by JT Sawyer
Chapter 13
Carlie, Eliza, and Brinkman had moved into the treeline a hundred yards away from the main buildings. They raced along an old deer trail for another hundred yards, making an abrupt left turn followed by another short bounding movement to the right to evade anyone watching from a distance. With their location concealed by the dense shrubs, they paused to catch their breath. She scanned the surrounding forest for signs of movement but saw nothing. The sound of the shambling mass of undead below drowned out even the wind rushing through the trees and the smell of pine was quickly replaced with the stench of decaying flesh.
“We have to remove the mortar team first and then worry about the other spotters after that,” said Brinkman as another round whirred through the air, impacting the cafeteria below.
“I concur,” said Carlie while removing her tinted snow goggles and lowering them around her neck. She raised up her binoculars and focused on the direction the mortar had just come from. When she was done she glanced over at Brinkman, noting his youthful face. She knew he had been in a recent deployment to the Middle East before the pandemic struck but was unsure just how much combat experience he possessed. Anyone still breathing in this new world had done their share of dispatching the undead and, regrettably, most likely other humans who had threatened their survival. Still, combat had enough unknown variables and chaos and she hoped that Brinkman was as versed in real-world fighting as he was with the concepts on paper that he often presented in pre-mission briefings.
“I want your tactical updates on anything pertinent to what we’re about to do but follow my lead when we breach their perimeter and eliminate the personnel,” she said, finally settling her gaze on a small dug-out to the southwest where the mortar crew was located.
“Copy that.”
She lowered the binoculars and stood up then made her way along the narrow trail that led through the dense spruce trees while Eliza provided rear cover. After ten minutes of stalking through the brush, they came to a bowl-shaped depression. Eighty yards below were four men huddled around a mortar and two wooden crates full of 120mm rounds. One of them was fidgeting with an electronic device but it was too far away to make out what it was. The team of poorly clad goons was hunkered down in a four-foot-deep circular pit which was further fortified with two feet of sandbags. The men stopped firing the mortar and started bickering amongst themselves.
“Pretty elaborate setup,” said Brinkman. “These guys used up some time and calories to dig in here.”
Twenty feet away, cloaked in a white-and-gray-dappled camouflage net, was an F-350 pickup truck. On the tailgate was a radio and two AK-47s. There were no vehicle tracks in the snow and the amount of footprints in the immediate camp area informed Carlie that there had been no movement outside of their layup position. She scanned the forest to her right and then out to the meadow to her left where the hordes of undead were streaming around the buildings on the central part of the base. A plume of black smoke from the burning helo wreckage wafted into the low-hanging clouds.
“We can snipe those guys from here,” said Eliza, who was squatting on one knee beside her.
“Yeah, that seems a little too easy,” said Carlie. “These guys should…” She paused and then secreted herself against the tree trunk while the others did the same just as a small drone flew into the encampment. The black device circled the mortar pit and then clunkily landed on the hardpacked snow by the truck. A man in greasy brown coveralls climbed out of the foxhole and walked over to the device. He flipped it over and removed a battery pack then set the drone down on the tailgate beside the radio. He walked around to the side door and began sifting through a cardboard box on the back seat.
“How the hell do they have drone capabilities?” whispered Eliza.
“They must have procured it from the base here or some other installation as that’s a military-grade device,” said Brinkman.
“That’s why they must have stopped the shelling,” said Carlie. “We need to take them out now while their eyes are down.”
She shifted her weight forward and raised up her M4 rifle. “You two dispatch the men remaining in the foxhole. I’ll take the drone operator.
“Wait until I’ve removed him as he’s closest to the radio.”
