by Roger Hayden
"You were trusted to find supplies and bring them back, not go on a murdering and kidnapping spree. The rules are the rules and we'll have to consider a trial, lest word spreads around the base of this woman's story. It makes us look weak, ineffective."
Jacob couldn't believe what he was hearing. "Bill, please. Everything I did was to help out the base. I can't help it if I was attacked in the process. I was defending myself!"
"We'll have to sort it all out during the trial."
Jacob tried to speak but could only get out fragments of words and broken sentences. It didn't make any sense to him. He felt hurt and betrayed.
"You can't do this to me!" he shouted.
Marcus stepped in and put his hand up. "All right, Jacob. That's enough."
Hodder stepped forward again. "Or." He paused. "Or, you can lead a team outside the base, find this man, and put an end to what you started."
Jacob shook his head, trying to comprehend the situation.
"The choice is all yours," Hodder said.
The Stakeout
From behind the weeds under the acacia trees on top of a cliff in the mountains, Greg had watched Base 42 for an entire day. There had been no outside activity, but he could see movement in the towers above the concrete walls surrounding the base. The main, and only, entrance was through the rolling chain-link fence, which itself was capped with concertina wire on top.
Two large red and white signs were attached to the gates that read, "Restricted Access," and "Authorized Personnel Only." Much time had passed since the outpost had operated as a drone site, and Greg wondered whether there was any continuing military presence at the base. He was concerned it had been taken over by a rogue group. The only question was why.
After a restless night’s sleep, it was soon morning, and Greg was determined to find a way in without being seen. However, the desolate area around the base provided no cover. To simply approach it would mean full exposure. Nighttime would be his only option, but he still would need a way in.
Lying on his stomach and propped up by his bug-out bag, Greg held his binoculars up and scanned the walls of the base. It was more of the same: no movement and no activity. The night before, he had noticed the glow of lights inside the base. They had running power, and that alone made Base 42 significant. The guards in the towers looked prepared to defend it against outsiders, much as Greg had been ready to defend his own home.
He had set some trip-wire around his position before going to sleep the night before. The mini-sentry traps were attached to sticks he strategically placed into the ground around him. Once tripped, the wire would trigger a blast from a blank .22, immediately alerting him to an intruder's presence. It was the same concept he’d used at his house, only now the stakes were even higher.
A light breeze swayed through the trees above Greg, and the shade provided him with just enough cover and comfort. He blended into his surroundings, wearing a pair of tan jeans and a tan long-sleeve shirt, and he was alert and focused—confident that he was out of their view. He snacked on an MRE and waited.
Just when he began to expect another long day spent staring at the concrete walls with his binoculars, the gates opened and a large military 5-ton cargo truck drove out. The low growl of the engine echoed for miles as smoke billowed from its exhaust pipe, sticking up from behind the cab. Greg lowered his binos and grabbed his Remington. Looking through the scope, he followed the truck as it drove out into the open desert.
There were two people inside, and the cargo bed was covered by a camouflage tarp. They drove about a mile away from the base and stopped at the same smoking landfill pit Greg had scoped out a day earlier. The truck backed up to the pit and parked.
Greg shifted his focus back to the base where guards had just finished closing the gate. He saw an opportunity, perhaps the only one he would have to get inside. It made perfect sense. The base had to dispose of their trash, and making routine trips to a nearby burn pit were necessary for sanitation purposes.
Curious, Greg moved his sights back to the landfill where the passenger and the driver, both in full HAZMAT, jumped out. Clouds of dust trails floated around the men, nearly concealing them, but Greg stayed locked in. His ballistic long-range riflescope gave him an up-close view of the proceedings, and he remained still, with his elbows dug into the dirt, balancing the rifle.
One man unlatched the tailgate as the other paced around in a circle, kicking up more dirt. The tailgate came down, and the two men walked back to the side of the truck near the front. Greg was intrigued. Seeing men in full HAZMAT had him thinking that he was no safer from the virus out in the desert than he was in Carson City. That, or the men were being overly cautious. The driver pressed a button on the side of the truck and the cargo bed went up at an angle, dumping all the contents directly into the pit.
Greg watched as long black body bags rolled over each other and piled into the gaping, smoky hole. A gruesome idea entered his head, but he tried to dismiss it. Several trash bags fell from the truck as well. The driver pressed another button, and the cargo bed moved back in position. The other man pulled out a can of gasoline and poured it into the pit. He lit a match and tossed it in as flames grew. He stared into the fire for a moment as the driver called to him, signaling it was time for them to leave. They walked to the front of the truck, and the driver stopped—as if by premonition—and began to look around.
Unless they had super-vision, Greg knew that they couldn't see him. He continued to observe as they got back into the truck and rode back to the nearby base with their engine roaring. The entire ordeal took about ten minutes, and after the truck re-entered the base, the gates were closed and locked once more. If the truck left the base on a schedule or routine, Greg could better position himself near the landfill in order to sneak onto the truck and get inside the base. He was ready to kill both passengers if necessary. Then a thought came to him, as if he was trying to talk himself down from the idea of automatically killing people.
