Dead Drop Series (Book 1): Dead Drop (Rise of the Elites)

by K. S. Black

  Dressed in his leathers, he tucked his Smith & Wesson .357 and the Python in his belt. He modified his suit with Kevlar so it provided him more protection. He carried the XM8 in one hand and the Mossberg pump action shotgun in the other.

  “You look like the hipster version of Mad Max but with better guns,” Cooper said.

  “Two men enter, one man leaves!” Kevin raised his shotgun in the air and walked to the Land Rover.

  He placed the XM8 and the Mossberg within easy reach of the driver’s seat and loaded the Land Rover with food, water, ammo, a first aid kit and other supplies.

  He stuck his head out the window to say goodbye. “Don’t burn down the house while I’m gone.” He waved as he pulled away.

  Cooper and Hayley would worry about him, but he wasn’t sure how he felt about that. They were good people—the real deal. But he’d fuck things up eventually like he used to when anyone got too close. It would be better for all of them if he moved on to Bisbee.

  He sucked at relationships—ask the women he slept with. But he got smart. It was easier to collect acquaintances. His mother said he had a fear of intimacy. She was one to fucking talk. She never managed to take time out of her busy social schedule to spend any with him. It didn’t matter now. Fuck her. And while he was at, he’d give the old man the fuck you finger too.

  * * *

  The drive to Phoenix was uneventful although it took twice as long as it would have before the shit hit the fan. He had mapped out alternative routes if I-10 proved impassable but managed to maneuver his way to Chandler, south of Phoenix, without much trouble. Getting through Phoenix, however, was a different story. The convoy had bypassed the city on their way east to Tucson, so he had no way of knowing what condition the roads would be in.

  Abandoned vehicles littered miles of I-10 and the state highways as well. Burned out vehicles were the norm. And so were the bullet holes. He drove around the cars looking for a way to bypass the mess he was in. He passed a group of military tents. Several had large Red Cross symbols on them.

  Three bulldozers were parked out in the middle of nowhere. Thousands of birds flocked together on the ground near the machinery. They took to the air as he got closer, a cloud of black, flapping wings hovering overhead.

  He parked the car and got out. He had to.

  CHAPTER 34

  May 24 – Double J Ranch

  Plain and simple, Jake needed more food. His pants were getting loose. Now was not the right time to slaughter a cow, especially with the diesel fuel for the generator running low to keep the freezer going and no one to keep a look out. He wasn’t sure if he even remembered how. He had already eaten two of the chickens.

  He was having misgivings about staying at the ranch: How would he take care of everything by himself? Was he going to be able to keep it secure?

  It was still dark when he woke to high-pitched squeals coming from the horses. He went to the porch and spotted a crazy trying to get to the horses through the fence and shot him—one bullet through the heart and he was down. He shined a flashlight on the man’s face. Son of a bitch. Marty Anderson. The man had the kind of face that the virus couldn’t make much uglier, but he had always been a good neighbor. Jake was going to end up friggin nuts if he had to shoot anyone else he knew.

  He shut the horses in the barn and spent the rest of the night in his LAV that he had parked sideways across the barn to bar access to the doors. At some point, while it was still dark, he woke up again. Something was moving around outside but stopped. Maybe it was just the horses.

  Early the next morning, he put on his combat uniform and his body armor. He holstered his .45 across his chest and grabbed his M-4 and a supply bag before he got in the pickup. He drove north towards Fort Hood with no plan. A lot of good a plan did him on his last trip out.

  When he was south of Killeen, near Texas A&M, he hit his first roadblock. The scene was no different than the other road-blocks he had come across since he left L.A. He wound his way through the abandoned vehicles and took the next exit.

  In the distance, he spotted a dirt road that led to the back side of the university’s administration offices. He followed the road until it opened up into a parking lot full of tents surrounded by a twelve-foot-high chain link fence topped with concertina wire.

