Surviving The Zombie Apocalypse (Book 14): Home

by Chesser, Shawn

  Parroting one of Duncan’s go to lines, Raven said, “I didn’t get any ears today. But I did cross some Ts and dot some Is.”

  “Bird of the Apocalypse is gettin’ things done.”

  Acting as if she hadn’t heard him use her new moniker, she said, “Hey, Calvin … do you remember ever coming across a computer and printer during your rounds?”

  Calvin removed his watch cap. Ran a hand through his thinning gray hair and chewed on the query for a beat. Finally, eyes lighting up, he said, “Check the closet in the Food and Beverage manager’s office. I think I did see some computer stuff in there.” As if surrendering to an unseen enemy—perhaps a finicky memory—he raised both hands off the desk, saying, “It could be stereo equipment, for all I know. Lord knows I’m more than a bit tech-challenged.”

  Raven regarded the Colt revolver holstered on the man’s hip. “But you can shoot straight, right?” she replied, making a pretend pistol with her free hand.

  Calvin smiled and chuckled. Producing a finger-gun of his own, he said, “That I can, little lady. That. I. Can.”

  “Treasure huntin’ time,” Raven said as she continued on through the lobby.

  Calling after her, Calvin said, “If you find a Western novel or some car magazines on your hunt, please grab them for me.”

  “You got it,” Raven said, triggering the tac-light on her SBR and entering the long, darkened hallway branching off the main lobby. The hall ran about fifty in a straight line then made an abrupt ninety-degree right-hand turn.

  As Raven cut the corner, muzzle leading the way, the cone of light illuminated the entire fifty-foot run of wall to her left. The beam revealed three doors leading to three separate rooms.

  The plaque on door number one read: HOUSECLEANING.

  VALET was on the sign affixed to door number two.

  Seeing the FOOD and BEVERAGE plaque on door number three, Raven said, “Bingo,” and dropped the beam to the doorknob.

  The light revealed extensive damage to the jamb and doorknob.

  Someone had been here before her. And that someone’s crude job of breaking and entering spared her from having to shoot the lock out.

  Before trying the knob, Raven tapped lightly on the door with the butt of her SBR.

  Nothing.

  She grabbed the knob, turned it clockwise, and pushed the door in with the toe of her boot.

  The door swung in silently.

  Illuminating the small office, she learned it had been ransacked. Pushing in and opening the only closet, she learned Calvin should trust his memory more often.

  Slipped sideways into a cubby was an Acer laptop. The power cord for it was on the shelf beside the cubby. On the same shelf was a Lexmark combination printer/copier/fax, spare ink cartridges for it, and a few different types of paper.

  The laptop and paper fit into her pack. The printer she had to carry in her outstretched arms. It was heavy and awkward and hard to get through the doorway. After stepping on the cord and almost fumbling the printer, she stopped and reeled the cord in.

  For a second she thought about calling Calvin over to help. When she realized that would leave the entry unguarded, she sucked it up and continued across the lobby, the elevator her ultimate destination.

  Exiting the elevator on her floor, she bumped into Wilson.

  “Want some help?” he asked.

  “What does it look like?” She was breathing hard and obviously struggling with the forty-pound item.

  He said, “Hard to tell these days. Taryn hates it when I try to be chivalrous.”

  Though she wasn’t quite sure what the big word meant, she gasped, “Be chivalrous, already. Take it before I drop it.”

  Relieving her of the printer, Wilson said, “Where do you want it?”

  “In the Founders Suite, please.”

  In passing, Wilson asked, “What’s in the bag?”

  “I rented a camera at Lola’s.”

  “Rented?”

  “I negotiated a price to keep it for a few days. If I want to keep it for good, the rent goes toward purchase.” She opened the door for Wilson.

  “I wouldn’t have thought of that.”

  “It was Lola’s idea,” Raven conceded. “She’s a shrewd businesswoman.” She took the laptop and paper from her bag. Set it on the table next to the printer. “Can you help me get it running?”

  Wilson nodded. “That, I can do.”