They all got into position, with Brinkman and Eliza squatting down on either side of her, resting their rifles on fallen logs. Carlie peered through her red-dot scope and aligned the head of the stout figure beside the truck. He kept bobbing around as he frantically tried to replace the batteries. She could see a red wreath of crude tattoos around his neck beyond his tattered wool scarf. He twisted back to curse at the other men in the foxhole who were berating him. As he turned forward, a round struck him in the left side of the head, exiting out his right jaw. He slumped forward onto the tailgate. Carlie heard muzzles crack next to her as the others dispatched the surly goons below. Within seconds the woods were silent again, with only the churning flow of undead resounding off the natural amphitheater of the meadow.
They waited and watched for anyone moving below then scurried down the steep hillside until they were at the foxhole.
“Get those bodies out of the way and reconfigure the mortar so we can start sending rounds downrange into the undead and the spotters,” said Carlie as she made her way to the vehicle. She grabbed the shirt collar of the slumped figure and slid him out of the way then grabbed the drone and remote control. “This was transmitting to this guy’s handheld remote and also to another location,” she said, noticing a green light on the remote beside the words, Console 2.
She smashed both devices with the butt of her rifle and then grabbed the two-way radio on the tailgate. She made out the voices of two men, one of whom was clearly the leader based upon his reprimanding tone.
“You can depart now—bring the video footage you’ve recorded. I have all the intel I need from our little experiment. The rest will be obtained from the personnel we’ve captured. Leave the others from Lewis to the zombies.” The gruff voice went silent and static ensued.
Carlie placed the radio down and tapped on her ear-mic, connecting to Fort Lewis. “This is Gray Wolf, do you copy? I need a fix on the remaining spotters, over.”
A few seconds later, a woman responded and she read off the coordinates that Carlie requested. Carlie relayed them to Brinkman, who had repositioned the mortar. He dialed in the bearing and then delivered a round into the dense treeline a quarter-mile to the east.
Brinkman adjusted the mortar to the second location and released a round, lighting up a small cluster of spruce trees to the west. She tucked the radio in her coat pocket and then rummaged through the interior of the truck. Not finding anything of significance, she moved back towards the others.
Eliza pointed to the half-empty box of 120mm rounds. “We’ve got eight more left.”
Carlie scanned the cluster of buildings in relation to the zombies then glanced back at the treeline. “Take out the remaining spotters and then punch a hole through the center of the undead. That’ll give us a route to get this truck up to the medical clinic. From there, we’ll have to hold the fort until the helos arrive.”
Eliza and Carlie began grabbing the weapons and magazines from the foxhole and jamming everything in the truck. They only stopped to cover their ears upon hearing Brinkman’s announcements for a new round being launched. With the last mortars pummeling the zombies, Carlie fired up the engine and motioned to Brinkman to get in. The three of them sped down the narrow road through the pines and entered the meadow, slicing through the center of the fractured horde enroute to the main compound a half-mile away. She and the other occupants were flung from side to side from the undercurrent of shattered corpses under the tires, making it feel like they were driving over a boulder field in the desert.
The last portion of the undead horde was still intact, at least forty bodies thick and representing the last barrier between them and the medical clinic ahead. “I need you to take out a few creatures at twe
lve o’clock or this is gonna be a shorter ride than expected.”
With the truck slowing slightly, Eliza and Brinkman poked out of the windows on either side and began sniping zombies twenty yards ahead. For every one they hit, they missed two more because of the bumpy conditions. As the vehicle progressed, the windshield was smeared with an amalgam of blood, snow, and viscera. Carlie had to hunch forward to see through the thick film, slamming into the occasional freak that managed to squeegee into her path.
“They’re starting to close in from the sides,” yelled Eliza, who had just emptied her second magazine.
“Copy that—almost there,” said Carlie. “Fifty meters.”
Carlie tapped on her ear-mic. “Shark Tank, this is Hammerhead Two, we are inbound to Hammerhead One. We are under heavy attack. This is going to be a hot extract.”
She didn’t wait for confirmation from the helo and grabbed Eliza’s belt, yanking her into the cab, then yelled back at Brinkman, “I’m slamming this right into the lobby. Brace for impact.”
