by SP Durnin
* * *
Seventy two hours later, the Screamin' Mimi topped a rise on the isolated service road outside New Holland, Ohio.
Three days of monotonously, slow travel, much of it involving numerous traffic jams and having to retrace their route half a dozen times, had more than convinced the group they needed a scout vehicle. Foster drove the pink transport past what used to be a Mom 'n Pop garden center and stopped at the gate of a mid-sized junkyard. It didn't have a fence, per-se. It had a wall. Wrecked cars were piled three high and twice as deep around the perimeter of the seven acre lot. George brought out his Genie remote again.
"You've gotta be shitting me." Allen stared at the fixer, clearly in a state of disbelief.
Foster slowly turned to look at the mechanic and, holding the remote at eye level, pressed the enormous button on its face while sporting a malicious grin. The gate slid into the wall of cars, revealing that it was a bus with a steel plate welded completely over one side. For a moment, Jake felt like he'd been dropped into that old Mel Gibson movie, The Road Warrior.
When George pulled the transport through the gap, they saw that the only structure within was a three story, one-hundred by one-hundred foot, cinder block building that looked damned familiar. It was a smaller version of Foster's safe house. It touted the same, dark—probably fake—featureless windows, the same, anonymous, weathered paint job, even the same cosmetic guttering along the roof's edge. The only visible difference Jake could see, other than being smaller in size, as Foster pulled the Mimi to a halt, was a twelve by fourteen solid, steel door in the wall facing away from the gate.
"This is another cache, isn't it?" Laurel asked.
"Got it in one," the fixer replied as he and Allen powered the massive vehicle down. "Still manned, too. Been talking with its XO, Ray, for a year online. Nice guy. Real gear head. Ex-FBI. Never said why he took the post, though. Guess he had his reasons."
The group assembled their gear. The process had become second nature by then, thanks to Foster insisting they each carry a weapon—every waking minute of the day—for most of the last month. They made sure all their magazines were full and donned their tactical vests, double checking each other to ensure no one would be short on precious ammo. They then moved to the rear module. George punched numbers on the hull's recessed keypad and the massive hatch cycled open. They exited and it rose again to secure the Mimi.
It was frighteningly quiet outside, even more so than the city had been. Absent were the sounds of humanity. Jake heard birds in the western tree line, but other than the slight breeze moving through the branches all that broke the silence was the occasional, soft creak of metal from the junkyard's rusting, inorganic residents. After a cautious look around the area, they moved towards the large door of the safe house. Jake, Foster, and Kat took lead, with Leo, Maggie, and Laurel at the rear with the others sandwiched between. The fixer hit a button on an ancient intercom dangling from the cinder block wall and they stood waiting for some kind of reply.
Moments later, a distorted, static-muffled voice came from the tiny speaker.
"Hello?"
"Hi'ya, Ray," George replied. "It's me."
There was a camera above the huge door, which now turned towards their party. They heard the whir of the lens as it focused on them. Kat waved and blew it a kiss. Jake hoped fervently that whoever was watching on the monitor had a sense of humor. If not, they'd be getting back in their big, pink, zombie-crushing sardine can.
"Have any of you been bitten?" The voice asked.
Foster shrugged. "Not yet. At least not by any of them." He gave Jake and the redhead an amused look. Laurel pointedly ignored it, but the writer coughed uncomfortably.
"Okay. Watch yourselves." The intercom crackled.
There was a muffled clank and the door rose smoothly into the wall above.
Chapter Sixteen
"I just want a shower," Heather murmured as they watched the thick, steel rise up into the wall. "I feel like somebody dipped me in a big, sweaty lake."
The others could identify with that comment. The Mimi was durable, almost beyond belief, and provided near bunker-level protection, but its ventilation sucked. It had nothing resembling central air. Thankfully, the two larger modules had a pair of three-foot movable panels (top front and rear) that its occupants could slide back to provide airflow. They could be controlled from either the lead unit or manual keypads located at the front hatches leading through the Mimi's interior. Upon opening, the spaces remained covered by a plate with half-inch holes punched into its entire surface, providing a broken view of the sky. While it wasn't the best, it was a far cry from creeping along in a metal oven.