  A disembodied voice said, “Whatcha up to, Bird?” It was Duncan. Still, it didn’t quite sound like him. Looking toward the far end of the room, Raven spotted his stockinged feet first. They were inverted. Three, maybe four feet separated his toes from the ceiling. Around his ankles were some kind of cuffs. The cuffs were hooked to what looked like a cot. The cot’s black frame was connected about midway to a tower that allowed it to pivot from vertical to horizontal and back to vertical, the latter position leaving the person on the cot hanging upside down.

  “What is that contraption?” she asked.

  Duncan said, “Do you know who Roger Teeter is?”

  Raven moved around so she could make eye contact. Once she did, it was way weird because Duncan seemed to be standing on his head.

  She shook her head. “I have no idea who he is.”

  “Neither do I,” Wilson called. “Almost done setting this printer up, by the way.”

  “He invented this contraption.”

  Raven made a face. “And what is it?”

  Duncan said, “It’s called an inversion table. Glenda brought it over from the hospital.”

  “What’s it for?” Wilson asked.

  Duncan flung his arms forward. The inertia created sent the cot part moving. In turn, his body went with it. Now right-side up, Duncan said, “It stretches my spine out. Relieves pressure and such. An hour spent in this contraption lets me be up and walkin’ about for a few pain-free hours.”

  Wilson powered on the laptop and printer. Looking up, he said, “Why don’t you take something for the pain.”

  “He can’t,” Raven said. “Glenda said that if he did, in no time he’d be back to drinking again.”

  Duncan said, “The big boss is right. It’s a slippery slope, for sure.”

  As he removed the ankle boots, he went on: “Did you get some pics of your perpetrators?”

  “Let’s see.” She took the memory card from the Nikon and inserted it into the laptop’s card reader.

  After a short pause, during which the computer was making soft grinding noises, the screen came alive with a mosaic of photos, about fifty total.

  Raven selected frontal and profile pictures of the slim female who opened up the shop, Snake, and Pirate. She printed three of each and passed them around. “Memorize those faces. If you see them near my park, let me know right away.”

  Wilson said, “Roger that. I can take a shift down there. Help keep an eye on the place until the President’s team seals it off for the upcoming ceremony.”

  Raven shook her head. “They’re already putting in barriers. Secret Service will be here tomorrow to sweep the building. Best we stay out of their way.”

  Sasha asked if she could do anything to help. Though her delivery was nonchalant, her body language told Raven the teen was looking for some excitement.

  “Save your energy for dish duty,” Raven answered. Making a face, she added, “Best if we let the authorities do what they do best.”

  “Bullcrap,” said Peter. “You’re planning something. I’ve seen you work.”

  Sasha planted her hands on her hips. A slight tilt to her head, she said, “I’ve known you to buck authority before. You’re just like your dad … always keeping your cards close to your vest.” Lips pursed, gaze narrowing, she asked, “What are you planning?”

  Raven shook her head. “Nothing to report. Besides, I made my dad a promise. I intend on honoring it.”

  Duncan grunted as he studied the faces on the photos. “These folks look like the kind of bipedal vermin you don’t want to tangle with
.” He tapped a finger on the one Raven called Snake. “In nature, the colorful animals are the dangerous ones. Don’t you forget that, Bird.”

  “Don’t worry,” she said, fingers and toes crossed, “I won’t be doing anything my dad wouldn’t do.”

  Chapter 53

  The thrill of the multi-ship launch and subsequent fifteen-minute nap-of-the-earth dash from Peterson had worn off somewhere over the Rockies’ western slope. Having been asleep since, even staying so throughout the first aerial refueling, Cade had missed seeing the landscape transition from scrub and sparsely treed expanses of high desert to fertile ground home to lush forest and brilliant green meadows.

  Sensing the helo course-correct and take a slight nose-down attitude, Cade broke sleep’s embrace. Cracking an eyelid, he peered at his Suunto.

  He had been out of it for two hours. The nap had left him feeling groggy and had done nothing to dispel the headache brought about by the bouncing and jostling they’d all experienced as Ari steered Jedi One around the back side of the Cheyenne Mountain Complex and darted west, using arroyos and tree-rimmed canyons to keep their true course a secret.

  Sitting on the helo’s port-side, back to the rear bulkhead, afforded Cade a commanding view of the landscape through the window glass to his left. He was also able to observe the entire troop compartment, Haynes up front in the left seat, Ari in the right, and a good chunk of blue sky through the slanted cockpit glass.

