Jones didn’t reply, he rolled back to the prone position and checked the safety of the weapon. With a flick of his thumb he aimed the gun toward the men scrambling to leave the now open fence.
POP POP POP
The rounds went wild but sent both of the intruders into a panic. They both spun and hit the earth. A clatter from the submachine gun rang out as Jones ducked his face into the ground. Puffs of brown dirt kicked up around him and he returned fire wildly, emptying the magazine.
In a moment, the visitor turned to reload as his partner hugged the earth. Jones reached out and called for Lars to give him another mag while watching the gas-masked man outside the fence retrieve a long magazine from his belt and shakily insert it into the empty weapon.
Suddenly, both Jones and Lars froze as a high-pitched scream sounded from the intruder’s direction. They both looked carelessly around the corner at the two attackers.
The submachine gun holder was trapped under a gray body. The corpse had wandered out of the woods and flopped its significant weight onto the back of the unaware man. He couldn’t push the fat biter off as he struggled and screamed like an animal caught in a trap. The big monster gripped the man’s head with both hands and pulled it back painfully against his rotund bulk. Jones and Lars saw the spray of bright red from the man’s head as the undead creature bit into his scalp. The skin ripped away in a strip as the man got one arm free and rotated his body under the hungry attacker. With one arm free, he struck at the corpse repeatedly with no effect. The body grabbed again and bit the man’s nose off his face.
The second man with the grind wheel scrambled at his partner’s first scream. He crab-walked sideways away from the immovable corpse as it drew the first blood. The cutter rose to his feet, eyes locked on his friend, and backed into a pair of women that had emerged from the woods. They both wore torn jeans and tattered shirts with name tags still holding onto the worn cloth. Four arms and two sets of identical gnashing teeth grabbed at the panicked man as he fought for his life. He struck the one on the right with the handheld tool and the body staggered back a step. Thinking fast, he pressed the trigger and activated the wheel with a sharp whine. He quickly struck at the second one, glancing her arm and drawing a line of blackened blood on the gray-brown skin. The blade of the tool hit the creature in the left eye, spewing red-black gore onto the man’s arms. He pushed, and the blade spun with a grinding noise into the infected skull. Blood spun out and splattered across the man’s face as the dead woman fell to the ground.
He turned and ran away from the second corpse, directly into the opening he cut in the fence. He took a few staggering steps, glancing back over his shoulder. Several more bodies in various states of decomposition crashed through the thick brush toward the noise of the battle. Seeing this, he turned back to run away from the walking dead.
A single, careful shot from Lars dropped the cutter to the ground. The bullet struck him in the upper left quadrant of his chest, and a red flower exploded at his clavicle. He fell to the ground and grabbed at the wound as Lars aimed at the undead through the fence and unloaded the remaining rounds in his magazine. Two on the treeline fell, but three more quickly stepped in to take their place. The remaining woman with the name tag staggered forward and fell upon the wounded intruder, ripping into his neck with her teeth.
“Let’s go,” Jones grabbed Lars and they both ran toward the building. They rushed inside and slammed the heavy door behind them. Both stood hunched over trying to catch their breath.
“Oh my god, are you guys okay?” Daisy asked. Jones nodded and stood up straight, sweat glistening and turning his mocha complexion glossy in the fluorescent lighting. She pulled two bottles of water out of a case next to the desk and handed one to each grateful soldier before walking to the set of doors. She gently pushed in the crash bar and turned the locking mechanism to the left with a click. She repeated the same action on the left side and left the doors secure from the outside.
“There’s a bunch of infected out there,” Lars said, clearing his throat before guzzling more water. “We took out both of the guys cutting the hole, but it was too late.”
“How do we get out of here?” Jones said, panting.
“Captain Louis is getting some weapons for us. We can fight our way out,” Daisy said confidently.
“I’m a cook and he’s a fucking mechanic. Have you ever fired a gun? And I wouldn’t trust Captain Supply to water my plants, let alone get my back in a fight. We ain’t fighting shit,” Jones snapped. Daisy shrank back against the verbal attack, unsure how to respond before a clatter sounded from the hallway connecting the two sections of supply.
