Caldera Book 4: Countdown To Oblivion

by Stallcup, Heath

  Roger sighed and leaned against the large concrete column. “It’s not like I went there looking for trouble.”

  “We know that, Roger. You did it to make sure we were safe. And because of you, we don’t have to increase the guards; everybody gets to keep their shifts and people can get the sleep they need.”

  “And all it cost me was another man’s blood on my hands.”

  She pulled him close and hugged him. “Don’t oversimplify things. You did good.” She pulled back and gave him a forlorn smile. “She’ll come to terms. Just give her a little space.”

  Roger nodded and trudged back to the mattress he called home. He remembered one of his wife’s favorite sayings when she wasn’t pleased with a situation. “I shaved my legs for this?”

  Chapter 15

  Hollis stacked along the wall just outside the stairwell door. His men were on either side of him and Dr. LaRue was stuck in his shadow. He felt the squeeze on his shoulder and passed it forward. When the lead man advanced, the entire team moved as one unit.

  The door was pulled open and the team entered the stairwell, one man holding the landing where they led further into the basement and the others silently moving upward. Hollis felt the weight of the files and associated paperwork as it bounced on his back. He said nothing as LaRue gripped his middle.

  As they approached the ground floor, the men stacked outside the double doors and Hollis pulled them open, his men entering the foyer, weapons leveled. They fanned out in the openly-lit area, each scanning their field of fire.

  “Let’s move, people!” Hollis barked as he dragged LaRue toward the exit. Suppressed weapons fire greeted them as they pulled the front doors open and Hollis watched in awe as a wave of Zeds crested the hill below. He keyed his coms and yelled, “Get that bird in the air! Either circle back and get us or go to the roof!”

  He heard the engines rev up and the spinning blades blew debris in all directions. He waved his men forward, “Cover the chopper! Don’t let them get close!”

  His men lined up along the front entrance of the laboratory building and aimed for the advancing horde.

  “Jesus Christ…where are they coming from?”

  Hollis reached behind him and pushed LaRue back toward the doors. “Stay back!” He actually sighed with relief when the chopper lifted from the ground, the closest moving Zed at least fifty yards from the craft.

  “Keep them covered.” He turned and dragged LaRue with him.

  “Where are we going?” She insisted as he physically pulled her away.

  “The roof. Now go!” He pushed her unceremoniously toward the doors. “Wait by the stairwell.” He tapped two of his men to provide coverage for the researcher, then began searching the area for a way to secure the front doors. He was looking for something, anything to slow the Zeds from getting into the building. “Suddenly, shooting out the locks didn’t seem so smart.” He tapped his closest man and barked at him to retreat.

  He stood by the door while each man fired his final shots at the horde, then slipped inside. He came in last and pulled the doors shut. He scanned the interior as quickly as he could, looking for anything he could use to secure them. He could see the Zeds sprinting up the hill and surrendered the cause. He spun and bolted for the stairs. “The roof! Now!”

  His men breached the stairwell again and began double timing up into the darkness. He knew what they were up against and threw caution to the wind. If they encountered anything in the stairwell, they’d deal with it as they were trained. He just prayed that they could access the roof without blowing the doors.

  He knew from the outside assessment they only had four floors between the ground and the roof. He cursed to himself as LaRue slowed the team’s advancement. He slung his rifle and scooped her tiny frame up with one arm, tossing her over his shoulder like a sack of dog food.

  “I’m-per-fect-ly-ca-pa-ble…” she tried to say as she was bounced up the stairs.

  “No time for slacking, doc!” He rounded the corner of the final landing and could see his men surrounding the roof access. “Tell me it’s open.”

  “Negative, sir.” The breacher stepped forward and lowered his shotgun. “Electronic lock, and since the power is out—”

  “Do it!” Hollis turned LaRue away from the blast just in case any shrapnel came their way, and he could hear the horde as they stormed up the stairs. “God help us,” he whispered.

  He saw the light from outside wash the interior hallway and the shadows told him his men were exiting onto the roof. He could barely hear the chopper’s blades from the ruckus the Zeds were making as they bounded up the stairs.

