Caldera 5_United We Fall

by Heath Stallcup

  Vicky held a hand up to stop him. “We need to sacrifice the market.”

  Hatcher turned and gave her a confused look. “How do you mean?”

  “We’ve stripped enough supplies from there that we’re set for a very long time. Possibly years if we supplement with stuff we can grow.” She lowered her voice. “But if we can make it look like we were holing up there, maybe they’ll refill their supplies and go on.”

  “Or maybe we give them the energy they need to fight us longer.” He shook his head. “Pointing them in the wrong direction sounds like a hell of a plan, but that isn’t the way to do it.” He stretched and began walking toward his office again. “We can’t send anybody out to lead them away either. It would be a suicide mission. There’s no way they could make it back without getting caught and those marauders aren’t the kind to catch and release.”

  “There has to be something proactive we can do, Danny. We can’t just hide and pray.”

  Hatcher stared out at the people going about their daily routines. “Actually, that’s exactly what we’ll do. We’ve got too many families here. Too many people who aren’t capable of fighting.” He turned and pushed the door to his office open. “Call me if the spotters see anything.”

  Vicky watched him shut the door and she peered through the broken blinds to see him practically collapse on the old couch across from his desk.

  She uttered a silent prayer for him before going to check on Mike.

  Vivian found it increasingly difficult to concentrate. The fatigue wore at her as she tried to focus and she repeatedly found herself re-reading something, unable to retain the information.

  She stared at the coffee pot with malice in her eye. She glanced around the lab and noted that people went about their business, paying no undue attention to her. She slipped her keys from her lab coat pocket and walked into the storeroom. She shut the door behind her and rifled through her keys, gripping the one she wanted.

  With a furtive glance behind her she approached the medication locker. Once she unlocked it and opened the door, the light inside came on. She nearly jumped, fearful that her colleagues would realize what she was doing. She quickly dug through the numerous bottles until she found what she was looking for.

  She pulled the bottle of methylphenidate and unscrewed the cap. She shook out a handful of the pills then slipped the bottle back into the locker. She quickly secured the door then stepped back out of the storeroom.

  She walked to her desk and saw the half cup of coffee. Glancing about the room once more, she dug out three of the pills and tossed them into her mouth while lifting the cup to her lips.

  The coffee was cold, bitter and extremely strong, but it did the job. She swallowed hard and sat back at her station. She closed her eyes and prayed that the central nervous system stimulant would hurry and kick in.

  She had to focus. What better way to do that than to slip a little generic Ritalin into her system.

  She stared at the clock and tried to estimate how long it would take her system to absorb the drug. She took a long, deep breath and forced herself to concentrate on her work.

  After just a few moments she noticed a slight tremor in her hands and assumed it was lack of sleep and not the stimulant. It hadn’t had time to work yet.

  She cursed silently and pushed away from her workstation. She began to pace, trying to force her mind to work like it always had. Methodically. Factually.

  She took a deep breath, her eyes pinched shut as she tried to force all of the converging thoughts out of her head. She needed a clean slate to start with.

  Clean slate?

  She turned back to the hard copies of the DNA. She practically jerked open the file drawer that had her initial studies in it. She rifled through the files until she found what she had been looking for.

  She placed the print out of the misidentified Neanderthal DNA onto the light box then slipped the printout from the primordial sample alongside. A quick glance told her that the samples were identical. The primordial sample was what she and Neils had initially discovered. It was unchanged.

  She then pulled the printouts from the known mutations and slipped them side by side and made comparisons. The changes were minor, but obviously significant.

  Her head popped up and she motioned to Ponytail. “Tell me you sequenced the virus in Dr. Carpenter.”

  Ponytail nodded. “Of course.” She turned and walked to the other side of the lab. She rifled through a handful of papers and returned with the printout. “We noted that it—”

  “I’ll make my own conclusions, thank you.” Vivian held no love for the younger researcher, but she meant no disrespect. She simply didn’t want her own findings to be swayed by the assumptions of others.