The cluster of intact zombies at the front of the horde had turned like a school of barracuda and arrowed towards the truck, led in part by two fast-moving mutants.
Carlie shuddered upon seeing the creamy-faced mutants and swung the vehicle to the right slightly, clipping the first one in the waist and hearing it crunch beneath the tires. The second one blurred past her into the crowd as the front end of the F-150 crashed through the glass and structural supports of the medical clinic. She slammed the brakes on just before the staircase to the right. Grabbing her M4, she leapt out of the side door and ran around the front of the truck to the stairs with Brinkman and Eliza on her heels.
Bounding up the steps to the second floor, Carlie saw the fast-moving mutant rushing into the lobby followed by dozens of zombies slipping around on the floor like they had paper plates underneath their shoes. She yelled for the others to continue up and stopped on the landing with her rifle. The first volley she unleashed struck the left pectoral of the mutant, only slowing it slightly. It leaped on the back of the truck and then into the air towards the staircase. Carlie struck it in the head and throat with several rounds, seeing a spray of sparks fly off the back of the neck. It landed on the tiled floor amidst the crumbled mix of glass and drywall. She gazed down at it to make sure it was no longer a threat, noting a jumble of wires emanating from the cervical region. Carlie squinted at the puzzling sight but immediately shifted her gaze back to the inbound horde pouring through the shattered entrance. She dispatched a handful of yellow-faced freaks to create a temporary jam and then vaulted up the stairs.
Chapter 14
Duncan was huddled next to Mike, trying to keep him conscious while Kulovitz covered the stairwell two doors down. Based upon the radio chatter, he knew that the roar below was probably due to Carlie’s hasty arrival in the lobby. He leaned towards Mike, whose eyes were half-open. “The helos will be here in five minutes, buddy—just hang on.”
He rose up slightly from his kneeling position and checked the skyline. Got ’em. Inbound at three o’clock. He helped Mike to his feet and carried most of the man’s weight on his left shoulder. Duncan moved into the hallway only to see Eliza and Brinkman burst onto the third-floor landing. “Carlie’s right behind us,” said Eliza, who was panting.
Duncan was already moving towards them and pointed upward. “We gotta go now.” He passed Mike over to Brinkman, who along with Kulovitz supported the barely alert man as they trotted down the hallway. They climbed up the rear staircase, which was nothing more than a ladder going into a square hatchway in the ceiling. Duncan heard gunfire coming from the opposite stairwell followed by the overwhelming sounds of shrieks permeating the air. As the rest of the group hurried up the steps, he covered the hallway, finally seeing Carlie emerge and head towards the now-vacant room. He whistled and directed her over.
“Down,” he yelled as he shot three zombies emerging behind her from the landing. She looked behind her to make sure it was clear then sprang forward and continued running towards him.
“You’re almost late for the party—where are your manners?” he said.
Carlie frowned and almost motioned for him to go up but then realized this wasn’t her mission and that he would just deny her request. She slung her rifle and ascended then covered him as he did the same. Duncan secured the latch on the opening just as necrotic faces came into view below.
As they turned to join the others, he saw the welcome arrival of the Chinook descending to the
helipad in the corner near the rest of the frazzled group.
Chapter 15
Two hours later, Duncan, Carlie and several other team leaders met with Secretary of Defense Conrad Lavine in the briefing room in A-Wing at Fort Lewis.
“This was a well-planned attack, on many levels,” said Duncan to the group before him. He waved his hand along a map of southeast Washington pulled up on the overhead monitor. “This had to have been launched by the group out of the military prison in Walla Walla that Eliza informed us about upon her arrival here several months ago.”
“For what purpose?” said the sec-def. “Our outpost was not rich in natural resources and the base itself had little to offer in terms of supplies.”
“I think the reason for attack was two-fold,” continued Duncan. “One was to eliminate any potential security threat south of the Grand Coulee Dam and the other was to test our tactical response. I believe they are planning to make a move on the dam.”
