by Dave Lund
“How did you end up picking your house for the group compound?”
“We have the high ground; we also had some of the necessities already in place. The water and fuel tanks were put in when we built the house, the water reclamation system to the secondary cistern as well. The fence and the planters, which you may have noticed are really heavy barricades, went in last, after we had formed. The basement was turned from a movie room with high-end entertainment equipment to storage with lockers for individuals in the group, as we quickly outgrew what Angel had designed for our own pantry and long-term storage in the house.”
“Have the dead ever been this concentrated at your gate and fence?”
“No, never. Before, the herds would pass on the Interstate below; we would see them go by, the massive clouds of flies, the smell, but no more than a few came up the hillside. They usually just marched one way or the other following the road.”
“I don’t think that the uptick in the number of dead bodies walking up to your fence is just a random coincidence, Willy.”
“What do you … no, you don’t think … that’s just evil.”
“Well, you have what they want and they don’t approve of who you are. Six months ago it would have made national news; now, since the fall of mankind, it’s just something we have to deal with.”
“How do we deal with it?”
“Did anyone go check out our wrecked truck?”
“No, why?”
“Is there a way that you guys can get out and down the mountain to the truck? We had some gear in the bed that might be useful for your needs.”
“Angel uses fireworks, like black cats, to distract the dead to gain a way through by using the horses, but I don’t know if it would be enough to get through our gate.”
“What if we don’t go through the gate, what if we went out the back?”
“Over the edge of the hillside? The horses couldn’t go that way.”
“Are there any dead at the fence there?”
“No.”
“Then that is the path we take. A trick I was taught as a young soldier is that in a combat zone be like water, take the path of least resistance, flow past your obstacles and, if something stops you, well, you overcome that with brute force.”
“Chivo, you’re a piece of work. Let me get Angel, we’ll have to have a group meeting.”
Guillermo walked away from the fire, calling for his husband.
“That was impressive.”
“What’s that?”
“The way you directed the conversation, the questions. He had no idea he was being interrogated. Did you go to a class for that?”
“Actually yeah, but the class sucked, that’s more from years outside the wire working with the locals. You learn how to get a feel for people really quickly and approach the situation as needed. No need to go all good cop bad cop, Bexar.”
“I always preferred doing it bad cop, bad cop, more fun that way.”
Chivo laughed. “You’re not right, you know that?”
Bexar shrugged and drank his beer.
SSC, Ennis, TX
Amanda checked on Clint; he was asleep, or appeared to be at least. She had to start, she needed to take action, but she would have to do it in secret until the right time came. Dressed in her normal jogging and physical training gear, Amanda headed towards the tunnel.
The MRAPs were located near the entrance to the tunnel, which was handy as there was nearly twenty miles of tunnel going all the way back to where the original Superconducting Super Collider’s offices were located. Many of the other things she wanted were stored in tunnel sections as well, but those were further away than the big armored trucks.
She climbed into one of the electric carts, like a beefed-up industrial golf cart with a flatbed, and drove as quickly as the electric motor would allow through the echoing chamber.
Food, ammo, clothing … fuel, this time the trip is done right; it is completed without having to scavenge for fuel, for clothes, for ammo, for food while en route. No, this time I’m taking everything I’ll need.
The running clothes would be her cover; if Clint found her she could claim she couldn’t sleep, went for a run and decided to explore the tunnel. Her M4 rested on the seat next to her, but the chances of a reanimate getting into the tunnel was as remote as waking up and this entire world only being a bad dream.
Radio Hut, Groom Lake, NV
Bill wrote the directions clearly on a yellow lined pad of paper, step by step on how to build a spark gap radio out of car parts and other items that survivors would have or could scavenge wherever they were. The antenna was the hardest part because of the mast. The good HAM radio guys would use a telescoping fiberglass mast, but the survivors would have to make do with what they had. At least the co-ax could be scavenged from any home that was wired for cable TV, which was practically every home built in the last fifty years. At the end of the instructions for constructing the radio was an explanation on how to use it, how to tune it, and how to communicate via Morse Code, including the breakdown of what the alphabet was. If any survivor knew CW communications, then that survivor would have probably built a rig already.
“Do I just say dot and dash?”
Bill nodded. “Yeah, keep it simple. Make a recording and loop it on the shortwave every hour in-between the normal broadcast, but don’t start playing the message until I tell you. Jake is going to get those new commando women to take me topside to put together the antenna.”
“Got it.”
Bill walked out of the radio hut, shaking his head at the technical explanation. It was the most MacGyvered piece of work he had seen in a while.
Jake’s Office, Groom Lake, NV
“No Brit, I don’t.”
“Jake, those women are playing you for a fool; they haven’t paid their dues and you’ve put them at the top. You’ve let them start training their own little army, all the while they’re waiting to take you down and take over our nice underground city.”
“Brit, they did pay their dues, they paid their dues like every other citizen that has reached us for safety, they paid their dues out there fighting and surviving every single day they weren’t safe with us.”
“You’re wrong and you know you’re wrong!”