  Ponytail bit back a scathing remark and left the older woman to her work.

  Vivian studied the virus in Charles’ body and compared it to the known mutations. There were minor but obvious differences.

  But what did they mean?

  She pinched at the bridge of her nose and fought the urge to scream. She glanced around the lab and couldn’t discern a single researcher that she would consider an expert on viral DNA.

  She needed expertise that simply didn’t exist in this environment. It was then that she realized, she was in over her head.

  “They’re going to need some kind of training.” Sailor stood at the edge of the parking lot, watching the women and children try to use sticks and stones as weapons. He shook his head as he watched one young boy twirl a stick like a baton. “They’d make a great marching band.”

  Another youngster tried to use a makeshift sling and practically knocked himself silly when he attempted to launch the stone wrapped in it. “Good lord…” Sailor rubbed at his whiskers and wished he had an answer that would help the novices and prevent them from killing themselves with their own weapons. “They ain’t got nothing to worry about. Our ‘army’ will take themselves out.”

  Another of the lieutenants watched over his shoulder. “They ain’t much, are they?”

  Sailor grunted as he turned and walked away. “There’s no way. They’re just cannon fodder.” He spun back and pointed a finger at the mass of people. “Simon wants to use them as a distraction. I guaran-goddam-tee ya.”

  “Why kill off our own people?”

  “They’re just bullet sponges. If they’re out there making a big enough racket, then the Cagers are distracted with them. Let them waste their bullets on women and children.” He shook his head and wanted to scream.

  “You really think he’d sacrifice our families?”

  “In a fucking heartbeat.” Sailor ground his teeth and stared at the people in the parking lot. “They’re more a danger to themselves than to anybody else.”

  The other man sighed and squatted down, his eyes narrowing as he watched the crowd. “I think you may be onto something.”

  Sailor exhaled hard, Squirrel’s words echoing in his mind. ‘You know that Simon is batshit crazy.’ When he first yelled that at him, he thought Squirrel was just trying to convince himself. Trying to justify his betrayal. But now, in this light, all of Simon’s crazy was beginning to come to the forefront. Why in hell would he stick Savage? Just so that they could follow him to a hospital?

  Nothing made sense. “How do you find sense in madness?”

  “Huh?”

  Sailor turned to the other man and shook his head. “I was talking to myself.” He kicked at the rocks and wanted to scream in frustration. “We’re all just pawns in a madman’s game, aren’t we?”

  The lieutenant stared at him, his face registering his confusion. “You okay, Sailor? You sound off.”

  Sailor nodded. “I am off. I’m pissed off.” He turned and marched across the campground.

  “Hey, where you going?”

  “To put an end to this lunacy.”

  4

  Hatcher woke with a start, his body tense and his head jerking to the side. His ears strained in the silence and he could hear hi
s heart pounding in his chest.

  The only sounds were of his shallow breathing as he slowly came to his feet. He eased to the door of his office and glanced through the blinds. He could see a small handful of people standing in the main warehouse, their attention pulled to the staging area.

  Hatcher reached for the door and slowly opened it, ensuring that he made no unnecessary noise. He worked his way silently past those who were frozen in place and approached a sentry. “What’s going on?”

  His whispered voice sounded like a roar in the stillness but the sentry shook his head and held a finger to his lips. He pointed to the doors leading to the main gates. “Guard said we had movement. The whole place is running silent.”

  Hatcher nodded slowly and made his way to the ladder. He carefully climbed the metal rungs and was shocked that it was dark outside. He had only meant to catch an hour or two of sleep and it was already nightfall.

  He allowed his eyes to adjust and he spotted the roof sentries ducked low along the parapet. He ducked low and made his way to the closest sentry. “What do we have?”

  The guard pointed to the east. “They’re a couple blocks away.”

  “How many?” Hatcher felt his guts tighten at the possible threat.

