Caldera Book 4: Countdown To Oblivion

by Stallcup, Heath

  Simon stuck his head out of the tent. “Try to be back before sundown.”

  “Yes, Mom.” Savage gave him a one-fingered salute as he walked away.

  The flight officer checked Vivian’s equipment while the helicopter’s engine slowly started spinning up the blades. “Remember, you’ll have to communicate through this.” He tapped at the headphones and mic that she wore. “They can’t hear you, otherwise.”

  She gave him a thumbs up and adjusted the ear cuffs. “They’re a little loose.”

  He waved her off. “You’ll be fine, ma’am. It’s just to communicate with the pilots.” He strapped her gear to the deck and patted her leg. “You’re good to go.”

  “Where are we refueling again?”

  “Boise, ma’am. But you’ll only be there long enough to top off the tanks.” He pointed below the craft where she couldn’t see. “We have externals on this thing. Should be enough fuel to get you there and back, but since you’ll be detouring on the return trip, we just want to make sure you’re good on fuel.”

  She nodded. “Will there be an in-flight movie?”

  The flight officer paused and gave her a surprised look. “I’m not—”

  “It was a joke, lieutenant. Relax.” She double-checked her straps, then shot him a smile. “I’m just busting your chops.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” He stepped back and eyed her and her gear once more. “Safe travels, ma’am.”

  “Thank you.” She heard the engines whine as they revved higher, then the door was pulled shut, cutting her off from the outside world. She felt the craft begin to rise and her stomach did a quick flip-flop. She clutched the straps holding her to the seat and closed her eyes. She offered up a quick prayer to whichever god might be listening, then forced her eyes open.

  Although the craft bucked a bit and the noise was terrific inside the craft, she noticed the two pilots in the front didn’t appear concerned at all. She really disliked flying, but she particularly hated helicopters. She had heard if a fixed wing craft lost power, it could still possibly glide down for a landing. Helicopters dropped from the sky like rocks.

  As those thoughts ran through her mind for the hundredth time, she wondered just how smart she must be to not only purposely get into the blasted machine, but to fight for the opportunity to do so. She groaned to herself and sat back, trying to force herself to relax.

  “I feel like a hipster.” Roger turned while the girls nodded. “I mean, really? Flannel and chinos? Don’t you have any Levi’s back there?”

  Candy fought the smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. “I like the khakis. They bring out the tan of your skin.”

  Vicky nodded. “And trimming your beard into a goatee is a nice touch. All you need now is a man bun.” She snickered.

  Roger groaned and turned back to the showers. “I’m shaving my head.”

  “Like hell.” Candy slipped off the table she sat upon and fell into step behind him. “Find a seat Officer Bigshot. I’ll cut your hair.”

  He turned and gave her a cautious look. “Do you know how to cut hair?”

  She smiled as she walked past him. “If I screw it up, you can shave it.” She turned and pointed at him with both hands. “It would be a crime to lop off all of those curly locks.”

  Roger groaned and sat on the stool nearest the door. Candy emerged with a sheet and a small travel bag. “I got scissors, razors, and trimmers.” She stopped and gave him a lopsided grin. “I think I might can fix this mop.”

  “Tell me you know what you’re doing.”

  She set up at the table and snapped the sheet out in front of him. “Believe it or not, I went to Vo-tech for this before I decided I’d rather carry a badge and a gun.” She tied the sheet around his neck and rolled a towel under the edge. “I was pretty good back in my day.”

  “Back in your day? Am I looking at an 80s haircut here?” He turned and gave her a mischievous grin. “You do realize that mullets are long dead, right?”

  She punched him in the arm. “I’m not that old, smart ass.” She picked up the comb and scissors and gave him an evil smile. “But you know, everything does come back into style eventually. Maybe you’d look good with a mullet.”

  He chuckled as she turned his head around. “I don’t think so.”

  “Fine. Then we’ll do a Mohawk. I’m not picky.”

  She spritzed his hair with water and went to work removing the lion’s share of the mane he had grown since being undercover.

