by JT Sawyer
Carlie informed Shane of their plan and he pulled everyone back into the treeline to a small opening just large enough for the rope to penetrate. With the helicopter hovering above, the SPIE Rig was lowered and Shane instructed his team to line up. Everyone was experienced with the method except for Amy and Jared, who had been briefly instructed on its application on the airfield during a training exercise a month earlier.
Shane could hear the horde of zombies crashing through the trees and knew they only had a few minutes. Each person clipped their vest carabiners onto the D-rings on the rope and stood in a ready position with their rifles aimed at the forest. He had placed Jared at the rear and then made sure everyone was spread out and the slack in the ground line was removed.
Just as everyone gave verbal confirmation that they were securely fastened, they heard the mini-gun start roaring above as Eliza began cutting down swaths of approaching undead. The hot rounds rained down upon the group, clanking off their heads. Shane ran down the line, doing a double-check on everyone’s carabiners, before clipping himself into the first position. He gave the thumbs-up to Matias, who was leaning out of the window. Through the haze of rain and gunsmoke, Shane saw a fast mutant burst through the shrubs ahead. He fluidly leveled his M4 and squeezed off several rounds into the blurry image. His first volley caught it in the left shoulder and it slipped sideways on the muddy ground. Just as he prepared to fire off another grouping, the helicopter began ascending. His jerky aim hit the ground behind the creature’s head and it made a broad jump through the air, landing around his knees. With the SPIE Rig hoisting the single-file team through the hole in the canopy, Shane began butting the enraged beast in its head. Its foaming lips were snarling as it tried to tear past Shane’s vest to his skin below. Despite the trauma to its skull from repeated blows, its milky eyes stayed transfixed on Shane as it desperately clawed at his chest. Shane tossed his rifle in the air and removed his fixed blade, driving the tip up through the jaw. The creature bellowed and loosened its grip as Shane kicked it off his vest into the hungry crowd below.
The helicopter continued rising vertically until everyone was suspended and free of the treeline. Everyone except Jared, who briefly got dragged along the canopy. Matias kept the altitude and airspeed low, proceeding forward two miles over the derelict city until he came to a football stadium. He slowly lowered the Chinook until Jared touched down first followed by the rest of the group as slack occurred in the rope. Once everyone had detached, the rope was hoisted back into the cabin and then Matias set down fifty yards away near the bleachers.
Shane looked himself over for any wounds and then went down the line to check his team, noticing Jared, whose bare legs were showing through his shredded pants along with one boot missing from his left foot. His pants had been shredded along the treetops and the tattered remains resembled a camouflage hula skirt.
Shane just patted him on the shoulder and tried to contain his smile.
“This ain’t funny, dude. Is this why you put me last?” said Jared.
“Actually, I didn’t know that was going to happen. You went last because most people who don’t like heights end up pissing themselves and I didn’t want to get rained on.”
“This fuckin’ guy,” said Jared with a frown while he shook his head.
The rest of the group broke out in laughter, encircling Jared as they pointed at his grubby legs. Amy tousled his hair and then grabbed his arm, leading him off as the rest of the weary but grateful team walked along the artificial turf to the helicopter.
Chapter 5
Upon landing at Gray Airfield at Fort Lewis, they were met by a ten-ton army truck and two young soldiers who helped them unload the helicopter. They stowed the salvaged booty from the medical center and made their way along the half-mile stretch of fenced-in airfield, driving past six Blackhawks and two Chinooks.
As the truck headed towards a massive helo repair bay near B-Wing, Carlie sat at the back, opposite Shane, while the green canvas flaps on the sides fluttered in the wind. She was eager to debrief and take advantage of their three-day furlough. Carlie was exhausted and just wanted to curl up alone in her bed. Even though she had her material needs met at the base, she still felt like a castaway trapped on an island. With only a handful of intact military bases left around the world and just over a dozen in the U.S., there wasn’t any place to escape to except another base. She looked down at her weathered hands resting on her mud-encrusted M4 then back up at the members of the two exhausted teams. Eliza was asleep already, her head pressed against Matias’s shoulder, who only stared ahead at the canvas canopy. Jared was sitting beside Amy with his hand resting on her knee while she chuckled at something he was whispering in her ear. The rest of the men were either silent or talking about dinner.