  “Just the one.” The guard pointed and handed Hatcher the spy glasses.

  Daniel edged closer to the short wall and peered over the edge. A lone motorcycle headlight could be seen navigating the streets along the edge of the industrial area. He watched as the rider slowed at each building and gave it a cursory once over before accelerating again and making his way forward.

  Hatcher lowered the binoculars and glanced around the roof. He spotted Hank on the far edge peering at the rider from behind a roof vent.

  Hatcher handed the sentry back the binoculars and made his way toward Hank. “How long has he been out there?”

  Hank shrugged. “Just a little while. He’s working his way through street by street.”

  Hatcher uttered a curse and sat down, lowering himself from view. “How long before he comes this way?”

  Hank shrugged. “At his current pace, he should be by in five or ten minutes.”

  Hatcher groaned and tugged at the man’s sleeve. “Stay down. Let him pass by.”

  Hank settled in next to him and handed him his thermos. “Coffee.”

  Hatcher poured a cup and sipped at the cooling nectar. He glanced around the roof and took in the scene. “The whole building is alerted, right?”

  Hank nodded. He listened as the motorcycle engine would slow then rev again, slow then rev. “He’s not spending much time at each building.”

  “Hopefully, he won’t see anything out of the ordinary.”

  Roger appeared at the roof access and worked his way to Hatcher. “Candy told me what’s going on.” He gave Daniel a knowing look. “I can lead him away.”

  Hatcher shook his head. “There’d be no getting back. If anybody tried, it would be a suicide mission.”

  Roger shrugged. “Wouldn’t be the first time I was counted as dead.” He gave him a wry grin.

  Hatcher shook his head again. “I’m not facing the wrath of Candy, thank you.” He listened for the motorcycle again then added, “Besides, the risk of him seeing you leave is too great. We can’t know if there are foot soldiers on the ground watching for somebody to try to make a run for it.”

  Roger huffed and stifled an epithet. “I hate to just sit here and do nothing.”

  “That’s all we can do.” Hatcher tucked his head and stared at the gravel roof, his ears straining to hear the approach of the rider.

  He heard the engine slow and the familiar low idle thump of the exhaust as the rider called out into the darkness. He tilted his head, trying to hear what he was yelling.

  “He’s screaming something.” Hank whispered.

  “Probably a threat.” Roger groaned.

  The motorcycle revved again and the sound grew louder then slowed once more.

  “Squirrel!” The rider yelled.

  Hatcher’s head popped up and he stared at Roger. “You know this guy?”

  Roger shrugged. “Maybe Sailor?” He edged closer to the vent and slowly raised his head over the parapet. He prayed that the shadows and the darkness kept him concealed.

  It was nearly impossible to make out the rider with just his silhouette against the glare of the headlight. Roger slowly ducked again and shrugged. “It could be him.”

  The trio listened as the engine revved once more and the biker moved on to the next building. Hatcher looked to Roger and gave him a sideways glare. “Ya feel like risking a contact?”

  Roger smiled. “Beats hell out of sitting here on our thumbs.” He slowly turned and made his way to the roof access.

  Hank reached out and grabbed Hatcher’s arm. “You ain’t letting him go alone, are you?”

  Hatcher shook his head. “I’ll have his back.” He patted the big man’s arm. “Stay alert.” He turned and followed Roger to the ladder.

  Once they were at the bottom, Hatcher grabbed a hunting rifle from the armory and dug out a pair of pistols for Roger. “Let me get set up, then make him follow you to where I’m at. You don’t want to be caught out there alone.”

  The pair practically jogged to the gates and slipped out into the street. Hatcher could hear the motorcycle as the rider had turned west and worked his way across the block.

  The two men ran to the next street and Hatcher found a hedge to set up behind. He motioned to Roger who slipped between a dead car and a pickup parked along the side of the road. He looked over his shoulder and could just make out Hatcher’s form in the shadows.