  She gripped a handful of hair and combed it out, admiring the length. “You could just wear it in a ponytail.”

  He shook his head slightly. “Ponytails are for girls who play softball.” He smiled to himself as he added, “And lady cops.”

  She pulled his head back hard and he laughed harder. “Sorry, not sorry,” she muttered.

  The pair settled into their back and forth banter while Candy clipped him into something more presentable. As she was wrapping up, she stopped and snapped her fingers. “I forgot to carve in lightning bolts on the sides of your head.”

  Roger nodded. “I guess I’ll just have to make due ’til the next time.”

  She leaned in close to his ear. “Don’t go thinking I do this for everybody. There may not be a next time.”

  “Copy that.”

  He felt her brush the crumbs from his neck, then she pulled the towel and slid the sheet from around his neck. He stood from the stool and unbuttoned the flannel shirt. She watched the muscles of his back and chest ripple as he snapped the shirt a few times to remove any stray clippings. She actually had to remember to breathe as he slipped the shirt back on.

  “Thank you.”

  She nodded absently, watching as he buttoned the shirt back up and tuck it into the chinos. “What do I owe you?” He shot her another brilliant smile and she got a very faraway look in her eye.

  “Nothing.” She snapped back to the present and blushed. She had to turn around and take her time replacing the trimmers in the travel bag. “You actually clean up kind of good.”

  He gave her a crooked grin. “It must be your handiwork.” He ducked into the shower and peered in the mirror. “Wow. You did a really good job.”

  “Yup. No mullet.” She zipped the bag and stood behind him. “This time.”

  “Candy!” a voice shouted from outside the shower.

  She tossed the travel bag to the small table and stepped back out. “What is it?”

  “We got riders approaching from the east.” The man waved at her to follow him, then disappeared back to the ladders leading to the roof.

  “Great.” She muttered as she trotted after him.

  Roger fell into speed. “I’m coming. I might can identify if they’re Simon’s men.”

  They rallied at the parapet of the roof and a guard handed her the binoculars. She focused on the area where he pointed and she saw three motorcycles riding slowly near where they had staged Roger’s death.

  “Do you know them?” She handed him the glasses and he stared.

  “Oh, yeah. The big guy is Savage.” He handed her the glasses back. “And I don’t know his whole story, but nobody gives him shit. In a world of felons, drug dealers, and murderers, he’s considered the bad guy.”

  “Great.” She lowered the spy glasses and stepped from the edge. “Any idea what they’re doing out here again?”

  Roger shook his head. “It looked like they were headed to the ambush area.” He sighed deeply and gave her a shrug. “It could be that they’re looking for something else. Something that would explain how the Zulus got the jump on their guys?”

  “Tell me they wouldn’t have a reason to look for you.” Her eyes told him all he needed to know. She was worried and rightly so.

  He shook his head. “Nothing that I can think of.” He paced slowly behind her, his mind racing. “We covered all of the bases. I left my colors, left my Chief…there should be no reason to think there were any survivors.”

  She wrapped her arms around herself at
a sudden chill. “I want eyes on them while they’re out there and I want to know if they leave or if others show up. Got it?”

  Roger snapped his fingers. “You still got the radio I left when I first came here?”

  Candy gave him a confused look. “What radio?”

  “I left one here earlier.” He turned and headed for the roof access. “All of their radios are on the same frequency. Simon’s orders. If something was going on within range, he wanted to know about it.”

  He gripped the ladder and slid down to the floor below. Candy followed and had to trot to catch up with him. “Are you suggesting that we call him?”

  “Hell, no.” Roger darted into the warehouse and stopped at the workbench where he’d left it. He rummaged through the material scattered across the top and lifted the radio triumphantly. “We just monitor their traffic. We’ll know what’s going on at the same time they do.”

  “And if they decide to sniff around more?”

  He gave her another brilliant smile. “Then we pull everybody inside, seal up the doors, and pretend the place is empty.” He turned a slow circle, indicating everything inside. “From the outside, they’d have no reason to stop here or even sniff around.”