“Hey,” said Shane, who was sitting directly across from her. “You did good back there, kid.” He said with a wink, knowing his joking condescension would grate on her.
“Yeah, I did actually,” she said with a serious face then let a grin creep out.
He leaned forward just out of earshot of the others. “You and I should get together and debrief later. I’d like to compare notes and also give you a few pointers on your tactics.”
She only smiled and leaned back. “On my tactics—really?”
“I think you could learn a few things from a seasoned operator like me.”
“Seasoned is right,” she said, brushing some mud off his forehead. “You’re more like well-done, Tarzan.”
The truck came to a halt and they followed the rest of the group out of the truck. Carlie slung her pack, turning towards Shane as she walked away. “I’ll see ya around, caballero,” she said with a smile.
Shane watched her drift into the hallway as he rested his arm on the edge of the tailgate. Matias moved alongside him, his hands on his hips. “I’m tellin’ ya, amigo, that nut is a hard one to crack,” said Shane.
“It’s like we’ve always said on the battlefield, ‘No plan survives first contact intact.’ Maybe you gotta change up your tactics—go in for a ground assault instead of trying all this surreptitious crap with the hints.”
Shane rolled his eyes and slowly swung his head to his friend but was cut off before he could respond.
“Yeah, I heard you in the truck with all that, ‘I’m a seasoned operator’ shit. Madre de Dios, women don’t like to hear that stuff. Try something romantic for a change.” Matias raised his hands up as he walked backwards while Shane stewed over his friend’s honest assessment. “I’m just saying: we always tell our students to review tactics if they’re not successful.”
Shane was left alone to ponder the advice amidst the rumble of several trucks driving in with another team ready to depart. He waved at the leader, a red-haired man named Kulovitz, who was in his mid-thirties. As Kulovitz grabbed his pack and weapon, he trotted partway up to Shane. “Hey, I heard it was quite an adventure getting in and out,” the man said with a crooked smile.
“Yeah, that’s what your wife said last night.”
The man just jerked his arm out furiously with his middle finger extended, his carrot top looking like it was going to ignite. Then he backpedaled and let out a big smile as he ran to catch up with his team. “Remember, bro, you still owe me a rematch in poker when I get back.”
Shane just nodded and waved him on then yanked his soiled backpack off the tailgate and headed towards the distant hallway.
***
After their debriefing, Carlie headed down to the research labs on the lower level in D-Wing. After clearing two biocontainment checkpoints, she stood before a thick panel of glass watching the technicians inside bustling around like worker bees. After a few minutes, she caught the attention of Pavel, who walked over to the window and flipped on the intercom. They exchanged a few pleasantries in Russian before changing to more casual English.
“We just hauled in some medical equipment from a run in Sacramento—a couple of centrifuges and more microscope replacement parts,”
she said, rubbing her temples, holding back a yawn.
“And now I hear it’s time for you and your team to get some much-needed R & R, eh?”
“That’s right—a few days. What about you—do you ever leave this lab?”
“Only long enough to grab five to six hours of sleep. We have made great progress in the past two weeks. Some breakthroughs that should help us push the timelime up for completing a trial vaccine.”
“Then what?”
“Then we locate some test subjects, meaning non-human primates, if any can still be located at zoos or perhaps by making a trip to the tropics.”
“Hmm…wonder who’s going to be doing those salvage missions? I could go without another visit to the tropics for the rest of my life.”
“There’s been some chatter on the airwaves about a place in Florida that may still be intact. We are still a few months off from needing monkeys but that will be the next factor to examine in this equation.”