  Griff and Cross occupied rear-facing seats across from Cade. Both men were asleep, their gloved hands clutching their weapons. Facing forward, safety straps straining to keep his large frame on the narrow seat, was the newest Pale Rider, Fui “Nat” Natanumo. Nat was asleep, his Mk 46 Mod O Light Weight Machine Gun trapped between his outstretched legs. Basically a lightened version of the venerable SAW (Squad Automatic Weapon), the Mk 46, made by Fabrique Nationale, was belt fed with 5.56mm x 45mm linked rounds and equipped with a foregrip, bi-pod, and holographic sight on the top rail. With a 200-round ammo belt in the box, the weapon weighed less than twenty pounds. Child’s play for the huge Pacific Islander.

  Always a jovial soul, Nat wore a wide, bliss-filled smile even as he slept.

  A laminated map draped across his lap, SOAR crew chief, James “Skip” Skipper, sat on the seat below the stowed starboard-side minigun. As always, the wiry thirty-something was paying most of his attention to the ground below. Now and again he would consult the map or look to the rear-facing monitor affixed to the bulkhead over his head.

  Either sensing Cade’s scrutiny or having detected movement reflected back at him from the starboard-side window, Skip turned his attention inward, to the troop compartment.

  All Cade saw of the man’s face when the helmeted head finished its right-to-left pan was a pair of coal-black eyes. They were framed by the matte-black helmet and grinning-skull facemask strapped to it. Though Cade couldn’t see Skip’s mouth moving, he could hear him shouting over the baffled turbines and low harmonic thrum of the Ghost Hawk’s super-quiet rotors.

  “We just refueled, sir.” Skip tapped a gloved finger on the folded map. “Our twenty is here, northeast corner of Utah. We’ll be transitioning into Wyoming airspace in five minutes.”

  Not far from Eden, Cade thought. He nodded and looked past the crew chief. The rest of the three-bird flight was out there somewhere; however, the viewing angle out the starboard-side windows prevented him from seeing either the lone Comanche attack helo or the stealthy Ghost Chinook carrying a quick reaction force consisting of two twelve-man Ranger chalks.

  The view out his window was breathtaking, the westering sun far off and low in the horizon. In Ashley National Forest, a thousand feet below the speeding Ghost Hawk, alpine lakes glittered like jewels in a crown honed from obsidian. Far off, solitary trees on knife-edged ridges cast long, skeletal shadows across sun-dappled meadows.

  As Cade watched the sun retreating to the west, in real time the forest all around was being slowly consumed by dusk’s inevitable and steady creep. Flashing Skip a thumbs up, he said, “Thanks for the update. Wake me before the next refuel rendezvous.”

  Skip acknowledged the request with a thumbs up of his own.

  Sleep when you can. Heeding the sage advice from Mike Desantos, his late mentor and friend, Cade closed his eyes and nodded off.

  ***

  The distinct clunk of the drogue mating with Jedi One’s telescoping fuel boom woke Cade from his slumber. As he came to, he heard snippets of conversation. In the next beat, Skip was waving at him and mouthing, “Refueling as we speak.”

  Mouthing “Thanks,” Cade looked at his watch and learned he’d been asleep for about ninety minutes.

  Inside the cabin, now awash in red light meant to preserve night vision, Nat was still asleep. Which was a wonder, because Cross and Griff were engaged in spirited conversation.

  Outside the windows, night had descended on the countryside. Far off on the horizon, all that was left of day was a thin sliver of purple quickly fading to black.

  Returning his attention to the cabin, Cade saw that all eyes were on him.

  “Goldilocks has awakened from her slumber,” Griff said, his Southie accent making the statement sound more like an indictment than an observation. “What were you dreaming about, Wyatt?”

  Immediately coming to Cade’s defense, Ari said, “Your mom, Griff. Instead of breaking the guy’s balls, why don’t you include him in the next round of shit-you-can’t-unsee.”

  Cade looked a question at Griff.

  Stretching his shoulder harness to its limits, Cross leaned forward and offered Cade a fist.

  Bumping fists with the smiling man, Cade said, “What’s the topic, gentlemen?”