The building's ground floor was taken up mainly by a machine shop. A pair of soldiers sporting black fatigues, web gear, and no-nonsense expressions waited ten yards inside. Both of them were young, mid-twenties perhaps. One was a tall, dangerous looking male, the other an equally tall blond female.
"Hey people," the woman said, stepping forward, "you look like ten miles of bad road. Anybody want a beer?"
Jake would've wept at the thought of a cold beer, but was too thankful to be out of the oven-like transport to bother.
"I'm Special Forces Sergeant Elle Pierce. This is Corporal Vincent Williams." Her companion didn't react. He just stood there, gun held loosely and vaguely pointed towards the group of survivors. "You understand, I have to ask if any of you are, uh... infected?"
"We're good, Sergeant. We haven't been out of the Mimi for three days," Jake replied.
She nodded. "Good enough. If not, you'd have turned long before now. Let's get…"
"We're just supposed to take your word for it? How the hell do we know you're telling the truth?" The male soldier frowned and stared belligerently at their little group.
Jake looked calmly at the obnoxious Corporal. "You could just use your eyes. Are any of us coughing up black phlegm? Anybody's skin going grey and slimy? No? Why don't we dispense with the bullshit then?"
"Stand down, Vince. In case you didn't notice? They just pulled up in the ride that's going to get us to the land of surfers and sunshine," Elle snapped, causing Kat to hide a smile behind her hand. "You could show these people some gratitude. Or at least not act like an asshole."
Williams shifted slightly, his hand on the grip of a MP4. "This is a US Government installation, which means the military is in charge. Do any of you even have a security clearance?"
"We've been living in a cache a lot bigger and with more resources than this one, I might add, for almost two months," Laurel replied. "Besides, security clearance? Have you been paying attention to what's happened outside? There isn't any US Government left east of the Rockies. They're busy keeping a safe haven on the west coast. Who gives a damn what dirty little secrets we learn along the way?"
"Well, that's great," Vince snorted. "A stripper with a big mouth knows what the Armed Forces hierarchy's plans are, so we can..."
A second later the corporal's eyes widened. Jake's, huge pistol was pressed against his left eyebrow and the point of Kat's sword pricked him underneath the Adam's apple.
"You might want to rethink that comment," Laurel's blue-haired friend said softly. "No, you want to apologize to the lady." Jake's voice was colder than the dead walking about the world. He thumbed back the pistol's hammer, causing the soldier to flinch. "Or you won't have to worry about the zombies getting you. I'll blow your damn head off, right now."
"Elle?" Vince asked.
"Don't look at me," Elle said, raising her hands up above her shoulders.
"Everybody? Calm! The fuck! Down!"
With the exception of Kat, Vince, and Jake, they all turned toward the voice. An extremely attractive woman in her mid-thirties jogged down the metal stairs from the second floor. She had sandy brown hair falling over elegant features, high full breasts narrowing down to a trim waist, excellent legs beneath a pair of cut-off Daisy-Dukes. She glared disapprovingly at Vince.
"Corporal? Apo
logize." She strode up to where Jake stood, finger still on the Hammer's trigger.
"Sorry, Miss," he mumbled.
Kat took a step back and sheathed her sword. The writer stood unmoving for a few heartbeats, then thumbed the pistol's hammer forward slowly and took the bulky weapon away from the man's brow.
"Just so we're clear. These are my friends," Jake said evenly. "I don't know you. And for future reference? Personally, I think George there should be in charge of this group. But everyone foisted the honor on me. So you can either deal with it, or sit your ass right here and wait for the hierarchy to send a rescue to bum-fuck Ohio to save your hide. They should be here in a few years."
Vince grinned widely. "Sorry. Had to find out whether you were actually up to leading us across the mess this country's turned into. Gunny thought you were, but we had to be sure."
Jake looked at him quizzically. "You were testing us?"
"Nope. I was testing you." He nodded at the fixer. "You were right, sir."
