by Dirk Patton
Fulcrum
V Plague Book Twelve
DIRK PATTON
Text Copyright © 2016 by Dirk Patton
Copyright © 2016 by Dirk Patton
All Rights Reserved
This book, or any portion thereof, may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the copyright holder or publisher, except for the use of brief quotations in a critical book review.
Published by Voodoo Dog Publishing, LLC
2824 N Power Road
Suite #113-256
Mesa, AZ 85215
Printed in the United States of America
First Printing, 2016
ISBN-13: 978-1535027335
ISBN-10: 1535027339
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, brands, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Table of Contents
Also by Dirk Patton
Author’s Note
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
38
39
40
41
42
43
44
45
46
47
48
49
50
51
Also by Dirk Patton
The V Plague Series
Unleashed: V Plague Book 1
Crucifixion: V Plague Book 2
Rolling Thunder: V Plague Book 3
Red Hammer: V Plague Book 4
Transmission: V Plague Book 5
Rules Of Engagement: A John Chase Short Story
Days Of Perdition: V Plague Book 6
Indestructible: V Plague Book 7
Recovery: V Plague Book 8
Precipice: V Plague Book 9
Anvil: V Plague Book 10
Merciless: V Plague Book 11
Fulcrum: V Plague Book 12
Other Titles
36: A Novel
Author’s Note
Thank you for purchasing Fulcrum, Book 12 in the V Plague series. If you haven’t read the first eleven books, you need to stop reading now and pick them up, otherwise you will be utterly lost as this book is intended to continue the story in a serialized format. I intentionally did nothing to explain comments and events that reference books 1 through 11. Regardless, you have my heartfelt thanks for reading my work, and I hope you’re enjoying the adventure as much as I am. As always, a good review on Amazon is greatly appreciated.
I have been remiss in thanking all the amazing people who help me deliver a completed book to you, the reader. Some of you wish to remain anonymous, and I will honor that, but you know who you are. Your insight and suggestions when I put a completed first draft into your hands are invaluable. For this, I thank you!
You can always correspond with me via email at [email protected] and find me on the internet at www.dirkpatton.com and follow me on Twitter @DirkPatton and if you’re on Facebook, please like my page at www.facebook.com/FearThePlague .
Thanks again for reading!
Dirk Patton
2016
Down in a hole and I don't know if I can be saved
See my heart I decorate it like a grave
Oh, you don't understand who they thought I was supposed to be
Look at me now I'm a man who won't let himself be
Alice In Chains – Down In A Hole
1
The female was slowly picking her way between the low dunes. Every few feet she would stop and test the air, take a quick look around, then continue slinking forward. The sun had set, and it was that between time of the evening when everything is lit by a hazy, blue light. Even with the high-powered sniper scope on the rifle I was using, it was growing harder to maintain my target.
I was at Groom Lake in southern Nevada, Area 51 if you will, and the infected female was on the hunt. She knew we were in the area, undoubtedly had smelled us, but she wasn’t sure where we were. Yet. So I lay in the sand on the back side of a low hill, rifle resting on the crest, and tracked her.
She was still nearly 1,000 yards away, and I wasn’t comfortable with taking the shot. Not now. Years ago, I’d probably have tried it. But then I’d spent a lot of time shooting at training targets anywhere from 100 to 1,200 yards. And I’d been pretty damn good.
Don’t get me wrong. I wasn’t one of those guys that could repeatedly hit a heart or head shot at 1,000 yards. No. I’ve never had the patience and temperament to be a sniper. But, there was a time when I could at least hit my target at that range. Now? I didn’t have the confidence.
Sure, I’d been fighting everything from Russians to infected for months. And my skills with a battle rifle were as sharp as ever. Inside a couple of hundred yards. However, the skill to make a shot at 200 yards, versus a thousand, is like comparing high school gymnastics to the Olympics. They’re doing the same basic things, but the execution couldn’t be more different.
To add to the difficulty level, a breeze was blowing from left to right across the path the bullet would have to travel. It wasn’t a strong wind, by any means, but at a thousand yards, a round is in the air for a long time. And the longer it’s in flight, the more it will be affected by environmental forces. So, unmoving in the twilight, I waited.
Perhaps I should have been more confident with the rifle I’d found in the armory. It was an M2010 ESR or Enhanced Sniper Rifle, complete with a high power scope, night vision, thermal imaging and a sound suppressor. Chambered in .300 Winchester Magnum, the weapon was more than capable of taking out the female. It was just the rusty old soldier behind the trigger that wasn’t so sure.
Beside me, stretched out on the sand, Dog growled softly. Tearing my eye away from the scope, I glanced at him. He only growls when he catches the scent of an infected. And, there was no way he was smelling the one I was watching. The wind was wrong.
