Allegiance

by Shawn Chesser

  “Be ready,” Jenkins whispered.

  Suffering a severe charley horse, Tran fell back in his seat, causing his arms to retract into the cab.

  In less than a second one of the security men had reacted and had jabbed his AR-15 inside the truck.

  Jenkins stared down the muzzle and decided to stand down. Words were just that, after all. And the big man struck him as a talker. Not a killer.

  Holding onto his spasming calf with both hands, Tran bowed his head and looked away from the weapon.

  “State your business,” the big man said, gazing at Daymon.

  “Just passing through. That’s all.”

  “How did you acquire the vehicle?” he demanded next.

  Daymon said nothing. Instead he tilted his head toward the backseat.

  The big man addressed Jenkins directly. “Why aren’t you driving your own cruiser?”

  “We were on the road between Victor and Alpine siphoning fuel when we were jumped by a large group... he just happened to be closest to the wheel,” Jenkins answered as his gaze drifted from the apparent leader to the two armed men flanking him.

  “Let me see your identification and your badge.”

  With slow precise movements, Jenkins complied without taking his eyes from the unwavering muzzles.

  After a moment of scrutiny the big man returned the badge and credentials and the questioning resumed. “So, Chief Jenkins... where are you all headed and why’d you leave your jurisdiction?”

  Jenkins eyed the rotund man and felt his blood run hot. Being on the other side of the questioning was uncharted waters for the Jackson police chief. “We’re on our way to Salt Lake,” he lied. “Daymon here has reason to believe his family is still alive. And my jurisdiction no longer exists... Jackson Hole is finished. The dead overran our roadblock. Hell, from the looks of yours I shoulda taken a play out of your book,” he added, trying to remain on the big man’s good side.

  “How do you fit in with those contractor New American whackos that have been roaming all over our Wyoming?”

  Finally a chance to tell the truth, Jenkins thought. “I distanced myself from them on day one, and I ran away as soon as the opportunity presented itself.”

  The big man studied Jenkins for a long minute. “I believe you, Chief Jenkins,” he finally said. “In my line of work a fella has to have a finely tuned BS detector.”

  Jenkins said nothing.

  “You do realize that you’re taking the long route to Salt Lake,” the big man stated.

  Jenkins nodded slowly. “We had the 89 bridge over the Snake barricaded pretty good... or so we thought. The dead overran Jackson three days ago. We had no choice but to escape via the Teton Pass.”

  The big man attempted to bend at the waist. His upper body only hinged over a few degrees and his gut leapt from under his John Deere tee shirt. He looked past Daymon and locked eyes with Heidi.

  Heidi’s blood ran cold. But before she could act on her fight or flight impulse, the big man smiled and said, “I don’t have the heart to send you all around the long way...”—Daymon and Jenkins exchanged glances but remained stoic. The time would come later when they could laugh at the inside joke—“... so when Harley moves the tractor I want you all to drive through real slow and follow the first vehicle you see. Follow it all the way through to the edge of town and they’ll let you on through to the other side. We can’t help you with supplies or fuel so don’t ask.”

  Leaning out the rear window, Jenkins caught the big man’s attention. “Can I ask you a question?”

  “What is it?”

  “First off, thanks for letting us pass.”

  The man winked.

  “What’s your name and what do you do here in Etna?”

  “Name’s Mr. Carter. I taught fifth grade at Etna Elementary.”

  Jenkins smiled at the teacher and powered his window shut. “Truth’s stranger than fiction,” he said.

  “I couldn’t help it,” Tran said. “My calf knotted up. I thought we were doomed.”

  Heidi exhaled sharply. “Me too. But damn it feels good to know that not everyone is on the side of darkness,” she said.

  Daymon started the truck, and for some reason something that Cade had said days ago popped into his head. He vowed to himself he’d follow the man’s sage advice and remember to stay frosty from this moment forward.