Louis was struggling with several rifles, holding them by the slings and hauling a couple green boxes of loaded magazines in each hand. Lars and Jones stepped forward and each relieved the captain of an M4 carbine and the two boxes of ammunition. He handed a third carbine to Daisy before spinning his around and kneeling on the ground next to the other two. They started splitting the magazines evenly, placing them in cargo pockets and each loading one in their rifles. Daisy stood, slack jawed and staring at the cages full of supplies with unfocused, teary eyes. Lars placed a hand on her shoulder and her eyes drifted up to the big man.
“Here,” he handed her one magazine. “We’ll show you how to use it, um, if you need to know. We’ll carry the rest if you need more. I hope you won’t, we’ll just stay here.” His hand and eyes dropped as he heard his own weak, hollow words.
As Jones and Louis secured the last of the magazines, rhythmic pounding reverberated in the room from the metal set of double doors. All four startled at the sudden noise. Jones and the captain held their loaded weapons toward the door as Lars slung his carbine and helped Daisy with loading her magazine. More pounding echoed around the room.
Heyyyyyyyyy! Kahn! Open up!
A muffled voice called through the door and the frantic pounding continued. Before anyone could protest, Daisy set her rifle down, leaning it against a cage, before running forward to the door and hitting the crash bar to open it.
She was greeted by a tall, huge black soldier with the rank of staff sergeant on the chest of his uniform. He pushed her aside and slammed the door shut, latching it again. He was soaked in sweat like he ran to the supply building and had a pistol in a holster at his side.
“Where’s K--Garcia?” the big guy asked.
“He’s not here,” Daisy replied. “Who are you?”
“Sole Kimble,” the man answered. He walked forward toward the middle of the room where the three armed men stood. “Captain Louis, where’s Garcia, sir?”
The captain shrugged. “He never came back today. You were on my list, right? Sergeant Kimble. In the TOC, right?”
“Yes, sir,” he replied as he spotted the case of water on the floor and pulled one out of the packaging. He guzzled the liquid as the four survivors watched and waited for information. Instead, he pulled a handful of neon green paper out of his cargo pocket.
“Here. This is who attacked the post today. It’s a group Garcia and I ran into at the beginning, before we found this place. We need to find him before he does something stupid and gets himself killed.” He passed the papers around with just enough for everyone to check out the propaganda leaflet.
“What are Neighbors?” Jones asked.
“Build a wall?” Daisy questioned.
“Yeah, these guys are extreme. They went after K--uh. They went after us. They killed Garcia’s family. He saw this and ran off. I thought he’d be here.”
“No, he’s not, Sergeant. But we just saw two men cut open our fence and a bunch of infected walk right in. We need to stay put,” Captain Louis said.
“You think that’s the only hole they cut?” Kimble paused, making eye contact with each. “This group is a serious threat. We need to get out of here, and we need to find Garcia. He’s bound to be out of here by now, but I know where he’s going. We stay, we die. Trust me, I know this group. A couple holes in a fence and d
ead bodies are the least of what we can expect.”
The group pondered his words, each feeling the fear in his warning. They looked at each other, not wanting to abandon their post, but also realizing that Kimble was better informed than any of them. If he said they needed to run, who were they to protest? Even the captain acknowledged that Kimble worked in the TOC while he was stuck guarding this building. He nodded.
“Ok, Mr. Kimble, you convinced me. I think you’re right. We can always come back when it’s safe. We don’t do anybody any good getting killed in here. We can take my Humvee, and some supplies, and if we can find Mr. Garcia we’ll bring him back here. We’ll watch for these Neighbors, and we’ll stay safe until the post is clear.” Kimble was grateful for the man’s barely hidden cowardice, recognizing his quick agreement for what it was. But he nodded and acknowledged the authority the captain brought to his plan. Nobody protested as they gathered a small contingent of water and food, plus a rifle for Kimble, and carefully loaded them in the captain’s Humvee. The undead had moved on, toward the rapid gunfire overtaking the post, as the five loaded into the vehicle and carefully escaped through the new opening their attackers had created.
