by Dirk Patton
The flight crew was done and the cargo doors now closed. The pilot and co-pilot were performing a walk around of the aircraft prior to takeoff. They were dwarfed by everything about the plane, even the tires on the landing gear taller than they were. Despite their imminent departure with the crate safely aboard, Irina didn’t budge from where she stood. The sharp burning pain from the bullet wound in her leg gnawed at her, but she stoically endured it. She was a Russian and could proudly handle pain. Once the plane was in the air and she could no longer see it, she would alert Colonel Grishin that it was on the way. Only then would she leave the hangar and get some much needed rest.
10
Captain Roach worked throughout the day to get the steady stream of evacuees processed and entered into a simple Excel spreadsheet that was doing duty as the database of civilians that had made it to Tinker Air Force Base. He didn’t like the work, but was excited at the opportunity to identify women for his and Synthia’s games. Any girl or woman that caught his attention was marked on the list in a subtle manner.
When their names were typed into the spreadsheet he would insert a period rather than a comma between their last and first names. Roach was pleased with himself for having come up with this idea on the fly. If anyone noticed, they would pass it off as a typo. He was confident it was nothing that could ever be attributed back to him as there were also two Sergeants entering data into the same spreadsheet.
So far he had picked out four women. The first on his list was the woman he’d met when he first arrived at the processing station, Katie Chase. There was something about her that intrigued him, yet frightened him at the same time. He preferred women who were naïve. Sometimes their naivety was due to a lack of life experience, others just weren’t smart enough to recognize danger when it looked them in the face and smiled.
Katie, however, was anything but naïve. He recognized the intelligence, and more. There was iron behind her beautiful smile, and he had no doubt she knew how to use the large pistol she carried on her hip. He would have to be careful with her. He wasn’t going to be able to trick or lure her the way he did other women. She would see through him, he was certain. But that just made him want her more.
She had been placed in an empty barrack not far from his new house, the other women and all the children who had arrived with her sharing the space. Seated at a folding table in the hangar that had been pressed into duty for processing civilians, he looked up from the laptop and through the open door at the large building to which Katie had been assigned. It was on the far side of a series of runways, but clearly visible. He thought he could see figures running around, chasing each other, outside the building. The kids playing.
Letting his mind drift, he fantasized about taking her home with him. Walking in the front door and surprising Synthia with her. Hitting her in the back of the head to subdue her before she could recognize the danger. Carrying her to the bedroom where he and Synthia would strip her naked, tie her to the bed, gag her and wait for her to regain consciousness.
When she woke, she would be confused for a moment, then terrified. Roach knew from experience that as soon as he saw the fear in her eyes he would immediately achieve a rock hard erection that only the dispensation of pain could relieve. He pictured in his mind what he would do to Katie. What Synthia would do as he violently penetrated the bound woman. He could already hear her whimpers and moans as they drew their pleasure from her body.
Then the climax. The knife thrust to her heart as he pushed himself even deeper into her. Feeling her body spasm as the life force left it, at the same time reaching his orgasm. The sensation of her going still as his heart pounded out the last of his pleasure. The calming of his entire being as the desire, need, to take the woman’s life as he deposited his seed in her was fulfilled.
“Sir?” Roach was startled, snapping out of his daydream and looking up at the Sergeant that was speaking to him.
How long had the woman been standing there? He realized he had an erection and was glad he was seated, the table concealing his tumescence.
“Yes. What is it?” He asked, his voice gruff with emotion. The Sergeant gave him an odd look.
“There’s another group just clearing the main gate. They’ll be here in five minutes. Just thought you’d want a heads up.”
“Thank you.” Roach nodded and dismissed her, watching her walk away. Not his type, he thought, looking back at the laptop.
Katie Chase. Chase. Why was that name familiar? Roach thought about it for a moment, but couldn’t place why it rang a bell. Scrolling down the list to look at the other names he’d marked, he suddenly stopped and scrolled back up. Chase. That was that fucking Army Major’s name! No, not possible. Or was it?
Leaning forward he scanned across the spreadsheet, reading the details the woman had provided during processing. She was from a suburb of Phoenix, Arizona. In the column for next of kin he read the name John Chase. Was that the Major’s first name? He thought hard, but couldn’t remember ever having heard it. Scrolling far to the right he checked the column that showed whether or not the person being processed had family in the military. It had an upper case N for no.
Roach thought about what he knew about the man. He hadn’t been in uniform the night he’d arrived at Arnold Air Force Base with the bitch and the dog. Had he been recalled by that damn Army Colonel that had interfered? That would explain why this woman had answered no to the question about family in uniform. Things had changed that she didn’t know about.
Minimizing the spreadsheet, Roach logged in to one of the few military databases that were still operational. He didn’t know the details about where it was or how it was still accessible. All he cared about was that he could still get in. Clicking in the search box he typed in the name and hit enter. The cursor spun for a few seconds before the screen refreshed with the search results.
