by Dave Lund
Lindsey pressed her face to the window. “There is nothing out here at all. We always stayed south along I-10; I’ve never been up this way.”
“Nothing but a bunch of oil field workers, and that’s just about it. Too bad the radio doesn’t work; this drive might suck slightly less if we had some tunes.”
“Sure, but then we would have to listen to fucking Tejano polka crap music and that would just add misery to the end of the world.”
“Still beats your R&B gospel choir swaying and clapping while everyone sings a solo at the same time.”
Lindsey stared at both of them. “You guys have serious problems.”
Apollo turned around with a wink. “You have no idea, ma’am.”
Terlingua, Texas
The whiskey bottle lay in a wet heap of shattered glass on the floor of the Starlight Theatre. A lone candle flickered in the dark room as Bexar stood uneasily and tripped over a chair trying to walk towards the bar. Staggering around the bar, Bexar grabbed a bottle of tequila off the shelf, pulled the pour spout out of the top, and took a long drink straight from the bottle. The clear alcohol burned down the back of his throat and for the first time in many years, Bexar’s body betrayed him.
Vomit shot from his mouth, propelled by the sudden influx of the Mexican liquor on top of the bottle of whiskey he had already drunk. Bexar collapsed onto his hands and knees by the bar, dry heaving so hard that the muscles around his ribs and stomach started cramping. Snot and spit hung from his face while Bexar stayed on his hands and knees trying to catch his breath.
“Dammit.”
Bexar climbed up the side of the bar and stood swaying, his shirt speckled with vomit, spit, and snot. He grabbed the tequila bottle and threw it across the room with a loud crash.
“Fucking bikers.”
He grabbed the order ticket pad and a pen from beside the cash register and wrote slowly, trying to write legibly even though he was drunk.
Jessie,
I buried Keeley in the graveyard. I’m going to the park to kill every single biker and I hope I find you. If I don’t make it, know that I loved you always and will love you forever.
~Bexar
Bexar tore the page from the pad, slung his rifle, shouldered his go-bag, and stepped onto the front porch. Night enveloped him, but the smell of burned wood still hung in the air. He clipped the ticket to the display for the restaurant’s daily specials and stumbled to the trading post next door. Bexar needed water and more food, and he would need something for the headache he knew was coming soon, so he went into the general store next door.
Twenty minutes later Bexar stepped outside and off the porch towards the motorcycle, his go-bag heavier than before. The large spent casings from the machine gun twinkled beneath his feet as he staggered to the motorcycle, the green wool poncho over his body once again. Riding a motorcycle with a tire full of Fix-A-Flat, drunk, and with no helmet would have been well beyond what Bexar considered a safe and reasonable choice. But a few months ago, planning to ride through the desert night to kill every person associated with a biker gang would have been a crazy thought as well.
CHAPTER 36
Groom Lake, Nevada
February 16, Year 1
The C-130 banked and turned for final approach, the landing gear already down. The runway lights glowed against the dark desert floor and Arcuni brought the plane down gently, proud that with each flight his skill flying the big Herc was improving. It had been nearly sixty years since the Air Force allowed enlisted men to fly, and he’d always felt that if he could have graduated from college and earned a commission, he would have been a great pilot.
Cliff stood with a handful of airmen along with Major Wright on the surface just outside the hangar that housed the main entrance to the secret underground facility. The airmen, armed with M4s and facing outward, watched for any approaching undead, while Cliff and Wright watched the plane taxi to a stop. The ramp lowered and the engines slowed to a stop. The three PJs walked down the ramp towards Cliff. This time, the number of undead approaching the noise from the aircraft had increased compared to the previous flight. It took the airmen nearly half an hour to put down the shambling threat, but Cliff was happy to see that his tactics continued to work safely and efficiently. If the one-star general in Denver had listened to him in the first place, Cliff was sure he would be happily underground below the Denver International Airport with a better chance of restarting the government and country.
“Sitrep?”
