Surviving the Dead (Novel): The Hellbreakers

by James N. Cook

  I kept all this to myself, gave a terse nod, and went over to the wagon to gear up.

  TWENTY-FOUR

  At somewhere close to noon, a low droning sound came from the north. A few minutes passed while the mechanical buzz grew steadily louder until a speck on the horizon resolved into a C-130 cargo plane. I did not know the aircraft’s designation until Hahn explained it to me.

  As it flew overhead, a door opened in the back and several crates came falling out on tethered lines. The tethers quickly ran out of length and deployed broad white parachutes. They fell like drifting flowers against the cloudless blue of the Arizona sky. Prevailing winds pushed their descent steadily southward. There were six of them. They sent up plumes of dust when they landed. A column of armed riders on horseback went out to establish a perimeter around them, and shortly thereafter, a wagon train got the all-clear for retrieval.

  I saw Cary amidst the press of bodies unloading the crates. She had a clipboard and a radio with an earpiece. She looked busy. I wanted to help, but figured I would just get in the way. So I hung back and watched.

  Toward four in the afternoon, a wagon stopped by and the squad leaders for Seventh Platoon went out to meet it. Hahn radioed for help, and the rest of us followed Elena to lend assistance.

  I was the second one there after Elena. Hahn gave me two green ammo cans and bid me take them to the squad’s supply wagon. I did as instructed, then went back for more. Half an hour later we had been issued our portion of the drop. It consisted of six thousand rounds of something called M-855 green-tip ammunition, a thousand rounds of nine-millimeter full metal jacket, several M-4 carbines, a few Beretta service pistols, magazines for both, adjustable tactical vests, MOLLE backpacks, medical supplies, non-perishable food, brown desert fatigues, new boots, a few MK-9 ghoul choppers, and underwear and socks of various sizes. I found a few sets of fatigues that fit, as well as boots, socks, and underwear. There were even insoles for the boots. I trimmed a pair down to size twelve and tried them on. The boots needed to be broken in, but were not uncomfortable. The insoles helped a lot.

  “So we’re good on beans, bullets, and bandages,” Hahn said. She had called a meeting after taking inventory of our supplies. “Everybody should have uniforms, boots, underwear, a carbine, Beretta, a tactical vest, spare mags, and ghoul choppers. Anybody not have any of that stuff?”

  No one said anything.

  “Good.” She checked something off on her clipboard. “Sort out your gear. Elena, make sure your people are good to go. I’ll do the same.”

  “Will do,” Elena said.

  “Take your time and make sure you have everything you need. Also, make sure your vests and assault packs fit. Once we’re in Indian country, there won’t be any going back. Everybody clear?”

  I wasn’t, but stayed silent while the others said they were.

  “Okay. Reveille is at 0600 hours, bright and early. Be ready.”

  Hahn gave a final nod, and the meeting broke up.

  Per Elena’s instructions, I presented her with my weapons. She spent a full minute looking over my AR-15.

  “Shit, Muir, I might trade you for this thing.”

  “Sorry, boss. Not for sale.”

  She looked at me. “You even know what you got here?”

  “Not really.”

  Her left index finger pointed things out as she spoke. “You got a CMC trigger, feels like about four pounds or so. Magpul stock and pistol grip, VCOG optic, free-float M-LOK rail, Magpul foregrip, nickel-boron bolt carrier group, cold-hammer forged fourteen-and-a-half inch barrel, and a tri-lug flash hider. You got a suppressor for this thing?”

  “No.” I thought about telling her I had no clue what she was talking about, but kept it inside.

  “Well, it’s fitted for one. I’ll see what I can find. Maybe talk to your girl Cary.” She glanced at me and gave a wry smile as she said it. I took a deep breath and stayed silent. When it was clear I wasn’t taking the bait, Elena handed the rifle back to me.

  “That’s a nice piece. What do you want to do with your M-4?”

  “Um…keep it in the wagon, I guess. In case something happens to this thing.”

  “Smart thinking. Let me see the axe.”