  Candy gave him fearful eyes. “There’s a grocery store nearby.” She lowered her voice and pulled him away from the others working around them. “What if he found usable stuff, like in the grocery store? Would he be more likely to raid it and leave, or do you think he’d try to put down roots?”

  Roger tried to put himself in Simon’s place. The problem was, the man was too unpredictable. “I can’t say. He’s all twisted in the head. “He’ll leave when he should stay. Fight when he should run.” He chewed at the inside of his cheek as his mind tried to anticipate the thinkings of a madman. “I have no idea.”

  She sighed heavily and leaned against the workbench. “From the direction they were riding, we could point them to the grocery. At least it’s further away from us and in a different direction.”

  “Why would you turn over your supplies to him? Don’t get me wrong, there are innocent women and children that he drags with them everywhere, so the food and supplies would be much appreciated, but…isn’t that cutting your own throats?”

  She shook her head. “We emptied the place of most of the good stuff.” She pointed to the door leading to the supplies. “In fact, we just raided it when we heard about your…I mean, his marauders from Hatcher.”

  Roger walked over to the door and opened it. The rows of shelves and stacks of dry goods caused a low whistle to escape his lips. “You’ve probably got two years’ worth here.”

  “We figure 14-16 months unless we ration.” She stepped next to him and gave him hopeful eyes. “What do you think?”

  He gave a slow shoulder shrug. “It could be worth trying.” He took another glance at the supplies, then turned to her. “How would you tell him where it was?”

  She chewed on her thumbnail while she thought. “Definitely not the radio. That would lead to more trouble than I’m willing to risk.” She turned to him and snapped her fingers. “Signal fire.”

  He shook his head. “I’ve never seen a rager cause a fire. He’d know it was people. And where there’s people, there’s opportunity.”

  “Then I have no idea.”

  Roger blew his breath out hard and leaned against the wall. “I can think of one way…”

  She narrowed her eyes. “What are you thinking?”

  “You aren’t gonna like it.”

  Chapter 9

  Hatcher strained his ears to listen in the darkness. He could almost swear he heard movement in the woods. A snap of a twig, the rustling of leaves, the occasional grunt…all noises that might seem perfectly normal if the woods weren’t full of Zulus.

  “Relax, ranger. You’re wound so tight a hoot owl might give you a coronary.”

  Hatcher tried to chuckle, but he knew Hollis was right. He tried to stretch his neck, to work the nervous tension from his muscles, but they wouldn’t give. “Too much coffee, I suppose.”

  “You shouldn’t eat the freeze-dried coffee from the MRE’s. That shit will rot your innards.” Hollis checked his weapon for the twentieth time.

  “You said it would be a long night.” Hatcher reached into his shirt pocket and pulled the little packet of freeze-dried awesomeness out. “Care to join me?”

  Hollis shook his head. “I’ve got my own.” He patted his own breast pocket. “I’m saving it for when my eyelids try to slam shut.”

  Buck slid in next to Hatcher. “I checked every window. If they’re out there, they’re staying just deep enough in the shadows that I can’t spot them.”

  “They’re out there.” Hollis whispered. “Time for check-ins.” He leaned away and radioed his men standing guard.

  Hatcher tried again to stretch his neck and work the tension from his shoulders, but his body refused to cooperate. He looked to Buck who almost seemed bored. “You doing okay?”

  Buck nodded. “Just another night in paradise.” He shot the older man a grin. “I take solace in the fact they have a dozen or so heavily muscled soldiers to eat through before they get to me. Hopefully, they’ll be full and lose interest.”

  A muffled scream was heard outside and Hatcher cringed. He tried to argue with Hollis about leaving the captured Zulu alive, but Hollis was resolute. Allow the creature to live, stake it to the edge of the sight lines and use it as bait. If anything comes into range of the thermals, they light it up.

