Hunters
Hunters
By
James Lincoln
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons living, dead or undead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2020 by James Lincoln
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 9798634683386
Cover design by James Lincoln
First Edition
Thanks for coming back. Enjoy.
Chapter 1
How long has it been? Three years? Ten, fifteen? I’ve lost track. I do know that I had brown hair when it all started and now I have mostly grey, all from the stress though. Children born here in the camp are now school age, and others have been dead longer than those kids have been alive. Things have mostly gone back to normal. As normal as things can be, considering the circumstances. The world’s population has been decimated, with as little as thirty to forty thousand remaining across the globe by any educated guesses. Cities were destroyed and abandoned. Families torn apart. All from a virus that swept the globe.
It was never pinpointed exactly where the virus originated, but they had narrowed it down to some area around the Chinese-Russian border.
The Chinese government tried to keep it contained, but China is a large country and it is almost impossible to watch every square mile of its border. Reports of the outbreak soon surfaced in Mongolia and Russia. Within weeks the virus had crossed the vast tundra of Russia and had reached Finland.
The United States had closed all ports and any airline coming to and from other countries were extremely restricted.
We all watched the horrors unfold across the world from the safety of our living rooms. Hunger riots in Kazakhstan, African warlords seizing the opportunity to send their countries into further turmoil. These were the stories that dominated the headlines. It was a miracle some lunatic dictator didn’t unleash a barrage of nukes in an attempt to eradicate the virus.
Even with all of our efforts to protect our country it was only a matter of time before the virus reached our shores.
I had been there, that first day.
A financial banker for Axiom International by the name of James P. Benson had landed at John Wayne Airport, returning from China.
His flight arrived sometime between 8 A.M. and 11 A.M., based on the time we received the call from dispatch. He hadn’t even left the terminal when he started throwing up all of his inflight meal across the linoleum floor. He had claimed he was fine, but airport police took him into custody after he became belligerent with another passenger.
Airport police were soon calling 911 after Mr. Benson flat-lined while in their custody. He was rushed to the E.R. where the hospital staff were unable to revive him. Because no one knew the severity of the virus his body wasn’t quarantined.
Security cameras showed Mr. Benson being loaded into a cubicle in the freezer at the morgue and seventeen minutes later he was leaving the morgue of his own accord. He then wandered through the halls of the hospital occasionally reaching out for a passing nurse or patient. He made it all the way to the main lobby before he found his first victim. We got the call twenty-eight minutes after that.
If we had known then what was happening, the entire airport would have been quarantined instead of just the hospital where the virus took complete hold of him. A lot of effort was taken to curb the virus at the hospital, little did anyone know that the real threat was the vomit at the airport. Who knows how it spread from there, with the virus having no airborne properties. Maybe the janitor had a cut on his hand when he cleaned it up. Or maybe a fly landed on it before nibbling on someone’s hot dog. No one will ever know the method, but that’s where it all started here in the United States.
Within days all travel to and from the bay cities was restricted. That didn’t stop the panicked families who loaded up their cars, trucks, and motor homes with everything they could, from heading inland. The last cover of Time magazine showed the 10 Freeway heading out of Los Angeles. It was a veritable parking lot. If they were to take that same photo today, I’m sure it would look exactly the same, except their escape vehicles have turned into their tombs.
It didn’t take long for the virus to be reported across the country. Port cities came first and then it slowly made its way toward the mid-west and central plains.
Rotting skin, joints stricken with rigor mortis, not much is known about the virus other than it affects the nervous system and it didn’t care whether the carrier was alive or dead. Most people lost control of basic motor functions, stumbling around like they were sleep walking or drunk. Speech abilities were non-existent. Their skin would crack, peel, bleed, and rot away and the all telling waxed over, glossy eyes were the common giveaway of people infected with the virus. The body stopped taking care of itself. The only instinct these zombies seemed to hold on to was feeding. Primarily on other people.
The news stations kept a live broadcast for a while before they went off the air one by one. Some of them signed off with their goodbyes and good lucks, others just unceremoniously pulled the plug. It was kind of eerie watching the Please Stand By symbols overtake the once powerful networks. The opinions of sports commentators and the laugh tracks of sitcoms were replaced by the high-pitched whine of the “Emergency Broadcast System,” a system that never broadcasted anything. I wonder how many of the people working in the newsrooms actually made it home to their families.
Some people headed inland, whatever that accomplished, as the virus moved fast. Some people formed communities much like ours, only to be overcome by the roaming hordes of infected humans. Others boarded up their homes in hopes that they could wait out the disaster. They were met with an even worse fate. Some people banded together to roam the wastelands murdering, raping, and destroying everything. They became known as scavengers. They were characterized by their ramshackle vehicles, most of which spewed thick black smoke out of their exhaust pipes.
We hadn’t had an incident here involving scavengers in years and it had been even longer since we had seen any infected people. The remote location of the camp made it so that even if the scavengers had wandered this far back into the mountains to rape, steal, and destroy, as they so often do, they would have a tough time getting through our defenses. As for the infected populace, most of us figured they were dying of starvation so they would probably be pretty easy to pick off.
