Primal Resurrection: A Whiskey Tango Foxtrot Novel: Book 8

by W. J. Lundy

Brown cleared his throat, picking up the story. “I called out for them to surrender, but they weren’t having it. Told us they were traveling with survivors from camps in Indiana and Ohio. Said they were taking them back east to the safe areas. One man in particular, a big man with a grey jacket, said they were under protection from the Midwest Alliance. I asked the man to show us the survivors, to open the truck doors… well, that’s when he went for his gun.”

  “You killed them?” Chelsea asked.

  Gyles nodded. “Every damn one of ’em.”

  Chelsea glanced at Brad then looked back to Gyles, his eyes now hard and cold like he was reliving the event. “You didn’t take any prisoners?”

  He locked eyes with Chelsea. “Why let ’em live? We knew who they were and what they were up to. Do you want to know what we did after that?”

  Chelsea slowly nodded her head.

  “We split our force in two; half the crew escorted those trucks and civilians back to our lines. The rest of us that stayed behind, well, we loaded that ambulance up with their dead and a few drums of gasoline. We drove it all the way back to Toledo, and we crashed it right into the gate of that damn power plant. At first they reacted all dumb, like there must’a been an accident. Men spilled out of the plant, looking at the ambulance and pulling open the back door, examining the dead that we’d stacked inside.

  “But they didn’t get much of a look. Once they began to figure out what was going on, we lit that ambulance up with the fifty-cal then rained hell on them with the MK19 grenade launcher until we were out of ammo. Didn’t take long, and the entire front of that place was spewing flame. The gate was off the hinges and half the place burning. But that wasn’t enough; we could still hear them inside yelling for mercy. We popped every flare we had, and we hid in the tree line while the zombies did the rest.

  “We let a few vehicles escape to the East to get reinforcements. It took the rest of them all night, but they eventually got the fires under control and their gates re-locked. Yeah, we could have done more; probably could have killed them easy, but we needed to send them a message. We put those bastards on notice that we were aware of what they were up to, and that Michigan wasn’t standing for it.”

  “At least that’s what he thought we were doing,” Brown scoffed.

  “He?” Brad said. “You weren’t there?”

  Brown shook his head. “No, I returned with the first group. Sergeant Gyles led the attack.”

  “Sergeant?” Brad asked, looking at the spot where Gyles’s rank insignia should have been.

  “Sergeant First Class,” Gyles replied. He waved off the comment with his hand. “Screw that noise. I’m in no man’s army now; no matter how much they try to pull me back in.”

  “Well, you’re here now; that still says something.” Brad looked at Brown. “So you went back to Michigan with the survivors. That’s when the senator could have been stronger.”

  “I did. I told them what was going on, and he ordered us to stand down. Said anything outside the walls wasn’t our fight.” Brown clenched his fist. “And by the time they started coming after us, they’d grown too strong, and we didn’t have the resources to fight back.”

  “The senator told us earlier that you were losing colonies,” Brad answered.

  “Shit,” Gyles scoffed. “Colonies? Is that what he called them?! We’re losing the whole damn state. The alliance is gone, and he isn’t doing shit about it.”

  “How far has it gone?” Brad asked, looking back to Brown.

  The big sergeant shrugged and considered his response while gazing into the fire. “We started a one-sided war with that raid on Toledo. What was once a shady operation in the shadows went full scale. We lose more every day. Recon says they cut a hole in the Detroit containment wall and let the hordes out.”

  “Containment wall?” Brad asked.

  “Yeah, the DCW we called it. Back when all this was going down, Primals were infesting around the city; most of them stayed there. Instead of trying to root them out, we built barriers to keep them safely contained.”

  “And they knocked it down?”

  Gyles grunted. “Blew a big hole in the wall on US12 where it crosses the Rogue River. They let nearly a million Primals out of the city and back into the safe zone. Smaller communities started to drop communications. Supply convoys left warehouses and never returned.”

  “What have you done about it?” Chelsea asked.

