by Dirk Patton
I made my way back to Horse. She wasn’t asleep, but resting the way horses do when they’re bored, waiting for you to return. Despite no reins to tie off, she had yet to show any indication that she would wander off if I left her alone. As I walked up she bent her neck to watch me with a large, brown eye, bobbing her head up and down when I reached out and stroked her shoulder.
OK, so I guess I needed to retract my earlier statement that horses are dumb. She was anything but, and I was starting to get pretty fond of her. After all, she’d carried my big ass for a lot of miles without complaint, didn’t try to throw me or run off, and actually seemed to be happy to see me. Hope Dog doesn’t get jealous.
Now I had a decision to make, and I had to make it based on very circumstantial information. I believed that the infected that had captured Katie were taking refuge in the canyons. The primary reason for this thought was the two I had just killed. They appeared to have been sentries. Standing there for no reason other than an early warning in case something or someone approached. But this was just a theory.
The group of infected could very well have passed right on through canyon country and were still moving. The two I’d killed could have been doing something that only made sense to a virus riddled brain. Why this mattered had to do with Horse.
The ground had changed from soft prairie soil carpeted with grass to hard packed dirt laced with rocks. Horse would make a lot of noise walking through the canyons, whereas I could move very quietly. But if I went on foot and found the infected were just passing through, I’d waste a lot of time backtracking to get my mount. If she was even still there when I came back.
I knew coyotes were around, and even though a pack wouldn’t try to take down an animal as large and powerful as Horse, would they spook her into running? The only thing worse than the loss of time to come back for her would be to come back and find her gone.
While I thought over the situation and my options, I watered Horse and drank some myself. By the time I finished I had made my decision. I was proceeding without my trusty steed, and would hope she’d still be in the area if I needed her. Hopefully she’d still be here when Joe and Rachel arrived and they’d figure out what I was doing and why.
Rubbing her neck, she pushed her head against me and snorted, leaving a trail of snot on my vest. What is it with me and animals with sinus issues? Giving her another quick drink, I patted her neck then turned and began following the trail where I’d found the scrape mark earlier.
The path was only a few feet wide and wound between more hills. There weren’t many marks to indicate recent passage by human feet, but they were there. The occasional small rock that had been disturbed or the dirt rubbed off a larger rock where someone had stepped on it. The signs were subtle, and if I hadn’t had some damn good teachers earlier in my life I wouldn’t have known what to look for or how to find them.
Twenty minutes later I emerged from the hills that guarded the path into the canyons. Stopping in the dark I surveyed the land in front of me. From atop the hill I’d been able to see that there were multiple canyons and was able to get a good idea of which ones connected and which were dead ends. Here at ground level, well, this was not going to be fun.
I kept moving forward, following the trail, but it was getting more difficult. The whole area looked like it flooded when it rained and I was walking on exposed rock. There was nothing to take and hold a print. I didn’t think the infected were smart enough to have come here for that reason, at least I hoped they weren’t, but it didn’t really matter. They were somewhere I couldn’t track them.
Stopping, I squatted with my back against a canyon wall and raised the rifle. Night vision let me see into all the nooks and crannies that were nothing more than dark shadows to the naked eye. I didn’t see anything after a slow, patient scan, so turned my attention to the surrounding ground. I was hoping to see an area where tracks might have been left that would give me an indication of their direction of travel.
Far down the canyon was what looked like a sandy area, probably where rainwater would pool after rushing down from the surrounding hills. I didn’t like the idea of having to search each canyon I came to for ground that would show tracks, but I wasn’t coming up with any better ideas.
As I moved towards the sand I thought this whole thing would go a lot faster with Horse, but her hooves would make a hell of a racket walking across the exposed rock. I could cover the same terrain in near silence in my boots. Dismissing the temptation to go back and get the horse, I moved as fast as I could while still staying quiet.
The sand, when I reached it, was pristine except for a winding track that I recognized as having been left by a snake. Raising the rifle I looked deeper into the canyon, but didn’t see any other candidate areas. Reversing course I moved back to the canyon’s mouth and deeper into the labyrinth.
Most of two hours later I found their tracks again. I had lost count of how many canyons I’d checked, how many times I’d been tempted to turn back and get Horse to speed up the search. But my patience was rewarded when I found a large pool of water in the shelter of a looming canyon wall. A thick band of sand surrounded the water and deep footprints were clearly visible all around its perimeter.
Looking closely in the pale moonlight I could see that the deepest part of the impressions were darker than the surface. This was due to moisture in the sand and told me these were fresh tracks. Made after the sun went down, since the heat of the day would have quickly dried them out. The damp sand compressed and held its shape, just like a sand castle, and I spent a few minutes cataloging and counting the marks.
Seven barefoot females. All of them with damage to their feet, which had probably always been protected by shoes before getting infected. Fifteen wearing some form of shoe, most of them having a tread pattern that looked like it was from some type of athletic shoe.
What had Katie been wearing when I’d seen her at the casino? Was she barefoot? I knew she’d been dressed in nothing other than a thong and push up bra, but had she been wearing shoes? I couldn’t remember, and even if I could there was no way for me to identify her specific prints. Or was there?
