Just as Jenkins had predicted, nobody challenged his authority once asserted, his new rank or those he had handed out and just like that, the Rainbow Lake militia was established.
General Blake Jenkins reigned as Military Commander with Colonel McReedy at his right hand. Major Farrell would serve as his special operative and report to him directly. Captain Turner and Captain King rounded out the officers.
Captain King had made a fuss about keeping his title of Commander even though his new rank was Captain, and after some heated back and forth it was agreed that he was to be called Commander.
Turner and King would each be in command of a Company, called Alpha Company and Bravo Company respectively. The remaining men would be divided between the two Companies and broken down into smaller platoons.
“Much smaller platoons!” Mac had joked as they had hashed out the structure.
It was a laughable, barely cohesive Militia and Jenkins knew it, but it was what he had to work with.
Jenkins also enlisted the aid of Kittewa Sheriff Ross Busley. The Sheriff was a bear of a man well into his sixties, with a large bulbous nose, a wide mouth full of coffee stained teeth, a long face with hound dog jowls, and a full shock of white hair which he wore under a large baseball cap. He had been the town sheriff since returning home from ‘Nam and nobody knew the area better than Ross Busley. He’d proved invaluable in planning the defense of the lake and the surrounding region.
There was only a single paved road leading up to Rainbow Lake, and it circled the entire perimeter before looping back on itself down into town, but there were countless hiking, off-road vehicle and horse trails zigzagging the entire lake and mountain area, several of them accessible from the main road. In their first coordinated exercise as a Militia they quickly secured the rest of the estates and cabins around Rainbow Lake. Once secure, the estates were looted for supplies but kept intact for future habitation. That had been two days ago.
Now, three separate security checkpoints manned by a squad of Militiamen surrounded the perimeter of the lake with another one half way down the canyon road. There were also daily patrols into Kittewa and the surrounding woods and mountains to map the trails and secure the area. Salvage crews were plundering the town and outlying farms for all available resources and vehicles, and within half a week the town would be stripped. bare.
Zack hadn’t contacted them since the destruction of Park City, and there had been no sign of zombies or Krylok aliens since the siege of Rainbow Lake. The surrounding area, including Kittewa and the neighboring farmland was relatively secure, and safe. Never the less, men on foot, horseback and in vehicles patrolled the entire area twenty-four hours a day.
Now that they had strengthened and solidified their base, Jenkins was eager to send patrols to Evanston, Provo and Salt Lake City. There were bound to be pockets of survivors scattered about that could be brought into the fold and put to work farming and harvesting crops and livestock or expanding the ranks of his Militia.
Its time to get off your ass and fight. Jenkins grimaced at the thought. But no matter how bad of a taste it left in his mouth, or queasy feeling in his gut, he knew it was time. They just couldn’t sit around waiting for Mordecai Necrotura or the Aliens and their deadfucks to regroup and attack. It was time to take a proactive, offense approach to their defense…
CHAPTER 4
Monday, July 9, 2001
Rainbow Lake, UT
8:33 AM
Park City was gone. Not demolished or blasted to ruins, simply gone. From the Old City to Kimball Junction, the alien city-buster warhead left nothing but a scorched black wasteland; everything, including the roadways and the forest had been vaporized and replaced with fine black soot that covered the entire length of the valley from the base to the bowl.
The helicopter hovered one thousand feet above the mountaintops on the eastern edge of the valley, midway between the Old City and Kimball Junction, giving the four occupants an impressive, panoramic view of the wasteland. All of them wore snug headsets and microphone so they could communicate over the noise of the chopper.
“Imagine if the Krylok invasion plan hadn’t been botched, and they had used these weapons from the start.” Jenkins said.
“Fucking amazing.” Matt said with awe. He was riding shotgun, his attention focused on the viewfinder of the digital video camera, which was mounted in a small bubble turret on the underside of the choppers nose. The controls were in the co-pilots console, and Matt swiveled it around and experimented with the zoom.
“Do you think it’s safe to be this close to the blast site?” Sheriff Busley asked from behind Matt.