As the Humvee scraped under the fence and drove away, a dark figure snuck toward the rear of the supply building. The speaker attached to the outside of the building crackled to life, but none of the fleeing LOSTOP citizens heard the highest ranking NCO on post beginning his statement.
ATTENTION IN THE AREA, ATTENTION ON POST…
Chapter 15
- Caught
Caught
Kahn’s consciousness returned slowly. He struggled to remain asleep, but the more he focused on staying down the more his mind awoke. He drifted, first feeling the August heat on his skin and then the discomfort from where he was lying. Aching pain throbbed through his back and hips, and he shifted his weight and groaned.
“Lupe? Lupe, are you awake?”
The gentle voice was accompanied by a soft touch on Kahn’s forehead. He startled at the touch and groaned again, unsure of his surroundings and swimming in confusion. He shifted again and tried to sit up, covering his eyes with his hand and coughing in the stifling air. The same voice admonished and shushed him for moving.
“Stay still, stay still. You’re fine. Calm down,” she said.
“Daisy?” he croaked, trying to squint. A throbbing headache overwhelmed him and he couldn’t open his eyes against the brightness of daylight. He scrunched them closed against the pain and sank back into the supine position where he started. He felt the slats of the uncomfortable wooden bench on his back and the makeshift pillow behind his head.
“Yes. Don’t worry, we got you,” she replied. She squeezed his hand and he relaxed, keeping his eyes shut. His coveralls had been pulled down to his waist and his boots had been removed, so he rested in a loose t-shirt he wore underneath. It was filthy and streaked with black stains. His skin felt itchy and dry and he could feel the grit and grime on his face. He moved to cover his eyes with the inside of his elbow and found he was attached to something. He reached over and risked a peek. A piece of white tape held the small IV catheter in place on his arm and ran up to a half-empty saline bag. The bag was hung from a crossbar across a low canvas ceiling. It was a strange room shape that disoriented him. He blinked slightly and turned his head toward the blonde woman holding his hand. She was kneeling on the floor next to him with a concerned but relieved expression.
“Water,” he begged.
“Here,” she reached under the wooden bench he was laying on and grabbed a pink aluminum can. She cracked the top open and Kahn heard the escape of gas from the carbonated beverage. She helped him sit up slightly and he accepted the canned drink, bringing it gingerly to his lips. The fizzy liquid hit his tongue and burned his nose. The taste was a shock and he began to cough uncontrollably. Daisy shushed him and patted his back lightly.
“What was that?” he asked in a strained voice before resuming his coughing fit.
“It’s water. Carbonated water. When we left there was no water in the Humvee so we searched a little country store near here. It was pretty much cleaned out except for a few cases of this stuff.”
“What was that flavor?” he asked. His cough was subsiding so he reached for the pink can and read the side. “Pomegranate?” He looked at Daisy’s concerned face and began to laugh. She smiled and a burst of laughter escaped as she clasped her hands over her mouth. Kahn took another sip of the pomegranate-flavored water and grimaced.
“We have other flavors, if you don’t like that one,” she giggled, unable to control herself.
“It’s hot.”
“Sorry about that. The store was out of ice,” Daisy smiled. Kahn chuckled as he sat up farther and followed the IV line from his arm up to the saline bag. Now he recognized that the “room” where he was recovering was a vehicle. He unhooked the bag and held it at shoulder level as he eased to the floor and slid his legs over the side of the open tailgate. “Captain Louis had a med kit in here, so I stuck you. You were in bad shape, how far did you walk?”