“The Situation Report, Cliff, is no friendly killed. Just one civilian loss en route to the extraction point, but both groups opted to fly back instead of taking supplies and sheltering in place.”
“Good. What changed the minds of the group from Colorado?”
“There is a rogue faction of aggressors in Cortez. That’s how we had the civilian loss.”
“OK. We need to address that. There was a project planned to take care of territorial warlord-type fiefdoms that would arise in the absence of a central government, but those plans were shot to hell with the rest of the project plans. Get secure and get below ground. We’ll take care of the in-processing with our new guests and then come to terms with the problem in Cortez.”
The PJs walked back to the plane and helped the airmen unload and escort the passengers to the hangar. The C-130 was refueled and tied down; Arcuni and Garcia joined the PJs and the new arrivals walking towards the hangar. Wright gathered the new arrivals in the hangar while the airmen pushed the doors closed and latched them into place. The painted floor shone, reflecting the electric lighting overhead, which caught the arriving refugees by surprise. None of them had seen a working electric light since the attacks in December.
Smiling, Wright addressed the crowd. “As you can see, we have electricity here. It is generated onsite and should continue to work for decades to come. We also have fresh clothing, beds, food, and water for everyone.” He pointed to an open doorway in the floor of the hangar. “Down those stairs is an in-processing area. Our airmen are going to need you to cooperate. You are free to leave if you so choose, but to be given full access to the facility, you will have to submit to a strip search and examination for any bite marks and will further be quarantined for infection for forty-eight hours. Once we have determined that you won’t be the start of an outbreak, you’ll be brought into the main facility. You can dispose of your clothing in our incinerators, or we have laundry facilities and you’re welcome to clean and keep them. We want you to keep any weapons you have, but we do need to inventory what you have.”
Wright paused to see if there was any reaction from the people standing before him before continuing. “Is anyone related to the deceased?”
The teenage boy with the shaggy hair raised his hand. His face and eyes were red and puffy from crying. “I am. That is my wife.”
“What’s your name, son?”
“Jason.”
“OK, Jason, we have no facilities to bury any bodies, so she will need to be cremated. You can join us for the task or we can bring you her ashes. You’re welcome to keep them or come back topside to scatter them if you would like.”
Jason looked at the floor and only slightly nodded in response.
“Once everyone is cleared to enter the main facility, we will have jobs and responsibilities for everyone. My staff is here to help you, but you will also be here to help us. We are in this together and if we are going to survive, it will take an incredible effort from us all. Over the next few days as you get settled in, we will be speaking with each of you to learn your talents and skills. Hopefully there will be many more following in your footsteps in the coming weeks. Our plan is to make Groom Lake the jump-off point for the survival of humanity and the rebuilding of our country.”
Jason’s head snapped up, and he raised his hand.
“Jason, we’re not in school. Feel free to speak. What is on your mind?”
“Groom Lake, like Area 51?”
“Yes.”
&nb
sp; “So, aliens?”
Wright smiled. “Nope, no aliens. Just a secret base where flight testing used to be carried out. The aliens story was a complete fabrication of our government to hide the high-technology aircraft being tested.”
Jason looked disappointed at the lack of aliens and turned to follow the airmen who had put his wife in a body bag and were carrying her into the facility.
Pecos, Texas
“Lindsey, get your skinny ass up here and take the wheel.”
Apollo’s left hand hung out the open window. The sound of a pistol echoed loudly inside the cab of the old Land Rover. Chivo hung halfway out of the window on the passenger’s side, rifle barking loudly in the desert air. Lindsey climbed into the front seat and took hold of the steering wheel. Apollo holstered his pistol and, using both hands, leaned out of the open window with his rifle.