  Several semi-trucks with trailers and a couple of bulldozers were parked outside the fence. This wasn’t like Georgetown. This place looked more like the pictures Cooper Reid had shown him of the airport in San Bernardino, except this place looked deserted.

  He parked next to the administration building near a pile of desks and other office furniture. When he got out, the pit of his stomach tightened. Dozens of canvas tent flaps whipped in and out with the breeze. He thought he caught a faint whiff of burned flesh and decomposition and guessed that seven to ten days before, the area had been bustling with activity until the soldiers in black got their orders to leave. But first, they killed everyone they weren’t taking with them.

  Before he could enter the administration building, he had to smash in the glass door. Someone had padlocked it from the inside.

  Positioned to shoot anything that moved, he made his way around stacks of files, medical equipment, and gurneys haphazardly placed in the hallways. Offices had been turned into makeshift hospital rooms with cots and tray tables. All the blinds were up and flooded each room with sunlight. Why would they do that if they were hiding inside?

  Jake took the stairs to the second floor. It looked the same as the first.

  The third floor offices were different. Heavy gauge, plastic sheeting covered all the doorways and separated the hall in between every set of doors. All the blinds had been pulled up there, too.

  In a large conference room, he counted eight beds fitted with arm and leg restraints. He also found lab equipment. Whoever had been there left without taking his notes. Nothing he read made sense.

  The fourth floor entrance was locked. He peeked into a small, rectangular window. Stacks of boxes lined the hallway. Some were labeled MREs but most were labeled as medical supplies.

  With the butt of his M-4, he broke the small pane of rectangular shaped glass. He reached in and turned the knob. Then he stepped inside and scanned the hallway. All the offices were filled with boxes; the entire floor was used for storage. They had planned to be here for a while but no one was there.

  He checked each office making sure the floor was clear. Most of the office doors were open, but the door to the last office down the main hall was closed. It was unlocked, but unlike the other rooms, it was dark inside. He looked down to pull his flashlight out of his pocket. A muzzle flash from the back of the room blinded him. Without hesitating, he hit the deck. Disoriented and ears ringing, he felt for the space between the floor and the door and pulled the door closed before making his way to an office a few doors down.

  His arm burned like a mother fucker. A bullet had ripped through his sleeve and left a bloody furrow across his upper arm. He searched through boxes for first aid supplies, but there were none in this room. He found an open roll of medical tape and some paper towels that he put around his arm to stop the bleeding. The wound was more than a graze but nothing a good disinfectant and a heavy duty bandage couldn’t repair.

  He stepped back into the hallway. The door to the dark office was still closed. He shot out the small glass window in the door and heard a woman scream.

  “This is the U.S. Marine Corps. Put your weapons down and come out slow with your hands in the air. This is your only warning.”

  A girlish voice broke the silence. “There aren’t any more marines or a United States, so go screw yourself!”

  He peeked through the window again. Bullets hit the door splintering the wood.

  “Go away!”

  Was she was alone? He had brought a flashbang in with him, the same kind the marines had used in Afghanistan with noncombatants. He needed food supplies and he wasn’t going to take the chance of anyone sneaking up behind him and shoot
ing him in the back while he was looking through the boxes. He pulled out the pin, opened the door and rolled it hard in the direction he had heard the girl’s voice coming from moments earlier.

  The flashbang went off as expected—with a loud bang and a blinding flash. Charging into the smoke filled room, he found a young woman in army fatigues on the floor, disoriented and coughing. She reached for the M-16 she had dropped, but he kicked it away and aimed his M-4 at her.

  Before she could pull the pistol out of her waistband, he slammed his utility boot into her chest. She flew backward against a stack of boxes. A few of them toppled down on her. Jake cleared the boxes, found her 9mm on the ground, picked it up and shoved it in his pants for safe keeping. He ripped the tarp away from the window and pulled up the blinds. Light flooded the room. He bent down to get a better look at her. She struggled to catch her breath but tried to kick him away with her child-sized boots.