  He set LaRue down and pushed her toward the roof. “Go. Now.” He turned back to the stairwell and fed a fresh magazine into his rifle.

  “Aren’t you coming?”

  “I’m right behind you, doc.” He chambered a round and lowered his weapon to cover the stairs. “Now GO!”

  “But—”

  “I said GO!” He loosed a shot into the first Zed to round the corner of the stairs.

  LaRue screamed and bolted up the remaining steps and burst out onto the sun-drenched roof. She saw the helicopter nearly hovering along the edge of the roof, its landing gear rising and lowering as the pilot feathered the throttle.

  “Let’s move it, ma’am!” one of Hollis’ men waved her toward the craft. She slid to a stop at the door and turned back to the stairwell. “The captain is still in there!”

  “Load up, ma’am. I’ll get him.” The soldier turned toward the door as the first Zed burst from the darkened doorway. He slid to a stop, his feet threatening to come out from under him as he turned and bolted for the chopper door.

  “Go! Go! Go!” the soldier screamed as he leapt for the opening in the side of the helicopter. He landed hard on his ribs and rolled to his back, his weapon coming up and firing at the advancing infected.

  The helicopter lifted from the roof and swung away just as the first of the Zeds launched toward the escaping aircraft. The crew watched in horror as infected humans leapt from the edge of the roof and fell short of connecting with their desired flight.

  Buck was on the opposite side of the craft near a window and watched as the first of the infected impacted the cement walkway below. He leaned back in his seat and stared at Hatcher. “I didn’t think they’d…” he trailed off, his throat suddenly dry.

  Hatcher watched the color drain from the young man’s face and glanced out the window. Pools of blood were forming around the heads of the fallen Zulus. He could only imagine what the boy had seen.

  Simon sat outside of his tent on a folding chair, a long stick dragging through the coals of a now dead fire. The bottle of whiskey at his feet was nearly empty, and his eyes looked like he had drunk the grand majority of the spirits himself.

  He stood and unzipped his pants. Fishing his pecker out, he swayed while he tried to piss on the remaining coals. He smiled with a degree of satisfaction at the hissing sound he created.

  “Boss, that ain’t cool. There’s little kids all over the place.”

  Simon spun and dribbled urine down his leg. He stared at the minion who dared speak to him while he drained his royal lizard. “Fuck ’em. Little shits will learn soon enough what’s what.” He tried to tuck his member back into his pants, but had too much difficulty. He knew from experience not to pull the zipper back up too quickly when he was three sheets to the wind. He had a permanent scar across the top of his Johnson from the last time he did that.

  “What do you want, anyway?” He staggered toward the man and nearly fell.

  “We found Scar, boss. He’s deader than shit.” The man pointed across the compound. “He was a sentry over there.”

  Simon stared at the man, his face unreadable. Finally, he nodded and leaned against the back of a pickup truck. “Okay.” He turned and stared out across his small kingdom. “So?”

  “So?” The man approached slowly and talked softer. “Boss, he’s dead.”

  “I h
eard you, fucker.” He spun and pointed a finger at him. “I’m the king, not the messiah. I can’t bring his sorry ass back to life.”

  The man stopped advancing and stared at him cautiously. “Well, should we do something?”

  Simon shrugged animatedly. “Strip him of anything usable and toss his ass to the ragers.” He broke into a toothy grin. “Maybe if they’re chewing on his lousy carcass, they won’t bother with the rest of us.”

  The man nodded slowly, unsure if Simon actually meant what he’d said. “Yeah, sure. Okay, boss.” He backed away slowly and looked around the compound for one of Simon’s lieutenants. Surely there was somebody that could make a rational decision.

  He spotted Savage’s trailer and sighed. He glanced back at Simon who was barely hanging onto the rear of the truck. He suddenly bent over and his back lurched. The man could only assume he was throwing up.

  He backed away slowly and worked toward Savage’s trailer. He approached with caution and knocked lightly on the door. When there was no answer, he pounded harder.