  His men had treated the creature much like a rabid dog. A neck noose run through a length of steel pipe was used to keep it at arm’s length. They had secured its hands behind the back with rope and hobbled it at the ankles, giving just enough mobility they were able to move the creature without carrying it.

  Even Buck thought it should have been put out of its misery and then used as a warning to the others. Hatcher wondered if they had hoped having a living, breathing test subject was the military’s plan until Hollis informed him they had dozens on the research vessel.

  He turned to Buck and rolled his eyes. “I still can’t fathom why they’d leave that thing alive.”

  Buck sighed and leaned against the short wall by the window. “I’ve no idea. If he had any real dealings with these things, he’d know that you can’t reason with a wild animal. And really, that’s all these people are anymore. Wild friggin’ animals.”

  Another muffled scream interrupted their discussion, but it was the unmuffled scream from the woods that caused the hair on the back of their necks to stand on end.

  Hollis rolled back next to Hatcher and keyed his mic. “Be ready, people.”

  Buck sat up and peered over the window sill. His eyes were adjusted to the darkness inside and the moon in the night sky almost had the grounds lit up like day. “I’m still not seeing them.”

  A blur shot past the window and toward the roof. Buck jumped back and stared at Hatcher’s form. “What was that?”

  Hollis pressed a finger against the earbud and said, “Say again your last.” A moment later he turned to Hatcher. “They’re throwing rocks and spears.”

  The staccato of gunfire could be heard coming from outside as sentries barked, “Contact!” through their radios.

  “Get ready, kid. I think it’s about to hit the fan.” Hatcher popped up and leaned the barrel of his rifle on the sill, scanning the woods.

  Buck tried to think about the attacks he had witnessed before. A sudden realization struck him. “Captain! Tell your men to check the back side of the house!” He rolled back and was on his feet. Before Hollis could question him, a scream was heard outside, but it wasn’t the scream of the infected. It was the scream of a man being ripped to shreds.

  Buck was at the back window and pointing. “They’re attacking!”

  Savage inspected the scene with the eye of a suspicious man. He picked at everything.

  “What are you looking for?” Scrub asked.

  “Anything that could tell me w
hat happened here.” He kicked at a piece of side mirror that had broken off one of the bikes.

  “Dude, there’s no way to know what came from our boys being killed in the attack and what was already here,” Salty added. He leaned against a dead car, a smoldering cigarette dangling from his fingers.

  Savage stood and peered around the wrecked cars. “They didn’t put these cars here. They just found a way to take advantage of the position.”

  “Duh.” Salty took another drag from his cigarette and flicked the butt over the top of a blue hatchback. He watched the arc of the orange tip and his eyes settled on a lone figure standing on top of a dead car, a stick or pipe in its hands. “We got company.”

  Savage spun and stared at where the man was looking. He stepped up onto the side of one of the dead motorcycles and stared at the lone figure. It slowly raised the pipe in its hands and shook it.

  Savage raised his arm and flipped the infected the finger. “Fuck you, man! Bring that broomstick over here and I’ll shove it up your ass!”

  “Uh, Savage.” Scrub was pointing behind them to a group of infected slowly filling in and closing off their avenue of escape.

  “Oh, so now these goofy sons of bitches want to come out and play, eh?” Savage walked to his bike and pulled the MP5 from the scabbard. He clipped it to the lanyard on his belt then pulled his pump 12 gauge shotgun. Racking a round into the chamber, he turned to the other two bikers. “You might want to arm up, fuckers. These assholes aren’t going to wait.”

  Scrub and Salty both scrambled to their bikes and fumbled with their own weapons. Scrub leveled the shotgun on the figure who still stood on the dead car. He knew that the distance might be a bit too far for shot to be effective, but he’d loaded the gun with slugs. There would still be enough momentum to put a golf ball-sized hole through the skinny rager.

  As soon as the creature opened its mouth to scream, Savage pulled the trigger. He didn’t wait to see if the round connected. He pumped the shotgun and turned to the crowd advancing on them. He emptied the shotgun into those few unfortunate beings in the front of the mass, then switched to his MP5.