  She was small but not a girl. Maybe five feet two and a hundred and ten pounds. The army must’ve been desperate. “I didn’t mean to kick you so hard.”

  She glared at him as she tried to force the air back into her lungs. After a few minutes, her breathing returned to normal. “Quit staring at me, you freak! I guess you’re the asshole marine who tried to shoot me through the window.”

  “I’m the asshole? Look what you did to my arm.” He shined his flashlight on his bloody sleeve.

  “I actually hit you?”

  “It sure looks that way, Sergeant—” He looked at her name tag. “Zamora.”

  “I only meant to scare you.” She pushed herself off the floor and stood with some effort. She took a couple of shaky steps towards him.

  He lifted his rifle. “What the hell are you doing here?”

  She stopped and placed her hand on top of a large box to steady herself. “I’m really sorry. Please don’t hurt me. I think I might have some bruised ribs. My head hurts.” Tears rolled down her cheeks, but she wiped them away. “I’m an Emergency Med Tech. I was sent here from Ft. Hood to help care for the people who were sick. That’s all—I swear. You should let me look at your arm.”

  “There aren’t any sick people here anymore, so why are you still here?”

  “We got orders to go back to Ft. Hood after Homeland Security came and killed everyone who was sick and some who weren’t.

  “Did you kill anyone?”

  “No.” She looked down at the floor and started crying again. “But others in my unit did. When we left, a bunch of us were sitting in the back of a truck. It was hot and bumpy. I get motion sickness sometimes. When I started throwing up, they stopped the truck. The captain in charge of our unit ordered me to get out, and then they drove off without me.

  “They threatened to shoot me if I didn’t get out. I’m lucky they didn’t.” She took her hand off the box. “I feel—” Before she could say anything else, she fell forward. The left side of her face hit the corner of a box on her way to the floor.

  He rushed to her and turned her over onto her back. She was breathing but looked pale. Her skin felt clammy when he touched her face. There was a small cut over her left eyelid. He didn’t need this shit. What the fuck was he going to do with her?

  He took off her fatigue blouse and rolled it up to elevate her head. He shook her. She mumbled something in Spanish he couldn’t understand.

  He watched her for a few minutes to make sure she was breathing regularly and began stacking boxes of MREs.

  After a couple of trips to the parking lot, he went in to check on her. She was beginning to stir.

  “Hey.” He tapped her boot with the butt of his rifle. “Sergeant Zamora. You okay?”

  Her eyes fluttered open.

  “You’ve been out for about twenty minutes. You hit your eye on the corner of the box on your way down, but I don’t think you hit your head. You kind of slid off the box onto the floor. I found these for you.”

  She made a move to sit up but stopped. “Get away from me!” She touched her eye and looked at the blood on her fingertips. “Leave me alone.”

  He tossed a container of wet wipes next to her and pointed to her eye. “I’m gonna be on my way now. I’m taking some boxes of MREs and some first aid supplies.”

  He made a quick exit. He heard her call after him, but there was no fucking way he was taking her with him. She made it this far on her own. She’d be okay. He hadn’t forgotten that she tried to kill him.

  Inside the stairwell, he thought he heard her again but kept going. She’d be a liability. Not his problem.

  * * *

  He loaded the last of the boxes and got inside the truck. He took a final look at the building. She had food, water, and medical supplies. Someone would find her eventually—maybe. She proved she could take care of herself. She wasn’t afraid to pull the trigger.

  But she was alone. He didn’t like being alone. But then again, he didn’t have to worry about anyone either, even though he was worried sick about Charlotte. Was the sergeant someone’s loved one—a sister, daughter, girlfriend, wife, mother? He didn’t want to think about it anymore and reminded himself that she was not his problem.

  He hadn’t driven twenty feet when something caught his eye. He came to a stop and got out with his M-4. He scanned the area around the building. The sergeant was face down in the grass. He ran to her and rolled her onto her back. Her eye was bleeding again.

  “Don’t leave me. Please.”

