by SP Durnin
“I’m Sergeant Sam Richards, but you can address me by first name. That would be ‘Gunny.’ HQ sent word a few days ago that you folk were coming. How many are you?”
The older man smiled and, ignoring the urgings of the blonde, raised his “pit-bull gargling gravel voice” in response. “Master Chief George Montgomery Foster here, Gunny. Good ta’ see somebody with two brain cells ta’ rub together is ridin’ herd on the kiddies. We’ve got twelve crew members for the transport here, an’ ninety-two civilians in the vehicles following.”
“Damn! That’s the largest group I’ve heard of coming in for a while!” one of Mallory’s marines exclaimed quietly.
“Shut you pie-hole, private! Unless you wanna be on Port-A-Crapper duty for the next fuckin’ month! No? Smart boy. We’ll make a real marine outta you yet. Chief, like I have to ask: Anybody in your convoy been bitten? Anyone sick?”
“Negative, Gunny.” Foster came back. “All healthy, even if most of us do smell like an unwashed bum’s ass. Been on the road for over a week now, and we ran outta Speed Stick a quite a while back.”
“You have issues with taking a medical exam to confirm that?”
“So long as you have some female soldiers the check the ladies? Nope.” The younger man with the crowbar looked firm about that one.
Mallory keyed his mic again. “Got that covered, pal. Just a second and we’ll open up. Pull off to the right once you’re through, and the med-tent will be there in the parking lot. Welcome to the Safe Zone people… Now, one of you wanna tell me just what in the blue fuck that pink thing you’re drivin’ is?
-CHAPTER SIXTEEN-
No one asked Jake to turn his head and cough, so he felt his exam went well.
After the Mimi and her convoy passed, the gate had once more been secured by a pair of tanks which thundered back into place on its western side. No matter how many ghouls pushed at the barrier, there was no way they were moving those beasts.
The ‘med-tent’ was pair of army field hospitals set end to end, in the parking lot of a Citgo gas station. Soldiers took each survivor’s name, social security number (for identification purposes), and date of birth, then they passed the new residents of the United States Safe Zone off one by one for an exam by the medical staff.
It took hours. Each survivor was taken into the tent by a nurse or medic—and a pair of fully armed marines—where they removed all articles of clothing, then visually inspected thoroughly for anything that resembled a bite mark. If you were infected, you had a choice. One: the marines could shoot you after you’d said goodbye to anyone you entered with, take you around the back of the gas station, and shoot you right then and there, if you didn’t wish to go through the pain of turning into one of the creatures. Some few had chosen a quick, clean end, and gone with this option. Two: the marines could wait until you’d passed, then immediately dispose of your body. This was enacted by using a sledgehammer to spike a two-foot length of rebar through the head of the deceased. They reused the lengths of rebar. People had become zombies, not vampires. Or, Three: they could immediately release you back on the east side of the Colorado River. That meant (a short) exile, a lonely death, and (eventually) likely being shot after you’d turned into a flesh-eater.
There was no fourth option. At the start of the outbreak, there were many who’d attempted to conceal bites under their clothing as they entered. That not only endangered anyone with them to eventual zombie attack by a loved one, but also the Safe Zone in general to the risk of an outbreak that could grow into uncontrollable proportions. Some who’d arrived infected had accepted this. Some had cried and kicked and screamed to be allowed to stay. That there was sure to be a vaccine. A cure. That they could be—by some miracle—“saved” at the last minute, before their conversion into a member of the mobile dead. But there was no vaccine. There was no cure. Work went on in the effort to find one eventually, but that was secondary to the diminished nation’s survival. So thousands upon thousands of the unlucky infected were given the choice, and once deceased, their bodies were cremated in one of the Laughlin funeral homes.
“Most of your friends are already waiting outside, Mr. O’Connor,” The medic told him.
O’Connor finished dressing, thanked him, and retrieved his weapons from the bin nearby.