I began re-checking each set of bare prints, smiling when I found what I was looking for. Many years ago Katie and I had lived in a small condo while she was still at the Agency and I in the Army. One of the rare times I’d been home, we’d found ourselves naked in the downstairs living room one afternoon. Passion had overcome modesty and we had neglected to close the blinds.
A friend of mine had dropped by for a visit, ringing the doorbell and sticking his face against the glass of the window next to the door to see in. Katie had snatched a throw off the sofa to wrap around herself and sprinted for the stairs that led to our bedroom. In her haste she hadn’t seen the heavy duffel bag I’d dropped on the floor when I got home.
She kicked it solidly with her right foot as she ran, breaking her second toe, the long one right next to her big toe. It was severely bent to the side and I’d popped it most of the way back into place, planning to take her to an emergency room. She refused to see a doctor and the toe healed with the final third of it bent away from her big toe at a forty-five degree angle. The print I found clearly showed her sideways toe.
The trail from the watering hole led deeper into the canyon I was facing. Before proceeding I took a minute to drink and replenish my supply. I didn’t know when I’d find water again, couldn’t count on coming back this way, and wanted to be as prepared for the heat of the coming day as I could.
After a careful scan with the night vision scope I started creeping along the canyon wall. I expected the infected to be close. The things I’d observed told me they were falling back on instinctual behavior, the way they moved across the terrain chief among those. Taking that into account, they were going to stay close to their water source.
Unless, of course, they had simply been passing through. I didn’t think so, especially as I spent more time in the canyons. The whole area was a
natural safe haven. Easily defended if necessary. And now that I’d found their water I was fairly sure they wouldn’t be far away.
Moving silently, I kept my back firmly against a rock wall, the rifle’s night vision scope to my eye. Five minutes later I found them. Well, I was pretty sure I found them. I could see a single female standing just inside the entrance to a cave that was well hidden in the far wall of the canyon. She was just standing there, doing nothing other than watching the approaches.
Sentry duty. Just like the two I’d killed on the hill. I barely suppressed a shudder at the thought. The concept of putting out sentries for early warning indicated a level of intelligence I had so far not seen from the infected. I’d witnessed cooperation, and even a level of communication, but this? This was a game changer.
Mindless infected didn’t work together like this. They didn’t post guards to keep the group safe. Was this a further mutation of the virus that Joe was talking about? Whatever it was, what the hell did they want with Katie?
23
Colonel Crawford broke the satellite phone connection with a sigh. He had been speaking with Admiral Packard in Pearl Harbor and hadn’t received much good news. The only good was that the Navy’s computer experts had finally succeeded in accessing the NSA satellites that were still in operation above North America, restoring both visual surveillance as well as communication links. But that had only brought more bad news.
Once they’d gotten a look, they’d seen multiple herds of infected still bearing down on the Oklahoma City area. They already had their hands full with the thousands of civilians in the area that were turning. And the number was growing daily. The arrival of any of the herds, let alone all of them, would spell disaster.
On the far side of the office, Captain Blanchard was bent in consultation with an Air Force IT specialist. The EMP had destroyed the base’s power grid as well as almost all pieces of electronics that had been powered up at the time of the nuclear detonation. The two men were working on restoring a data connection so Blanchard could access the satellite imagery and Crawford didn’t have to depend on eyes that were in the middle of the Pacific.
Exhausted, Crawford stood and walked quietly out of the office so as not to disturb the work that was going on. Exiting into the evening, he stretched his back then plucked his last pack of cigarettes out of a pocket. Lighting one, he inhaled deeply and began wandering aimlessly, thinking. He absently noted the half dozen Army Rangers that arranged themselves around him, creating a protective bubble.
He had been excited when the Marines had returned from the refinery in Texas and described using crop dusters to disperse fuel oil and destroy large numbers of infected. They’d found two of the planes in the Oklahoma City area, duplicating what the Marines had done with great success. But that was the only reason they still held the base, Crawford acknowledged to himself.
The size of the herds that were bearing down on them now, well, there were just too many to fight. Tens of millions. Maybe as many as a hundred million. And now they were hampered by the damage done by the EMP, which apparently hadn’t shut down the satellite the Russians were using to direct the herds.
Evacuation was the only remaining option he was able to come up with. But evacuate to where? And how? Between military personnel and civilian refugees on the base they would have to move close to thirty thousand people. They had planes, sure. Planes that were capable of reaching most places on the planet, but it would take time to move everyone a few planeloads at a time.
Frustrated, Crawford continued walking. The change of scenery from the dark paneled, base commander’s office was refreshing, and he enjoyed the exercise even if he wasn’t having any luck at coming up with good ideas. Lighting another cigarette he looked around at the sound of an approaching engine.
The Rangers were already focusing on the Humvee driving towards them, rifles at their shoulders but not quite aimed at the vehicle. They relaxed when it slowed and they recognized Captain Blanchard behind the wheel. He pulled up next to the Colonel and hopped out.