Not everyone on the base might be like the man who took Veronica. There might be some good people here.
Regardless, he needed to have a plan, and he would need to act if there was a chance of getting Veronica and escaping with their lives intact.
He stood up to stretch for a moment, expecting another lengthy wait until the trash truck came out again. Suddenly, a guard wheeled the gate open and a small jeep left the base. Greg flew to the ground, among the dirt and pebbles, and picked up his rifle. Through his scope he could see that the jeep was filled with people, all wearing respirator masks, hoodies, and gloves. The jeep was speeding through the desert, leaving a long cloud of dust in its wake. He wasn't yet sure where they were going, but they were headed in his direction.
Greg saw another opportunity, though it was far more risky than riding into the base in the trash truck. If the jeep was headed for the mountain, they were most likely on their way back to town, as it was the only route Greg knew of. He carefully observed the jeep as it drove up the winding mountain curve, getting closer to where he was hiding. He lost sight of the jeep once it drove on a curve.
Greg jumped up again and looked around. It may have been nothing to get worried about, but his instincts told him differently. They were driving fast, and with urgency, as if on a mission. Greg began to rethink his strategy. He got up, moved his bug-out bag under a tree, and pulled out a small camouflage netting. He re-positioned himself facing the road and lay flat on his stomach, rifle in hand. He pulled the netting over him, concealing himself among the weeds and the shade of the nearby tree hanging over him.
He peered out of an opening under the netting, aimed his rifle, and waited. He could hear the engine. The jeep was getting closer, and they were slowing down. It pulled to the side of the road only twenty or so feet from Greg's hidden position. They parked just out of view, but Greg remained still and alert, listening for their every movement.
He could hear a voice call out to the men. Though it was muffled by a mask, it was i
mmediately recognizable to him.
"Keep your eyes open, gentlemen. A quick sweep of this area, and then we move on."
"Who the hell are we looking for? This some kind of wild goose chase?"
"We're looking for an outsider, a man, who poses a threat to the base."
"Well, he's got to be one Billy badass to stir up this much shit."
"Hodder thinks he's watching us."
"Why?"
"Because I stole his supplies, that's why."
"I heard you stole his bitch, too."
"Who said that?"
"Word gets around. Is it true?"
"The only thing that's true is that if we don't find this guy, we'll be pulling trash detail for a month."
"You think so?"
"I know so. Now keep your voices down and split up. We have a lot of ground to cover. We might have to backtrack all the way to his house."
“On foot?”
“No, not on foot. Are you insane?”
"Why not just go there now?"
"Because a guard said he saw some movement up here."
"Probably a damn coyote."
"Regardless, it's got Hodder spooked."
"Heard you shot this dude in the leg."
"You guys are worse than a damn sewing circle."
Greg could finally see them as they came around a bend and into view. There were five of them. They wore respiratory masks and were armed with rifles. They weren't wearing standard protective gear. Instead, they sported jeans, long-sleeved shirts, hiking boots, and gloves. The haste at which their mission was thrown together gave them only so much time to prepare.
Jacob paused to study the landscape, not sure what he was looking for. Catching Greg was a priority, and Jacob felt that his fate was singularly tied to the outcome of the search. Hodder had made that much clear. Jacob wasn't lying when he said that failing the mission would mean trash duty for the men.
The only thing he had left out was the punishment that awaited him. The men didn't care either way. They just wanted to go back to the base and get some rest. For Jacob, it was do or die. If the mission failed, he wasn't going to return to the base. He'd take the jeep and flee. If they succeeded, everything would go back to normal, and he would reclaim his position as one of the top enforcers on base.
Hodder wanted Greg captured for interrogation—to find out what he knew about life on the outside—but Jacob had other ideas. He was confident that, if found, Greg wasn't going to go down without a fight. Killing him was the only option he believed they had. You don’t try to ‘catch’ a rabid dog was his thinking. Jacob told the men to cover a half-mile perimeter. He pulled out a pair of binoculars from his jacket and handed them to a large bearded man named Dixon standing to his right before he walked off.
"Those should help you,” he said, turning back. “They're thermal binos. They can sense body heat."
Dixon took the binoculars and held them up with curiosity. He looked through them and scanned the area.
"You'll be able to see anything that's breathing," Jacob said.
"You sure you want to give these up?" Dixon asked.
"I've got another pair," Jacob answered, pulling another pair from his green army jacket.
"Damn, what else you got in that jacket?" Dixon asked.
"Pictures of your mom," Jacob said with a laugh.
"You're pretty funny for a guy that got chewed out this morning."
"Up yours, Dixon. Let's find this guy. And be careful. He's a dangerous one."
"There ain't shit out here," Dixon said. "Nothing but rocks and dirt. But you're the boss."
The men split up in different directions. Jacob continued walking down the road, passing right in front of Greg's view. A sliver of panic suddenly struck Greg. His van was parked nearby. Though covered and concealed, it wouldn't be too difficult to find if someone really looked. He watched the men go in their separate directions, carefully scanning the area with their rifles at the ready.