“If they take that facility, won’t they have control over the existing power grid in the Pacific Northwest?” said Shane, who was seated at the far end of the table.
“We are dependent on the dam for much of our power needs but we already have a unit of troops manning that place,” said Lavine. The small towns in that region fell long ago and there’s very little security threat in the immediate area.”
“If they are planning an assault on the dam, it’s going to be a major logistical effort, not to mention the time factor, to move our troops there and set up defensive measures. In years past, with unlimited air resources and numerous convoys, we could have pulled this off like clockwork but we just don’t have the manpower, fuel, and helo capabilities.”
Carlie studied the spiderweb of roads in that region. “What if we send in small teams along the highways and secondary roads to take out the bridges?”
“That’s a good call but once those bridges are blown then the routes are shut off permanently which will only hamstring us in the future,” said Duncan. “Before we commit any resources, we need to get boots on the ground around the prison and gather real-world intel. Our limited SAT capabilities can only reveal so much and I need to know what we’re up against.”
Lavine walked around the front of the room and looked up at the screen, enhancing the map around the dam, and then back down to Walla Walla, a hundred and fifty miles to the southeast. “At present, what do we know about the group at the prison—their numbers, capabilities, and leadership?”
“Nothing on precise numbers, other than what we’ve gleaned from Eliza, Mike, and a few other survivors from those parts,” said Carlie. “Supposedly it’s a few hundred men that roam in small parties through the tri-state area pillaging and taking captives. Eliza said that they use the undead in their initial assaults to divide the forces of small groups before they sweep in with their thugs, probably like what we just witnessed.”
“An army of undead troops, how the hell is that even possible?” said Shane.
“I took down a mutant that had some kind of radio collar attached to the back of its neck,” said Carlie. “Must’ve been a tracking or controlling device so they must have some means of routing the creatures into an area.”
Duncan folded his arms and canted his head up at the map. “I don’t have any specifics on the prison yet. I’ll get someone going on that. The last person I debriefed who had escaped from that region mentioned their leader went by the title ‘Colonel.’” He hunched over a l
aptop and began pulling up files.
“I’ll have a satellite image taken of the area when we can arrange it. We’ve been having significant issues with our technical SAT-com links on this end,” said Lavine. “They are sure to have a lot of supplies there that we could use though. Given how many acquisition flights we’ve been doing for Pavel’s research, we are running low on fuel, which will greatly hamper sending teams out to gather more research materials. No fuel, no cure.”
“I’ve pulled up a roster of some of the prisoners and their backgrounds. The facial recognition software narrowed it down to a handful of former army personnel with that rank. There was only one colonel there.” Duncan flipped to the next slide, which pulled up the convict’s mugshot.
Lavine shook his head slightly and moved closer to the image. “Mitchell—Ryan Mitchell.”
“Wasn’t he the guy who tortured all those prisoners in Kabul?” said Shane.
“The one and only—he headed up a successful covert operation during the early years following 9/11,” replied Lavine with a deep exhale. “Just when you think a problem has been swept under the rug, it rears its ugly head again.”
“Did you know him?” said Duncan.
“Mmm…not exactly.”
“You mean, not officially,” said Carlie. “So, was his operation funded by DOD?”
Lavine rubbed the back of his neck. “Difficult times called for difficult measures and Mitchell was very good at getting results.” He turned away from the image and looked at the others. “This raises the stakes if he’s running the show over there. This guy’s IQ, ability to manipulate others, and his cunning are off the charts.” Lavine shuddered at the memory of Mitchell and all he had put the DOD through during his trial. How the man had tried to drag his superiors into the quagmire he had created. The evasive maneuvers that Lavine had taken ensured his name was not connected to Mitchell but the interrogator was known for holding a grudge and Lavine suspected any move against Lewis or the dam would be motivated by personal desires as much as tactical considerations.