“I got access right after you left the office, sir.” He said.
“And?” Crawford asked.
“Just like the Admiral laid out for us. Massive herds out of the Midwest and northeast. It looks like the Russians directed lots of infected to some of the bridges across the northern Mississippi that we didn’t destroy, and those herds are combining and making a super-herd. More out of Texas and the Denver area, and we’re also seeing them start migrating east out of all the west coast states. Texas and Denver are bad, but it’s looking like nearly seventy million coming down from the northeast and the herds are growing as they progress.” Blanchard reported.
“Jesus Christ,” Crawford was stunned at the thought. “How long do we have?”
“The closest herd is the one coming up from Texas. We’ve got three days before the leading edge is at the wire, maybe a little less. That’s around twenty to twenty-five million. Next comes Denver, a day later at the most with an estimated two million. Then a couple of days after that the super-herd starts arriving.” Blanchard said.
“So we’ve got three days at the most,” Crawford said, drawing on his cigarette and looking off into the distance.
The two men stood there silently as the Colonel digested what he’d just been told. Blanchard could see the wheels turning and didn’t interrupt his train of thought.
“What’s our airlift capability?” Crawford finally asked.
“I’ve been doing some modeling of that, sir.” Blanchard said. “First problem was where to go that could support thirty thousand people. Second were flight times. The farther away we go, the longer it takes to deliver each load of evacuees and get back to pick up the next.
“Third, we need to find a defensible location where we don’t have to move again. That also means there must be supplies or at least raw materials available at our destination. Finally, I looked for a temperate climate. Winter will come, and with it a whole new set of challenges and demands on our resources. The less we’re fighting the weather, the better.”
“It sounds like you’re looking for a permanent home for us, Captain.” Crawford met the younger man’s eyes.
“Yes, sir. I am.” He replied. “Or at least a fairly long term solution. Continuing to run from the infected, in my opinion, is not a prudent course of action. Attrition rates would be unacceptable. We will lose thousands of military personnel protecting the civilian population, which will be decimated once we can no longer field an effective fighting force.”
“I get it, Captain, and I agree with you,” Crawford said. “So tell me what you came up with.”
“Nassau, Bahamas, sir.”
“Nassau? Needing a little vacation?” The Colonel cut his eyes sideways at his aide and grinned.
“No, sir.” Blanchard said in a firm tone. “It’s an island, so we would no longer have the threat posed by the herds. It also meets the other criteria I listed. Supply and raw material availability, temperate climate, plus it is close enough to CONUS that we can send scavenging parties as needed.
“Flight time is three hours from Tinker. We currently have two Globemasters, four C5s, four B-52s and an even twenty C-130s. Combined, that’s fifty-six hundred people we can move at once. Allowing time for loading, unloading and re-fueling at each end, I estimate a round trip time of nine hours.
“That means for the evacuees we’re looking at six waves, which will take a total of just over two days. We’ll still need to move equipment and supplies, so add a day to that.”
“We’re going to have hundreds of thousands of infected breaking through the wire before we can fully evacuate the base.” Crawford said after a minute of thinking about what Blanchard had just told him. “That’s unacceptable. We’re not leaving people behind.”
“Understood, sir. But we really don’t have another option. If we continue to use the crop dusters for fuel dispersal we may be able to hold off the inevitable long enough to get everyone on a p
lane, but that’s just a delaying action.” Blanchard responded.
Crawford stripped his cigarette, jammed the butt in his pocket and immediately lit another.
“What’s the infected population on the island?” He asked.
“Pre-attack population was roughly a quarter of a million full time inhabitants. Post attack estimates are zero survivors and approximately seventy-five thousand infected. That’s a lot, but I like our odds against that many better than close to a hundred million.
“The first two waves would be Marines and Rangers on board the C-130s with the C5s delivering Apaches and Black Hawks for air support in the first wave, then ammo resupply and the Bradley’s we brought up from Fort Hood in the second wave. Beginning with the third wave we start evacuating the civilians.”
“The first wave will be on their own for nine hours,” Crawford mused. “That’s a long fucking time to be in hostile territory with no available reinforcements or resupply. And using the C5s for equipment, that will reduce the manpower to less than 4,000 in each of the first two waves.”
“Agreed, sir. But I’m not finding any other options. If we move somewhere within the continent, the Russians will just redirect the herds and we’ll be in the same situation we are now.” Blanchard said.
“Or they wait until we’re all sitting on a tiny little island and lob an ICBM at us,” Crawford groused.
“Don’t you think they would have done that already if they were going to, sir?”
“Frankly, I don’t understand why they haven’t. What’s to stop them?” Crawford drew deeply on his cigarette. “OK, get things in motion. Good thinking, Captain. How soon can you have that first wave in the air?”
Crawford headed for the passenger door of the Humvee. He needed to get back to the office and have a conversation with Admiral Packard. Maybe there were some Navy resources still active in the Atlantic or the Gulf that could assist them.
“Two hours, sir. I took the liberty of putting the units for the first wave on alert.” Blanchard answered as he climbed behind the wheel and started the engine.