  Gyles laughed sarcastically. “What have they done? Well, for the most part, the Primals stayed in the area of the hole, so the senator didn’t think it was vital. They sent out a few teams, tried to shore up the wall, reported back on the estimated the numbers of zombies released into the safe zone, kept track of the number of communities we were losing; they’ve done every damn thing except fight back. They pretty much did nothing to retaliate.”

  “They?” Brad asked. He pointed at Gyles’s uniform. “Aren’t you one of them?”

  Gyles grinned before Brown answered for him. “Gyles doesn’t play well with others. He’s not active anymore; guess he’s like a contractor now.”

  Laughing, Brad shook his head. “Not active? Hell, me either then, I guess. When did you get your discharge papers?”

  Reaching across the fire for his bottle, Gyles poured more into his coffee cup then pointed the bottle at Brown. “Active was his choice of words. I’m here just like you. But I won’t claim to be any part of that senator’s mess. He was almost apologetic when he talked about the breaches—like we deserved it for attacking that Toledo power plant, like this was payback.”

  A loud bang at the front of the building caused Palmer to put up his hand. His face showed concern, but he wasn’t panicked. “We’re fairly safe in here, but we should keep it down, especially considering the number of them and the activity.”

  Brad nodded. “Yeah, they’re particularly fired up, aren’t they?” He rubbed at his chin. “So, the numbers are up, and the colonies are dropping. Is there any order to all of it?”

  Reaching for the bottle, Brown dipped his chin. “They’ve been moving out from Detroit. Pushing those mobs ahead of them. I’m sure they can’t really control the smart ones, but the others… you know, the ones that plod around when it gets too damn cold.”

  “Creepers?” Chelsea added.

  Brown shrugged. “That’s a good word for ’em. Anyhow those” —he paused and looked at Chelsea— “creepers, well, they can be predictable; they move in big swarms. But the Primals… they’re a little different. They’ll pull back into hiding, ambushes even. They’ve gotten more conservative. It’s hard to estimate how many of them are out there.”

  Chelsea nodded her head in agreement. “We’ve seen the same things down south.”

  “But what about the attack today?” Brad asked. “In the past, I’ve seen them drawn to flares or fighting. But your place is locked down tight. It’s quiet and behind double layered fences. Nothing drew them in.”

  “The mortars?” Chelsea said.

  Brad shook his head. “I don’t think so.”

  “You’re right by that,” Gyles said. “They use the mortars to keep our heads down, to attack our barriers. But the horde, they push them ahead then let ’em go crazy on a colony.”

  “Push? How do you know this?” Brad asked.

  Gyles looked at Brown, who nodded his head. “I’ve watched ’em do it,” Gyles said. “They have guys on ATVs—snowmobiles sometimes. They’ll ride close to the big cities and population centers, make noise to draw them out, then head toward whatever place they want taken. The hordes of creepers, like Sergeant Brown said, can be predictable, and they’ll follow a meal.

  “More than likely last night—or early this morning—a pair of riders led those things to within sight of Coldwater Station. Then they vanished, leaving the pack of zombies to collide with our fence lines. From there, the things probably spotted a guard or maybe smelled the smoke from the cook fires.

  “The zombies will swarm over the outer fence
s, but one thing Sergeant Brown left out, is where there are zombies, the Primals are usually close by. And they got more than one type of Primal too.”

  Brad nodded, having his own experience with Primals, but he wanted to keep the man talking so he held his tongue.

  Gyles took a sip from his coffee cup and continued. “There are these ones we call hunters. Mainly because in the early days when we set out to thin out the Primals, and the local boys went to killing them, some of the more advanced ones would track down our boys and turn the tables on ’em. The hunters became the prey and, well, you know how it goes.

  “You get a pack of Primals out in the woods. You can still do all right. Enough bullets and the right position, hell, you could probably kill a pretty decent sized group of ’em, but you get a pack of Primals being led by one of them hunters? Well, you better get your ass to someplace safe, and do it quick.”

  The rough soldier looked Brad up and down and grinned. “Why am I telling you this? You didn’t just wake up and walk out into the apocalypse. I can tell you been around.”