“Zack told us there would be no radiation from the weapon.” Major Farrell said. He sat in the passenger seat behind Jenkins.
“We’ve wasted enough fuel gawking, I want to swing out over Salt Lake and see how bad things have gotten.” Jenkins piloted the chopper over the wasteland, swinging southwest towards Parleys canyon. “I’m going to follow Parleys down so we can scout Summittown and see if anybody or anything is on its way up.”
Jenkins kept the speed at an even 60mph as he wound up through Parleys canyon less than two hundred feet above the highway, the mountains rising up several hundred feet on either side, making the ride even more exhilarating. Just before they reached Summittown Jenkins climbed another hundred feet and slowed the chopper to 50mph. Summittown came into view around the next bend, and Jenkins slowed the chopper to a crawl and slowly circled over the small way-station.
“It looks as abandoned as we left it…” Matt said after a couple minutes of careful scrutiny.
“We should station a squadron of men up here.” Jenkins said. “Keep them well armed and supplied. If anybody should try and come up this way, we would have plenty of advance notice.”
“That’s a good idea.” Sheriff Busley said.
Jenkins peeled the chopper away from its hover over Summittown, heading west down the canyon toward Salt Lake City. Below, on the highway, the occasional vehicle was parked along the side of the road or strewn across the center. The occasional zombie could be seen as well, staggering about aimlessly. As they neared the mouth of the canyon, the number of abandoned vehicles increased, culminating in a compacted, burned out logjam of crashed and abandoned vehicles of all sizes and shapes, make and model, and several dozen zombies. The highway was completely blocked either way save for a single, central lane, which had no doubt been cleared by the zombie horde that had ascended the canyon and laid siege to Park City.
But their attention was quickly drawn from the carnage of the roadway below to the cityscape spread out before them. The entire Wasatch Valley sprawl lay before them, from Bluffdale and the point of the mountain in the south to the high-rise metropolis of downtown Salt Lake and the State Capitol building on the rim of the northern valley bowl. Several miles to the west the Great Salt Lake glimmered in the morning sunlight. Half a dozen fires still burned in various points across the city and the streets were cluttered with wrecked and abandoned vehicles, garbage, unmoving dead bodies, and shambling zombies.
“My God.” Sheriff Busley said, his voice hollow. “What did we do to deserve this?”
“This isn’t His mess.” Jenkins said, barely suppressing a laugh. “And he’s not going to clean it up…”
That night, back at the lake, they had a communal BBQ for dinner. It had been at Jenkins behest, as he wanted to address everyone at once. Most of the ash from the backyard fire had either blow away, or soaked into the ground after a couple mid-summer mountain sprinkles, and the refugees spread out blankets just like an evening picnic at the park. The main course of the BBQ was a freshly butchered cow, rounded up from one of the pastures down in Kittewa. Fish and deer meat were also available, plus canned fruit and vegetables as well as fresh baked bread, cakes and pies. Everyone helped in the preparation and serving of the food, and it was a great social bonding event.
It wasn’t until everyone was stuffed full and relaxing in the cool eve
ning air that Jenkins addressed the crowd. He simply stood atop his chair and in a firm voice called “May I have everyone’s attention?” The gathered crowd had been expecting him to address them; it had been the gossip circulating about the lake all day, and they quieted at once.
“Thank you…” Jenkins paused a few moments to collect his thoughts. “As you all know, the world we knew, the life we all knew…it is gone…forever. We have all suffered terrible losses and endured great horrors just to be here, alive today. And though we find ourselves at a temporary respite, a calm in the storm if you will, make no mistake…we are in a very dangerous situation. Earth is still under siege by the Krylok aliens and the armies of the dead must now number hundreds of millions…possibly billions. It is a deadly new world, straight out of hell. If the human race is to survive, we must stay strong. We must stay vigilant.” He paused to let his words sink in, peering out over the faces in the crowd. They had all been told of the Krylok invasion and the different kind of zombies, but up until now they had been focused only on their own survival. They had devoted little to no thought on the survival of the species. But now it was sinking in.