Staring at him was a younger version of the Major. The face was a little leaner and he had hair, though it was cut close to his scalp, but it was the same hard eyes. The same little sneer of the upper lip that silently communicated “I can kick your ass and I know it”. The nose was straighter, apparently having been broken at least once between the time of the photo and when Roach met the man, but it was without a doubt the same prick.
The record showed the Major had declined to re-enlist about 10 years ago, leaving the Army as a Master Sergeant. Other than basic details such as date of original enlistment, his entire file was classified. But Roach knew there was a part that wouldn’t be. Clicking a couple of links he quickly found what he was looking for.
Four years ago the Major had requested a copy of his DD-214, the paperwork showing a person’s dates of service, type of discharge from the military and some other minor information about them. Roach didn’t care about the dates, or whether or not he had received an honorable discharge. He wanted to know where the forms were mailed, and there it was. A street address in the same suburb the woman had listed as her home.
Roach felt energized. He had that fucker’s wife! And the best part, the Major, if he was still alive, would never know she was here unless Roach decided to tell him. With a smile he scrolled back to the left, selected the entire row that contained Katie’s information and pressed delete. She would be his little secret.
11
Dog growled a second time, raising his head higher and twitching his nose as he sampled the smells the strong wind was bringing to him. Rachel looked at him, then looked east again, but still saw nothing other than an empty horizon. Regretting her failure to approach the two men and be safely in a vehicle, miles away by now, she got to her knees to gain some elevation. Still nothing, and Dog continued to growl.
Growing more concerned by the moment, Rachel finally stood to her full height and moved to the higher ground near the Interstate. Dog stayed next to her, between her and whatever had him worried, pushing against her with his body. He wanted her to start moving west.
Standing still, Rachel looked again. When
she still failed to see any danger she raised the rifle and peered through the scope, slowly scanning across the horizon. Her breath caught in her throat when she saw four razorbacks moving across the field no more than 300 yards away. Their black coats blended well with the dark mud and when she looked without benefit of the scope’s low power magnification she couldn’t spot them even though she knew where they were.
They hadn’t seen or smelled her or Dog yet. The wind was from their direction and was gusting, so she wasn’t concerned about scent. But did they have good eyesight? This she didn’t know. Usually the animals with the best vision were predators, and based on her limited knowledge of the wild hogs she didn’t think they had evolved as top-level predators. As far as she knew, they were herbivores, but she wasn’t about to bet her life on that.
She had witnessed a pair of them attack a group of men and kill two of them. But something about the attack hadn’t felt right. There was no stalking of their prey. They had just charged straight in and attacked with no apparent concern other than killing. With a start Rachel realized that she had just described an infected human!
Her mind went back to medical school classes. Learning about contagions and how they are transmitted from person to person. They hadn’t delved into inter-species viral transmissions, that was training that would come after graduation depending upon your specialization, but it had been discussed. The media had enjoyed frightening the public for years with speculative reports of bird and swine flu pandemics. Those reports contained enough fact to be scary, but also a lot of what ifs and occasionally outright bullshit.
However, it was quite common for a virus to mutate and jump from one species to another. Birds, swine, primates and many other mammals could pass along an infection to humans. And it worked the other way, too. Rachel knew that, and even understood some of the mechanics around how it happened. That knowledge didn’t make her feel any better. In fact, it scared the hell out of her. Like infected humans running around wasn’t bad enough?
Looking around, her eyes fell on the bodies lying in the middle of the westbound traffic lanes. Moving quickly, she walked over to the closest razorback and knelt next to its head. With a tentative touch, she lifted one of its eyelids and gasped when she saw the blood red eye. She jerked her hand back like she had received an electric shock and stood up to check on the hogs in the far field.
They were moving in her direction at a fast trot, but still didn’t appear to be aware of her presence. That didn’t matter. Their trot was faster than she could run, and she remembered the speed they’d displayed when attacking the men. She never would have guessed they could move that fast, but they did have fairly long legs for their body size, and were probably capable of running at least as fast as a dog.
Rachel turned, checking the area for shelter from the approaching beasts. She knew she couldn’t outdistance them, and had to find someplace to hide from them before they got close enough to see her. There were still the abandoned vehicles, but the only one that was still intact was the Mercedes. She knew she could get in it, but it was low to the ground and she didn’t know if the razorbacks would try to break in if they detected her. They were certainly big and strong enough to smash out the car’s windows.
Dismissing the sedan, she looked at the construction equipment. There was a big orange grader, but its cab was open to the elements, and even though the seat was 10 feet off the ground, Rachel didn’t like her odds of being safe in it. Behind the grader was an even larger backhoe. Its cab was also 10 feet off the ground, but was enclosed. Calling Dog, she ran to the machine and after a moment found the obvious way to climb up and into the operator’s seat.
Mercifully, the door was either unlocked or lacking a lock, and she quickly clambered aboard and took a seat. Dog stood on the ground, looking up at her and whining. He wanted to follow, but the ascent that was easy for a human was impossible for a canine. Rachel turned and checked on the razorbacks’ progress. They were still trotting along, oblivious, and were now less than 200 yards away.
