by Dave Lund
Surprise wasn’t the first emotion that Bexar felt, nor was disgust. Anger burned deep in the pit of his stomach. If we hadn’t killed them all, these sick fucks would have to die. Bexar realized he was angry he couldn’t kill the prophet and his followers again.
Chivo bumped his shoulder to catch his attention, jerking his head towards the front of the school. Peering out of the front glass of the front doors, and seeing the dead filling the street, Chivo pushed on the doors gently and found them unlocked.
“Damn.”
“I heard that, but my ears are still ringing.”
“Yeah, it happens. You’ll be getting over it soon … usually.”
Bexar looked at Chivo, realizing he most likely had more than a single experience with the issue of ringing ears from gunfire.
“What now?”
“We wait. We have nothing but time. If we have to we’ll gather and melt some snow to drink, but otherwise we give our going away party time to go away.”
“We barely saw any dead at all in this damn place until today. What’s up with that?”
“I don’t know, mano, my guess is that the cult members did a decent job of keeping their areas clean and free of the dead … well, of the reanimated dead outside at least.”
“Your buddy sure as fuck didn’t do us any favors.”
“Can’t focus on that now. If we see him again I’ll kill him, you can kill him, we can take turns killing him, but for now that is a nonstarter. We have to focus on our immediate situation and work the problem step by step. Adapt and overcome. If you think too much about the past, if you dwell on what should have been, then you will never come to see what will become, and you will die.”
Chivo had a point and Bexar knew it.
Cortez, CO
Cliff drove slowly through the middle of town, scanning for the school bus he had seen the cult using before; now that they were neutralized he wasn’t worried about being stealthy. He also figured Chivo and Bexar would have their hands full for a few hours, barricaded in the house waiting for the undead to get distracted and disperse. He didn’t want to kill them, but he needed a chance to get out of town without raising suspicion or being followed. Where he was going, he couldn’t have anyone follow. End of the world or not, some secrets had to be kept.
So he had time to cruise and look; where the school bus was, so should be more supplies. At least if his assumption about the cult members was correct.
“Well ain’t that some shit?”
The other truck lay wedged between a tree and the brick façade of a bank, a large puddle of oil covering the ground around it. Shambling dead began to zero in on Cliff, stopped in the middle of the street, engine running.
“Chivo’s a big boy; he can babysit Bexar. If not, then not my problem. Mission first.”
Cliff sped up and made a few turns to leave his trailing army of death behind before reaching Highway 491 and turning north. He was going to Texas and the SSC, but first there was a mountain in Utah that he had to visit.
Coronado, CA
Aymond, the remaining men of his Marine Special Operations Team, and the two motor pool corporals they’d acquired at Twentynine Palms all stood in the conference room, the only light that streaming through the windows from the afternoon sun.
Kirk and Davis stood at the front of the room. The dry erase board, having suffered no ill effects from the end of the world, stood in for the typical PowerPoint presentation of an Operations Plan, or Op Plan. Art was not a subject either of the men would have scored well in, but the point was coming across.
“It’s just that simple.”
“Kirk, you asshole, that’s about as simple as a twelve-sided Rubik’s cube.”
“It wouldn’t be a cube with twelve sides, Ski, you dumbass.”
“Gentlemen …”
The bickering stopped on Aymond’s first word. “If we could do the operation the right way, we would have two full teams, air support, drone coverage, satellite imagery, and a dozen other assets in place before we would be allowed to even take a piss. But we don’t have any of that, we can’t even wish for any of that. It is up to us, and if you have a better plan to deny access, I want to hear it.”
A helicopter roared over the top of the building, low and fast. It sounded like it nearly dragged the landing gear on the roof. All the men instinctively ducked, even though they were inside. The men closest to the windows all edged towards them, careful to stay in the shadows and hidden from view while peering outside.
“Holy shit, Chief, armored personnel carriers.”
“How many, Hammer?”
“Eight … looks similar to the Type 92s the Pakis use. Six by six. Can they airlift those or did they already off-load a ship?”
“Are they stopping?”
“Negative, Chief, they’re rolling north, towards Halsey Field.”
Another helicopter roared past the building.
“Damn, that guy’s running a tree trimming service!”
Aymond walked around the edge of the table and looked over Hammer’s shoulder at the back of the APCs as they lumbered down the narrow bike lane, which was mostly free of abandoned vehicles. Frowning at the window, Aymond took a deep breath.
“Well Kirk, as much as I wanted to do your op, things have changed slightly … Hammer, Gonzo, pack out for a three-day. You two head to the mainland, give the airport room, but report how far the Chinese lines have expanded, if there are patrols, what their area of operations is … well, you know the drill. Don’t get friendly with the natives.”
“ROE?”