“Brit, I’m not going to argue with you. These women don’t belong in the kitchen doing dishes, I’ve put them in a position to do what they’re meant to do. If you’re so damn sure I’m wrong, go with Bill and keep an eye on them while he erects his new antenna.”
“I’m not saying I should …”
“You should. Go. Get outside and get some fresh air for a change, you need to remember what sunlight feels like. Besides, you need to spend time with them. If you would give them a chance you might find that Jessie and Sarah aren’t bad people, they’ve just been through a lot … we’ve all been through a lot.”
MSOT, Coronado, CA
Snow and Gonzo were more bushes than men in their ghillie suits on the hillside. The heavy sniper rifle wasn’t with either of them this time; they took turns with a spotting scope watching the Coronado Bridge while the other maintained security. A helicopter was already circling Halsey Field; it wasn’t spending much time over the fire, though.
Gonzo whispered from behind the spotting scope, “There’s a convoy of those Chinese Jeeps racing that way. What do you think that the helicopter is hoping to find?”
The helicopter stopped and hovered near the building and compound they had been using, the spotlight trained on the ground in a single spot. The helicopter began circling, the spotlight staying on the same spot.
“Whatever they were looking for, he found it.”
“Gonzo, has the Humvee joined the FOB?”
“No …shit.”
“Dagger-One, Dagger-Actual.”
Their ear pieces crackled with the radio traffic. “Dagger-Actual, go with traffic.”
“Chief, has Simmons arrived?”
“No … Simmons, check in.”
The radio was silent, the call repeated.
“There’s a problem. Roll the QRF.”
Snow’s radio traffic would spur a lot of activity on the other side of the park; they were only about a half-mile away from what a few of them had begun calling Fort Apache, the joke more real than they would have liked.
“They’re taking the bridge; get ready with the clacker.”
It really wasn’t a clacker, it was a sophisticated digital long-range wireless detonating device, but ever since Vietnam, when the Force Recon Marines would put out Claymores for their night camp, the triggering device had been referred to as a clacker.
Snow couldn’t see what Gonzo was watching; the Chinese Jeeps had lights on, or he assumed they did, but they were too far for him to see without the scope.
“On my mark … three …two …one … mark!”
Snow pushed both buttons, one being a part of the safety mechanism.
“Good kill … oh shit, man, I wish you could have seen that … like six of those Jeep things and a radar truck drove off the missing section of bridge.”
The sound of the explosion finally rumbled past them.
“Wow, those guys are flipping shit! There are still another dozen Jeeps on the bridge with a radar truck behind them, but it doesn’t look like they know what to do … looks like they’re waiting for a commander or some sort of direction.”
“Gonzo, now I wish we would have rigged the second support so we could blow that and send all of those fuckers to their virgins or whatever it is they believe in.”
The helicopter left station to where the bridge collapsed, shining the spotlight on where the vehicles drove off of the missing bridge
Gonzo keyed his radio. “Chief, the bridge bought you some time, but probably not much.”
Watching through the scope, he could see the Chinese and Korean soldiers standing at the edge of the bridge, firing their rifles at the ground.
“I think the Zeds from the softball fields are causing them some problems; there’s a lot of small arms fire.”
Snow smiled. “They don’t know what to do without their radar trucks … I bet if we killed the trucks they would get overrun after the fence failed.”
“How do we do that?”
“We don’t, but fucking Chuck and Hammer do. Put a BMG round through the center of each of those radars, and we can figure out how to blow some more shit up on this side.”
Snow keyed his radio. “Chief, the PLA really doesn’t know what to do with the Zeds without the radar trucks. If we hard kill their trucks the Zeds might take care of them for us.”
“Dagger-Actual, Dagger-Two, status.”
“Dagger-Two is nearing position one, approximately sixty mikes.”
“Dagger-Actual, clear, do not proceed to position two, destroy any radar trucks you can locate.”
“Dagger-Two is clear, out.”
Snow watched one of the M-ATVs roar past on 6th Avenue, towards I-5 and the long way around to find Simmons. Aymond attempted again to raise him on the radio, but there was no response.
SSC, Ennis, TX
Amanda picked an MRAP at random; the one they took to the library hadn’t been refueled or rearmed, so she passed on that one. Into the back of the big truck she loaded a dozen cases of MREs. Two hundred and forty-four meals in all; that was her conservative guess for what she would need and others might need, even though Groom Lake had their own supplies. Five thousand rounds of XM-193 for her M4 took less room than she would have expected. The machine gun on the turret was something she really wasn’t familiar with, except that Clint had called it a “fifty” and also an “M2”; the ammo was also linked together. It took her a few tries of opening green metal ammo cans, but she finally found one that was stenciled as being 50-caliber. When she opened the can she found the surprisingly large rounds linked together like a metal belt. Although she wasn’t sure the ammo cans went with the big machine gun, she loaded them onto the flatbed golf cart and drove it to the MRAP.
She looked at her watch and saw that three hours had elapsed in her supply excursion to the tunnel; the water, clothing, and fuel would have to be taken care of a different night. Amanda wasn’t sure when she would leave, but she knew it would be at night, which was really subjective as there was no night or day underground. At the very least it would be when Clint was sleeping.
