Fulcrum: V Plague Book 12

by Dirk Patton

  Taking my time, I listened some more, then slithered on my belly to the edge of the concrete walkway. A millimeter at a time, I extended my head at ground level to get a view of the other side. There was a short, neatly landscaped area, then pavement. The parking lot extended to the road that ran past the hospital, and it was completely stark and empty, other than the Tahoe.

  Raising my eyes, I spent another five minutes patiently scanning the rooflines that overlooked the parking lot. Seeing nothing, I rolled onto my back and slowly checked the hospital’s roof. Finding it empty, I took a breath and began a slow, careful crawl onto the sidewalk.

  As I moved into the open, and became as visible as a streaker in church, a spot on my back began twitching and itching. Even though I’d looked carefully, I still expected a bullet to come screaming in and pin me to the ground. But, fortunately for me, that didn’t happen.

  The hedge was about two feet wide at this point, and when I reached the far edge, I stopped. Stretching my neck, I poked my head around the corner for a quick look before jerking it back. I wanted to make sure the sniper was still in the same position, and also that he hadn’t turned around and was waiting to blow a new asshole into my forehead as soon as I crawled into view.

  I caught a glimpse of him before I pulled back. He was still in the same position, but that was all I could tell with such a brief look. Believing I was still undetected, I moved forward until I could see around the hedge, stopping when I had him in sight.

  The sniper was slightly less than fifty yards away. He lay on his belly, tucked in between a large ocotillo and a patch of prickly pear. I was going to have to be careful that I didn’t wind up getting skewered by either one of the cacti. Ocotillo aren’t too bad. They’re covered with thorns that are similar to a rose bush. Sure, it would hurt like hell, but that’s about it.

  But, a prickly pear can be a whole different experience. The thorns are thin, strong, needle sharp, and are usually several inches long. I’ve known people who have had one of those little spikes go all the way in and become embedded in a bone. That kind of pain I can do without, not to mention the really nasty infection that typically comes along with it.

  Crawling around the edge, I began worming my way through the sand. The twitchy feeling on my back was getting worse and for not the first time I wished it was dark. But it wasn’t, and at least the daylight would help me avoid coming face to face with a snake.

  I got a better look at the sniper as I slowly drew closer. He wasn’t a large man, probably no more than five foot six or seven. Thin, with a receding hairline and black rimmed glasses, he actually looked more like an accountant. And as I kept watching, he was acting like one. He certainly wasn’t behaving like a trained warrior.

  It was a warm day, and he was frequently mopping sweat off his forehead. If he wasn’t doing that, he was scratching his neck. Or his arm. Or his ass. What the hell? Did this guy have the crabs, or was he just in serious need of a shower?

  Shutting down thoughts that didn’t matter, I kept coming. Move five yards on my belly, then stop and listen and watch. Then move some more.

  I was using my elbows to pull myself along, the rifle gripped in my hands. It would have been very easy to put a few rounds into the guy and get on with my day. In fact, I was sorely tempted to do just that. After all, that sure seemed to be what he had planned for me. But I wanted to know what he was doing.

  Finally, I was within ten yards of his feet. He wore boots, but it was obvious from the soles that they weren’t military issue. Most likely they’d come from a sporting goods store. So had his camouflage clothing. And his rifle.

  He was still scratching like hell. In fact, he was almost constantly reaching for some part of his anatomy. Then he slapped the back of his hand and looked down at the sand he was lying on. He cursed loud enough for me to hear and began to squirm backward. As he moved, I saw the problem. The dumb son of a bitch had stretched out right beside an anthill.

  He kept moving, pulling his rifle with him and carefully avoiding the two cacti. OK. Time to announce my presence.

  “There’s a rifle pointed at the back of your head,” I said in a low voice.

  Someone experienced with having weapons pointed at them would have frozen. He didn’t. Letting out a gasp of surprise, he rolled onto his side to see who was behind him, managing to jam several of the prickly pear needles into his leg in the process.

