Becks stopped in mid-stitch to a slash on Cam’s forearm and looked at Julian in surprise.
“Wait, was that just a joke!?” she asked, totally unprepared for something so uncharacteristic from Julian.
“It’s called bedside manner,” Cam whispered, speaking for the first time since they got him on the boat. “Maybe you could learn something from him, Miss Undertaker Face.”
Sweeter words Cam could not have spoken to Becks. If he had the ability to make a snide remark, he still had some fight left in him, which increased his chance of survival.
“If you don’t stop bleeding all over the deck, you’re going to need an undertaker,” Becks shot back, as Julian’s eyes widened in alarm. Becks would explain to him later that the worst thing to do would be to act nice to Cam, because then he would start worrying.
As they were passing under the Tappan Zee Bridge, Becks thought back to the day she saw her first zombie; the day her world started to crumble. She missed her Nyack home, she missed her parents terribly, and she even missed working at Nyack Hospital and ParGenTech. It all seemed like a million years ago and now so little was left, but absolutely nothing would be left if this massive herd from Manhattan swept through the Hudson Valley.
Chapter 14
“We’re fifteen minutes out,” Tejada informed Becks and Julian after they had finally finished stabilizing Cam. “I suggest you two grab an MRE now, as we’ll be shoving off again as soon as we offload the wounded and refuel.”
Neither of them realized just how famished they were until the mention of food. Becks resisted the impulse to ask Julian if was going to throw up his meal again, and just concentrated on wolfing down her own food. The MRE also brought back unpleasant memories of being stranded in New Jersey, but she had to keep pushing all of those fears aside, as what lay ahead was frightening enough.
Medical teams at West Point sprang into action the instant they touched the dock. Becks just had a couple of seconds to say goodbye to Cam, who squeezed her hand tightly and whispered, “Go and do what you do best. Kick ass, baby!”
Phil was on the dock—and stuck out like a sore thumb, as he was the only one with an umbrella. He had a bundle of papers for Becks, and thankfully, a change of dry clothes.
“Heard it was rough out there. You okay?” Phil asked with genuine concern as he took hold of her shoulder
“Been better,” she replied with a weak attempt at a smile. “Also been a lot worse.”
Phil followed Becks into the triage tent, where medical teams acted like a pit crew stripping off her clothes and attending to all of her wounds. This was indeed a race—a race of life or death—and they needed to patch up Becks and Julian ASAP and get them back on mission.
“We put together some notes, and a list of equipment and chemicals that would be helpful,” Phil said, standing behind a nurse who was stitching what looked like a bite wound in Becks’ leg. “It’s terrible that Pete can’t go with you. Just terrible. But we have video coms set up and he should be able to monitor what you’re looking at and let you know what to grab.”
“But who will be with me, just Julian? He’s less than useless in a fight,” Becks whispered, as Julian was just on the other side of the tent having his minor cuts bandaged and treated for infection.
“Well, that’s the thing,” Phil hemmed and hawed, avoiding eye contact. “They can give you the other Ranger, but all other available personnel are needed in New Jersey and Rockland, setting up defenses and trying to thin the herd. It’s bad down there. Really bad.”
Albany won’t be any vacation either, Becks thought to herself.
“There may be some locals at Albany who can help,” Phil added, but without much confidence.
The MRE and a fresh set of clothes were the best medicine for Becks, and she took the bundle of papers from Phil and headed back to the Defender. There on the deck, standing all alone in the rain, was Martha. Everyone had forgotten about her, which was the story of her life.
“Go in the tent, they’ll take care of you in there,” Becks said, actually feeling kind of sorry for the pathetic figure of a woman.
“I will not get off of this boat,” she stated like a stubborn toddler, as she crossed her arms for emphasis.
“Martha, we are headed up to Albany,” Becks began calmly. “That’s in the Red Zone. I don’t know if you fully realize what that means. It’s probably worse than what we just went through.”