  “True enough,” Brad said. “I’ve done my share of the killing. You said you’ve watched them. How?”

  “I get claustrophobic,” he replied. “I can’t stay locked up in that compound.”

  Brown laughed. “Claustrophobic, my ass! He likes to chase tail. This one probably has a girl in every colony between here and Traverse City.”

  Gyles shook his head. “All lies.” He reached to Brown to retrieve his bottle. “But what is true is I’ve visited those communities—damn near every one of ’em. And I happened to witness more than one attack.”

  “Were they like this?” Brad asked.

  “Give or take. Only here, we were able to stop it. Coldwater Station has high walls and a military to back it up,” Gyles said. “The last attack I saw was on a holdout just north of Marble Lake—it’s a good ways east of here. I spotted the horde on US12, and I knew they were headed toward the Quincy Gap. It’s not a big holdout, but I’ve stopped there several times on my trips east. I knew the people.”

  “Did you warn them?” Chelsea asked.

  “I couldn’t,” the young man said just above a whisper. “I didn’t have a radio, and by the time I spotted them they were already too close to the outpost for me to try and stop it. I watched the zombies move to their walls. Quincy had a good setup… completely boxed in with shipping containers, even double stacked in some places. They held for a few hours, but that’s when the shooting started.

  “They hit ’em with more than mortars though. A truck bomb came right at their gate. I don’t know if someone was driving it or if it was just a lucky shot, but that thing blew the doors wide open. It blasted a hell of a hole in the zombies too, but not enough to deter them; they bounced back and moved on. And that’s when the howling started. Before long, those Primals were all over the place. Coming out of the woods, like they been watching and following the entire time just waiting for their chance.”

  “Any survivors?” Chelsea asked.

  Gyles shook his head. “I didn’t stick around.”

  Rubbing his forehead, Brown spoke. “He came back to get us. We sent out a quick reaction force, but by the time we got there it was over.”

  “They’ll be coming back to Coldwater Station,” Gyles said. “The East has been filling the wall with Primals. I think they plan to let us die off then move back in later for the resources.”

  Brad nodded. “I think you’re right. We need to get back.”

  Palmer stood and rolled his shoulders. “Well, we ain’t going anywhere tonight. I suggest you all get some sleep, and we’ll roll out at first light.”

  Chapter 11

  Eli Baker Farm, Southern Ohio. The Dead Zone

  He woke just before dawn to the sounds of the other men snoring loudly in cots along the wall. A warm fire still glowed from a potbelly stove. The men had eaten well the night before, the hospitality of the camp more than what he’d expected. Sean stepped across the room and dressed quietly. After pulling on his boots, he grabbed his rifle, walked to the end of the room, and slid open a double door. A cold damp air hit him as he looked over the dew-covered pasture.

  Stepping away from the barn, he heard a series of muffled pops from above. Sean instinctively crouched and looked over his head. He stepped farther out from the barn so he could view the roof. At the top, he spotted a man holding a scoped rifle to his eye

  The door slammed at the ranch house just across the way. Eli came out holding a rifle of his own. He looked from left to right then up at the man on the barn roof. The man pointed out toward a distant tree line, showed two fingers, and then sliced across his neck. Eli spotted Sean and made his way toward him. “Looks like we had us some company—probably stumblers,” he said, looking across the pasture. “The river usually keeps them away from here.”

  “Creepers is what we call ’em,” Sean said. “The infected ones that are just too stubborn to die.”

  “That’s a good way of looking at it,” Eli said with his eyes sweeping the horizon. “We didn’t have many of them types—creepers, as you say—until last winter. Now we been seeing more and more of ’em.”

  “I’m sure the trouble with the raiders didn’t help. But there is something else…” Sean said.

  “Oh, and what might that be?”

  Sean paused, second-guessing what he was about to say. “Hell, no reason to keep secrets on the frontier,” Sean said. He looked Eli in the eye. “I was told by reliable folks that the Primals are massing again. That they are moving the way they did during the fall. It’s got a lot of folks scared.”