  He gasped again, reaching for the spot where it hurt. There was a pistol holstered on that leg, and his hand was getting too close to it for my comfort. With a sigh, I pulled the trigger and fired a burst into the ground, inches from his face. Sand fountained, raining down on his head, and he finally stopped moving.

  “Don’t. Fucking. Move.” I said slowly.

  This time, the message got through. He lay on the ground, cactus needles poking out of his leg and sweat pouring off his face, but he didn’t move another inch. I stared at him, trying to decide what to do.

  There was no way this guy was a soldier. For anyone. He had to be a civilian survivor. Frankly, that conclusion was the only thing that was keeping me from just shooting him and getting on with my day.

  “Now, very slowly, you’re going to remove that pistol and toss it deep into the hedge. Don’t forget there’s a rifle aimed at your head and my finger is on the trigger. If the muzzle of that pistol even starts to swing my way, I’ll put you down. Got it?”

  “I got it,” he said, his voice quavering. “Please. Don’t shoot.”

  He followed my instructions, or close enough. The pistol actually wound up on the ground on the far side of the hedge, but for the moment that was fine with me. Standing, I kept the rifle trained on him. Every instinct was to scan my surroundings for danger, but I wasn’t about to take my attention off the man.

  “Come on out of there and…”

  His eyes suddenly snapped to the left, looking past me, growing wide with fear. Screams from several infected females tore through the air a fraction of a second later.

  34

  I didn’t like the idea of turning my back on this guy, but I didn’t have a choice. There were numerous voices screaming out their rage, and they sounded close. Too damn close.

  Spinning, I brought the rifle on target and immediately fired. A young female, wearing an Air Force uniform, flopped dead in the parking lot. The group was close, and there were too many for me to stand my ground. I had to retreat and fire at the same time. The problem with that was the three-foot-tall hedge behind me.

  Getting over it would waste precious seconds I didn’t have. The females would be able to close too much distance while I was hopping my happy ass over to the far side. Very aware of my limited supply of ammo, I clicked the rifle’s selector and aimed for their legs. My best option was to slow them down.

  I raked fire across the charging infected, destroying knees and shattering femurs. It would have been nice if this did anything more than slow them down, but it didn’t. As soon as a female tumbled to the ground, no longer able to run, the bitch would start pulling herself along the ground with her arms. And they weren’t exactly slow without their legs, either.

  Dropping an empty magazine, I slapped in a new one and fired two more bursts which put the last pair on their faces. Clicking into single shot mode, I had to step back to avoid the swipe of a claw-like hand. I fired a round into her head, then moved around the perimeter of the group and delivered multiple coup de gras with my knife. I didn’t have enough ammo left to shoot all of them.

  Their determination to reach me never wavered. This was one of those times I would have appreciated the more intelligent ones who had demonstrated a fear of weapons. But, at least they were all on the ground, and I didn’t have to worry about any escapees stalking me once the battle was over.

  When I killed the last one, I whipped around to face the sniper and came face to face with the muzzle of his pistol. Instead of helping with the fight, the fucker had jumped the hedge and retrieved his weapon to use on me.


  I let the rifle hang from its sling, freeing up my hands, and stared into his eyes. And didn’t like what I saw. He might not be trained, but he sure as hell looked determined. There was fear visible, but it wasn’t paralyzing him or even weakening his resolve.

  “Don’t move,” he said, his voice breathy from a pounding heart.

  “What are you going to do? Shoot me?”

  His eyes widened in surprise when I spoke.

  “You are an American,” he blurted. “I wasn’t sure I heard right before.”

  “No shit,” I said, lacing it with heavy sarcasm. “What were you expecting?”

  “Russian,” he said, squinting at me.

  The pistol was still aimed at my face, and I had grown tired of playing with this asshole.

  “US Army,” I said, lowering my voice and glaring at him. “You aren’t military. I can tell that much. Now, lower your fucking weapon.”