“I will not get off this boat,” she repeated. “I know Project Decimation better than Pete. No one knew Dr. Devereaux’s work better than me. I know all of the buildings at the college. I know the equipment. Maybe I can’t fight like you, but you need me.”
“I can’t argue that you would be a great asset,” Becks agreed, while thinking that on the other hand, now she and the Ranger would have two people to babysit, which increased everyone’s chances of getting killed. “Just as long as you know what you’re getting into.”
As the one Ranger was being driven off in an ambulance, the other Ranger arrived, and honestly, Becks really couldn’t tell the difference—it was one towering wall of muscle in exchange for another.
Julian reluctantly stepped back on board, awkwardly shifting his body beneath the combat gear that had been thrust upon him. Becks thought it was like putting a coat and shoes on a dog and watching him try to walk.
Tejada and her crew came back from a quick briefing on where they would be going and what to expect. Until the last moment when the engines roared to life and they pushed away from the dock, Becks secretly hoped that someone would rush over and tell them the weather was breaking and a helicopter would be able to deliver them right onto the roof of the nanotech buildings. No such luck.
For most of the ride upriver, Becks, Julian, and Martha were absorbed in the bundle of Phil’s notes, and in making their own notes, lists, and maps of the locations of labs and storerooms. But Becks couldn’t help but be distracted, however, as they passed Bannerman’s Island, where an Army-supported river militia now inhabited the Truesdale Clinic buildings.
At Newburgh, her thoughts turned to Smokin and she wondered how he was doing back at Cam’s compound. However, she specifically avoided looking at the Hudson-Athens lighthouse, as the memories of operating on Cam were still too painful. Becks could waste no mental or emotional energy on Memory Lane, while they were most likely headed straight for the Highway to Hell.
How were she and the Ranger going to fight through the seven or eight miles from the river to the college with Julian and Martha in tow? And once they were there, what—and who—would they find inside? They would have to get a vehicle at some point to transport all the equipment and supplies back to the boat, but were there any clear roads, or were they all clogged with abandoned cars and zombies? And what about the locals—were any still alive, and were they hostile?
The Ranger approached Becks after listening for an hour to her, Julian, and Martha discussing what equipment and supplies they needed. There had been some disagreement about what was the most useful, and easiest to transport.
“Look,” he said, picking up one of their lists, “I don’t know a laser diffraction particle size analyzer from a differential centrifugal sedimentation centrifuge, so let’s keep it simple. No fancy terms, okay? You point to what you want, and I’ll pick it up and carry it. Agreed?”
Becks couldn’t help but laugh as she told the Ranger it sounded like a good plan, because it was exactly the kind of thing Cam would say. She was hoping they would get a call soon with an update on Cam’s condition, but so far, the radio had been silent. If only Cam was with her, she would be a lot more confident they could actually pull this off.
When the radio finally did crackle with a transmission, it had nothing to do with Cam, but it was still great news—new coordinates of where to come ashore to meet with some people who would have vehicles waiting for them. This changed everything, both in terms of having some additional firepower, and not having to go on foot possibly for miles,
until they found a car or truck they could start. Everyone was breathing easier, but no one was under any illusions that this wasn’t going to be a suicide mission—and their second one of the day!
Cam’s first conscious thought after surgery was that mankind had been capable of landing a man on the Moon, but they still couldn’t make anesthesia that didn’t make you want to puke. The next thing Cam did was turn his head to vomit on the floor of the recovery room.
He was then informed that his punctured and torn blood vessels had been repaired, his wounds closed, and the latest anti-infection protocols administered. And, if he was a good boy, got some rest, and did what he was told, he should be up and around in a few days. Otherwise, the staff would be happy to strap him to the bed. Apparently, someone had tipped off the staff that Cameron Everett could be a rather difficult patient.