Our camp was located in what used to be Mendocino National Forest, just north of San Francisco. A few of the residents, who had prepared for this kind of thing, founded it not long after Day One. They brought their provisions, and know how, to the forest and established this safe haven. It wasn’t long before it had flourished into what it is today, with almost a thousand strong and growing. It may not seem like much, but it is one of the larger camps around, at least of the ones we’ve been able to make contact with. We knew our camp wasn’t the only camp around as a few years ago we had made contact with a camp hundreds of miles south of us in Southern California, which we called Camp Bravo.
The camp provided a sense of safety, and with it, the first glimmer of hope in years. Everyone at the camp was our family and we would die defending it and everyone in it.
We were completely self-sustaining. Essential crops were grown inside the compound, while others, crops that needed to be grown in mass quantities for all the residents, were grown just outside the camp’s walls. Cattle, and other animals that were needed were kept on the opposite side of the camp. We even had a small amount of electricity generated from the small river that bisected the camp. All of this, our crops, animals, housing units, the sch
ool, mechanic shop, was surrounded by a twelve-foot-high security fence. The fence was camouflaged on the outside and was topped with looped razor wire along the entire perimeter. Whenever someone came and went, they had to pass through a large steel gate that moved on rollers and passed along a steel track. Even my team needed clearance whenever we came and went.
My team was one unit of the camp’s search and rescue team. We performed daily monitoring trips into the wilderness surrounding the camp and beyond. Even though we hadn’t seen or heard from any infected person or scavengers in years, there was still an ever-present threat facing the camp. A single person infected with the virus, or a small band of scavengers, could bring down the camp.
The unit that I was a part of was also a special off shoot of the search and rescue teams, we had a second primary directive, to hunt down and, if necessary, kill the forces that threatened the camp, the infected and the humans known as the scavengers. They were extremely dangerous, more so than the people actually infected with the virus.
Each member of our team was specifically chosen to fit a certain criterion. Most of the camp consisted of teachers, mechanics, and farmers. They weren’t soldiers. They wouldn’t stand a chance if the camp was attacked, at least not for very long. Sometimes I even wondered if the few teams we had would be able to do anything.
We didn’t have the luxury of wearing uniforms, so we wore a pair of jeans or cargo paints and a jacket. Each of us wore a tactical vest equipped with survival gear. We spent a lot of time away from our camp and it was very important to dress and equip accordingly. Every search and rescue member, however, wore a special patch on the left shoulder of their jackets, a gold circle with a gold hammer in the middle emblazoned on a red background. Each one of my team members also had a special patch we wore on our right shoulders, a silver HK.
I watched as my team prepared our vehicle for today’s excursion. Johnny had the hood to the Jeep propped up and was checking vital fluids. You didn’t want to get miles away from the camp only to realize you ran out of oil, or gas, or worse.
Johnny had actually built the Jeep into the rugged terrain monster that it was, even with his skinny frame. I’m not sure what year the Jeep was, but it was a four door Wrangler model, so it was from the early 2000s. It was equipped with 35-inch all-terrain tires, specially designed with a network of geometric designs located inside the tire itself that didn’t require air which meant that we would never get a flat. He had removed the doors and replaced them with a lightweight reinforced steel casing that featured a second steel plate that could slide up and down, like a window, to allow the passenger to shoot and take cover when needed. The rear cargo area had been outfitted to carry a bare minimum of essentials including ammunition, fuel, first-aid kit, and a small number of rations in case we were ever forced to stay the night outside of the camp. He had also replaced gasoline engine with a diesel one. It made the Jeep a little louder, but we made up for it in fuel mileage. It enabled us to patrol further away from the camp, and diesel fuel was easier to come by in the city wastelands. And currently, its removable top was sitting next to me.
Johnny came from a family of mechanics, and one of his older brothers, the middle brother, was actually located at Camp Bravo. Johnny was a bit of a green horn when it came to the business of our patrols, and we didn’t take him out much, but he made up for it with his skills under the hood.
California, on the other hand, understood the ins and outs of daily patrols and was one of the best shooters I had ever seen. He called himself California, but we never got his real name. All we knew was that he was a former Marine and he found himself making his way north after the government collapsed. Unlike the rest of us he sported long black hair, tied in a ponytail this morning, and he was always clean shaven. When we were on patrols, he would use his knife to shave.
California always double checked each box of rounds that he loaded into the back of the Jeep. Our rifles would always be lined up along the top of a worktable he would set up behind the Jeep. He would check every aspect about every rifle, to make sure it was in good working order. Normally this would be done by the weapons owner, but times had changed, and California wanted to make sure that every man was properly equipped, at least when it came to their weapons.