  ***

  Daymon followed close behind the old slant-back Chevy Nova as they passed through the tiny downtown core of Etna, Wyoming. Nothing stood out. Every building and house looked to have been transplanted from another era. There were no traffic lights. There were no billboards, and most importantly, there were no dead.

  “Want to switch places with me?” Daymon asked Jenkins.

  “You go ahead. I’m going to kick back.”

  “After that screw up back there?”

  “No Daymon... that was no screw up,” drawled Jenkins. “I didn’t see the roadblock neither. And I was lookin’.” He donned his hat and pulled it over his eyes, then added, “You done good. You drive the rest of the way.”

  “How far?” Heidi asked.

  The Nova pulled aside just prior to an old green bridge, crossing some anonymous creek. On the other side was a roadblock nearly identical to the one at the other end of Etna. The driver waved them across about the same time the bus pulled away from the far end of the bridge, leaving an inviting stretch of tree-lined highway beckoning.

  Tipping his hat up, Jenkins looked at Daymon in the rearview and said, “That, my friend, was a

  First Blood moment. Only this time John J. Rambo was escorting old Galt out of town.” He let the hat cover his eyes and slumped into the seat. He doubted if his comment meant anything to the other three, but to a small town chief like him—the leniency showed them by Mr. Carter was a Godsend.

  Chapter 58

  Outbreak- Day 16

  Winters’s Compound

  Eden, Utah

  Gus put his eye to the scope atop his Les Baer AR-15, aimed for the spot where the road cut into the forest, and braced his arms on his knees. He was sitting Indian style amongst the short scrub brush just inside the tree line, seventy-five yards uphill from the spot where earlier he had buried the canisters on the side of the road.

  He could hear some type of vehicle approaching, and, judging by the high performance whine of its engine, he guessed it was either an exotic supercar or one of those Japanese made-crotch rockets; considering the fact that he was in Utah and not Southern California, his money was on the latter.

  “Stand by,” he said into the two-way. He listened intently and still couldn’t determine what was approaching. “I’ve got at least one vehicle coming our way from the west.”

  Duncan swiveled the turret-mounted gun to the right a few degrees so that it was trained down the westernmost stretch of 39. He remained still, peering through the camouflage netting, and contemplated the possible scenarios. His first inclination was that his gut instinct had been right and the plan he had set into motion the previous day was about to pay off in spades.

  Releasing Chance on his own recognizance had been a gamble that most everyone in the compound had not agreed with. However, Duncan thought fighting a large hostile group out in the open with the element of surprise and the luxury of preparation was preferable to adopting a defensive posture and eventually be forced to engage them, and possibly more rotters, in the woods.

  “I want everyone to hold fire until I give the word,” said Duncan. He figured it was about to go down one of two ways: whoever was approaching could just be a neutral survivor, however unlikely, and would pass on through, or, the interlopers would prove him right by either storming the compound or cutting the fence and once again letting the rotters in. Either action in the latter category, he thought, will justify springing the ambush on them.

  In no time the source of the noise, a neon-orange motorcycle with black tiger stripes and a piercing blue headlight, rocketed from the forest’s embrace
. Wide and low and riding on fat performance rubber, Gus pegged it as one of the 1200cc models. He watched it crest the rise at high speed, jink around a shambling rotter, and then suddenly the front end dipped and the engine howled in protest as the rider simultaneously braked and rapidly downshifted, bringing the fiberglass-clad bike to a standstill fifty yards short of Duncan’s pet zombies.

  Balancing the idling bike between his legs, the rider, who was wearing a full-faced helmet painted to match, produced a pair of binoculars from inside his jacket, flipped up the mirrored visor, and glassed the entire valley. As the rider panned the field glasses over to the area where the Chance kid had been conducting his surveillance the day before, Gus noticed scraggly twists of blonde hair darting snakelike from under the bottom of the helmet.

  Gus keyed his mike and said, “That Chance kid is back and I’ve got a clean shot on him.” He tensed his finger on the trigger, drawing up a few pounds of pressure. Come on Duncan, make the call, he thought to himself.