I better set a date in my mind or I’ll keep dawdling around with supplies and get caught before I go. Should I leave a note?
Amanda plugged the cart into the charging station, did some burpees to get a little sweaty to fit her cover story, and opened the hatch back into the climate-controlled facility.
Coronado, CA
Aymond drove the M-ATV, the laughably undermanned QRF comprised of only three Marines. In the last wars the Quick Response Forces would consist of more men, with air support, significant firepower, and more vehicles. In the land of the Zed it was one truck and three Marines, although they were motivated and angry.
The drive seemed to take forever, which was understandable due to the distance they had to cover, but it seemed even more so in that they were racing the PLA to save one of their own.
“Chief, the Chinese pulled their head out of their ass and are heading back down the bridge.”
“Copy.”
“Shit. Well how do we look, Kirk?”
“Nothing following, Chief.”
The armored truck roared past the home improvement store, through Imperial Beach and towards Coronado. Zeds were a problem; Aymond spent most of his time driving across curbs and medians to dodge them, driving as fast as he dared.
“Gonzo, where was the chopper spotlighting?”
“About where the SEAL compound is, maybe a bit further north; couldn’t really see much more than that.”
The narrow stretch of land separating the ocean and the bay was mostly clear of the dead, but as they closed in on the more populated part of Coronado the Zeds grew in numbers rapidly.
“Chief, the Chinese are entering Imperial Beach; more coming out of the airport.”
Busy driving, Aymond yelled at Davis over all the noise, “Tell Hammer to start engaging as soon as they can, anything to keep more of those fuckers busy and off our ass.”
Davis keyed the radio, “Hammer, Chuck, Chief says start blowing shit apart as soon as you can, sooner the better.”
The radio clicked once in response, which Aymond took as a good sign, since his scout sniper pair was too close to the enemy to talk on the radio. The Zeds were a mob, like rioters looting a store; they all gathered around the outside of the community center and the pool. In the green black world of the night vision goggles he wore, Aymond saw the tall whip antenna of the Humvee sticking out of the crowd like a narrow flag.
“Humvee is in the crowd. Kirk, check the IR and give me some good news.”
“One warm body and one warm engine.”
“Is the body moving?”
“No.”
“OK … light’em up, make us a path.”
Kirk walked the fire from the M2 back and forth, moving slowly forward in quick bursts with the remote turret, Aymond driving slowly into the path he made, the rest of the Zeds swarming around the back of the truck as it passed. Too close to use the M2 anymore, Kirk opened the top hatch and climbed through the turret, using his M4 to put down the Zeds standing in their way.
“Davis, what do you think?”
“I think we’re going out through the roof hatch and making a jump from the hood of the M-ATV; put our bumper against the fucking Humvee.”
Aymond drove forward until the Humvee rocked from the M-ATV bumper pushing it.
“Kirk, coming up, climb out!”
Kirk climbed out, Davis climbing out behind him, and they went over the front of the M-ATV, dead hands reaching and clawing at the side of the truck, trying to reach them. They jumped the small gap onto the roof of the Humvee, getting to the middle of the wide truck while attempting to stay out of reach of
the cold fingers grabbing at their boots. Davis gave cover, putting down the Zeds closest to Kirk and the Humvee as Kirk knelt on the roof and peered into the windshield at Simmons.
Simmons lay slumped over the steering wheel, head pushed back at a sharp angle and his eyes unblinkingly open.
Kirk stood, tapped Davis on the shoulder and jumped back onto the hood of the M-ATV; Davis followed and they climbed their way back into the safety of the armored truck.
“Simmons is dead, Chief; broken neck, eyes wide open.”
Aymond nodded somberly. Their band of ten was down to nine. Although Simmons hadn’t been a Recon Marine or a part of the MARSOC community, he’d still been a Marine and someone he had grown to like since finding him and Jones at The Palms.
“Kirk, make it so Simmons doesn’t come back as a Zed.”
“Aye, Chief,” and Kirk centered a burst from the 50-cal at the passenger window, destroying Simmons’ body.
Aymond keyed the radio. “Simmons is KIA. Dagger-Actual returning to FOB. Gonzo, update.”
“You’ve got about two dozen trucks headed your way just making the turn from Imperial Beach onto Coronado; the helicopter is starting to move off station too.”
Aymond held the radio handset, not transmitting. “Fuck.”
“What do you want to do, Chief?”
“Kirk, I don’t know, we blew the bridge …ideas?”
“Fuck’em.”
Aymond looked at Davis. “I’m serious, Chief, fucking drive at them, do it fast and we light everything we come up on with the Deuce. We’ll have to pop smoke on Fort Apache if we can’t shake the air support, but we can deal with that after we clear the trucks.”
Aymond shrugged. “Kirk, you got the Deuce?”
“Ready. Let’s blow some shit up, Chief.”
Aymond keyed the radio. “We’re making a run for it through the advancing PLA. Set to exfil the FOB. Happy, Jones, extract Chuck and Hammer.”