That was a plus. Every adult remained armed, if they so chose, with whatever weaponry they arrived with. There was little crime because of this fact. That, and everyone was informed upon entry that they were required to observe the laws and practiced outlined in the United States Constitution, so if you committed: theft, kidnapping, rape, murder, etc, you would be dealt with. The Safe Zone didn’t play “politically correct” games with violent offenders. There were a lot of handy-dandy, vacant prisons about. Also there was a hell of a lot of work to do to get civilization going again. Chain gangs had come back into use. That alone kept ninety-nine percent of the residents honest.
The Nevada afternoon was still “Surface-of-Sol” hot, but at least it was winding down. Being that the sun was only an hour or so from setting as Jake made his way towards toward the Mimi’s rear end, he was only half soaked in sweat when he saw Foster, Beatrix, and Rae sitting with the Gunny on the ramp.
“…so after we put them down, we didn’t feel like stickin’ around to roast marshmallows, and here we are.” George sipped at his cup of coffee and gave a satisfied sigh. “Damn, that’s good. It’s army-issue and terrible. But it’s so good. I can’t tell ya’ how much I missed coffee over the last few months. Not a one of the caches along the way had so much as a jar of Sanka.”
Gunny Richards chuckled. “Coffee we got. There’s warehouses all up and down the coast, and a few supply ships motored into LA from South America just after the outbreak, too. I was there for the last one. Its hold was full of the stuff.”
George looked at Richards with something akin to unbridled joy.
“Don’t encourage him.” It must be said that Rae was working on enormous mug of hot bean-squeezing herself. “He’s got enough vices as it is.”
“And you love it,” Foster sniffed.
“Guys. Gunny.” Grabbing a cup of his own black gold from the folding table a group of soldiers had set up nearby, Jake moved to join them and took a sip. “Jesus. I’d forgotten the taste of coffee. Is Kat still inside?”
Bee rolled her eyes. “We had our exams together and she asked the nurse for—as she put it—‘A shower and some time with a bottle of Revlon,’ afterwards. I made a joke that there weren’t any Smurfs to wring out in the area. It did not go over well. Anyway. It’s not like we all couldn’t use some hot water and Irish Spring…and a stylist who knows their way around a blow-dryer, because my roots are showing under the green too… but Lord! She is obsessed with hair care!”
“It keeps her happy, so I try to work around her personality quirks. Especially when it comes to her hair.” O’Connor stopped with his cup halfway to his mouth. “Where does she keep getting all the blue Manic Panic anyway? I’m positive we’ve never looted a Hot Topic.”
“I keep telling you, gaijin. The word is ‘salvaged.’”
He didn’t bat an eye this time. He was getting used to her sneaking up on him. Jake turned calmly to find an appealing ninja-girl standing beside the folding table, holding her own metal mug o’ Joe. Even after months without salon-level maintenance, and infrequent bathing, Cho had looked pretty darned good. Now, freshly washed, dyed, and free of the “five day road-funk,” Jake thought she was the most beautiful thing he’d seen in life. But then again, his was admittedly biased.
Love has a way of coloring your viewpoint.
She moved to Jake’s side and bumped him with one hip. “It’s only looting if there’s someone left alive to loot from. Otherwise it’s considered salvage.”
“She has a point,” Richards told him. “It’s a technicality, but looters are usually thieves stealing shit from other people, and they’re shot on sight. Empty homes and businesses that aren’t in use by the a
rmed forces, are fair game. We do ask folks to share any military grade equipment or caches they run across—because that keeps us in beans, bullets, and blankets—but otherwise the higher ups let things sometimes ‘go unnoticed.’ So long as that doesn’t become an issue, we’ll keep the Zone safe. And conditions inside will continue to get a little better every day.”
“That’s the long-winded way of saying, ‘the hottie with the blue hair is right,’ you know.” Cho looked smug.
O’Connor gave her a sideways glance, but wisely kept his mouth shut.
“Didn’t you two go in to get checked before I did?” Rae asked. “You were in there in there for a long time, even for you, Kat.”
“Perfection requires work,” she replied, taking another mouthful from her mug. “Besides. I wanted to get a second opinion on something, so after the exam—and once the pair of marines took their rifles outside—I had a talk with one of the nurses. She said to stop by Kindred Hospital after we hit town and see someone there.”
“What about?” Bee asked.