Pavel looked at Carlie, studying her face. “I appreciate you coming down here to check on things, and on me, but you look exhausted. Go get some rest, young devotchka.”
Carlie smiled at the endearing term and responded with a thank you in Russian.
Taking the stairs back up to the main level, she crossed through the checkpoint that led from the research area back to B-Wing where her living quarters were situated. She opened the door to her private room and noticed a yellow piece of folded paper on the floor inside. She opened it and read the curt message: Meet in NCO lounge, 1830. Shane.
Chapter 6
An hour later, Jared and Amy stood by the seldom-visited NCO lounge in B-Wing. Once he saw the hallway was clear, he knelt down on one knee and removed his lockpicking tools.
“Why are we doing this again?” said Amy, who watched him work the delicate tools in the aperture while nervously glancing over her shoulder down the hall.
“I told you, there’s some vintage bottles of chardonnay inside that were just brought back by one of the teams returning from Vancouver.”
“I’m not so sure this is a good idea. If we get caught, it’ll be a real problem with Duncan, not to mention our standing with Shane.”
“Shane didn’t think it was a problem to have my ass dragged along the treetops earlier today; besides, it’s not like they can dust for fingerprints anymore—this is the perfect crime.”
“I could go for some wine—it’s been months.”
The lock clicked open and Jared turned the handle, opening the door inward. They quickly inserted themselves into the lounge and quietly closed the door behind them.
Jared held his flashlight out and beelined for the fridge. Amy moved with her light to the kitchen counter where wooden crates of liquor and alcoholic beverages were stacked. She retrieved a dusty bottle of chardonnay and rejoined Jared, who had removed a large bottle of spaghetti sauce from the fridge.
“What are you doing? I already found the wine.”
“I overheard Shane telling Matias that he was going to make a pasta dish tonight for Carlie using some of the spaghetti sauce left over in the fridge.” Jared placed the large jar on the counter and unscrewed it. Then he pulled a plastic bag from his pocket and emptied the powdery contents into the sauce. “Just a little dried habanero peppers to spice things up for the big man.”
“I thought we were coming here because you said you needed to commandeer some wine, not get even with Shane.”
“Well, no reason I can’t do both.”
Amy put the bottle down and folded her arms across her chest. “You sure this isn’t more about Carlie? I know you had a thing for her early on. You’re not jealous of Shane, are you?”
Jared stopped stirring the sauce and turned towards Amy, his hand sliding up along her cheek while his powder-blue eyes gazed at her face. “Mi amor, my heart only yearns for the splendor of your company. I love you, not Carlie. She intrigued me in the beginning but she was never my type, believe me.” Jared slid forward and kissed Amy then leaned his forehead against hers. She stared into his eyes and grabbed his collar. “You are trouble, Jared Sweinhart. Sometimes I don’t know if I should kiss you or slap you.”
They heard footsteps in the hallway and he slid his index finger to her lips in a motion to be quiet. She brushed it aside and pulled him in close, pressing her lips against his in a passionate kiss. The footsteps faded and she pulled back, giggling.
Jared leaned back to the counter and grabbed sauce then placed it back in the fridge. He retrieved the bottle of wine and held Amy’s hand as they retraced their steps to the door and slipped back into the shadows of the hall, returning to their room.
Chapter 7
Wilkins Maximum Security Military Prison, Walla Walla, Washington
The gray slab walls of the prison resembled a weathered elephant hide, its antiquated cement flaking off in patches onto the snow beside the high fences that encompassed the four-hundred-acre facility.
Ryan Mitchell was standing over a wall-sized map of the Pacific Northwest he had erected in the warden’s office. Red marker highlighted three areas in Washington. The first was the city of Walla Walla where the prison was situated—his prison since the first week of the pandemic when he had seized control. The second area was the Grand Coulee Dam a hundred or more miles to the north. This provided most of the hydro-electric power to the state and was a key strategic position. The last red mark was Fort Lewis just south of Seattle, nearly a hundred-fifty miles from his present location and the only real threat to his army’s spread.