Phil came to see him and was delighted to find that he was already anxious to get up, but while the spirit was willing, the exhausted and drugged body was weak. Phil promised to get word to Becks that Cam would be okay. There was something else Cam wanted to tell him, something about a call he had made that morning, but the drugs won out and Cam fell asleep in midsentence.
Chapter 15
Becks, Julian, and Martha needed sleep, too, after the strenuous and stressful hell they had been through that morning. Once their meeting was complete, the three curled up on the bouncing, rolling deck, and even with the loud rumble of the engines, were out in less than a minute. Hideous zombie faces, grasping hands, and biting teeth filled their dreams, but even those intense nightmares weren’t enough to wake them. All too soon, however, Tejada’s voice informed them once again they were “15 minutes out” and they should prepare to “hit the ground running.”
As it was the Red Zone, the Defender would drop them on the riverbank and then have to move to a defensible position in case there were scavengers who would just love to get their hands on one of the fastest and most heavily armed boats on the Hudson. Modern pirates were making a good living with far less.
Everyone was on high alert as they approached the landing coordinates. No one knew anything about the people who were meeting them, so it made sense to arrive locked and loaded. However, Becks’ sense of danger quickly melted into joy and amusement, as even at a couple of hundred yards, she recognized the shaggy, hulking figure standing on the hood of a Humvee waving to them.
“Stand down, stand down, it’s okay,” Becks shouted to the crew and the Ranger, who had already divided the dozen or so “targets” between them. “I know these people. Stand down!”
“Can you trust…them?” the Ranger asked dubiously, as the ragtag bunch of men and women came into clearer focus.
“With my life,” Becks replied without hesitation.
As the Defender reached the riverbank, Becks leapt from the bow into the waiting arms of Charlie “The Monk” Ferguson. The Monk was Cam’s right-hand man at the compound in Saugerties and had filled the leadership role since Cam had been at West Point with Becks. He was a former outlaw biker gang member, turned spiritual sage, and was also the man who had given Becks her tattoos, which she had actually grown to love.
The Monk’s bear hug took her breath away, and she relished every second of it. The trajectories of their lives couldn’t be more different, yet they had become fast friends who trusted each other implicitly. If Cam couldn’t be with Becks, The Monk was the next best person to watch her back.
“What the hell are you doing here?” Becks asked, once she was able to catch her breath.
“Cam called this morning. Said you were getting yourself into more trouble,” The Monk replied with a wink and a twinkle in his eye. “And you know there are two things I love most in this world—Dr. Rebecca Truesdale, and trouble!”
It had been a long time since the two had been together, and while she probably looked worse for wear, she was surprised to see her perpetually robust friend looking pale and a lot thinner.
“You on some sort of a spiritual cleansing diet?” Becks asked with concern.
“Just maintaining my girlish figure,” The Monk replied waving it off with a smile. “Now let’s get this show on the road!”
Becks said hello to the other half dozen members of the Saugerties compound she knew from the months she spent there, and was then introduced to other volunteers from Albany. She then introduced the Ranger, Julian, and Martha to them, and gave a quick briefing on the mission.
The Monk told her that the roads in the Red Zone were thick with debris, abandoned cars, and zombies, but they had “borrowed” three snowplows from the Albany County Highway Department. Driving in a staggered line across the road, they had cleared a path to the river by the intersection of highways 90 and 787. They planned to get on Interstate 90 and “plow” the seven miles to the campus of the Colleges of Nanoscale Science and Engineering. It might be slow going getting there, but once cleared it would be a breeze getting back to the river.
When The Monk got word from Cam about the Albany mission, he contacted the “Mayor of Albany,” or so the locals had named him, a man known only as “Digger,” who had taken it upon himself to bring some civilization back to the former capital of New York, which had collapsed into lawless chaos after quarantine.
The Army’s push to clear the Hudson Valley had ended in the middle of Albany, which was now a slightly less lawless and chaotic frontier town surrounded on three sides by the Red Zone—where basically nothing but zombies roamed the streets. Digger had managed to create trading posts, clinics, and a police force of sorts. He even got a movie theater up and running so once a week the few inhabitants of Albany could get together and forget about the outside world for a couple of hours.