  “I’ve got him bracketed as well,” said Logan, who was positioned the farthest away due east, and save for the Turret-mounted M2, wielded the most powerful rifle in the group. His finger also was itching to pull the trigger and send a .50 caliber projectile through the big Barrett sniper rifle and downrange through the rider’s facemask.

  “Stand down. He’s just probing us,” Duncan blurted. “I’d bet the rest of his posse is within spitting distance. Hold your fire Gus. Hold your fire Logan.”

  In fact, unbeknownst to the kid on the bike, he presently had seven sets of eyes and the same number of weapons trained on him. Jamie and Chief were on the high side of the hill, a little west of Duncan and not too far from the hidden entrance leading to the compound. And secreted in the tree line on the compound side of 39, at an oblique angle from the planted IEDs, Phil and Lev waited patiently in the low scrub.

  Unaware that his life had just been spared for the second time in less than twenty-four hours, Chance stowed the binoculars and spun the bike in a tight one-eighty on the center line, leaving a half-moon of burnt rubber behind. In seconds the bike became an orange blur speeding away, its exhaust note taunting the hidden shooters.

  Chapter 59

  Outbreak - Day 16

  National Microbiology Laboratory

  Winnipeg, Manitoba Canada

  The small Asian woman was first to venture from inside the gore-spattered glass prison. She took a few tentative steps onto the carpet, looked over the men clad in camouflage and body armor who towered over her. Then a tear traced her cheek and she rushed Cade and threw her arms around his neck. She planted a peck on his sooty cheek and broke down sobbing, clinging firmly to his MOLLE gear.

  The others exiting the room at a slow trickle seemed to be in a state of shock. Cade had seen the reaction many times before, but it wouldn’t take long for their brains to process what their eyes were seeing.

  “Who is in charge here?” Cade asked as he looked over the disheveled group.

  Silence.

  A round and matronly-looking woman stepped forward. Gray hair clutched in a large plastic clip positioned at the rear of her head and a pair of bifocals perched on her nose, she looked like she’d be at home herding kindergartners for a living. She put her arm around the Asian lady and eased her away from Cade. She bent to the petite woman’s level and looked her in the eyes. “Mary,” she said softly. “This man has some questions for you.”

  “Screw that,” said a man in the back. He was African American, and stood a head over the others. “I only listened to her cause she had a Level 4 clearance. I’m not even in her work group.” He shook his head and his face tightened. “I shoulda left with the others when I had the chance.”

  “The others are dead, Andy. Don’t you get that yet?” said a woman dressed in light blue hospital scrubs. “They were attacked before they even got out of the building, and they are still walking around down there.”

  “You guys are Americans, aren’t you?” asked another man who was also dressed in utilitarian blue hospital-style scrubs. He furrowed his brow and stabbed a finger at Tice’s chest. “It’s all your fault... you didn’t shut down air travel soon enough. And now look what we’re facing.”

  Tice took a step back and let the man continue his rant.

  After getting the lady named Mary seated and allowing her a few moments to collect herself, Cade asked her to start from the beginning.

  Five minutes into her story, Cade had gathered that Mary’s group had been composed of virologists and microbiologists who had been working to get a handle on the Omega virus in conjunction with the CDC in Atlanta up until the phones and the Internet went down. All of the bio level 4 personnel had been in the process of evacuating from the below-ground containment facility when the perimeter fell. She mentioned seeing the glass on the ground level implode from errant gunfire. Then the resulting tide of dead that had poured into the building split her group and she and two others had been forced to take to higher ground.

  “Only the three of you worked with the Level 4 bugs in the bio containment facility in the basement?” Cade questioned as he pointed at Mary, the schoolmarm-looking lady named Rita, and a white man who appeared to be in his fifties and was wearing a name tag that read Virgil. “Where did the rest of the people on your team go?”