  “Who the hell is it?”

  The man jumped at Savage’s grumbling voice. “It’s Jerry.” The man stepped back as the door was flung open.

  “Who?” Savage stared at him with more than a degree of anger and frustration in his eyes. He had a thin blanket wrapped around his middle and Jerry saw the tiny woman suddenly appear behind him, playfully tugging at the wrap and giggling to herself.

  “I, uh…I’m Jerry.” He almost seemed embarrassed. “Simon hasn’t changed my name yet.”

  “So, what the fuck do you want?”

  Jerry hooked a thumb over his shoulder. “Dude, I just found Scar. He’s dead and I—”

  “So report it to Simon. I’m busy!” Savage reached for the door and Jerry had the audacity to catch it first.

  “I tried, sir. I really, really tried. But Simon is so drunk that he’s…” He shook his head at the mental image of the man staggering around and peeing on himself. “He’s literally piss-drunk.”

  Savage sighed and stared down at the much smaller man. “Fine. What do you want me to do about it?”

  Jerry’s eyes widened. “He’s dead.” He glanced from side to side. “Does that not mean anything to anybody anymore?”

  Savage yawned then scratched himself, bouncing the business end of his happy stick practically in Jerry’s face. “People die.” He dropped the blanket and stepped down from the RV doorway. Jerry suddenly found something very interesting to stare at on the ground. “Look around you, Jerry. This is the new world. The new reality. Heaven is a heartbeat away and people are just dying to get there.” He smiled broadly at the smaller, balding man.

  Savage stepped closer to Jerry and wrapped an arm around his shoulder, feeling him suddenly stiffen. He knew he was making the situation as awkward as it could be. “Why don’t you go and gather up a few more of the unnamed ones, drag Scar’s lazy ass out to the edge of the compound and leave him for the buzzards?”

  Jerry swallowed hard and nodded vigorously. “That’s pretty much what Simon said, too.”

  Savage slapped the man’s back and pushed him away. “I’m sure Simon will have a completely different line of thinking once he’s sobered up a bit.” He stepped back onto the steps of the RV and reached for the door. He paused for a moment and scratched at his bearded chin. “That’s assuming he does sober up.” He shrugged and pulled the door shut behind him.

  Jerry walked away on shaky legs, his mind still unable to fathom that nobody cared that one of their sentries was just found dead. What was the sense of having a sentry if no one cared when weird shit happened.

  Savage peered through the curtained window as the man wandered away. “What’s wrong, baby?”

  He held a hand up to stave off her questions. “Once Simon sobers up, there’s gonna be hell to pay.”

  Stella slid in next to him and gripped his arm. “What do you mean?”

  He dropped the curtain and stood tall. “He’ll know there are survivors in this town.” He paced the short trailer, his mind spinning.

  “I don’t get it.” She stepped in front of him, her eyes searching his. “What do you mean? Why would he care?”

  Savage inhaled deeply and blew it out slowly. “If Scar had been torn up and eaten, he’d just count him off as being attacked by a rogue rager. But to just show up dead? While on guard duty?”

  She shook her head slowly, not understanding.

  “He’ll know that not only are there human survivors here, but they showed up at the camp and got close enough to kill one of his guards.”

  Her eyes widened as she considered what he meant. “This has to deal with the whole settle down thing, doesn’t it?”

  Savage nodded. “Yup.” He stared out of the kitchen window, his mind still playing out the possibilities. “Fucking Squirrel—”

  “There’s squirrels?” Stella slid in next to him and scanned outside.

  “No, baby. No squirrels.” He stood and reached for his pants. “Just a rat that I need to deal with.”

  The CDO entered Colonel Vickers’ office and quietly shut the door. Vickers looked up from his paperwork, then checked his watch. “You’re early.”

  The CDO stood at attention in front of Vickers’ desk. He handed the man a communique. Vickers skimmed it, then fell back into his seat. “Is this confirmed?”

  The CDO nodded. “Yes, sir. Captain Hollis did not survive the mission at Fort Collins.”