  Griff said, “We’re talking about the strangest shit we’ve come across outside the wire. It’s Skip’s turn.”

  Skip had unclipped the face mask on one side. It bounced and swayed every time the helo encountered turbulence. Looking at Cade, he said, “Sorry about not waking you for this, Captain. Didn’t think it was your kind of thing.”

  Even in the dim red light, Cade could see the sheepish look on the man’s bearded face. “No worries,” he said. “You’ll pay for it later.”

  Face blanching, Skip said, “It won’t happen again, sir.”

  “Just pulling your leg,” Cade said. “You’re up, Skip. Let’s hear it.”

  Skip smiled. He was obviously happy to be let off the hook so easily. Clearing his throat, he said, “So we’re on the rebound leg after inserting a team of Green Berets somewhere east of Seattle. Ari comes on talking about some huge yachts docked on the Sound below us. Then, all of a sudden—as Ari’s been known to do—he throttles way back and dumps altitude so he and Durant can pick the biggest boat out of the pack.”

  “Yacht,” Cross said. “Last I heard a boat is twenty-seven feet or less. Anything above three hundred foot or so is a ship. Got it?”

  Ignoring the SEAL, Skip went on, saying, “Sooo as I was saying … there’s this sloop docked out ahead of a mega-yacht called Charade. The sloop’s a big three-master called Slippery When Wet. She’s maybe sixty feet stern to bow and lashed pretty tight to the dock.” He pauses to scan the ground all around. Satisfied Jedi One’s only company is the other two ships, he continues: “On account of the rollers and whitecaps the wind’s pushing in off the Sound, she’s moving pretty good side-to-side. As we go right over top of her, Ari starts his turn, and I see that some poor bastard has gone and hung himself by the neck from the main mast.”

  “What’s funny about that?” Griff asked. “I’ve seen plenty of people who’ve gotten the Omega and offed themselves at the end of a rope.”

  From his seat up front, Haynes boomed, “For cryin’ out loud, Griff, let the man finish his story.”

  Though he wasn’t hungry, the words Eat when you can scratched at the back of Cade’s mind. It was yet another of Desantos’ many sayings and it spurred him to delve into his pack for an MRE.

  Picking up where he left of
f, Skip said, “This poor bastard must not have known the rules. He looks to have been up there a day, two at the most. Birds had only grubbed on his eyes and lips at this point. Funny part is that he’s spinning around the mast on the end of his noose like a damn tetherball. His arms are going all”—Skip flails his arms—“crazy like he’s batting at a bee that’s fucking with him. And every time this unlucky bastard gets wound up all the way in one direction, the sloop’s rolling and banging on the dock starts him on a return journey around the mast.” He stopped the bee-batting motion and threw a visible shudder. “Just imagine that being you up there, Griff. Spinning around again and again until either the rope snaps or it saws through your neck.”

  Shaking his head, Griff said, “First off, I would eat a bullet before stretching my neck out at the end of a rope. Much more efficient, my friend.”

  “You’d have to stop yacking long enough to suck on your Sig,” Cross quipped. “I doubt you could pull that off.”

  Griff threw the other SEAL the bird while mouthing, “Fuck off, surfer boy.”

  As Cade tore into the MRE, there was another thunk and the KC-130 refueling bird out of the recently reopened Idaho Air National Guard base disengaged from Jedi One. A tick later, the turbine whine rose inside the helo and Ari was back on the comms. “Anvil Actual, it’s your turn. Let’s hear your best shit-you-can’t-unsee tale.”

  “I’ll go last,” Cade said, dredging a spoonful of cold spaghetti from the foil pack. “Let’s hear if Griff can top Skip’s zombie tetherball.”

  Griff cracked his knuckles. Smile widening, he began, saying, “I’m just back stateside after nearly getting my ticket punched in Paki-land and I’m sent out and about with some Team Ten shooters. Orders are to see who’s left at the Raven Rock facility. Word was some of the Joint Chiefs made it there. Anyway, we’re on the ground after being infilled outside of the effective range of Rock’s countermeasures. We commandeer a couple of Humvees left behind at a National Guard roadblock. Closing in on the Raven Rock facility we come across a group of moaners.”