O’Connor’s ears perked up. “What’s wrong? Is your neck wound infected? I swear to God; if Barker fucked you up I’ll drive back to Pecos and rip his balls out through his ears”
“No, it’s nothing like that.” Cho shook her head.
When she didn’t elaborate, Jake raised his eyebrows and motioned as if to say, well? Go on.
“It’s girl stuff, okay?” Kat’s head tilted to one side.“Do you really want to know?”
Richards dumped the dregs in his mug away on the asphalt. “And that’s my cue. We’ll get your people moved up to Vegas in the morning. The paper-pushers want to debrief everyone, and especially all of you who crewed this monstrosity.” He pointed at the Mimi.
“Don’t listen to him, baby.” Foster patted the loading ramp. “He’s one a’ them fart-sniffers who think Bradley Troop Carriers are God’s gift to ground-pounders, so he’s not fit to voice an opinion on a fine hunk of rollin’ mayhem like you.”
Bee threw the Gunny an apologetic smile. “He does that a lot. Talks to it, I mean. It’s a little disturbing. I chalk it up to him getting on in years.”
“Ignore her. We do.” George looked unamused. “She’s fried her brains with all the green hair color. Kinda like China Doll over there.”
Kat put on her most vapid expression. “Are any of the casinos on the Strip still open? I’ve always wanted to catch Wayne Newton live.”
“Obi-Wan never had to deal with this kind of shit.” The ex-journalist’s face was pained. “I wonder if it’s too late to ask the Jedi Council for some new companions.”
“You’re forgetting about Jar-Jar,” she reminded him absently.
Jake scowled at her. “We don’t talk about him.”
Richards made with the better part of valor. There was only so much crazy he could take in one day.
* * *
The lights of Vegas were still bright, even without the casinos.
Three days later, Jake, Allan, and his tall Amazon, Maggie Reed, waited for Kat across the street from Kindred Hospital. They sat on the tailgate of an abandoned pick-up in the parking lot of what was once a Red Lobster, sipping at a twelve-pack of Guinness Allan had purloined from Foster’s stores in the Mimi. It was a few minutes past noon somewhere, so that meant they didn’t qualify as alcoholics.
“So, you’re heading up to Alaska after we reach the coast?” Jake took a healthy swig of his Irish ambrosia. “That’s a long drive.”
Ryker shook his head. “We’re hitching a ride on one of the air force supply runs. They fly up produce from So-Cal, then bring back tons of fish. The growing season lasts forever in California and the fishing industry up there is still going strong. It’s a win-win for everyone. Rae set up transport for us from Dutch Harbor to the mainland, so from there we’ll borrow a truck and head over to Pedro Bay. Mom and Dad and my bratty sisters are at the family cabin on the northwest side. Dad said to tell you ‘hi’ by the way.”
“I’m glad they made it, man. I know you were worried, no matter what you said.” There was regret in O’Connor’s voice when he spoke of his long-gone Jeep. “Let him know the Beast lasted longer than civilization did.”
“Think you’ll be able to stay out of trouble until we get back?”
Jake chuckled at his friend. “Pretty sure. We’re going to head to San Francisco and look for Kat’s martial arts sensei. She’s positive he had family there, and she wants to take that muscle car of hers up along the coastal roads. God help me. I’ll have to shut my eyes and think of Christmas the whole way.”
“Her driving isn’t that bad.” Maggie said.
“You weren’t around for her NASCAR performance in Rae’s old Hummer, when we rescued Barker from his hospital.” Jake shuddered. “She ran over about two dozen zombies. She backed up over some of them. Twice. Put what I used to do with my Jeep on the weekends to shame.”
“I wonder what that twat Nichole ever did with her?” Al’s eyes were far away.
“Probably traded it to Poole.”
The skinny man clenched his eyes shut and put both hands over his ears. “Argh! A fate worse than the scrap heap, that! La-la-la-la-la-la-la! Not listening to you!”
“Relax, hun. There’ll be plenty of vehicles to modify in Alaska.” Maggie finished her bottle. “Maybe we can even find a road grader. There’s got to be highway maintenance locations up there, somewhere.”