  “You told me to leave you alone. Remember? You shot me.” He glanced at his arm and tried to appear hardened to her request.

  “I can’t stay here by myself anymore. I haven’t slept for days. I was afraid they’d come at night. That’s when they get more active.” Tears fell from her eyes, but she didn’t wipe them away.

  She didn’t need to explain who they were.

  “I gotta get back to my ranch before sundown. I have livestock that need to get fed.” He wouldn’t admit it to her, but he admired her grit, even if she did shoot him. She wasn’t crying crocodile tears.

  “Please let me go with you. I can’t stay here by myself. I have nowhere else to go. I’m not even from Texas. Let me take a look at your arm. You have to make sure it doesn’t get infected.”

  He sat back on his heels and scratched his head. “I could drop you off at Ft. Hood.”

  “No.” She shook her head.

  “That’s where I was headed today. Had to make a detour here instead.”

  “It’s not safe there. I was only going back because I didn’t know what else to do.”

  “My name’s Jake.” He reached out his hand.

  “Is that a yes?” She slipped her small hand in his and squeezed hard. “I’m Michele.”

  “I’m keeping my eye on you, Michele,” he said and winked at her. What the hell was he doing?

  * * *

  It was warm outside, but Michele was shaking. Jake put a blanket around her shoulders. Too exhausted and dizzy to walk unassisted, he picked her up and carried her to the truck. She winced as she settled into her seat and asked for a first aid kit.

  His arm had started to bleed again, so she cleaned up the wound and bandaged it. He’d have her take a better look at it when they got back to the ranch.

  Using the review mirror, she examined the bruise that was forming over her left eye and used two small butterfly bandages to close the cut below her eyebrow.

  While she watched from inside the cab, he loaded additional MREs and medical supplies into the truck. Michele told him where he could find ammo. He loaded those crates into his truck as well. She fell asleep before he finished and stayed asleep for the entire drive to the ranch.

  * * *

  “Michele. Hey, Sergeant Zamora. Wake up.” Jake shook her shoulder.

  “What? What’s happening?” She jerked awake when he touched her.

  “We’re here.”

  “How long have I been sleeping?”

  “A few hours.”

  She covered her yawn with a cupped hand. She used
two fingers to rub her eyes, but then she pulled them away.

  “You got yourself a nice shiner. I shoulda found you one of those chemical ice packs. How’s the ribs?”

  “Sore.” She unbuttoned her uniform blouse and lifted her t-shirt. A purple, boot shaped bruise marked her tan skin.

  “I kicked you pretty good. Sorry.”

  “I guess I had it coming. I don’t think they’re broken, though.” She frowned as she touched the edges of the bruise.

  “I wouldn’t have kicked you so hard if I had realized how small you were.” His attempt to say something nice fell flat. “Let me get you inside.”

  * * *

  “How does that feel?” Michele asked after she finished bandaging Jake’s arm at the kitchen table.

  “It friggin hurts.”

  “If you look in one of those first aid kits I told you to carry inside, there should be some morphine tablets. Would you bring them to me?”

  “I don’t need any morphine.”

  “They’re not for you, dummy. They’re for me. You might want to take 800 milligrams of ibuprofen for the pain and swelling.”

  CHAPTER 35

  May 24 – Phoenix

  Hundreds of beady eyes followed Kevin as he walked towards a sea of black flapping wings near several trenches. They reminded him of the ones he had seen in California with Cooper and Hayley. But these trenches were larger and deeper. The stench almost made him turn back even with his gas mask on.

  By the time he reached the edge of the trench, most of the crows had moved out of his way, except for a stubborn one that he had to threaten with the butt of his XM8. It scuttled away squawking.

  The scene was familiar, yet the hair all over his body stood on end. He forced himself to take in every detail, not to satisfy some morbid curiosity but to stand as a witness to the evil in men’s souls. But more importantly, to pay his respects to the dead who had done nothing to deserve this senseless death.