“Rules of engagement are to not be stupid. I need you to make it back, I need you to gather Intel. You’re Critical Skills Operators, use your heads. Kirk, Davis, and Snow, you’re tasked with North Island; figure out what the new Chinatown expansion involves at the Naval Air Station, also plan for three days. Happy and Chuck, you’re with me. We’re taking Hammer and Gonzales across the harbor, using the bridge for some cover. After insertion the three of us will run up the shoreline in the Zodiac to check the commercial ports. If any of their ships are in berth we need to disable it. Happy, see if our hooyah buddies left anything useful in their mission boxes. If you can’t find a limpet mine, make something, make anything, I don’t care, just make something that’ll work. Ski, comms, get the net set up, test them out and get Simmons and Jones up to speed.”
Turning to the two corporals, he continued. “You two guys are now in charge of staying low and making sure our little Forward Operating Base still belongs to us when we return. Questions?”
The seven men of the MSOT looked determined; Simmons and Jones looked a little wary.
“Good, make it happen. Wheels up in three hours, team meeting in two.”
Everyone started towards the door. “Simmons, Jones, stand by for a sec.”
The two Marines stopped and faced Aymond. “You don’t get to sit on your asses while we’re gone. Sit down and grab a pen, you’re going to need to take some notes. First, pick your favorite M-ATV of the group; you’re going to be our Quick Reaction Force, ready to roll if someone has a call-out. You’ll want to load it with the following items …”
Colorado and Utah border
Cliff looked at the sun edging towards the mountains in the west, the direction highway 491 was now facing. The tiny town of Dove Creek, Colorado lay in ruins behind him, not from his own doing, nor from any living person he saw. The town was owned by the dead and would be for some time, not that there was much of anything left that anyone would want to save. The town was obliterated by fire and who knew what else. It seemed unlikely that the cult had traveled this far. They appeared to have worked hard to keep the center of Cortez clear of the undead, even though the stores on the east side of town were still completely overrun. Cliff would never know and he didn’t care. His simple mission continued to evolve as new information and intelligence was gathered, but he had to act fast or the small groups of what remained of society would be lost. Nothing else matter
ed.
The piece of paper that he used to work out the encrypted message using the one-time pad cypher was long gone; burned, the ashes scattered. Not that Cliff seriously thought anyone would find a scrap piece of paper amongst the death and destruction, but state secrets are just that and they only remain secrets through diligence.
Cliff checked his watch and looked at the sun. He had no map, but he had a basic idea of how to get to where he needed to go. At some point he would probably have to scavenge a gas station for a map, but for now he could simply follow the signs for Salt Lake City. Granite Mountain wouldn’t be too hard to find from there; he had visited once a number of years ago. The archive was real; that much was public knowledge. What was housed far deeper into the mountain beyond the archive was a closely guarded secret. The facility didn’t appear to be up and running according to Clint’s message, so Cliff had to assume he would have to fight his way into another damned hole in the ground against the army of death.
Maybe some of the Mormons in the archive survived; they could help … if anyone could survive this shit storm it would have been the Mormon people.
Will they actually help … will they believe me?
When he’d visited the facility before, he’d been in civilian clothing, as were the others in the archive. To all the people working with the microfilm and computers he’d been just another archivist. There were a series of secured areas that separated the white from the dark worlds that lurked in the heart of the mountain. A digital empire of caffeine, cigarette smoke filling dimly lit rooms full of monitors, and the most rag-tag-looking group of elite government operatives that the new era had ever seen, fighting many enemies. Like the Lernaean Hydra, all from the same body, all with the same mission, but every time an attack was foiled, two more took its place. The People’s Liberation Army of China had, or has, Cliff corrected himself, an advanced cyber warfare unit, and deep inside Granite Mountain were the college dropouts, dorks and digital savants that were the best the United States had to offer. They fought a war unseen, against the ones and zeros of the new age, a keyboard the sword of the modern warrior.
Cliff shook his head. Maybe it would make more sense if it really was aliens for once … just once.
The sign gave a distance to Moab, Utah. The distance didn’t mean much except to help Cliff gauge the time it would take for him to travel. The speedometer and the odometer in the truck didn’t work, although the fuel gauge appeared to function, but Cliff doubted its accuracy.
He stole a glance at his watch again before driving onto the shoulder and around an overturned RV.
I’ll stop on the edge of town, find a gas station, find a map, and fill up the tank …
Cliff jerked the wheel to the left and across the dotted yellow line of the two-lane highway. A group of dead were clustered, feeding on what appeared to have been a deer in the middle of the road, and he hadn’t even seen them until he came around the edge of the RV.
I better not drive through the night.
With a slight frown at the thought, Cliff knew he would have to take the usual elaborate steps of finding a place he could secure, clearing it of any threats, then reversing the process in the morning. The entire process was growing tiresomely annoying.
CHAPTER 5
Coronado, CA
March 13, Year 1
Aymond knelt on the roof next to the big HVAC unit to hide from view. Using binoculars, he scanned the bay and Silver Strand Boulevard, which traveled towards the base at North Island. Clouds blocked the twinkling stars and the moon hadn’t risen yet. Aymond frowned at the thought of the moon. He had no idea what phase the moon was in currently, nor when it raised or set. He didn’t even know what time sunrise and sunset were. These were all details of mission planning that he took great care in acknowledging for an operation, but he’d never worried about the actual data before. It was so easily looked up via the Navy’s weather reporting database, which contained teams and reams of data for any point on the globe. Today he simply had to wait impatiently for the sun to set before beginning his survey of the surrounding area.