Dog was looking to our left, into the wind. Moving slowly, I pulled the rifle off the top of the hill and swiveled, activating the night vision scope. Settling the bipod's legs into the dirt, I carefully scanned for whatever had drawn Dog’s attention.
The night vision scope let me see everything in the rapidly fading light. Several large, squat, concrete structures were sprinkled across the shallow valley of the dry lake bed that spread out below me. A dozen massive hangars were on the far side of a broad, extra-long runway.
Slowly panning across the scene, I paused when I saw movement between two of the buildings. A pair of females out for an evening stroll. They stalked along the base of one of the walls, heading for the entrance. With a sigh, I settled my cheek onto the stock of the rifle and clicked the safety off with my thumb.
The females weren’t a threat to me or the building. They couldn’t get through the door. But if one of the small group that was inside happened to walk out for some fresh air, they would be in trouble.
I chec
ked the range to target. 700 yards. The wind was in my face, so I didn’t have to worry about lateral movement of the bullet. But, I was shooting downhill, and that combined with the breeze would cause the round to drop more than normal.
Clicking an elevation adjustment on the scope, I hoped I remembered enough about long range shooting not to have completely fucked things up. Taking a breath, I moved my finger onto the trigger and squeezed until the first stage clicked. Exhaling, I timed my shot for the moment my lungs were empty, trying to fire the weapon in between heartbeats.
The big rifle bucked against my shoulder, seemingly impossibly quiet with the specialized suppressor. Watching my target through the scope, I cycled the bolt, loading a fresh round into the chamber. Squeezed through the first click of the trigger as I watched one of the females fly backward to slam against the concrete wall.
Shifting aim, I repeated the breathing process and fired again. The second female was looking around, trying to figure out what had attacked her sister when the big bullet arrived and blew a hole through her chest. Cycling the bolt, I watched through the scope for several seconds to make sure they were staying down.
Neither body moved. Before I turned back to check on the original female I’d been tracking, I noted the dual sprays of blood on the gray wall. A fist-sized divot was blasted out of the concrete in the center of each where the bullet had struck after passing through their bodies.
When I found her again, the first female appeared to have noticed nothing. She was too far away to have heard the suppressed fire, so had continued on, thinking she was alone. Checking the range, I noted she had drawn closer. 825 yards, now.
Adjusting the scope, I undid the elevation from a moment ago and made my best guess on the lateral setting, or windage. She was still drawing closer, moving a little faster now, and I would probably only have two shots at the most before she knew I was there. If the first one was off target, it had better not be far off. I didn’t have time to keep playing with the scope.
Females are fast. No, not fast. Damn fast. If she took off, unless she happened to run directly at or away from me, I’d never hit her. I knew there were shooters that could. Had seen it done on targets even faster than a female infected, but I also knew I wasn’t one of those freaky good trigger-men.
I fired and quickly cycled the bolt. An instant later, the female violently spun and tumbled to the ground. For a heartbeat, I thought I’d made a good shot, but knew I hadn’t fully compensated for the wind when she jumped to her feet and raced away behind a dune.
No matter how many times I’ve witnessed it, it still amazes me. My bullet had drifted to the side and struck her shoulder. The socket had been completely destroyed, and when she leapt up, her arm was swinging loosely by only a few tendons. Blood was already soaking her filthy clothing.
I looked over when Dog yawned, no longer worrying about the female. The wound might not have put her down immediately, but it was mortal. She was running on adrenaline, but that will only take you so far when you’re bleeding out. As she ran, her heart would pump harder, emptying her body. She might make it a few hundred yards if she was very lucky.
Eye back to the scope, I spent another twenty minutes scanning the surrounding desert. It was now fully dark, cold stars filling the sky. The moon wouldn’t come up for another few hours, so other than possibly an owl, I had the best vision of any predator in the desert.
A small pack of coyotes trotted across the far end of the runway. Other than them, nothing was moving in any direction. My stomach rumbled, but I ignored it. I briefly tried to remember the last time I’d eaten, but couldn’t, so gave up. I knew it was before I’d given Katie a fatal dose of morphine, but other than that I didn’t know. And didn’t care.
Leaving the rifle propped on its bipod and stock, I sat up and looked a few yards away. In the faint starlight, I could just make out the hump of desert soil that was my wife’s final resting place. We weren’t religious, so there was no marker. I’d thought about finding a machine shop somewhere in the facility and making a crude headstone, but had yet to do anything more than think about it.
I’d left Katie’s grave only twice since I’d buried her more than 24 hours ago. Once, when Igor had talked me off the edge of throwing in the towel and sticking my pistol in my mouth. But I hadn’t been able to take the looks of sorrow from my companions, especially Rachel. Not that anyone was doing anything wrong, I just needed to be alone.