Frozen by not knowing what to do, she stared down at Dog. His whines were growing louder as the beasts continued to close. Looking over her shoulder, Rachel saw the hogs suddenly accelerate to a full run. They had been seen. Damn it!
Reacting, not thinking, she quickly slithered down the side of the backhoe, jumping the final two feet to the ground. Bending, she wrapped her arms around Dog’s torso and lifted as he scrabbled with his front paws, trying to climb up the steel side of the machine. She gave up after only a couple of seconds. Maybe John could have lifted Dog and carried him up to the cab, but there was no way she could.
A quick glance over her shoulder and she knew she had less than 10 seconds. Abandoning the backhoe, she dashed for the Mercedes, yelling for Dog. Arriving at the driver’s door, Rachel imagined she could hear the heavy breathing of the razorbacks, and risked a backward glance. They were passing the grader and almost on her. Dog was standing between her and the swiftly approaching beasts, legs spread and head down with teeth showing, but she knew he was way out of his weight class in that fight.
Yanking the front door open she screamed for Dog who turned and leapt into the car. Rachel was right behind him, nearly slamming the door on her leg in her haste to reach the safety of the interior. Less than a second after she closed the door, the lead razorback slammed into it, rocking the entire vehicle. Rachel screamed and Dog hopped into the back seat and started barking at the window, frothy saliva flying onto the glass.
The remaining three razorbacks were close behind, the car continuing to shudder as they slammed into its sides. They began slashing, the wickedly sharp tusks making a horrible screeching sound on the sheet metal. When that didn’t work, they started circling the car, occasionally slamming a shoulder or head into one of the doors.
Rachel got Dog back into the front seat, finally calming him to a degree with an arm circled around his neck. He was taut as a bowstring and primed for a fight, but she wasn’t about to let him out of the car. As fast and strong as he was, the razorbacks would gut him in an instant and stomp him to death when he went down.
As she sat in the front seat, watching them continue to circle, Rachel was reminded of old movies about sailors lost at sea with sharks circling before attacking. The build of the animals kept their heads lower than their shoulders, and she was relieved to see that they weren’t trying to break the glass. The lead razorback was massive, his shoulders a good six inches taller than the bottom of the side window. He must have weighed close to 400 pounds and was regularly slamming into the car, looking for a point of weakness to exploit.
Rachel leaned her head back against the leather headrest and took a deep breath. They seemed safe for the moment, but what the hell were they going to do? How long would the razorbacks keep trying to break in? And even if they left, what was she going to do? They would still be around and she didn’t think either her or dog would survive on foot for very long.
She started going over ideas in her mind. Thinking about options. Equipment available to her. Anything that would either help them escape, or kill the razorbacks. There were no vehicles within sight that were still functioning. It was a safe assumption there were none to the east, otherwise the men who had fixed and taken the Bronco would already have been driving. Had the tornados caused that much devastation?
She had already searched the Mercedes for its keys, as had the men, but out of desperation she started another search. Slow and methodical. Even if she had checked a spot earlier, she looked again. Looked in spots that she knew were too small to hold even a single key, but not willing to risk overlooking something. After 15 minutes she hadn’t found them and the hogs were still circling, still slamming into the doors nearly every circuit.
12
Marine Corps Gunnery Sergeant Michael Tate cursed what he suspected was the same fly for probably the two hundredth time. The pest was about to start trying to crawl into his ear again, but he ignored it and stayed perfectly still. His
cheek was resting against the stock of his M40A5 sniper rifle, right eye peering through the high power scope. He was dressed in a ghillie suit with multiple branches of sagebrush stuck through the weave to further break up the outline of his body. All but invisible, he lay on a sandy ridgeline half a mile away from Kirtland Air Force Base in New Mexico.
Tate had been in position for close to 24 hours, taking the occasional catnap, but had been awake far more than he’d slept. Next to him, equally well concealed, was Sergeant Michael Blaine. Michael T was white and Michael B was black, but they had become as inseparable as twin brothers the day they met at the Marine’s Scout Sniper Basic Course in Camp Pendleton, California.
Michael T had impressed the instructors from day one, many of them privately commenting that he would be the next Carlos Hathcock, arguably the best and most well known American sniper in history. Certainly a legend within the Corps, and any comparison to him was high praise. So when Michael T had spoken up after Michael B washed out of the shooting part of training, he was given what he asked for. Michael B became his spotter, joined to his hip for as long as the two were in the Corps.
The pair had been at Marine Corps Air Station Yuma, on the Arizona/California border when the attacks occurred. They had stayed there for the past month, helping defend against the infected that started stumbling out of Southern California. Until the Russians invaded.
Admiral Packard had been a busy man the past couple of days. There were still several intact military bases within the continental United States, and many more special operations units still able to fight. As soon as it was known which American bases the Russians chose to occupy, he had ordered Marine Scout Sniper teams into each area. Not to start picking off Russian officers, but to observe and report on what the invaders were doing.