  She inspected it, tested the edge with her thumb, and gave a low whistle. “Damn, Muir. You got some nice gear. Wanna keep your Mk-9 in the wagon too?”

  “Might as well. Otherwise it’s just extra weight.”

  She tilted her head and made a face. “You know, I’ve seen people’s hand weapons break before. Might want to keep it on your backpack. Tied to it I mean. Blades don’t run out of bullets, you know?”

  I considered a moment, then agreed. “Sure. Might as well.”

  “Lily will show you how.”

  From her tone, I gathered I was dismissed. I grabbed my pack and walked over to Lily.

  “Hi,” I said.

  She looked up. Her eyes were pale blue, and there was a long scrape under her chin. I guessed she must have fallen down at some point and landed on her face.

  “What do you want?” she asked.

  “Elena said you’d show me how to tie my chopper to my pack.”

  A roll of the eyes. “For fuck’s sake. Always volunteering me for shit. Well come on, hand it over.”

  I handed the little woman my pack and chopper.

  “Got some cordage?”

  “Right back.” I went to the wagon and came back with a roll of paracord that had come in with the supply drop. Lily took it from me and motioned for me to sit down. I did so, my legs crossed underneath me in the warm sand.

  “Pay attention, right? I’m only gonna show you this once.”

  Lily’s hands worked quickly. She explained what she was doing as she went, then broke her own rule by demonstrating four more times. When she was finished, she handed my things over and said, “You’re turn.”

  I tied the long blade to my pack the way she had shown me, utilizing the metal rings sewn into the sides and weaving them through the MOLLE loops on the chopper’s sheath. When I was done, Lily looked over my work.

  “Not bad. It’ll hold. Now fuck off, I got shit to do.” She picked up one of her many knives and a whetstone, poured some 5W-30 motor oil on the stone, and began running the blade over it in little circles.

  “Thanks, Lily,” I said. She did not reply.

  I got up and went back to my tent. It took me less than ten minutes to get my gear ready. The weapons were the easiest part. The time-consuming bit was adjusting my duffel bag to fit over my assault pack. The duffel contained my firefighting suit, rubber boots, leather gloves, and the motorcycle helmet. Rohan Chopra, who I had learned would be my teammate along with Lily and Elena, watched with interest.

  “What’s that for?” he said, pointing at the ghoul armor.

  “You’ll see.”

  “Hm.” The young man picked up a paperback copy of The Empty Copper Sea from his lap, leaned back in his camp chair, propped his feet on a stool, and resumed reading by the light of a gas lantern.

  I left my fatigues on, brushed my teeth, drank half a canteen of water, and climbed into my tent.

  0600 was going to come early. I needed my rest.

  TWENTY-FIVE

  I was expecting Father Cortez to call a big meeting in the center of camp, give a motivational speech, expound on the importance of the task ahead, maybe invoke God’s protection in the battle to come.

  None of that happened.

  The company commanders and platoon officers, as well as about a dozen auxiliary officers, including Cary, showed up at the command tent shortly before 0600 and went inside. They remained there for about half an hour. When they emerged, the two company commanders held brief conferences with their platoon officers. Then the platoon officers returned to camp and called a meeting with their squad leaders. Hahn attended. At seven in the morning, or 0700 in military speak, she came back to our wagon, sat with us around the fire, accepted a cup of instant coffee from Lowe, and gave us the
rundown.

  “Spotters sent up the drone at sunrise,” she said. “There’s been activity on the eastern side of the city. Living, not dead. Looks like we got salvagers on that side of town.”

  My head snapped up. I remembered the smoke pillar I had seen, and the sound of gunshots in the night. Can’t be a coincidence.

  “You serious?” Cason asked.

  “As a heart attack.”

  “Motherfuckers must be crazy,” Lily said.

  Chu looked at her. “Crazier than us?”

  Lily gave a sideways nod. “Yeah, you got a point there.”