No one knew Albany better than Digger (and no one knew how he got his nickname, but decided not to ask) and when The Monk and his team arrived, it was Digger who brought them to the highway department’s snow plows, and then led the way to the rendezvous point he suggested by the river. The Monk’s team never would have made it to Becks in time without Digger’s knowledge of the roads and the conditions around Albany, and she and the Ranger would have been on their own with Julian and Martha in tow.
“I thought you might want to drive this,” The Monk said, tossing Becks a set of keys that were very familiar.
Becks had been so excited to see her old friend that she hadn’t noticed that he had not just been standing on any Humvee, but her Humvee! It had been given to her by Sargent Pelton at West Point, and Becks and that vehicle—with her beloved .50 caliber machine gun—had been through hell and back together. She had given it to Cam when she started working at West Point, and she missed that deadly beast of a juggernaut.
She could knock down and run over a small pack of zombies like they were cardboard boxes. And the .50 cal, well, as Becks had recently been reminded by the Defender’s .50 cal in New York City, it was capable of unleashing its full wrath on zombie bodies and turning them into exploding volcanoes of blood and guts, leaving nothing but lava-like puddles of remains.
“You always did know the way to my heart!” Becks said, giving him one more hug before gesturing to the Ranger, Julian, and Martha, that they were going with her, and that she was driving.
It was an interesting convoy as the three snowplows pulled onto the road, followed by two pickup trucks with “zombie catchers” welded to the front and mounts for automatic weapons along the sides. Becks and her dear Humvee took up the rear.
A few small herds of zombies were wandering along I-90 and were easily dispatched by the line of powerful plows. With a staggered, half-V formation, the bodies—or more accurately, body parts—of the smashed zombies would be shoveled off to the right side of the road. By the time Becks drove over the cleared area, nothing but red blood and green fluid (from the ZIPs) streaks covered the highway, like some macabre Christmas parade.
Abandoned vehicles were a little trickier. The plows had to slow down and gently nudge the cars off to the side. Occasionally, an odd angle or some
thing with flat tires required one of the plows to leave the formation and guide it off to the shoulder, but for the most part, the slanted formation was sufficient to clear a wide path down the highway. Though they were making good progress, there looked to be only a couple of hours of daylight left, and constant storms would make it even darker, faster. The last thing any of them wanted was to be inside the buildings in the dark with who-knows-what.
A bright flash of lightning up ahead suddenly reflected off the abundant glass of the college structures as if to announce their goal was near. Small talk had already been at a minimum during the ride, and now there was silence for the final mile as Becks and the team knew they were headed into yet another shit storm. No one had any intel on the area, and The Monk did not have enough advance notice to have scouted it out. They were just lucky they were able to clear the way to the river in time to meet Becks.
The entrance to the main parking lot was blocked by a line of cars which looked as though they had been placed there way back during quarantine. Becks wondered if, like at ParGenTech, the college had offered shelter to students and family members who wanted to continue their work—or who had no families to return to—during the “temporary” quarantine. That quarantine was supposed to save humanity, but instead, led to the complete collapse of civilization in the Hudson Valley, and eventually the entire country.
The snow plows tightened up their formation to almost a straight line as they pushed the string of vehicles out of the way. There weren’t many other cars in the parking lot, and it certainly didn’t look like anyone had been to this campus in a very long time. That was good, in that it probably meant that no large groups of scavengers or survivors were inside.
As for those who hadn’t survived, during another lightning flash, Becks and a few others noticed a female zombie with her face and hands pressed against a third floor window in one of the buildings as they were passing by. There were probably many more with her, as zombies were like roaches—if you saw one, there were probably many more.
HVZA (Book 3): Hudson Valley Zombie Apocalypse [Project Decimation] Page 10