Outpost Season One

by Finnean Nilsen Projects

He felt the truck shift as weight was added, looked in the rear view and saw Phil pulling the man into the bed by the collar, the flame thrower still spewing its fiery breath. He watched the two men tumble backwards as their weight came down together, and then hit the gas, tossed his rifle to Sam and they were off.

  “Do like I did,” Sam told him. “Take them all around town and then circle back and hit the gun store.”

  “Got it.”

  Twenty-Six

  Maurice didn’t know if it was sweat or tears of joy, but his face was soaked as the truck got rolling and the mass of creatures was left behind.

  The man who had pulled him into the bed was back up now, on a knee, sniping zombies as the truck sped on. He stopped when Maurice stood up, turned, and offered his hand.

  “Phillip Craig,” he said.

  “Maurice Avelanda,” Maurice returned. “Thanks for the ride.”

  “Anytime,” Phil said, pointed at the flame thrower. “You mind?”

  Maurice shrugged in his thick suit. “Go for it. I need to cool off anyway.”

  “Fucking killer.”

  Phil took the propane tank from him and slid it to his side, then rolled his shoulders, held the flame thrower out and said, “Burn, baby, burn!” as he hit the switch.

  Twenty-Seven

  Chris cut around the corner and floored it, the truck slipping in the snow.

  “Slow the fuck down,” Sam snapped. “You crash this truck and we’re all fucked.”

  Chris ignored him. His heart racing. His mind a blur. He swerved to avoid, but accidentally clipped a creeper dressed in her lingerie. Swore as the truck fishtailed.

  “Just hit the damn things,” Sam told him. “Shit, what’s your problem?”

  “Back seat driver,” Chris mumbled, and made another turn, coming up on the main street. Paralleling it.

  “I swear,” Sam continued, “you’ve been acting weird ever since you got back from those woods. I know that was some fucked up shit, but you have to move on. We’re all handling it in different ways.”

  Chris saw the alley he was looking for, slowed, and then cut left, dropping into it. Gunned it down the slick road.

  Sam said, “What are you doing?”

  Chris pressed the accelerator down all the way, the engine roaring in his ears.

  The truck exploded out of the alley.

  Blurred across the main street.

  And smashed face first into the front of the gun store.

  Twenty-Eight

  Phil felt himself become weightless. It was a different sensation than any he had ever experienced. It held for a few moments, and then it was gone, and he was crashing through glass and metal. Then everything was dark, and there was nothing but pain.

  Off in the distance – somewhere seemingly very far away – he could hear voices:

  “What the fuck was that?”

  “You told me to ‘hit the gun store.’”

  “Very fucking funny. I want those trucks pulled up long ways, blocking the entrance, and as soon as everyone’s in, get that security fence down.”

  Phil tried to get up, but couldn’t. He moved his arms first – they worked – and brushed glass off of his uniform. Everything hurt. He went to put his hands down but found only broken shards under him. He looked around, trying to figure out what had happened.

  “And where the hell is Phil?”

  “I’m here,” he croaked. He was inside a display case, he realized, pistols scattered at odd angles all around him.

  Sam came around the truck and stopped to look at him. “Ouch,” he said.

  “Jesus, man, who taught you to drive?”

  “Don’t look at me,” Sam told him, “it was the fucking genius over there.”

  “Take his license away.”

  “I’m thinking about it,” Sam said, and offered his hand to Phil. Phil took it, and Sam pulled him up, out of the case. “Anything broke that can’t be fixed?” Sam asked.

  “His jaw when I get a hold of him.”

  “I meant on you.”

  “Nah, I’m good.” Phil got the last of the glass off him and said, “Arm me.”

  Sam smiled at him. “You read my mind,” he said.

  Twenty-Nine

  “Sounds like a wild ride,” Mercedes told Jessie, even if she wasn’t listening.

  Jessie was going at it in the bottom bunk. She was being a bitch about it, too. Making all the noise she wanted in the absence of guards. Moaning. Calling out Gibb’s name.

  Just to piss off Mercedes.

  And it was working. She lay in her bunk, rubbing her belly.

  “Oh, fuck yes,” Jessie called, and kicked the bottom of Mercedes’ bunk.

  Mercedes tried to ignore her, but it was impossible. She was really laying it on. Writhing around, giving the springs a run for their money. Mercedes wondered if it was all for show or if she was really feeling it.

  She decided she didn’t care. But it was getting her thinking.

  Something had happened. Brennick was changing. And the Warden was the type of prick that didn’t change unless there was a good reason. Unless his hand was forced. What was happening? Who was responsible? And what did it all mean?

  She didn’t know.

  But the simple fact of it was an upheaval she had never seen coming.

  At that very moment, Jessie was beneath her, openly playing with herself. Making a show of it. Calling out. Making noise after lights out. Breaking damn near every rule they had.

  And no one had come to punish her.

  That was… Well, it was almost like freedom.

  Now, the guards were sounding like prisoners: “I know he won’t let me leave”, and the prisoners were acting like guards: serving food and walking around freely – if only a select few – and it had all happened in a day or two. What would the next week bring? The next year?