"Well. All done patting each other on the ass now? Good." The model-beautiful woman stuck her hand out at Foster. "Hiya George, I'm Rae."
From the look on the old chief's face, her announcement caught him flat-footed. "You? You're shitting me."
"I know. The whole breasts thing throws everyone." She shook his limp and unfeeling hand. "Rachael Norris."
"But...but..." George stammered. "The radio! I talked to…"
Rae shrugged. "Voice modulator. Standard issue for caches, and extremely useful if you need to pass disinformation in hostile territory."
Foster looked at her narrowly. "What's the PSI rating for a radiator in a '62 Volkswagen Beetle?"
The woman smiled. "The '62s were air cooled. They didn't have radiators."
"Yep, you're him. Her. Uh..." He shrugged. "Nice to finally meet ya."
"Likewise." She turned towards the others. "Now, introduce your friends."
Laurel moved closer to Jake as George's online buddy made the rounds. Jake realized that Laurel was looking at Rae nervously as she slid an arm around his waist and he smiled to himself. It surprised him that a woman, who was so obviously drop-dead gorgeous, would be threatened by any other female walking the planet. To be honest, Laurel's need to stake her claim made him feel better.
He rubbed his hand along her shoulder blade as the fixer introduced Maggie and the kids. The redhead looked at him guiltily and he gave her a squeeze, earning one of her lopsided grins.
"You've got to be Laurel and Jake." Rae smiled at them as she shook hands with Allen. "George described the two of you perfectly. I'm glad to see you finally stopped pussy-footing around and got together."
Jake gave Foster a raised eyebrow, which the old fixer avoided while puffing his stogie. Laurel noticed the exchange, but she was too occupied with a sudden rush of relief.
"Anybody up for coffee? We've got a ton of Jamaican blend upstairs. Or showers?" Rae looked around. Naked longing for hot water and a lot of soap was plain on everyone's face. "Alright, who's going first?"
* * *
The women insisted that Jake and the other males shower first, because the girls would take longer and didn't want to be rushed. To be fair, Jake understood their point. Kat, Heather, and Karen all had hair down to the middle of their backs and Laurel could almost sit on the ends of hers. It would take them a bit to shampoo, condition, repeat, etc.
The men, on the other hand, were pretty quick. Hair, pits, crevasses, maybe a quick shave, and done. Afterwards, they ran fast hands through their hair, then went off in search of caffeine while the ladies started a long, steam-saturated session of girl talk.
An hour later Foster, Vince, Rae, and Maggie (who'd been relatively quick with her own shower) sat arguing the cause of the outbreak, as Jake leaned against the sink sipping sweet, sweet bean squeezings.
"I'm voting for aliens," Vince said. "It's their way to take possession of the planet without having to fight pesky humans for it."
"Doubtful," Maggie replied.
"How can you be sure?" George asked.
Maggie started ticking off reasons on her fingers. "No epicenter for the infection. There's no way to cover the entire planet all at once like that with a chemical weapon. Also, communications didn't break down until after it had been going on for about a week. An invading, highly evolved enemy would've taken out our satellite grid to avoid detection while they spread a biological agent."
Heather had already pulled Allen down the hall towards the closet-sized, sleeping rooms on the other side of the safe house by the time Kat entered the common area. The others were totally absorbed in their debate, so Jake moved into the kitchen under the pretense of refilling his mug as she bounced happily from foot to foot on the linoleum.
"Feel better?" he asked.
"Absolutely," she said happily, grabbing a mug of her own from the dish strainer. "I think I lost a pound or two just from rinsing off the dust."
He grinned. "New do?"
Kat's shiny, blue hair had been trimmed into a long pixie cut. The new style softened her strong cheekbones, and half obscured the right side of her face, accentuating her already dark eyes and mirthful gaze. Her hand went up to brush stray hairs back over her ear at Jake's comment.
"Like it?"
"You look great," he replied. "Very Keira Knightley. Why did you cut it?"