He shrugged in reply, recalling the brutal hike along the highway from the Odyssey to Boomstick. “Captain Louis?” He sat up fully and realized he was in the back of the Humvee that Captain Louis kept in front of the supply office. Kahn gripped the almost-empty saline bag and scooted onto the open tailgate, blinking against the light and heat of the sun. Daisy jumped out and stood on the hard-packed dirt where the vehicle was parked, watching Kahn closely. He looked around and saw that they were parked in a clump of oak trees. The Humvee was mostly empty. This model was modified to have extra storage space for equipment in the rear and only driver and passenger seats up front. There were two neatly lined red fuel cans that LOSTOP used to transport gasoline for civilian vehicles. Next to them was a single 5-gallon jerry can that they used for diesel fuel for the Hummer. Kahn knew the second jerry can should have been sitting next to the first because he had loaded that equipment yesterday. He had filled the fuel, checked the medical kit, the flare gun kit, the spare battery, and the emergency radio. He scooted and carefully lowered himself to the ground. Daisy followed and took the saline bag from him, allowing him to drop his arms and rest by leaning on the side of the vehicle.
“Mr. Garcia,” a familiar Louisiana drawl rang out. The drawn out pronunciation of Gah-see-ah made Kahn flinch before turning to greet the owner of the voice. He said nothing and only nodded slightly to acknowledge the man’s approach. Kahn turned more fully and saw that Captain Louis led a small entourage. Teddy Jones and Lars stood to either of the captain’s shoulders. As their boots stamped through the packed dirt, Kahn saw Kimble walk around the front of the Hummer holding the second jerry can. The small group gathered around Kahn as Kimble caught up and finished the rough circle they formed. Nobody looked very pleased.
“Glad you’re ok, G,” Lars held his hand out, revealing a smear of grease across the palm. Kahn shook it quickly and held his free arm out to Kimble as an offer to take the fuel can. Daisy shook her head and quickly pushed Kahn’s arm down, handing him back his IV bag and taking the can herself. She tossed it carelessly into the back of the Humvee with a clatter. After a moment, Jones held his fist out and Kahn bumped it with his knuckles.
“Okay, I think we should be getting back now,” Jones said, shuffling his feet in the dirt and quickly glancing around the wooded area where they stood.
“In just a minute, Specialist Jones, I want to know what Mr. Garcia was doing out here all by himself,” the captain said, crossing his arms and waiting for an answer. The insects buzzed around and Kahn watched each of the group swat at the mosquitos in the awkward silence that followed Captain Louis’ statement.
“He doesn’t have to say anything now; he’s severely dehydrated and needs to rest,” Daisy stated, seemingly in defense of Kahn’s abandonment of the post.
“I don’t really care why he came out here, I say we head back before we get trapped overnight,” Jones snapped.
“Shut up you two, that’s not helpful. We left to find Lupe--”
“No, lady, we left because those freaks in the helicopter dropped dead bodies on us and cut huge holes in our security perimeter. So, we got our guy and now we head back and see who won the fight. If they won, we bounce,” Jones gestured as he explained his logic.
“We left because of these,” Kimble spoke and pulled about a dozen neon sheets of paper out of his cargo pocket. He carefully unfolded the clump of flyers and held them out to the group. Everyone took a sheet and studied it except Kahn; he had no interest in seeing the contents again. His gaze burned toward his friend.
“The papers they dropped from the chopper?” Louis asked. Kimble and Kahn both nodded at the group. The captain’s expression filled with worry; he hadn’t experienced anything outside of the outpost since the outbreak and was suddenly very concerned with getting back to the security of the fences and guards.
“What are Neighbors? Kimble, you said you two had dealt with them befo--” Daisy asked. Kahn shook his head at the mention and started messing with the IV catheter. “Hey, stop. You’re going to mess it up!”
“Doesn’t matter, I’ve got to get out of here. I’m not going back. I’ve got to find where they--” he suddenly remembered the license and his delirious actions in the gun store. He tried to peel the medical tape from his arm before getting frustrated and ripping the whole piece out with a sharp rip and jarring pain. Blood ran from the wound and began to trickle down his arm and drip as he patted his pockets. Daisy exclaimed and tried to hold the wound. Kahn pulled away.
“You looking for this?” Kimble held the small rectangular plastic in his fingers. Kahn stepped toward him before his head swam and he leaned back against the tailgate. He grabbed his head and bright dots of blood dripped onto his black-streaked white t-shirt. Kimble placed the license in his breast pocket and pulled a heavier object from the back of his trousers. “Or this?”
Nation Undead (Book 2): Collusion Page 11