Below decks, on the ground floor, his men were finishing their mission preparations. Their weapons were clean, locked, loaded, and verified ready, face paint was being applied, medium-sized rucks were loaded with the basics that each team believed they would need. Aymond was anxious, not for himself, but for his men. Even in Afghanistan he’d entered their missions with the quiet confidence of a trained professional, but everything about their situation pushed against the grain of that professionalism. They were taking chances … he was taking chances against the hope that they could remain like the Raiders of World War II: quiet, stealthy, observe, report and leave a destroyed and confused enemy in their wake.
A gentle tap on the shoulder brought Aymond’s attention around to see Ski, his face and body a dark mass in the shadows of the roof. Face, ears, hands, and neck, any skin that might show and glow against a dark background was painted, but the shaggy bush appearance was from the ghillie suit he wore. Ski tapped his wrist like he was tapping a watch, and then gave a thumbs up. Aymond nodded. Time to go.
Quietly they climbed through the roof hatch, closing it behind them. If the overhead flights were taking notice of such details, they couldn’t let it be seen. Right now they were comfortable operating from the complex that housed the Teams, but if they had to go to ground again they might be in a bad way with so many PLA and Zeds in the area.
Aymond joined the men under the covered area in the rear courtyard. Kirk, Davis and Snow each wore some combination of ghillie suit. Happy, Ski, and Aymond wore their standard combat load-out, with wetsuits under their utilities. The bay was cold, and they might end up in the water for some time.
Simmons and Jones stood ready, loaded with a full combat load; each appeared nervous but resolute in their task. Hammer and Gonzo wore the dark blue camouflage pattern of the Navy’s utility uniform.
“Switching sides on us, gentlemen?”
“No Chief, we figured we had a lot of concrete and not many trees on the mainland along the bay.”
Aymond nodded with approval. They were right.
“What about you three? Going for the only three bushes on the runways at NAS Halsey Field?”
Kirk, Davis, and Snow all looked at Aymond expressionlessly, his lame attempt at some pre-operation humor falling flat.
Kirk spoke up for the group. “We’re going to sneak and peek along the shoreline, use the golf course for cover, and make our way across base towards the carrier berths. Snow had a good idea about that.”
Aymond looked at Snow, who explained without being asked. “The attack was well-coordinated: EMP, the virus spray flyover; everything makes sense except for the Panamax ships anchored at the mouth of the bay. So I believe either the PLA has already off-loaded at other facilities like Long Beach, or they got fucked and this is a backup location. There’s a lack of multiple cranes on the civilian side of the bay, and what are left are the Navy’s cranes. They move on rails and could handle a Conex, no problem.”
Nodding, Aymond agreed. “You have a good point, Snow. If that is the case then we need to deny them access, if at all possible.”
“It’s only about a three-mile hump to the golf course, so it shouldn’t take us too long …”
“Master Guns, maybe we’re approaching this the wrong way.”
Aymond looked at Jones, a little surprised by his interruption. “Chief, just call me Chief, and how is that?”
“Uh, Chief, you … we, well. We’re approaching this like a conventional force. Observe, plan, act then repeat. There ain’t enough of us to do that, maybe if we had a battalion, but not with less than a dozen guys. Why not treat this like the goat fuckers in the ‘Stan? IEDs, booby traps, destroy supplies, harassment stuff, you know?”
Looking at Jones, Aymond stood quietly.
“You know, uh Chief …”
Aymond held up his hand to interrupt Jones. “I’m not saying you’re wrong
. Guys?”
One by one, each of the MSOT expressed their opinions. Generally most agreed with Jones, with some minor tweaks and suggestions. Aymond listened to each man intently.
“OK, I like it, what about tonight?”
“We still do it; we need the intel, but also be on the watch for unconventional approaches, tactics and locations we can use against those assholes.”
“Well there you go, gentlemen, The Gonzo has spoken and I agree.”
On The Beach
Ten minutes later, Kirk, Davis, and Snow slinked out onto the edge of the beach, moving slowly and deliberately in the darkness, using every shadow they found to their advantage. From the towering resort windows high above them, dull thuds fell against their ears. The trapped dead were hitting the glass, trying to reach them as they moved past, Snow slowly moved his head from side to side. Kirk and Davis were barely a shadow of darkness gliding silently past on the beach.
How could the dead possibly see or hear us.? I can’t even see or hear us.
Movement caught the corner of Snow’s eye. His eyes trained on Kirk, who was about twenty-five yards ahead of him and had his right hand raised in a fist next to his head, before flattening his palm and pushing downward slightly. In unison the three of them sank onto the beach, appearing nothing more than pieces of vegetation against the large rocks in the break of the beach next to the resort.
Lights!
Snow moved his rifle slightly, using the powerful optic to peer out at the water and the boat approaching the shoreline to the north of their position.