Declan, with his head of bright red hair, was sitting in the driver’s seat of the Jeep tuning in the CB radio, which was mounted on the top rail bar, just above the rear-view mirror. Declan was born in Ireland, but his family moved to San Francisco when he was two and he lived there most of his life. He was also an amateur pilot. He had a wife and child back in Ireland and had hoped to get back to them one day, if he could ever find a salvageable aircraft capable of making the long journey. His family was actually visiting his homeland when the borders were closed. He had just dropped them off at the same airport patient zero was hours away from being taken into custody at.
Standing on the back seat, just behind Declan was the giant rock of a human being, Charlie. Charlie was an army veteran and only liked one thing, being Charlie. He was loud, obnoxious, and downright got on your nerves sometimes, but he knew the outdoors like the back of his hand, and he was Johnny’s oldest brother. Charlie didn’t take after the rest of family, and instead chose to focus his attention on sports, baseball in particular, but when an injury took him permanently to the sideline his affection grew for hunting and bush craft. However, that didn’t mean that he lost his love for the game. He usually carried a gear bag with wooden baseball bats on either side. There wasn’t a gun Charlie hadn’t shot, including the M-60 he was currently bolting to the top of the Jeep.
I was too busy watching Charlie swing the M-60 around taking target practice with invisible enemies that I didn’t see Johnny walk up beside. “Captain?” he said.
His voice brought me back to reality. I turned to him. “What is it, Johnny?”
“I finished installing the new air intake. It should get you some more horsepower on the low end and increase the fuel mileage a little bit.”
“Great,” I said.
“Do you think I could come out with you guys today? I can make sure that there are no air leaks in the tubing.”
I watched them all for a moment, pondering my decision. We didn’t have any priority missions today, and I expected it to be pretty quiet out there. “Sure,” I said. “Get your field pack.”
“Yes,” Johnny said happily. He turned with a hop and excitedly ran toward the garage.
“Hey, Johnny,” I said to him as he ran away. He turned but continued to walk backward toward the garage. “Bring all the tools you’re gonna need because I’m not coming back until we’re done.”
“Yes, sir,” he said and turned back toward the garage.
I got up and walked toward the Jeep. California was securing the cargo in the back. “Everything ready?” I asked.
“Almost, Captain,” he said.
I continued around the other side of the Jeep, inspecting the antenna mounted on the driver’s side rear quarter panel. Declan had the CB radio module in his lap and was testing channels. “How’s it going, Declan?” I said.
“Good, Cap. Just doing frequency scans,” Declan said.
“Making sure we are incommunicado with home base here,” Charlie butted in.
“I don’t think you know what that means,” Declan said.
“Sure I do.”
“If you say so.”
Charlie threw a piece of trash he had in his hand at Declan. Declan returned the favor with a kiss gesture.
I moved along to the front of the Jeep. The hood was still propped up. I couldn’t tell you what I was looking at other than it was an engine, and everything looked as though it should. I removed the rod holding the hood up and lowered it, dropping it the last few inches so it would connect with the latch, then attached the black fasteners on either side of the hood to keep it in place. I starred at the black HK symbol spray painted on the hood, contemplating its meaning.
“We ready, Cap?” Jo
hnny said behind me.
I turned. He was holding a large black duffel bag. Who knows what he thought necessary to bring. He would learn in time and it was my job to teach him. Even though it was still a bit foggy out I could tell it was going to be a nice day, so I decided to give him a pass this time and not chastise him in front of everyone. “Throw your stuff in the back,” I said.
“Yes, sir.” He jogged off and chucked his bag in the back.
Declan had finished with the radio and returned it to the mount.
“All ready here,” he said.
“Let’s roll out,” Charlie said, pulling the slide back on his M-60.
I heard the back door of the Jeep shut and California stepped out from behind. He nodded.
“Then let’s go,” I said.
“Where am I going to sit, Cap?” Johnny said. He was standing behind California.
I quickly glanced at everyone. “You ride bitch.”
Johnny dropped his head in disappointment, and everyone let out a chuckle.
Declan drove the Jeep quietly through the camp. It was still early morning and most people would still be asleep. There was a still a thin layer of fog covering everything. As we approached the gate, the two guard towers appeared through the white fog like stoic ethereal watch towers. I saluted one of the guards on the tower and he in turn signaled the guards on the ground. They unlocked the gate and slowly pulled the heavy doors open, just enough for the Jeep to squeeze through. As we passed, I nodded to the guard, he nodded back.
Charlie turned and watched the gate close as we drove away. He was the only one leaving a family behind today. He may act tough around us, but he was a giant teddy bear when it came to his family. He watched until the gate latched shut and he could no longer see the gate through the fog.
***
The rain fell lightly that morning. It was that kind of rain that was silent, but landed hard enough on the leaves of the trees around us to make them seem like they were dancing. October in Northern California was cold, but not freezing, although that weather was on the way. I always preferred the colder weather and now I looked forward to it more and more each year. The cold weather put me at ease for a multitude of reasons, mostly because it was a stark contrast to the weather on that day so many years ago when this all started.
Wanderer (Book 2): Hunters Page 1