The second time had been to find and raid the armory. When I’d arrived at Groom Lake, there had been a cordon of Marines and Rangers providing security and preventing any infected from wandering in. But they were gone, and I’d begun seeing the occasional female show up. Needing something with more range than my M4, I’d been pleased to find the big sniper rifle.
Dog had stayed by my side. I hadn’t called him or given any command. He just wasn’t leaving me. Rachel had brought us food and water during the day yesterday but hadn’t stayed long. I wasn’t a very good conversationalist right now.
I’d drank the water, but Dog had gotten my food as well as his. At least one of us was well fed.
There was a soft bang from the direction of the closest building. Dog’s head snapped up, but he didn’t growl. Still, I grabbed the rifle and peered through the night vision scope. I spotted Rachel, looking at the two dead females. She had found a light-weight Air Force jacket and hugged herself against the chilly, night wind.
Turning away from the corpses, she looked in my direction, then began walking. The wind whipped her long hair around her face, and she had to forego holding herself for warmth to control her unruly mane. I scanned the entire area, making sure there weren’t any infected stalking her. She was alone.
Several minutes later she sat down on the sand between Dog and me. After a couple of repositions, she was mostly sheltered from the wind by my body. Leaning out, she ruffled Dog’s ears. He rolled onto his side and raised his front foot so she could scratch his belly. The sound of her nails was loud in the quiet darkness.
“How long are you going to stay out here?”
Rachel didn’t stop scratching Dog, or look away from him when she spoke.
“Hadn’t really thought about it,” I said.
She was quiet, and I lifted the rifle to make another check of the area.
“Am I bothering you? Want me to leave?”
I thought about that before answering.
“No,” I finally said.
“Want to get drunk? Nicole found a liquor cabinet in the base commander’s office. It’s pretty well stocked.”
“Probably better if I’m not drinking right now,” I said, even though the idea of losing myself in a bottle was kind of appealing.
Rachel gave Dog a final pat and turned to face me in the dark. I couldn’t make out her expression. After nearly a minute, she twisted around on the sand and got to her knees. Leaning forward, she wrapped her arms around me and pulled.
I resisted. Didn’t return the hug. Tried to pull away as my throat began to constrict. But she was persistent. Didn’t let go or stop pulling. Slowly, I let myself be drawn into her arms until my face was buried in her hair. I couldn’t breathe at first, then I regained control and drew a shuddering breath.
My arms came up and circled Rachel. Neither of us said anything. I didn’t cry. I’d already done that, and there was nothing left. We sat there in the night for a long time, not moving or speaking.
2
Once inside the building, Rachel steered me to a small cafeteria. The base had been well stocked with canned and freeze dried food, so everyone that had stayed behind was eating well. A large platter was waiting on the warming tray, and Dog dashed across the small space to thoroughly sniff the edge of the serving line.
“I’m not hungry,” I said, trying to turn and head out the door.
“You need to eat,” she said, grabbing my arm and pulling me to a table. “Sit your ass down and I’ll get your food.”
With a sigh, I pulled
a plastic chair back and lowered myself. Half the weapons strapped to my body clanged and I stood back up and started removing them. Soon, there was a respectable pile of firepower on an adjacent table, and I sat back down. Rachel was already seated across from me, a steaming plate in front of my chair. I picked up a fork and poked at it, still not hungry.
“So, how are we getting to Australia?”
I shook my head and lipped a small bite of beef stroganoff off the end of the fork. It hit my pallet like a bomb, and I was suddenly starving.
“What does that mean?” She asked after watching me eat for a couple of minutes.
“It means that I don’t know,” I said in between bites.
Dog rammed his muzzle into my hip, and I scooped up a hunk of noodles, speared a piece of meat and held the fork out for him. He delicately pulled the food off the fork and swallowed after only chewing once. I picked up another bite and put it in my mouth with the same fork.
“OK, that’s just gross!”
I turned to see Nicole standing in the entrance to the cafeteria. Her red eyes still startled me every time I saw them, but this time I managed to stop myself from visibly tensing. She walked forward, a smile on her face.
Navy Master Chief Gonzales followed her, most of his face swaddled in bandages. I hadn’t seen the wounds but had heard that a female had bitten off much of the flesh on his lower face. He had to be in some pretty serious pain, but the man didn’t reveal a glimmer of what he was going through.
“He’s earned it. About a hundred times over,” I said, feeding some more of my meal to Dog.
As Nicole approached the table, Dog took a step away and growled softly. He still hadn’t accepted her, but at least he wasn’t attacking. I spoke to him, and he came back to sit by my side, keeping his eyes locked on the woman. He was no longer interested in the food.
Gonzales walked to a large, chrome urn and filled a ceramic mug with steaming coffee. Nicole had backed off because of Dog, and they took a seat a couple of tables away. It didn’t escape my attention that they were sitting closer together than would be normal.