The moonlight helped to illuminate the scene around them only slightly more than their headlights. After East Third Street from Highway 285, the town appeared to be completely abandoned—not that Pecos, Texas was a large and well-populated town before the attacks, but the burned-out hulks of two oil field tanker trucks blocked the road by the Knights Inn, and when trying to turn to backtrack around the wreck, they were quickly overrun by over a hundred undead. The bodies trudged out of seemingly nowhere in the darkness and were a complete surprise to all three of them.
“Lindsey, drive slowly and smoothly. If we damage our ride and we’re stuck in the middle of this, we might have a fight we can’t win,” Chivo yelled over the staccato sound of their rifle fire.
Chivo and Apollo fought hard to clear a way for their vehicle. After making a fast U-turn, the headlights showed what appeared to be a solid wall of approaching undead only fifty feet away.
“Take the parking lot,” Apollo yelled, pointing left. Lindsey slid the truck in the small space between the fenced-off pool and the blue metal roof of the two-story hotel. Lindsey turned the wheel and sped into the parking lot, which was surprisingly clear of the shambling dead. The Land Rover bounced through the parking lot and onto the next street before turning left and paralleling its original direction. No more undead were visible in front of them, but movement still caught their eyes in the dark shadows just outside the reach of the Land Rover’s headlights. Apollo and Chivo both slid back into the SUV; Apollo handed his rifle to Lindsey and took the steering wheel. She slid out of the front seat and returned to her spot in the back. A few minutes passed and the trio was on I-20, getting close to their destination.
“Jesus de Christo, that was close.”
“Where did all of those bodies come from? I doubt there were that many people in that town before the attack.”
“I don’t know, buddy, but I hope they don’t follow us for very long. And I say shit on traveling at night anymore.”
The next twenty minutes passed in silence. I-20 was fairly clear, because the cars were pushed to the sides of the road and were heavily damaged, as if a bulldozer had cleared the road before them. Apollo slowed the Land Rover and drove across the desert scrub grass in the median to the frontage road before turning onto a small dirt road. He stopped at the metal gate under a white painted entry made out of welded pipe. Mesquite trees dotted the barren landscape in what little they could see in the light from the headlights. Chivo exited and made quick work of the padlock with the bolt cutters before pulling the chain off the gate. After Apollo drove through, Chivo closed the gate and wrapped the chain to hold it in place. A slow and bumpy drive across the desert ended on a worn concrete surface with grass growing through the cracks—the location of the supposed inland supply cache in the middle of nowhere Texas.
“What is this place?” Lindsey asked.
“Pecos Parachute School.”
Both Apollo and Lindsey turned to Chivo, asking, “What?”
“Come on, haven’t you guys seen the movie Fandango? It’s where Truman Sparks has his parachute school.”
“Chivo, dude, you’re shitting me.”
“No, really! This is where they filmed it.”
Lindsey tried to ignore Chivo’s answers. “Is it for real?”
“I don’t know for sure. Cliff told us to drive here to resupply. I had a guess as to what it is, but I didn’t realize we had any of these placed this far south.”
Apollo drove in front of the skeletal remains of an old Army Air Base hangar and stopped by a small concrete building before turning the engine off. All three of them exited the Land Rover with a stretch and walked to the small abandoned building per Cliff’s instructions. Chivo held the instructions in his hand and lifted the cover to what appeared to be a metal electrical box, but instead of fuses, in the box was a ten-key keypad under the lid. Chivo looked at his notes and punched in the twenty-four-digit long number before closing the metal lid and taking a few steps backwards. With a muffled hiss below their feet, the entire building rose before them, pushed upwards by a heavy ram. The building rose nearly twenty feet, revealing a dark ramp descending below ground. Lights flickered on and illuminated the ramp, which looked like the entrance to an underground parking garage. They climbed back into the Land Rover, started the engine, and drove down the ramp.