  Vickers wiped a roughened hand across his face and stared away. He stood on shaky legs and reached for the scotch on the wet bar. “Care to join me, lieutenant?”

  “Thank you, sir. Don’t mind if I do.” The CDO stood at parade rest and reached for the glass when it was offered.

  “Do we know how it happened?”

  The CDO took a pull from the drink and nodded. “Preliminary report states he stayed behind to hold off an advancing force of Zeds, sir. He never exited the building.”

  Vickers nodded and took a drink from his own. The two stood in silence for a moment, remembering the man they knew to be both annoying yet capable. Vickers tossed back the rest of his drink, then reached for the bottle. “Top it off?”

  The CDO shook his head. “One and done, sir.”

  Vickers held his glass out. “Then, to Captain Hollis.”

  “To Captain Hollis.” He clinked his glass to the colonel’s, then threw back what was left of his drink. He placed the glass down gingerly on the corner of the wet bar and turned for the door. He paused a moment, the door in his hand. “Also, the pilots report that Hollis tasked Daniel Hatcher with returning the sample to the fleet. Apparently, he’s quite excited to see you again, sir.”

  Roger tossed on the worn-out mattress and tried to sleep. His body was exhausted, but his mind wouldn’t shut down. He tried sleeping with a blanket. Too hot. He kicked it off and tried to sleep without one. Too cold. He tried covering half of his body and the covered half broke into a sweat, the uncovered half shivered.

  He finally turned over and stared at the ceiling. The murmur of voices and work going on in the warehouse carried past the stacks of boxes and supplies that made up the grand majority of his walls, but it wasn’t the noise or activity going on around him that kept his mind from resting.

  It was the look that Candy had on her face as she walked away.

  Before the incident, he was a fellow peace officer. He was a kindred spirit. He was a possible love interest and partner for the apocalypse.

  Now, he was a murderer.

  He didn’t kill because his life was in direct physical danger. He didn’t kill to immediately protect another. He didn’t kill because of a ruthless attack. No, he killed another person to keep them quiet.

  True, they could have ruined their plans and possibly, indirectly, brought the vengeance of Simon and his gang down upon the innocent people trying to eke out a survival in this rusty warehouse. But the man could have just as easily kept his mouth shut, kept Roger’s trust, and perhaps event
ually become a contributing member of this quiet little society.

  Roger sighed and propped his hands behind his head. He continued to stare at the bare metal roof above him and wished he could just disappear. Perhaps if he could vanish, Candy wouldn’t have to worry about having a killer under her roof.

  He rolled to his side and pulled the photo of his wife out from the cranny where he had hidden it. He brushed his thumb along the edge of her face and tried to remember the last time he had seen her. He remembered trying to convince her it would all blow over. They could ride it out and once the dust settled, they could start over. He’d take the lieutenant’s test and ride a desk until retirement. They could finally start a family.

  He felt something wet and warm slide down his cheek and he wiped at his face.

  When was the last time he’d cried? He sniffed back the tears and shoved her photo into his shirt pocket. He threw the blanket off and sat on the edge of the mattress. He forced himself to think of anything but those he’d hurt or brought pain to.

  As he sat alone in his room, he tried, in vain, to remember anybody from his past that he hadn’t hurt in some way.

  He couldn’t.

  Roger stood and pulled his leather riding jacket from the hook on the wall and pulled his riding boots back on. He’d live with the flannel until he could find something else. He pulled his sunglasses from the inside pocket of his jacket and headed to the front staging area.

  He nodded to the guards as he slipped out of the chain link gate and slipped across the street and between the buildings, disappearing into the shadows of the large metal structures.

  Roger emerged on the other side and turned toward the main street. He couldn’t hope to find an Indian dealership, but he would search and find another motorcycle, turn the son of a bitch west and not stop until he was staring at ocean. The days of fantasizing about breaking away were over.

  Today was the first day of the rest of his life.

  Chapter 16

  The aircraft was silent save for the deafening chop of the blades and whir of the engines. Each person aboard seemed lost in their own thoughts as each coped with the loss of Captain Hollis.