Al’s eyes lit up at the thought. He began telling them all the things he’d do differently while constructing the 2.0 version of his RBS (rolling buzz-saw), and Jake hid a smile. He wouldn’t blame Ryker if he stayed in Alaska. The zombies were far less numerous up there, thanks to the combined efforts of the US and the Canadian military. Say what you will about the “Canucks,” but when the dead rose, they took the kid gloves off. The United States managed to secure the Safe Zone on its western coast, but the Canadian Armed Forces had held the whole of British Columbia—and a third of the Yukon Territory—against multiple horde attacks.
His friend was explaining how he’d add additional trencher blades to the front of the RBS when Jake saw Cho exit the south side of the hospital.
She spotted them after a moment, then trotted across the street—avoiding being pulverized by a west-bound, olive-green supply truck with an agile pair of skipping steps—and easily vaulted the four-foot fence around the parking lot.
“Hey guys!” Her greeting was trademark “bubble-head” Kat, but there was an odd look in her eyes. “Any of those left?”
Jake pulled one from the twelve-pack, knocked the cap off on the side of the truck, and handed it to her as Cho plunked beside him on the tailgate.
“Thanks. I really needed one of these.” She downed a large swallow and pressed the semi-cold bottle to her forehead.
“So? How’d it go?” Maggie grabbed another herself.
Kat took another swig. “Good. They checked this hole in my neck out, and it’s closing nicely. In a few weeks it’ll just be a cool scar. You should’ve seen the doctor’s face when I told him I got it from being pinned to the side of a Hummer by a sliver of a pipeline while trying to outrun a wildfire full of zombies. You know, a lot of people here have never seen one? A zombie I mean, not a pipeline.”
“And the other issue?” Jake looked worried. “What’s that about?”
Shrugging nonchalantly, Kat looked west towards the distant Bellagio Hotel. “Meh, no biggie. Just a physical.”
“Hey.” He said, causing her to turn her face back to him. “I’m not blind so I can tell something’s up. You don’t have to deal with it on your own, you know. Talk to me.”
Their friends shared a look.
“Do you guys need some alone time here?” Al asked.
Kat sat on the tailgate for a few moments, eyes lost in thought and kicking her feet lightly. “No. It’s all right. You guys can hear this too.”
“We can go have a look at the Atomic Testing Museum on East Flamingo, then hook back up for dinner
.” Maggie used one thumb to gesture at her short boyfriend. “This guy’s been talking about having a look inside for days. Even if we have to break in to do it.”
Ryker folder his arms across his chest. “Who wouldn’t want to see something like that?”
“Not all of us are mech-geeks, babe.” The blonde patted his shoulder.
“How serious is it?” Jake demanded as Cho finished her beer. “What kind of treatments or surgery do you need to get better? Name it, and I’ll pull this whole damn world apart to get it for you.”
“Relax, hero. I’m not going to croak or anything.” Kat hopped nimbly from the tailgate and tossed her now-empty bottle at a nearby dumpster. It cleared the rim and plunked onto bags of months-old refuse with a muffled “thump,” then she turned and regarded him for a full minute. Kat’s face looked a bit shaky, but she managed to keep her voice somewhat steady as she blurted out. “I’m pregnant.”
“What?” That exclamation came from both their friends in unison.
“Are you sure?” Al’s eyebrows tried to climb into his hairline.
“Pretty sure. After the wildfire, when Barker thought I was running a fever because I might’ve had an infection in my wound or something? Um. Yeah. Not an infection.” Kat fidgeted with the strap of her sword. “He told me when he did that round of bloodwork on me—on all of us—a few days before we left. I’d been feeling off, so I went in first chance I got and he confirmed it. I didn’t say anything because, let’s be honest: Barker’s not the most stable person in the world. And coming from me that’s really saying something. I wanted to get another test done when we got here, and this one came back positive too. So, it’s official. I’m knocked up.”
Maggie jaw hung open. “Holy shit! Wait, you’re not showing yet. Just how far along are you?”
“About a month.”
“That would put it, when?” Allen was attempting to do the math in his head. “After you guys got to Pecos, right?”