  “Well, we didn’t see many during the fall, so guess I have nothing to worry about.” Eli looked at Sean and asked, “You mind taking a walk?”

  Sean nodded his head. He could tell that Eli was set in his ways, and there would be no getting his people off this farm. It was better to let him do what he needed to survive. He exhaled and waved a hand, signaling for the red-bearded man to lead the way. “So, you have boys on watch with squirrel guns? Even considering suppression, that couldn’t have been more than a .22 I heard.”

  Eli dipped his chin. “Yeah, does the job most times. We got bricks of .22s, and like you said, it’s quieter. As long at the brain gets dented, they seem to fall okay. We keep a .308 up in the crow’s nest for the faster, meaner ones.”

  Sean spotted the pair of bodies and moved in close. He stood over one and kicked at it to make sure it was down, then reached for the shoulder of its shirt and pulled the creature to its back. The once middle-aged man had long, mangled hair and an overgrown beard. There were defensive wounds on its arms that were partially healed, or at least a purplish scar of healing. He knew from experience that the Primals didn’t heal up the way people did; the wounds would instead gel over like a big disgusting scab. Just below its collarbone, there were several gunshot wounds. He lifted the thing slightly but couldn’t see an exit wound on its back.

  Sean spotted the small entry wound above the thing’s right eye. It was recent and what brought the creeper down. “Good shooting. Clean head shot.” Sean pulled at the thing’s shirt collar, looking at the pale skin on its chest and the bullet holes again. “This one appears to have only been creeping for a while. These gunshots brought it down, killed the Primal in it. Probably took hits back at Crabtree, enough to turn it, anyhow.”

  “How can you tell?” Eli asked.

  Sean pointed at the purple goo on the arm wounds and the skin around the Primal’s neck. “They really start falling apart after they go into this creeper phase; this one is still kinda fresh. Those marks on its arms are probably what originally infected him. See how they started to scar over? Poor bastard must have survived the initial fight with whatever got him, only to go Primal later.

  “From what I know about them, the Primals can keep kicking for a long time. They get into some good hunting grounds, they can thrive even… well, unless the elements or some other sort of injury gets to them. I’ve
shot some dead through the chest, knocking them off their boots, only to find them creeping in the woods weeks later.” Sean pulled back the collar again and pointed at the bullet wounds. “Something put it down, but it wasn’t enough of an organ strike to kill it. You have to destroy the heart, lungs, or brain.

  “This one probably died, or at least slowed down, from blood loss. See how the wound hasn’t healed? Once he started creeping, all that healing stuff stopped; you can tell because there’s very little blood and no signs of scabbing. It’s like a zombie mode for these pricks. Their bodies start to shut down but the primary organs like the lungs, heart, and brain keep on chugging, like they didn’t get the message that it’s time to die.”

  Shuddering, Eli looked away. “Just when you think it can’t get any worse.”

  “You said they couldn’t get across the river?” Sean replied, looking at the thing’s wet clothing and the distant river bed.

  “Didn’t say they couldn’t; just that they don’t. This pair might have stumbled too close the bank on the far side and fell in. They tend to roll and kick about until they find the bank and get back out. Sometimes they find our side.”

  Sean rubbed at his chin. “Or maybe they were pushed in and guided to your side.”

  Eli tipped his head to the side and looked off at the bank hold. Sean was surprised to see the man’s reaction. It wasn’t surprise; it was like confirmation. “What else aren’t you telling me, Eli?” Sean said.

  The man waved a hand out toward the trees. “There’s someone out there working against us, something stirring these things up and leading them into the valley. I’ve been sensing it, and I’ve seen it with my own eyes. It’s the reason we were out scouting the railroad pass. Before a month ago, we rarely saw any infected up here. Never in the deep river to the east or this shallow run to the west.”

  “Then the train came?” Sean said.

  Eli shook his head. “This happened before all of that.” Eli looked back behind him at the man on the barn roof then pointed his hand toward the north. The man on the barn nodded his head in understanding. “Walk with me,” he said.