  “They’re at least two miles from where we’ll be,” Hahn said. “But all the same, be on the lookout. Otherwise, everything is going down just like last time. Team leaders from all squads have maps and compasses. If you get separated from the platoon, link up with whoever comes along. The rifle platoon and outriders will go out and set up a perimeter. Falcon Company will be support today. Eagle Company are door-kickers, which means us, Muir. We’ll be clearing buildings and looking for supplies. Any questions?”

  I raised a hand. “I have no idea what’s going on.”

  Hahn smiled a little and shook her head. “Don’t worry about it. Just stick close to Elena. You’re a smart boy. You’ll figure things out pretty quick. Elena, don’t let him do anything stupid.”

  The ex-cop shot me a merciless stare. “Don’t worry. I won’t.”

  I had more questions. In fact, my heart was pounding, my eyes kept looking eastward, and I was resisting a powerful urge to slip away and hide in my cabin until the Hellbreakers finished this insanity. A few weeks ago, I probably would have. But Cary’s face kept appearing every time I felt the urge to escape. I remembered her smile, the touch of her hand, the thrill of kissing her and waking up with her warmth next to mine, the way our bodies fit together perfectly as we held each other in the night.

  I stayed right where I was.

  At 0730 a horn sounded. Elena told me to suit up and be ready to leave in fifteen minutes. I was ready in less than ten. Elena gazed a long moment at the duffel bag on my back and the bulky contents within.

  “You really bringing that shit?”

  “Yes.”

  A shrug. “Okay. Good luck with that.”

  Ten minutes later, the horn sounded again.

  “All right, ladies and gentlemen,” Hahn said, looping her carbine’s tactical sling over her shoulders. “Move out.”

  The squad joined a procession of troops moving toward the rally point on I-10. The riders had already departed, a plume of dust following them toward the jagged skyline of the Phoenix ruins. The rifle platoons followed in covered wagons. I noticed almost all of them were men. They carried minimal gear, mostly water and spare ammo. Their mood seemed light, their banter audible across the flat plain of cracked pavement. But the longer I looked, the more I could detect a strain in the voices, a tightness in the shoulders, a tense narrowing of determined eyes.

  From what I had gathered over the last few days, the rifle platoon was mostly ex-military, people who had been discharged from the regular Army and had taken jobs with the militia in hopes of increasing their fortunes. Mercenaries, for lack of a better word. These were people who had been in the field, fought ghouls and men and every threat between, and had emerged alive to tell the story.

  And they were worried.

  I kept my breathing even. I forced myself to relax. Just another fight, I thought. Another supply run. Nothing I haven’t done before.

  I checked my rifle, adjusted my gear, and marched on.

  *****

  The echoes of gunfire began long before we reached the city limit.

  I sat in the back of a transport wagon with the rest of my squad and stared at nothing while the wheels bounced and rattled over the uneven road. The sound of hooves clomping over pavement came slow and steady from the animals dragging us along. A trail of wet brown dung marked our passage eastward. If the noise did not attract an army of infected, the smell certainly would.

  I was grateful for my foreign legion cap and sunglasses. The sun was moving quickly up the mountains and the air temperature had already become uncomfortable. It was not yet nine in the morning.

  The empty, dark blue sky offered no respite from the coming inferno. My canteen did not take long to drain. I refilled it from a plastic barrel behind the driver’s bench. The others were drinking as much water as they could stand, a testament to their desert survival knowledge. The best place to store water is in your belly, since that’s where it will do the most good.

  The empty sand and brush transitioned to houses and stone buildings. The gunfire became louder and I noticed my squad mates sitting up straighter and taking more careful note of their surroundings. Looking beyond our wagon, I saw the other squads in their respective transports doing the same.

  Hahn stood behind the driver’s bench, one leg braced against the backrest, and scanned the periphery with a pair of binoculars. She looked every part the Marine. Boots laced all the way up with pants bloused over them, olive-drab undershirt, fatigue jacket, sleeves rolled up, goat-skin shooting gloves with hard plastic knuckles, camouflage cap pulled down low, wrap-around sunglasses, assault pack, MOLLE vest loaded with spare magazines, med-kit, pockets full of who-knew-what, two canteens on the web belt, combat knife, ghoul chopper, Beretta snug inside a drop holster, and her carbine dangling from a two-point sling down her right side. She made it look like casual wear.