  “The others followed the soldiers outside... we were right on their heels, then we got cut off and had no choice but to duck back into the stairway.”

  There was silence for a moment, then Cade hailed Gaines. “This is Anvil Actual, sit-rep to follow. How copy?”

  Gaines answered at once. “Good copy, Anvil Actual. Go ahead.”

  Cade took a moment and explained the situation in detail.

  “Twenty-one... did I hear you correctly, Anvil?”

  “Roger that. Three principals. Eighteen survivors.”

  “Wait one while I consult with Ripley,” Gaines replied.

  “Roger that,” said Cade.

  “So you escaped the mayhem on the ground level and then you all made it back to the stairwell...” Cade took a second to think. “Are you certain you closed the stairwell door behind you?”

  “Of course. I’m no dummy,” Mary said. Virgil nodded in agreement. “Because the windows were shot out, the lobby has got to be filled with dead by now,” he added.

  “Ten of our group went out three days ago...” said Mary.

  Cade pointed to the dead Zs on the floor. “And these ones?”

  “Those are some of the ten that originally tried to run for it,” Mary said as she rubbed her temples. “Three minutes... less than three minutes and they were back banging on the door.” She broke down, sobbing.

  “And you let them back in?” said Lopez incredulously.

  Andy piped up. “We didn’t know they were bit. No way to know that. And once they were back inside and seemed OK, nobody knew what to do.” He shot an indicting glare at Mary. “And no one took charge.” Heads nodded in unison.

  “It was my idea to go into the conference room,” Mary proffered.

  “You mean you got us trapped in the conference room,” said someone from the rear of the group.

  “I didn’t want to let them back in,” said Andy in a melancholy voice.

  “Can’t change the past,” said Cade coolly.

  “Don’t have to make the same mistake twice either,” Andy spat. “I’m done taking orders from her.”

  As some of the other survivors tried to calm the tall man, even tugging on his arms to encourage him to sit, Cade issued a couple of orders. “Cross, take a look outside, tell me what you see.”

  Cross made his way to the windows and looked down at the entry, which was flanked by a carpet of colorful flowers and cement planters with short well-manicured shrubs growing from them. The landscaping had been trampled and at least two dozen dead seemed to be able to enter and exit the building at will. Though he couldn’t verify if the windows and doors below had been compromised, the movements of the Zs all but
confirmed Mary’s account.

  “What do you need me to do, Captain?” Tice asked. He was sitting cross-legged on the floor with his M4 resting across his knees.

  “Go scope the door to the stairwell,” Cade replied. “I’m hopeful the Zs found the fifth floor door Lopez left ajar and are hunting for fresh meat up there.”

  “I’m going to have to use the low-light mode,” Tice said, thinking out loud.

  “Whatever it takes, make it happen,” said Cade. Then he eyed Mary and fired a couple of questions at her. “From the air I saw a glass sky bridge attached to the east side of the building. How do we access it from here and where will it take us?”

  “Second floor, northeast corner,” she said, pointing towards the far end of the expansive room near where the Delta Team had emerged onto the third floor. “That stairwell lets out pretty close to the bridge off of the second floor mezzanine, and it’s used mostly to access the parking lots without having to deal with the cars coming and going during a shift change. There are several hundred people who work in different buildings scattered all over the campus. The NML, in the sub-basement, where me and Rita and Virg worked, employs just a fraction of the workforce.”

  But your jobs are the most important, and the most dangerous, Cade thought. He suddenly realized that he was faced with a serious moral dilemma. One that no amount of extra training could have prepared him for. The cold, indifferent decision would be to leave most of these Canadian citizens to fend for themselves and hustle just the three scientists up to the roof and spirit them away in Jedi One-One.

  But the right decision, which he had embraced almost instantly, would be to see all twenty-one of the survivors to safety. Though it was going to be difficult to pull off, and he doubted everyone was going to make it out alive, to make it happen he had to find an LZ—landing zone—where both the Ghost and the Osprey could land safely and exfil all of the workers.