From their voices, he knew that one of the men was the one who had taken Veronica. Greg's heart raced. He had to get him. He was the key to learning Veronica's location. Greg also wanted payback. He could take a few of them out, but not all of them, as some were not even in range. Firing the rifle would expose his position, so he waited for the right opportunity to strike.
Suddenly, a short, skinny man walked into Greg's line of sight. The others had all disappeared. He seemed to be heading right for Greg, toward the cliff. Greg's finger caressed the trigger. The man was giving him little choice, but there was something odd about his approach. He was walking funny, like it pained him to move, and he didn't appear to take any notice of Greg's position under the camouflage netting. He walked right up to the tree, set his rifle down, and unzipped his pants.
"Man, I gotta piss!" he bellowed.
He raised his head up and urinated a heavy stream against the tree. Greg took a quiet breath, trying to remain motionless as the man stood a foot away, moaning in relief. It was the closest he was going to get to any of them. He lowered his rifle and pulled a hunting knife from his side holster. He slowly began to rise from the netting just as a puddle of urine was forming near him.
The man was facing away, in the process of zipping up, when Greg jumped up and charged him. He threw one arm over the man's neck and pulled him into a chokehold. The man fell back—arms flailing in the air—and tried to scream, but Greg's grip was too tight.
With his free hand, Greg held the knife in front of the man's face. His respiratory mask went crooked and loose on one end, nearly falling off. He kicked the air and tried to squirm away but was helpless to do anything.
"You make one more move, I'll jam this knife right into your throat," Greg said.
The man stopped moving and stood limp as Greg kicked his rifle away.
"Now, we're going to go to the ground. I want you on your knees with your hands against the back of your head, just like if you were being arrested. You ever been arrested before?"
The man tried to speak but could only gag in response.
Greg continued. "That's OK, just nod your head if you understand me."
The man jerked his head up and down in agreement, struggling to breathe.
"You make any sudden moves, you're a dead man."
Greg lowered himself and the man to the ground and then slowly released him. Once the man was on his knees, Greg squatted behind him. He looked around and didn't see any sign of the others, but he knew that his time was limited.
"I have some questions, and you're going to give me answers. I want them brief and quiet. If it's a yes or no question, simply nod or shake. You try to yell or do anything that brings attention to us, it's over. Understand?"
The man nodded. Greg stared at the back of his blond, shaggy hair and continued. "I'm looking for a woman. Her name is Veronica. She was taken to the base against her will. Do you know where they are keeping her?"
The man shook his head no. Greg looked around again. The coast was still clear.
"Do you know who Sergeant Irwin is?"
The man shook his head no. Greg was confused. "You’re lying. I know he’s with you guys right now, leading this little search party. I've met him before." Greg touched the blade of the knife against the back of the man's neck.
"His name's Jacob," the man said. "And he's no sergeant. He's not even in the military. He dresses up as a soldier for his scavenger missions. There’s no military left at the base."
Greg's suspicions about Irwin being an impostor were verified. Now he needed to know who he was dealing with. "Who runs the base now?"
"We do," the man answered back.
"And who the hell are you?"
"We're the survivors."
"The survivors?"
"Those chosen to survive the plague."
"Who are you guys looking for?"
The man started to turn his head to get a look at Greg. The knife went back against his neck. "Keep your eyes forward and answer my question."
"Why?"
"I don't make the rules. It's what they want us to do. They said that there's a man trying to attack the base. A terrorist or something. He attacked Jacob and now he's after us."
"Do you have any idea how ridiculous that sounds?" Greg asked.
"It's what we were told."
From afar, Greg could see one of the men making his way back. There had been no sign yet that they had found his van, and he hoped it would stay that way. He turned back to the man.
"So no military on the base. How many people do you have?"
"About two hundred."
"How well is it guarded?"
"Night and day."
Greg looked around again. It was time to wrap up this conversation.
"This is what we're going to do. We're going back to your jeep and you're going to take me into the base."
The man shook his head. "Why? So you can attack us? I would never betray my people like that."
Greg dug the tip of the knife into the man's neck, causing him to wince. "You don't have a choice here. Now get on your feet and let’s get moving."
The man stood up, spun around, and tried to dive to the ground for his rifle. Without hesitation, Greg plunged his knife into his throat─the man didn't have a chance. The full weight of his body fell into Greg as he gurgled and twitched, with blood flowing like a red river from his throat and mouth.
Greg pulled the knife out and let the man collapse. He stared down, disappointed. The man seemed like he was going to cooperate but had foolishly tried to play the hero. Now he was dead. Looking upon the body at his feet, Greg knew that there was no turning back. He was going to have to fight back or die.
He wiped the blood off his knife with a rag and then quickly dragged the man by his feet to the edge of the cliff where he pushed him over. His body flew to the bottom, into oblivion. When Greg turned around, he could see the others. It looked like the team was reassembling.