed?” I asked.

  “They’re following Interstate 84. Salt Lake City, maybe. My CO is thinking the Russians are drawing them into an area that’s geographically isolated and going to leave them there until they starve to death. Maybe, but I’m not so sure. Every time they’ve moved a herd, there’s been a tactical objective.”

  “There’s no one left alive in that area, is there?”

  “Not that we’re aware of. Don’t know how there could be. Anyway, if you head out right after dawn, Twin Falls should be mostly clear by the time you arrive. There might be some stragglers, but nothing that should stop you. Definitely check with me before you start in case something changes overnight.

  “Once you get to Twin Falls you’re going to head due west onto an unmaintained road. The snow stops about thirty miles south of your current location so you’ll be out of the worst of the weather. It’s raining south of you and the road is probably muddy, but nothing that Jeep can’t handle. You’re heading across southern Idaho for Oregon, and the first town you’ll encounter is Dickshooter.”

  “Seriously?” I couldn’t help but grin.

  “Seriously,” she said and I could hear the smile in her voice. “I had to check it twice, but that’s really its name. There are three houses and that’s it. A few infected wandering around, but not enough to worry about. And there’s several vehicles you can get gas from to top off your tank.”

  Dog had finished his business and slowly made his way to where I was standing in the shelter provided by the house. The snow was shoulder deep to him and it was a struggle, but he finally made it and gingerly sat down with his side against my leg.

  “From there you’ll keep going west into Oregon until you reach Basque, then you’re back on pavement. Turn northwest to go through Bend and cross the mountains, then pass through Salem on your way to the coast. There’s infected in Salem, but it looks passable if you keep moving and don’t do anything to attract their attention.

  “I’m sending you all the way to the coast so you can bypass Portland. It’s big and there’s still a lot of infected there. When you get to Astoria, there’s a bridge that crosses the Columbia River into Washington. It’s intact, and there’s several wrecks on it that you’ll have to clear, but you won’t have any problems finding a tow truck in town.

  “Once you’re across you’ll follow the coast for a few more miles then start angling inland to go around Puget Sound. You’ll come into Olympia, about 60 miles south of Seattle, and have to go up I-5. It’s all city and there’s enough infected to pose a problem if you’re not careful. Here’s the worst news, though. The Russians have taken over McChord Air Force Base and the Interstate goes right by it.”

  “That’s not good,” I said. “There’s no other way around?”

  “The only other option is to stay on the western peninsula and find a boat you can use to cross Puget Sound into Seattle. But the Russians are thick on the waterfront. Right now they’re unloading several troop carrier ships. Besides, you’ll be stuck without wheels once you get off the boat. I think you’re better off to go up I-5 and move onto the local streets to get past McChord.”

  “OK, I’ll deal with it and make the call when I get into the area. Anything else?” I was shivering from the wind and ready to head back inside.

  “That’s it, sir. Good luck and don’t forget to call me before you head out.” She said, sounding way too chipper.

  “Thanks, Jessica. Talk to you in the morning.”

  I ended the call, ruffled Dog’s ears and took five minutes to walk the perimeter before heading back inside to fill the girls in on what we were doing.

  “How long is that going to take?” Katie asked when I described the route we were using.

  “I didn’t ask. Don’t even know how many miles it is,” I said, looking down and opening the text from Jessica that detailed the route.

  “Twelve hundred miles, more or less,” I said. “And a good chunk of it is on dirt roads until we’re well into Oregon. Probably not a bad thing. It will keep us in the middle of nowhere and hopefully unnoticed by the Russians.”

  “Maybe you should try to get through to Seattle and talk to them,” Rachel said. “Tell them what we’re worried about.”

  I thought about that for a minute before responding.

  “Are they going to be able to do any more than speculate until they can run some tests?” I asked. Rachel shook her head.

  “And they won’t stop working just because of a phone call from me, especially when we don’t even know if we need to be concerned. I think I’d rather just show up and not give them advance warning of why we’re coming. If I need to shut them down, then I’ll deal with that when we get there.”

  “I already told you, you can’t do that,” Katie said.

  “Can, and will,” I said with complete certainty in my voice. “If it’s choosing between you and the Terminator virus, there is no choice.”

  9

  I woke in the leather chair the following morning as the sun was starting to lighten the eastern horizon. During the night the storm had passed, the clouds moving out and the temperature plummeting. Standing stiffly, I tiptoed to the bathroom in the hall so I didn’t wake the girls. Katie was sprawled in the same leather chair she’d been sitting in the night before, her feet up on an ottoman and a heavy blanket pulled tight around her shoulders. Rachel had stretched out on the sofa and was snoring softly, on her side facing the back.