  There were no uniform requirements in the militia, so the others had outfitted themselves according to preference. Most simply wore fatigues, packs, web belts, and MOLLE rigs. Rohan Chopra and I were the only holdouts.

  The young engineer’s preferred weapon was a lever-action Marlin rifle that could fire .357 magnum or .38 special. His sidearm was a Buckmark .22 pistol, not much different from my Ruger. He carried a messenger bag full of .38 cartridges, several spare magazines for the Buckmark on his belt, and the sharpened entrenching tool he’d invented in a rawhide harness on his back. His assault pack was full of spare ammo and water. He wore a tunic made of tough leather covered in several layers of canvas that covered him from just under his jaw down to mid-thigh. His knee-high boots were made of thick rubber, similar to my firefighting boots. A riot helmet with a clear face shield rested on the wagon floor beside him. The two of us would comprise one team, Elena and Lily the other.

  “Hey Rohan.”

  He looked at me. “Yeah?”

  “That guy Hahn mentioned when I first came to the squad. What was his name?”

  Rohan blinked and his jaw tightened. “Jefferson. Kyle Jefferson.”

  “Right. What happened to him?”

  “He was bitten.”

  I let out a long breath and shook my head. “Jesus. I’m sorry to hear that.”

  “It happens.”

  “Which one of you…you know.”

  “Killed him?”

  “Yeah.”

  The young man looked toward the approaching city. “I did. He was my friend. It was the least I could do.”

  I didn’t say anything else for a while. The line of wagons trundled on. We passed a neighborhood called Valencia Village where four wagons broke off and disgorged militia troops. The fighters formed up by squads and fanned out, each one taking a corner and beginning the hard work of clearing the area. A line of riders went north to defend against infected coming from that direction.

  It was not long before the only thing louder than the rifle squads’ gunshots was the moaning howl of the infected. A lot of them.

  “Get ready,” Hahn finally shouted. The rest of the squad gathered their things and got their feet under them. I had already donned my firefighting suit, the motorcycle helmet resting in my lap, my rifle lying by one leg and trusty axe by the other. I wrapped a hand around its haft and felt a little better. The driver hauled on the reins and shouted at the oxen. The animals bellowed a weak protest and came to a halt.

  “Everybody out,” Hahn said. She
led the way, leaping down from the wagon and raising a small cloud of dust when her boots hit the street. Her team, consisting of Lowe, Chu, and Cason, followed her.

  “You heard the woman,” Elena said. She went out next, and I followed after. I put on the helmet, checked my weapons, and waited for orders. Hahn listened to her radio. After a few seconds, she pointed north.

  “We’re heading that way. Eagle Four’s got our six. We’re to search every building on this block.”

  “What are we supposed to be doing when we search?” I asked.

  “Oh, that’s easy,” Elena answered, one hand reaching up to knock on my helmet. “We look for ghouls and kill them.”

  I looked down at her. Her expression was serious. I shrugged. “All right. Sounds easy enough.”

  The rest of the squad laughed.

  “Just stay close,” Rohan said. “And for God’s sake, don’t shoot me in the back.”

  “Can do.”

  He stared skeptically a moment longer, then followed Hahn and Elena northward.

  Here we go.

  TWENTY-SIX

  We started at a Chevron station just off the highway. A two-lane and a broad stretch of dirt separated us from Valencia Village. I heard raised voices followed by gunfire from that direction. The rest of the squad glanced westward, but that was all.

  As we walked, I cross-referenced what I was looking at with maps I had studied over the last six years. There were a few houses on the same block as the gas station. To the north sat a bar and grill whose name I did not remember. Corral something-or-other. I had seen it once before, three years ago. There had been a signboard out front announcing karaoke night on Friday. I had gone inside to find the place ransacked and empty except for some broken furniture.