  Roger waited while the headlight bounced up and down the pothole-ridden street then stepped out into the middle of the road. He knew that the headlight would fall on him at any moment and he would be spotlighted.

  He crossed his arms, tucking the pistols out of sight. He watched as the rider slowed to a stop then suddenly accelerated. Roger fought the urge to pull the pistols and open fire as the engine exhaust echoed off the metal buildings in the district.

  Just when Roger thought that the rider was going to try to run him down, the biker let off the gas and coasted up to him. The headlight blinded Roger to the rider and he fought the urge to step to the side. When the engine died and the headlight went out, he was blinded again by the darkness.

  “I wasn’t sure you’d hear me.” Sailor stepped away from the bike and Roger could barely make out his movements.

  “Oh, I heard you alright.” He glanced to the opposite side of the street, away from their compound and pretended to be worried. “I think everybody heard you just fine.”

  “I meant my calling your name.” Sailor stepped closer and came into full view just as Roger’s eyes adjusted to the darkness. “You don’t need those.”

  Roger glanced at the man and realized he meant the guns. “I’m not so sure. The last time we were face to face, you were shooting at me.”

  “Likewise.” Sailor crossed his arms and eyed the man cautiously.

  “You fired first.”

  “And yet here I am, unarmed.” Sailor glanced about then smirked at him. “I’m sure you have at least one gun trained on me right me, so let’s cut the bullshit.”

  Roger sighed and pulled the pistols from under his arms but let them dangle at his sides. “Fine. What are you doing here?”

  “I’m not sure.” Sailor spit onto the pavement and shook his head. “I’m ready to rip Simon’s fool head off, but…”

  “But?”

  He blew his breath out hard. “I owe him. I can’t do it.”

  Roger raised a brow at him. “Savage ain’t in no shape to do it either. If you’ll remember, Simon tried to gut the man.”

  Sailor raised his eyes to him. “I’m here for you.”

  “Come to take me back?”

  Sailor nodded. “Yup.” Roger stiffened, his body preparing for fight or flight. “So you can stop Simon.”

  He paused and glare
d at the older man. “What’s your game, Sailor?”

  Sailor sighed and began to pace. “He’s off his noodle. He’s wanting the women and children to make an offensive on your new cohorts.” He stopped and ground his teeth in anger. “With fucking sticks and rocks. He won’t even give them proper weapons.”

  Roger groaned. “It would be a bloodbath.”

  “You’re telling me.” Sailor snorted a derisive laugh. “They’re more a danger to themselves than to anybody else.”

  “And you want me to…do what exactly?”

  “Either kill him or beat some sense into him.”

  Roger studied the older man’s face and knew he wasn’t playing him. “And you can’t because?”

  “I told you. I owe him.” Sailor averted his eyes. “Like it or not, I swore to follow him. I know now that was a mistake.”

  “How long have you ridden with him, Sailor?”

  “Dave.” Sailor still wouldn’t make eye contact. “My friends called me Coop.”

  “Let me guess.”

  Sailor nodded. “I was a Navy man back in the day.” He sighed and crossed his arms over his chest. “I may be old, but my word still means something. It’s all I got left.”

  “And you couldn’t live with yourself if you broke a promise to an asshole like Simon.”

  Coop smirked. “As I said, my word is all I got left.”

  Roger chewed at the inside of his cheek while he debated the situation. “And what’s to prevent you or any of the other lackies from killing me the moment I showed up?”

  Coop turned and gave him a solemn stare. “My word.”

  “The same word that prevents you from stomping the shit out of Simon?”

  “One and the same.”

  Hatcher appeared behind Coop. “The same word you gave to Simon?”

  Coop spun, his hand instinctively going for the knife on his belt. He froze and broke into a toothy grin. “I knew you’d have eyes on me.”

  “Answer the question.” Hatcher kept the rifle pointed at his midsection.

  Coop nodded. “The same word I gave Simon when I promised to follow him.” He shook his head. “I never promised to kill for him.”