CHAPTER 37
Peyote, Texas
February 16, Year 1
The concrete ceiling stood at least fifteen feet above the floor of the underground area. Apollo parked the Land Rover in an area marked on the floor as a designated parking area. Like a scene from a low-budget TV movie, three long passageways stretched out before them, each cast in a yellow light from the sodium vapor lighting. The long passageways stretched beyond imagination. There were square concrete pillars every ten feet or so, each painted with a colored band and a letter followed by a number. Chivo walked to where a half-dozen flatbed electric carts sat in charging stations and found a map with a key for the different sections posted on a stand.
“Hey mano, it’s like a map at the mall. It tells you where you should go shopping.”
Apollo and Lindsey joined Chivo by the map. Surprised, Apollo saw that Chivo wasn’t joking. The entire cache site had a key referencing the location of items by colored section, then by row and shelf number.
“Holy shit! It’s like Christmas came early this year!” Apollo pulled a small notepad out of his shirt pocket and began jotting down notes on where to find the supplies he knew they needed before unplugging an electric cart.
“You two grab a cart for yourself and follow me. We have some shopping to do.” Apollo drove off in a quiet whir of the electric cart.
“Hey Linds, think they sell Swedish meatballs at the concession stand?” Chivo drove after Apollo, laughing, followed by Lindsey in her own cart.
Two hours later, the three sat by their Land Rover with crates of gear. Apollo and Chivo both wore new Army-pattern ACUS and were packing their new packs with items from an incredible pile of supplies. After a quick test, they determined that the electronic gear stored below ground in the facility had survived the EMP attack. They agreed that a facility like this was hardened against just such an attack for that reason.
Lindsey gingerly opened box after box of new equipment, much of which she had never seen before, but her new friends insisted she needed. Chivo took care to assemble her new M4 rifle before driving to the end of one of the passageways to test fire her new rifle and sight-in the Acog combat sight-mounted on the top rail.
Apollo sat close to Lindsey and helped her assemble each piece of equipment, explaining how it all fit together and showing her how it worked. It was as if a film crew making a documentary about the equipment used by Special Forces Operators had decided to leave a pile of gear at her feet after wrapping principal photography.
“How in the world am I supposed to find all the things in all these little pouches, much less use them?” Lindsey was overwhelmed by it all, even with Apollo’s help. He resisted the urge to explain how the MOLLE strap and gear system worked and how he liked it better than the old ALICE system he’d had when
he was a young infantry soldier. “Don’t worry. I’ll show you and we’ll practice enough to get you feeling comfortable before we leave.”
Chivo walked back to the group and the pile of gear. He was done assembling his gear. His magazines were loaded, his pouches were full, and his kit was already being worn. The big Barrett fifty-caliber rifle lay on the ground, the bipod extended. The comically large suppressor already attached to the end of the barrel extended the length of the large rifle even further.
“Hey Apollo. If you wouldn’t mind zipping it up, I could use a hand over here.”
Apollo responded with an extended middle finger. Lindsey’s fair skin glowed red. Apollo walked over to where Chivo lay behind the rifle and sat down behind the spotting scope attached to a tripod. Not wanting to risk verifying the accuracy of their optics and rifle sights above ground, Chivo had made an impromptu rifle range and walked it off, then stacked boxes four feet high nearly one thousand feet down the lit passageway. There was no way either of them would step foot beyond the wire and into this dangerous world without testing and sighting in their new rifles. Chivo slowed his breathing, taking deliberately metered breaths before pressing the trigger to the rear. The big rifle barked a four-foot long flame out of the end of the suppressor. The suppressed shot echoed loudly throughout the facility.
“Two down and three right,” Apollo said, without looking away from the eyepiece of the spotting scope.
Chivo clicked the dials on the rifle’s optic to make the adjustments, wrote some notes on a notepad, and reset his shooting position before repeating his breathing cadence and squeezing the trigger again.
“Hit.”
Another series of deliberate breaths and another shot.
“Hit.”
Seven more times, Chivo repeated the long distance shot, and seven more times he scored a hit. Chivo removed the empty magazine and promptly field-stripped the rifle to clean it. Four green metal ammo cans full of .50BMG sat next to Chivo’s pile of gear.