  Relieving myself, I poured water from the bucket into the bowl to flush the toilet and returned to the great room. I took a few minutes to add wood to the fire, which was not much more than coals after having gone untended for several hours. Soon it was blazing away, warming the room and I waved Dog to follow me outside. He stood, shook gingerly and sneezed twice before making his way to the back door.

  He went outside with me and plowed into the freshly fallen snow. I was pleased to see that he seemed to be moving with greater strength than the previous day. Lighting a cigarette, I stepped to the side of the patio and checked the thermometer. Eight degrees! Fuck me but I missed Arizona.

  While Dog took care of things I placed a quick call to Jessica. I wrapped up the conversation as Dog returned to the patio and we walked back in the house. I woke the girls, getting groans and complaints from both, b
ut soon they were up and moving. Biological needs attended to, they set about preparing a meager breakfast while Dog and I went to the garage to check the Jeep.

  Fluid levels were good, except for gas. When I turned the ignition to on to look at the gauge, I wasn’t happy to see it just slightly above the big, red “E”. The garage was large, four stalls for vehicles, and in the farthest one sat a fairly new Chevy Tahoe. I walked over and checked it, but couldn’t find its keys. Deciding it was worth the effort, I dug the pump and hoses out of the back of the Jeep and got everything hooked up to siphon fuel.

  It must have been close to full as I was able to top off the Jeep, shutting down the pump when gas gushed out onto the epoxy-coated floor. Re-stowing the fueling gear I thumped the spare cans on the back of the Jeep with my finger, glad they were still full. I took another minute to check over the tires, then got on my back and slithered underneath to make sure nothing had been damaged on our trek into the mountains.

  Satisfied our vehicle was as ready as it would ever be, I put the sat phone on the charger and went back into the house. Katie and Rachel had already finished eating and had all of our packs stacked by the garage door and ready to go. Two-thirds of a cold MRE waited for me on the kitchen table. Sitting down, I began eating the bland, calorie dense food.

  “Did you talk to Jessica?” Katie asked.

  “Yep,” I said around a mouthful of lemon pepper tuna. “Infected are mostly clear of Twin Falls. Good thing we’re leaving, too. Big Russian presence up in the mountains. Six helos looking for something. I’m just glad we’re going the other way.”

  “Could they be looking for us?” Rachel asked before Katie could speak up.

  “Maybe, but I don’t know how they’d know to look here,” I said, wiping my mouth and leaving the trash from my meal on the table as I stood.

  With a sigh, Katie stepped forward, scooped it up and dumped it in a waste can under the kitchen sink. I just looked at her for a long moment.

  “Someday we’ll have a house again, and we’re not going to start bad habits.” She said defensively.

  “Yes, dear,” I grinned, grabbed my pack and weapons and headed for the garage.

  Tossing my pack in the back of the Jeep, I muscled the garage door open while Katie and Rachel loaded theirs. Rachel climbed in back and left the door open, calling Dog, but he just stood there looking at her. He wouldn’t jump up. I bent and carefully scooped him into my arms and set him on the seat. Katie closed the door and got in front while I walked around and took the driver’s seat.

  The Jeep started easily despite the frigid temperature in the garage. I gave it a couple of minutes for the engine to warm up before backing out. I was twenty yards down the driveway when I looked into the mirror and braked to a halt. Jumping out I ran back and lowered the garage door.

  “Why?” Katie asked when I was back behind the wheel.

  “Keep the infected out in case there’s other survivors that need a place to lay up for a while.”

  I didn’t really think there were any other people left alive and uninfected other than the Russians, but why not put something in the bank of good karma?

  Nothing was moving as we made our way into town and turned south. The snow was deep, over the Jeep’s front bumper, but somehow it managed to maintain enough traction to bull its way through. As I drove I glanced in the mirror and wasn’t happy to see the very noticeable sign of our passage that we were leaving, but there wasn’t a damn thing I could do about it. I would be glad once we were farther south and out of the snow and not creating a trail that stood out like a neon sign.

  Most of two hours later the blanket of snow had disappeared as we continued to lose elevation. The temperature had climbed to just above freezing and I was finally able to turn down the Jeep’s heater. We pushed on and I increased our speed, but still maintained a sedate pace out of fear of encountering black ice on the road’s surface.

  As we drew closer to Twin Falls, infected began appearing. Every one that we saw was slowly moving to the west. Occasionally one would be near enough the highway for us to get a good look and they weren’t in good shape. Both the males and females were gaunt, trudging along on their mission. Many had horrific injuries that defied their ability to still be on their feet.

  “Maybe this is a good sign,” Rachel said from the backseat when we passed a female that was too weak to do any more than walk at a fast shuffle as she tried to catch us.

  “What do you mean?” I asked, steering around a male that was just standing in the middle of the road.

  “They don’t look healthy. Maybe the lack of food and water is starting to take its toll on their bodies.”