  He stared at me for a long moment, then shook his head. That was when I moved. The pistol was in his right hand. My left hand shot out and grasped the weapon between the trigger guard and the muzzle, pushing it out of alignment with my head. At the same time, I struck the inside of his wrist with the heel of my other hand. I had a firm grip on his gun, and it neatly popped out of his hand before he could tighten his finger on the trigger.

  He had half a second to stare at me in shock before I landed a solid right hand in the center of his face. I felt his nose, and maybe a couple of teeth, crunch, then he stumbled backward and fell on his ass. His glasses flew off, and he sat there looking at me with blood pouring across his chin and onto his chest.

  Dropping the magazine, I racked the slide to eject the round in the chamber. The brass glittered briefly in the sun as it tumbled through the air. Pistol empty, I shoved it into my waistband.

  “How the fuck have you survived this long? You’re about as stupid as a bag of hammers.”

  I stood over him, glaring. He held his nose with one hand, trying to stem the flow of blood, and glared back. With his other, he picked up his glasses and put them on.

  Taking a step away, I looked around to make sure there weren’t any more infected charging in on the party. Seeing nothing, I pushed the radio into my ear and called Rachel, telling her to come outside.

  “Are you really the Army?” The guy on the ground asked.

  “Told you I was, didn’t I? What the hell did you think you were doing, you stupid fuckstick? Hiding there with a rifle, waiting for us to come out of the hospital? You’re goddamn lucky all I did was punch you in the nose!”

  “Didn’t know who you were,” he said. “We’ve been hiding in one of the houses here on base since the Russians left.”

  “We? Who’s we?”

  His eyes told me he’d let some information slip that he would have preferred to keep from me.

  “I meant me,” he said quickly. “I’m all alone.”

  “I’ll hit you again if you keep lying to me,” I said.

  He watched me closely as if trying to decide if I was telling the truth. While he was thinking about what I’d said, Rachel, Tiffany and Dog came jogging up. Dog stopped next to my left leg, staring at the man on the ground. He didn’t growl, but his upper lip curled back, revealing a pretty intimidating set of teeth. The guy’s full attention shifted to Dog, and he shrank away.

  Rachel stood next to me and looked down at the man before turning and checking the area around us. I glanced over my shoulder to see Tiffany staring at the females I’d killed. I focused back on the man, then shook my head again.

  We needed to go, but our ammo situation was now even more critical than it had been. I should be able to find some, somewhere on the sprawling air base. But, I didn’t want this guy going and getting whoever he was hiding out with and coming after us. We definitely weren’t in a position to fight another battle at the moment.

  “OK,” I finally said to the guy. “It’s your business what you’re doing, as long as you don’t interfere with us. We just stopped off for supplies, then we’ll be on our way.”

  The surprise on his face was immediate. I had no doubt he’d been sitting there, expecting to die. And, to tell the truth, the thought had crossed my mind. I couldn’t get a read on him, which bothered me. He had been stupid, there was no doubt about that. And his stupidity had put him into the very small club of people who have pointed a weapon at me and lived to tell the story.

  Still, something just didn’t sit right. A guy like this just shouldn’t still be alive. Shouldn’t have been able to survive all the predators in the world, both infected and uninfected. Yet, here he was, staring up at me with blood covering his face and chest. For a moment I seriously considered just putting a bullet in his head and getting on with things. All that saved him was Rachel and Tiffany’s presence. I didn’t want to put him down in front of them. Rachel might understand, but Tiffany? I didn’t need the problems.

  “On your feet,” I said.

  “Why? What are you going to do to me?”

  “Nothing, if you do as your told,” I said. “Now, get off your ass and show me where the closest armory is.”

  Slowly he stood and dusted off the seat of his pants before delicately pulling the cactus needles out of his leg.

  35

  Half an hour later we drove out of the main gate and turned west, heading for the highway that would take us to Mexico. We were loaded up with ammo, and a few other little toys I’d found in the armory the man had taken us to.