“What more can we do?” asked a thin, middle-aged man in blue overalls and a red ball cap.
“Exactly what we’ve been doing.” Jenkins said. “We keep on constant alert. We stay on the lookout for live humans and we bring them into the fold. And we develop relations with other strongholds.”
“Other strongholds?” someone said from the crowd.
“Yes, other strongholds. You don’t really think we are the only ones do you? Hill Air Force Base has become a major outpost. Thousands of people are housed there. And there are dozens of small towns like Kittewa nestled along these mountains. The zombies can’t have overrun them all. And those are just locally. Across the globe…” Jenkins let his words trail off.
“That would mean going…out, wouldn’t it General?” Another man asked. The look on his face, as well as the faces of many of those gathered told him that even the thought of such a prospect was more than they could bear.
“Yes it would mean going out. But only the Militia will be going out. The rest of you are civilians, and are needed here in the community.” A collective murmur of relief went through the crowd.
“The first wave of the alien invasion is over.” Jenkins continued. “We survived the initial shock, and with Zack running free, the alien Mothership crashed on the moon and most of the Krylok dead among the wreckage, their invasion plan is in shambles. Now is the time to send raiding teams into the cities. Evanston, Provo, even Salt Lake City are ripe for the plundering.”
“There are tens of thousands of zombies in the cities!” exclaimed a woman in the crowd.
“That would be suicide!” exclaimed someone else.
“Without a superzombie to control them, the zombies are mindless and easy to handle, even in large numbers, so long as you’re prepared. We have a tank at our disposal, and several other large vehicles that we can outfit for excursions into the cities. We also have a helicopter for rooftop assaults. But these are matters for me and the other Militia commanders.”
“What about our homes?” someone from the crowd called.
“When can we return to our homes?” called another.
Jenkins had wondered when they would get around to asking that question. “For the time being, you should stay here at the lake. There is plenty of room and supplies. And most of the town has been looted.”
“Are we prisoners?” asked a woman standing in front of Jenkins. She was tall, with short brown hair.
“Of course not!” Jenkins said. “Anyone is free to leave at anytime.” Here it comes… “However, you MAY NOT take anything with you but the clothes on your back, the weapons you are carrying and a good ration of food and water. You WILL NOT take any vehicle or animal you arrived with, as all have been co-opted by the community for the good of the community.” Jenkins cast a look to Matt, Susan and McReedy. He had told them what he would be saying tonight, and they had all agreed to back him. But Jenkins could sense an unrest stirring through the crowd of civilians. He continued before the unrest could grow into something more.
“So long as you are a part of the Rainbow Lake community, and work and strive for the betterment of the community, you will be welcome to all of its resources. But should you choose to leave, then you will do so at your own peril.” He could see that many were still uneasy with what he had just told them, but they would learn to live with it, or they would be dealt with appropriately.
“I was a Freebooter in Park City.” The man was tall and thin, but had an air of untamed ferocity. He had icy blue eyes, a grizzled mane of dishwater blond hair and a beard and mustache that masked a mug only a mother could love. He wore a black leather jacket over a black T-shirt, with black leather-riding chaps over black jeans, and black steel toed riding boots. He exuded an aura of hard, cold steel.
“Your point?” Jenkins asked.
“You’ll have to kill me and my crew before you’ll take what’s ours.”
The entire crowd went silent.
Jenkins and the biker and stared each other in the eye, and like two angry dogs their hackles began to rise.
Several other tattooed and leather garbed warriors mingled about the crowd, readying themselves for action.
Half a dozen Militiamen tightened their grip on their AK-47’s, ready to snap to and fire in the blink of an eye.
It was the biker who blinked, opting to negotiate rather than spill blood. “What kind of deal are you going to offer Freebooters?”
Freebooters had been a vital part of Park City’s fledgling yet robust barter based economy. They went out into the abandoned cities, towns and neighborhoods, salvaging food, fuel, medicine, drugs etc. Jenkins himself had been a Freebooter, along with Ron and Rick. Hell he’d even had Matt sold on the idea.