While Mitchell pored over the map, he would occasionally glance over at a photo of the former warden on the wall, beside a handprint in dried blood. He kept it there as a reminder of his previous incarceration and how he would never be in such a position again. He thought back to that fateful afternoon when he was out on his required daily walk in the main yard. Many guards had called in sick that week from the contagion that was sweeping throughout the region and he was pleasantly surprised that he would be receiving an outside recess to stretch. As he completed his second lap around the yard, his manacled hands tethered to a leather belt around his waist, the overhead alarms went off. Scores of prisoners inside were screaming for help as a cannibalistic mob from the cafeteria began overtaking them, tearing into the hardened thugs. With the guard distracted at the horrific sight and others leaving their posts to rush to the scene, he pivoted and did a vicious shin kick to the man’s knee. As the guard crumpled forward in pain, Mitchell struck him in the nose with his knee, watching him fall onto the asphalt. He stepped forward and ground his heel into the man’s throat and then squatted down to remove the keys from the utility belt. With the main gates to the outside in lockdown, he decided against fleeing. Instead he made his way along the inner wall and rushed to the second wing of cells which held the death row inmates. He easily subdued the guard, who was weakened from sickness, then entered the cell-block and hastily discussed his ad-hoc plan for overtaking the prison to the goons behind the bars. With them in agreement, Mitchell swung down the master release lever, setting his hasty plan in place as his spine tingled at the chance to kill again.
During the ensuing eleven hours of battle with the remaining guards, whose numbers were slowly eroded from outbreaks of zombies, Mitchell’s swift brutality and shrewd tactics enabled him to take over the compound. He surmised that this facility would make a suitable operational base to contend with any law enforcement in the region until he could figure out what was going on in the world. The next day, he began public executions of the staff who had survived, including Warden Jason Kolb, whose mutilated body hung from the flagpole for weeks until ravens picked it clean.
Afterwards, Mitchell went to work sifting through convict records, weeding men out according to their profile. Those with minimum sentences that involved petty acts could either join his roving bands of scavengers pilfering nearby towns or be exiled outside the gates into the waiting hordes of flesh-eaters. Convicts with considerable military skills and a
violent record were promoted to his inner circle while the rest served in the rank-and-file system in logistics and upkeep within the confines of the prison. Eventually dozens of thugs from outlying areas joined his movement, allowing his reach to extend into the tri-state region of Washington, Oregon, and Idaho. It was then that he realized that dominion over the area was within his grasp and he possessed the means of becoming the supreme power in the Pacific Northwest.
Early on, he implemented a daily routine identical to basic training to maintain discipline amongst the five hundred and ninety convicts in his self-designed militia. He knew that his men did best when they had simple rules for survival and clear expectations along with brutal consequences for any misstep. Minor infractions were met with relinquishing meal privileges for twenty-four hours while more serious violations were punishable by casting the bound perpetrator into the zombie cages in the lower level. The rest of the convicts that had survived the initial outbreak were faithful to his cause only because they were more afraid of what dwelled in the world outside the walls than the familiar horrors of life inside the razor-wire perimeter.
Mitchell’s first offensive outside the prison walls was to raid National Guard armories in the smaller cities. In the second month of his reign, he began sending out patrols to round up supplies and captives, clearing out entire ranching communities that were still reeling from the aftermath of the pandemic. Finally he turned his sights upon the undead. While others were busy trying to exterminate them, Mitchell was busy studying the creatures. First from his perch at the warden’s office then examining them up close through combat with human captives and later dissection. There had to be a way to utilize the zombies to his advantage. Never before had he been faced with such an intriguing solution to warfare and he was determined to exploit this aberration in the natural order. However, it was the mutants that fascinated him the most and his men were instructed to trap these intact using live humans as bait. Through their speed, agility, and strength, he saw the potential for creating a biped bioweapon that was unmatched in combat.