  “Or maybe they were in bad shape before they became infected,” Katie said. Neither Rachel nor I had a good answer to that.

  As we pushed deeper into the city we encountered more of the slower infected. I did my best to avoid hitting any of them with the Jeep, but occasionally had to knock some out of our path. They were thickest around the interchange with Interstate 84, giving me no option other than to push through and trust the heavy winch bumper to protect the radiator and engine from damage.

  “Where’s our turn?” I asked Katie who was holding the sat phone and reading the route directions.

  “Twelve point two miles south of the Interstate,” she said. I reset the trip odometer and slowed to plow through another group of tightly massed infected.

  We stopped for fuel at the same station I’d used when we first arrived in Twin Falls. Katie and Rachel stood watch while I hooked up the pump and checked the oil. The Jeep was a thirsty beast when operating in four-wheel drive and churning through snow, having used over half a tank to get us down out of the mountains.

  As I was packing the pump and hoses away a distant sound caught my attention. Stopping what I was doing I cocked my head and listened, but it didn’t repeat.

  “What?” Katie asked quietly.

  “Thought I head a rotor,” I said softly, closing my eyes and concentrating.

  I gave it close to half a minute, but didn’t hear the sound again. It had almost certainly been a man made noise, but I couldn’t swear it was a rotor. With Russians in the neighborhood, however, odds were it was and the faster we got out of the area the better.

  10

  Colonel Grushkin sat in the co-pilot’s seat of a Hind Mi-24 helicopter, watching the landscape unroll beneath his feet. Having been born and raised in Russia’s Ural Mountains, he felt at home as the terrain changed from flat to rolling to rugged, forested peaks. He had been flown in a captured Gulf-stream G IV jet from Seattle’s Boeing Field to the vacant Mountain Home Air Force Base in Idaho.

  Upon his arrival, eight Hind 24s were waiting, fueled, manned and ready to go. Each carried six Spetsnaz troops in the back and he had marched down the G IVs air stairs and trotted across the tarmac to the closest helicopter. Sending the co-pilot to occupy the seat reserved for him in the rear, he had climbed into the cockpit and barked at the pilot to get them in the air even before he had his flight harness buckled.

  It had been a short flight to reach the southern edge of the Sawtooth Mountains and he had taken the opportunity to call his aide who had remained behind in Seattle. The Captain assured him that there was no new intelligence and that his orders had not changed. Disconnecting without so much as a “thank you”, he martialed his impatience after verifying the pilot was pushing the helo to its top speed.

  The flight approached the mountains from the southwest, the pilot contacting the other Russian helicopters that were already in the area searching for the American Major. Soon they were flying between rocky spires that soared above them, the Hinds stretching out into single file as they wove their way deeper into the wilderness.

  “Go directly to the crash site,” Grushkin ordered the pilot over the intercom.

  “Of course, Comrade Colonel. It is on the far end of that lake,” the pilot pointed through the windscreen at a large, crystal blue body of water that glinted in the
sunlight.

  He descended as they moved over the lake, flying at two hundred feet. Even at that height the fierce wind from the giant rotor tossed the surface of the water, churning mist into the air that the following helos avoided by gaining altitude and spreading out to the sides. As they approached the midpoint of the lake, the pilot began bleeding off speed and finally transitioned into a tight orbit over the crashed Russian helicopter.

  The machine sat slightly off shore in a few feet of water. It was nothing more than a burned out hull, the flames having been so intense there were portions of the armor plating that had begun to melt and run down the sides. Grushkin gave it a cursory glance before turning his attention to the shore. He’d seen more than his share of helicopter crashes and knew that after the intense fire only aviation experts would be able to make any type of determination on what had brought the aircraft down.

  The experts were on their way, having departed Malmstrom Air Force Base in Montana shortly before he had lifted off from Mountain Home. They had farther to go, but he expected them on site within an hour.

  “Get me on the ground,” he growled, pointing. “Right there.”

  The pilot followed the legendary Colonel’s finger, seeing a large mound of earth and rocks that rose up from the water’s edge. A thick stand of pine trees grew from the top of it and there was no room for him to bring the Hind in for a landing.

  “I’m sorry, Comrade Colonel. There is no room to land.” The man was nervous, his voice shaking as he told Grushkin he wasn’t able to do what the Colonel wanted him to do.

  “Fuck your mother,” Grushkin invoked a common Russian curse. “I’m Spetsnaz. Hover the helicopter and I will go down a rope.”

  The Colonel took off his flight harness and worked his way out of the cockpit into the troop compartment. He snapped a terse command and the Spetsnaz troopers leapt out of their seats. While two of them prepared a pair of fast ropes, the door was opened. Grushkin leaned out, satisfied to see the pilot had them in a stable hover over the shore.