  What in the hell was going on? What had happened to the world of Brennick she had been living in for years? A world with bars and rules and scheduled exercise and even scheduled rape?

  And what about this new Brennick? Was it the kind she could give birth in? Could she have a child here – she never could have at the old Brennick – and keep it? Raise it? Love it?

  Jessie moaned beneath her, the springs rocking again.

  And what would it be like to make love to a man? Not get fucked by asshole guards that didn’t ask if it was okay. But to be held, whispered to, loved? She had never considered it was something that could ever happen to her again. Not in this life. But could it? Could she be a woman again, instead of a convict? Could she be a lover?

  She didn’t know the answers to any of those questions.

  She sighed.

  Slipped off of the top bunk – her feet making a kissing sound as they struck the cold floor – and looked at the bottom one.

  Jessie lay there, naked atop the sheets, sweat glistening in the pale light, hunger in her eyes. Mercedes fell into her and they became one – for a time. Touching. Feeling. Dreaming. Both of them dreaming of someone else.

  Thirty

  “The first thing,” Sam said, “is we need to clear this fucking building.”

  Behind him, the creepers had converged on the security gate, but it was holding up well. The best part being: they couldn’t see in and the men couldn’t see out. It gave a psychological reprieve to everyone inside and made them feel like maybe – just maybe – the creepers would forget about them by daylight and move on.

  To Sam’s left, gunfire cracked fast and angry as a guard executed a creeper in a dark corner.

  “Phil,” Sam said, “you wanna go play?”

  Phil nodded. “I’ll see you in a bit,” he said. Walked along the gun racks until he found a semi-automatic shotgun. Took it down. Found a few boxes of shells. Nodded again. Disappeared into the gloom of the back offices.

  “Chris,” Sam called. “Excuse me… Asshole,” he corrected. Chris came up despite the name change, sweating in the cold. “The fuck?” Sam asked him. “You
been running?”

  Chris’ hands were quaking. He coughed once, then wiped his forehead. “Must have caught a cold with all this fucking outdoor work,” he said.

  Sam nodded. “Well, we don’t have any blankets or chicken soup,” he told him. “Are you solid?”

  “Brick wall.”

  “Good. Turns out, parking this truck here has fringe benefits. I want every box of ammo and every rifle, pistol, street sweeper and pocket knife loaded up.”

  “It’ll take more than one for that.”

  “Then load the bed and front. Pack it in on the seats. Fuck weight limit, we’re not getting ticketed anymore.”

  “Still,” Chris said, shaking his head. “It’ll take two to three to get it all.”

  Sam thought a moment. “Okay,” he said, “fill the truck and put the rest up against the security gate. First light, if there’s no creepers, we load the other trucks. I don’t give a shit if we need to walk a few people, that’s what we have to do.”

  Chris nodded and went to work.

  “You,” Sam called to the stranger in the bite suit. “Front and center.”

  The man came and stood, weighted down by the material.

  “That what dog trainers wear?” Sam asked.

  “Yeah. A bite suit. Nothing short of a bullet can get through it.”

  Sam smiled. “Name.”

  “Maurice.”

  “Maurice,” Sam said, “I like your style.”

  Thirty-One

  Erin Gibbs lay in his bunk, clothed in darkness, thinking.

  He was thinking about what Tall Bill had said. Were they better off inside than out? For survival purposes, he was pretty sure they were. The walls, the razor wire, the armed guards. But that wasn’t enough.

  Erin wasn’t interested in simply surviving. Not anymore.

  So what was he doing? Waiting for an opportunity. But what kind? At this point, it didn’t seem likely they were going to let them back out. They were on lock down and when the Warden put them on lock down, that’s what they were: locked down.

  But for how long?

  They had to let them out eventually. And they had already started letting women do administrative work. What was next? The men did the labor. Naturally, they already had. So what was next?

  Had to be something.

  Would there be a new mass of bodies in the morning? A new group to clean them off? No. Same group: they had proved themselves. Odds were good the next time they needed muscle they would go to the same trusted men. They were all low security risks anyway, that’s why they were chosen. To pick a new group would be inviting an escape attempt.

  So. He was waiting. Waiting for them to give him another chance.

  But he wouldn’t be waiting for forever.

  He wouldn’t be waiting for long.

  Thirty-Two

  Phil came back in and set the shotgun on the remaining display case.

  “Clear,” he said.

  “Good,” Sam told him, and boxed another assault rifle. Behind him, Chris, Brooks and the others were dropping cases of ammunition into the bed of the truck. “They give you any trouble?”

  “I gave them more,” Phil said. “But I’m running on empty.”

  Brooks called, “Same, sir. When can we rack out?”

  Sam thought about it. “If we’re clear,” he said, “we’ll split into two shifts. Brooks, Phil, Chris and I will take first watch. The others can sleep for three hours. Then switch off. I want to be ready to move at first light.”

  They all nodded.

  Chris came up next to Sam. “I appreciate you giving us first watch,” he said.

  “Anytime,” Sam said. “You said you were solid.”

  “He doesn’t look solid,” Phil said, “he looks like shit.”

  “He always did,” Sam told Phil, elbowed Chris.

  “Fuck you both.”