  I hadn’t learned anything about him, but hadn’t pressed the issue. Once I’d gotten him on his feet, I thoroughly searched him and we’d piled into the Tahoe. I’d put him in the cargo area, and Dog had sat in the back seat, facing to the rear to keep an eye on him. He hadn’t asked us any questions, and when Rachel had tried to find out more about him, he’d just looked away and kept his mouth tightly shut.

  That was fine with me. I had several theories rolling around in my head about him, but since he was cooperating, I decided to let him keep his secrets. He’d only spoken to give me directions to the armory, and when we arrived, I found the door had been forced open already. Expecting to find it cleaned out, I was pleasantly surprised when we entered and found it well stocked.

  It seemed as if a few crates of ammo and some rifles and pistols were missing, but without an inventory sheet, there was no way to know. Regardless, it didn’t matter. I put a crate of ammo into the back of the Tahoe, then another of empty magazines and told Tiffany to start loading them. While she worked and Rachel kept watch on the man and our surroundings, I went back inside.

  I found some fragmentation grenades, pistol ammo and loaded up a small ammo can with smoke grenades. The real prize was an M249 light machine gun, or SAW (Squad Assault Weapon). It fires the same round as an M4 rifle, but from a linked belt of ammunition and can make all the difference in the world in a firefight. One of the best things is that it can be carried and fired like a rifle in a pinch, even though it’s a little heavy and cumbersome.

  After it was loaded into the Tahoe, I added half a dozen crates of ammo belts and closed the rear door. The man was standing a few yards away, watching me nervously. He was probably expecting a bullet, or for me to sick Dog on him. I probably would have been having the same thoughts if I were in his shoes.

  Reaching inside the SUV, I brought out his rifle, and after making sure it was empty, walked over and handed it and his pistol to him. He tentatively took them, watching me closely as if he expected it was a trick.

  “If you’re smart, you’ll go in there and get yourself an M4 and a bunch of ammo. That bolt action deer rifle is only good if you want to play sniper.”

  He stared back at me without saying anything, finally nodding as I backed away and waved Rachel and Dog into the Tahoe.

  “What do you think his story was?” Rachel asked as I steered around a smashed city bus.

  I shrugged.

  “Whatever it is, it’s amazing he’s made it this long.”

 
; “So, those infected,” Rachel said.

  “What about them?”

  “We haven’t seen any all the way into town. The base seemed empty, then they showed up out of nowhere. Doesn’t that strike you as odd?”

  “It does,” I said. “And look around us. None. This is the first time we’ve been in a city of any size that there wasn’t a greeting party.”

  “Does that mean anything?”

  I shrugged my shoulders, again. Yes, it was bothering me, but we didn’t have any information that would let us even begin to come up with a theory.

  “Did you notice they were all wearing Air Force uniforms?” Tiffany asked from the back seat.

  I glanced at her in the mirror. Her head was down as she continued to load magazines.

  “I did, yes.”

  “Makes me think they were trapped in one of the buildings and got out,” she said.

  “Or someone let them out,” Rachel offered.

  “Not our problem,” I said. “Not anymore, at least. For now, we’ve got to haul ass for Mexico. It’s going to be dark by the time we get to Puerto Penasco.”

  “Are we going to start searching tonight?” Rachel asked.

  “No.” I shook my head. “Going to be hard enough to find him in the daytime. We’ll get some rest when we get there, then find a boat in the morning and head out.”

  Rachel sat there thinking about that. From the back seat, I could hear a rhythmic clicking as Tiffany continued to work. Dog sat on the seat next to her, watching every movement. If you didn’t know him, you might think he was fascinated by what she was doing. I knew he was just waiting for an opportunity to lie down and put his head in her lap.

  “How would the Navy find him, if they could get there?” Rachel asked after several more minutes.

  “He’ll have an EPIRB,” I said, referring to an Emergency Position Indicating Radio Beacon. “They’d put up a couple of helicopters and home in on the signal.”

  “OK, yeah. The Navy pilot I went down with in Idaho had one of those sewn into his flight suit.”