“Freebooters will be given a special exemption. Since you are willing to risk your lives by venturing out to salvage for the community, you get to keep your vehicles for raiding. The community takes a 90% Tariff on anything you bring in.”
“Park City only levied 50%” the biker growled back.
“Park City is gone.” Jenkins retorted. “Rainbow Lake is where you are now. And Rainbow Lake has a 90% tax. If you have a better prospect elsewhere…” He knew that was as good an offer as any Freebooter would get anywhere. The look in the biker’s eye said he had reached the same conclusion. Even with a 90% tax that would still leave plenty for the freebooters personal take and allow them to live well in a barter based economy.
“Well then General, it looks like me and my crew have us a new home.” The man said and a smile spread across his shaggy face.
“What’s your name friend?” Jenkins asked.
“Tucker…Smitty Tucker.”
“Glad to have you.” Jenkins let out a breath of relief, and at the same time could feel the tension drain from the crowd.
That was close.
He addressed the crowd once again.
“Furthermore, as our community has grown, so too has the need for leaders to manage certain areas and tasks. We will be instituting Leadership Council to better administer the needs and resources of the community. The Council will consist of ten members. Matt and Susan Robbins, Colonel McReedy, David Young, Sheriff Busley, Dr. Reilly and myself shall all be charter members, with the other three positions to be selected by a vote among the rest of you.”
The charter members of the Council had been told of this plan as well and they too had supported it, the rationalization being that it would give the members of the community something to focus on, to vent their concerns and needs to. But this took the crowd by surprise and the murmur of conversation sprang up.
“Why are there charter members?” someone asked. “What makes them so important?”
“This is our stronghold!” Jenkins barked. We routed Mordecai Necrotura and took this lake. All of you arrived after the fact.” His eyes were laser beams as they
panned the crowd.
“Folks, you’ve got to understand something.” This time it was Sheriff Busley who spoke up, his deep baritone rising above the buzz of the crowd as he stood to his full height. “General Jenkins has mentioned it already but I must stress the point; Civilization as we knew it is gone… Finished! The United States of America is no more, as well as every other government worldwide. Whatever way we go from here, we will have to make it ourselves. Now we can choose lawlessness and anarchy, and most likely fall prey to those dead sons-a-bitches if we don’t kill each other first, or we can start fresh…try a new way…build a better place for our children… If that is what we choose, we’ve got to have law and order and structure to our society…” The Sheriff trailed off, and Jenkins could see that the old man had had an effect on the crowd. He had been a community leader for many years before the plague broke out, and they trusted him with their lives and those of their families.
“Now it’s late, and you’ve a lot to take in, so I suggest we all get a good nights rest and work out this Council business in the morning.” The only one who appeared to disagree with the Sheriff was Jenkins, but he could see the weariness and uncertainty on the faces in the crowd, and he said nothing. Without much fanfare, the crowd broke up as families regrouped and finished eating, talking quietly amongst themselves before drifting away toward their sleeping quarters…
Matt lie awake in bed.
He could hear Susan’s breathing drift into the deep, heavy pattern of sleep, but he had too much on his mind to sleep.
While Jenkins and Mac busied themselves with organizing the Militia, Matt and Susan had concentrated on organizing the community itself. At first it had merely consisted of assigning a bed, offering food, medicine and comfort. But now the community had spread across several estates, and the logistics of keeping everyone fed, clothed, bathed and healthy, and the estates well maintained and supplied was fast becoming a nightmare. Once they began delegating work assignments and rationing supplies, they both expected challenges to their authority. But none came. Most of the refugees were simple farmers and ranchers, and they were content to be safe and secure. It was just as Jenkins had said it would be. Everyone contributed where they could, hauling supplies, counting inventory, preparing food, offering suggestions on planning and organization, but the leadership role seemed to fall naturally on Matt and Susan’s shoulders. It wasn’t necessarily a role either of them cherished, but it was a responsibility they both accepted.
Deadrise 2: Deadwar Page 2