"Shorter hair should be much harder for one of them to grab." Kat sipped at her mug of caffeinated goodness. "Gertie's working on Karen right now, then she'll do Laurel's"
"Oh."
Reading Jake's expression, she smiled consolingly. "Don't worry. She's not lopping hers off, like I did." She stepped towards the table where the others sat, still arguing about the possible causes of the dead's reanimation. "Rae? Do you mind if I show our fearless leader here that monster you keep downstairs?"
The sultry woman glanced her way and nodded with a smile, as George explained the reasons behind their chosen route to the Southwest.
Jake followed Kat back down to the garage level, appreciating the view. It wasn't as if he'd be willing to start anything with her. A certain redhead was more than enough for him. She had a great posterior though, and he didn't feel guilty for looking.
Well... maybe a little.
She led him back into the bay beneath the walkway and he almost shit a square turd.
A Hummer was parked there. A real one, not the yuppie-yellow look at me, look at me, I'm so rich and important, but I still feel the need to overcompensate model. It had been heavily modified. Its exterior had been augmented with inch thick steel bars welded together in a crosshatch pattern, then bolted through the armored doors over its darkened, bulletproof windows. A heavy crash plate covered the front grill and someone had painted a large, fanged smile across it in yellow spray paint.
It was beautiful.
It was sensual.
It was an absolutely, fucking perfect, zombie-crushing, scout vehicle and Jake itched to get behind the wheel.
"How the hell did you know about this?"
Kat leaned against the awesome machine looking smug. "Talked with Rae while you boys showered. She and George have been chatting about automotive refab for almost a year. I mentioned how you've been looking for a scout vehicle and she said you could have it."
"Oh yes! And I thought my Jeep was nice! Damn! I can't wait to take this thing out." He ran a one hand over the hood, face thoughtful. "What should I call her?"
"How about…Kat has the keys?" She dangled said items from one finger, on a Hello Kitty key-chain. "Or perhaps, if I ask really nicely, maybe she'll give them to me. That one's good too."
"Funny. Can I have them now?"
Her expression grew impish. "What'll you give me?"
Jake new better than to answer a loaded question like that. "Are we negotiating?"
"Yep." She twirled the keys. "So?"
He eyed her warily. "What did you want?"
"Two things."
"Two? That doesn't…"
Sh
e pointed a determined finger at him. "Hey, you get the keys and a Hummer. It's only fair."
The writer gave a heavy sigh. "So?"
"First, I want a kiss," she said. "And not a sisterly little peck either. A real one. I'll tell you the second thing after."
"Oka-a-ay. You do remember our conversation in the parking lot, right?" he said. "Nothing's changed."
"Relax," she said with a smile. "I'm not going to ask you for a quickie in the backseat or anything."
He wasn't sure how he felt about that as she twined her arms around his neck. Relieved? Disappointed?
Once again, kissing Kat was an experience. The touch of her lips to his set Jake's spine tingling, and he had a mental flash of her lying on the floor of his apartment, clad only in that pair of Kamikaze panties. He caught himself wondering intently about what was under the jeans and t-shirt she wore now.
Pushing that thought firmly to one side—for all of a second and a half—he maneuvered her around until her shapely backside pressed against the quarter panel of the Humvee. He slid his hands down her ribs finally bringing them to rest around her hips. Then, gripping firmly, he jerked her quickly against himself. Her tongue flicked against his, and Kat pulled him deeper into the kiss.
Damn it, he thought, why is it this woman can get me so worked up?
His back-brain told him to shut up, then gave him some subconscious advice. Jake was a little surprised himself when he slid his right hand down over Kat's flank to firmly cup one of her buttocks. Her eyes shot open, then rolled slowly closed again as she moaned into his mouth. Her left leg curled around the back of his knee. Kat didn't seem to have any desire to stop and their embrace stretched out over the course of a few minutes, until he reluctantly pulled back.
She half lay on the Hummer's hood, out of breath as he reached for the keys. Kat was faster and down the front of her shirt they went.
"Um...Can I have those now?"
She folded her arms across her chest and shook her head, smiling. "The second thing."