  Brooks, Phil and Sam laughed. Chris coughed. Rubbed his arms together. His wound burning, pain arching through his entire forearm. His head light.

  Sam grabbed his shoulder and held it. “Hold it together, buddy. At first light, we’re going home.”

  “Sure,” Chris said, not really listening, lost in the pain. “At first light.”

  Thirty-Three

  The low sun shined orange down on the snow swept town, the flakes reflecting it back and playing along the edges of shadows.

  Sam pulled the security door up and peered out, the streets totally clear. Scratch marks in the snow showing where the creepers had fled as the horizon lit up.

  Sam turned and signaled the men. They sprang into action, snatching up cases and running them to the trucks, setting them down as lightly as they could to keep from alerting the nocturnal creatures.

  Phil came out with a Barrett fifty-caliber sniper rifle.

  “Is that really necessary?” Sam asked him.

  “Of course not,” Phil told him. “Anal sex isn’t really necessary, but that doesn’t make it any less fucking awesome, now does it?”

  Sam shrugged it off and supervised the loading. “Rifles in the front truck,” he said, “ammunition in the middle. Left over small arms in the back. If we have to lose a truck, we keep the rifles and ammo.”

  “I should drive the front truck,” Chris said. “I have the list.”

  “Not anymore,” Sam told him, and put his hand out. “Give me the list.”

  “No.”

  “Give me the fucking list,” Sam snarled.

  “No,” Chris repeated. “Warden said I’m in charge of the list. It’s my responsibility. You’re just here for security.”

  “In the absence of the Warden, I Am In Charge.”

  “Holy shit.” Brooks sighed. “We’re going through this again? Sam, Warden says he keeps the list, he keeps the list.”

  “I don’t understand why this is such a problem,” Bryce told them. “What’s it matter?”

  “It’s about the chain of command’s why it matters. I say give me the list, I get the list.”

  “Ladies,” Phil cut in, “if we could put the claws back in, we have more important things to worry about.” He pointed with the barrel of his rifle. A line of creepers were coming out of the shop across the street, slowly, blindly, walking toward the voices.

  Sam growled and dropped his hand. “Chris, front truck. I’ll ride in the back with the ammunition. Try not to fucking kill me,” he spat at Chris.

  Chris nodded solemnly. Walked around and got in the front truck. Sam climbed into the back. The others mounted up. Started up the trucks. Chris backed the front truck out, pulled it in drive, and said, “Everyone ready?” into the coms.

  “Roger.”

  “Ready.”

  “Let’s just get this shit over with,” Sam’s voice came through.

  Chris hit the gas and they started moving.

  Thirty-Four

  “Report,” Warden Bowers said into the microphone.

  “We’re moving.” Chris’ voice told him over the speakers. “We’ll clear the list and be on our way back by nightfall.”

  “Good. Casualties?”

  “Just the initial two. We brought on a few, though.”

  “We don’t need more mouths to feed.”

  “You want us to dump them?”

  Bowers thought about that. He really didn’t need more mouths to feed. He was already considering what he was supposed to do when their food stores ran out. Water was fine. Electricity should stay up for a week or two. They were bringing back ammunition. But food. Food had expiration dates.

  But, so did people. And he had lost some, would lose more. Warm bodies meant working bodies. He could put them to use in admin or possibly even as guards. Put guns in their hands. Keep the fucking creepers away from the fence. It was about to fall from yet another batch of attacks over the night.

  “Keep them,” he said. “How many?”

  “Two.”

  “Fine. But I want each one checked by our doctors before they get into the prison proper.”
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  “Roger.”

  “And Chris,” Warden Bowers said.

  “Sir?”

  “Get your asses back here in one piece. Understood?”

  “Roger.”

  Thirty-Five

  “What the fuck is this supposed to be?” Sam asked Chris as he hopped out of the truck bed.

  “What do you mean?” Chris asked, looking around. “It’s your house.”

  “Exactly. What the hell are we doing here?”

  Phil stalked up, his rifle sweeping left and right as he did, checking the surrounding areas for threats.

  “Checking it out,” Chris told Sam. “Warden said check yours first since you’re his number two. He had to pick a way to do it, so he picked seniority.”

  “Check what?”

  Chris shook his head, not understanding the problem. “Check on your wife,” he said, “obviously. See if she made it through.”

  “Don’t bother,” Sam told him. “We saw all those creepers last night. I’ve been telling you for a day now: no one made it.”

  Everyone was out of the trucks now, watching for creepers. Crowding around.

  “I made it,” Maurice said over his shoulder.

  “So?”

  “So, if I made it, maybe she did too.”

  “Fine,” Sam told them, “if it will make everyone feel better, I’ll go check on her.”

  “You can’t go in alone,” Chris said. “What if there’s creepers in there?”

  “Then she’ll be dead, and I’ll be right. A second ago you said she might not be dead, now you think the house is full of fucking zombies. Pick one.”

  “I’m saying: we don’t know. But we can’t take any chances.”

  “Jesus,” Bryce swore, “what are you two, married? First it’s this-and-that with the list, now it’s stay-go, in-out. Warden said we check the houses, we check the houses.”