Primal Resurrection: A Whiskey Tango Foxtrot Novel: Book 8

by W. J. Lundy

  At the end of the passage was another open space. Inside sat several red toolboxes and a dark, armored HUMVEE. Palmer caught Brad staring at the equipment and the closed-in room. “I found this place by accident. It used to a boiler room, but the wall was never bricked up, just covered with flimsy sheet metal. Probably from when they replaced the boilers at some point. I removed the bits of sheet metal and made a swinging door that, from the outside, still appears to be a wall. It’s a solid workshop.” Palmer moved around to the back door of the vehicle and swung it open then ran around to the passenger side. He looked back at Brad. “Get her inside and buckled in. Can you handle a Mark 19?” Palmer asked.

  “Does Grizzly Adams have a beard?” Brad answered, elated to see the armored vehicle.

  “Hell yeah, he does,” Gyles shouted, pulling chocks from the wheels and running to the front cab.

  Brad moved to the truck and eased Chelsea inside, crawling into the compartment as Gyles secured the door behind him. The engine came to life. Brad pulled Chelsea into a seat and secured her harness. For the first time, he looked her over; her face was bright red, her forehead and nostrils covered with black soot, but she was breathing, and he couldn’t find any blood.

  “We gotta roll, soldier. Keep your head down until we break through,” Palmer shouted from the front passenger seat.

  Before Brad could ask what they were breaking through, Gyles had the pedal down, and the HUMVEE crashed forward, exploding through the external wall and running head on into a horde of creepers that had the structure surrounded. The things crunched under the vehicle’s wheels and spilled up over the brush guard and onto the hood.

  “Okay! Go to work, hero,” Palmer said, looking back at him and pointing at the turret ring.

  “What’s the target?” Brad shouted back.

  “Target? Just kill shit,” Palmer ordered.

  Brad nodded and shifted his body into autopilot. No time to attach a gunner’s harness or seat, he unlatched the hatch and threw it open. When he stood, his mind screamed for him to return to the safety of the compartment. The parking lot was filled with bodies, and rage-filled eyes focused on him. Brad racked the MK19 and let loose a three-round burst less than a hundred meters ahead of their direction of travel. The rounds exploded in a flash of light and body parts.

  Behind him, gunfire erupted, and he saw where rounds sparked off the vehicle’s armor. Brad spun in the ring. The two-story bookstore Palmer had talked about earlier was also surrounded by Primals, and the roof had a line of shooters firing at them. Brad lined up his sights on the building, but before he could fire, the place exploded into a blinding fireball that expanded out and over the surrounding Primals. Brad reeled back, the heat hitting his face. Soon after the first blast, a second flash erupted that daisy-chained down the front of the strip mall, exploding and sending shrapnel over the infected-filled parking lot.

  Brad grabbed the edge of the ring and pulled himself back behind his weapon. Looking over his sights, he could see that the bookstore was gone and the parking lot was now littered with writhing bodies.

  “We could use some support up front!” Gyles shouted from below.

  Brad spun the ring back to the front. The road ahead was still congested with creepers moving in. He elevated the barrel and let loose with several barrages, watching rounds explode and blast holes in the mob. Something in his peripheral vision caught his eye, and he swung the barrel thirty degrees to his right. He spotted them: a group of Primals standing on a cleared narrow rise in the terrain. A male and two females. The things were standing out of the fray, just watching the one-sided battle play out below them. It reminded Brad of the way ancient generals would sit on hilltops and watch their armies below.

  Brad grunted and rotated the gun, elevating it as high as it would go for the estimated range. He pushed down on the butterfly, keeping the weapon on target as the HUMVEE raced down the road. Brad watched rounds arch out toward the rise. Falling short, he cursed himself at wasting the ammo as the Primals turned away and vanished into the darkness, the 40-millimeter grenades harmlessly exploding along the ridgeline.

  The vehicle bucked and rocked as it crunched over more of the infected before smoothing out. Rotating back to the front, Brad could see the road was clear. He looked behind and lost sight of the Primals in the darkness. With the soft red glow of the taillights lighting up the snow, the distant eyes of the creepers reflected back at him. He shivered and ducked back into the vehicle, closing the hatch behind him.

  “Where are we going?” Brad asked, looking to the front.

  Palmer kept his eyes focused on the road and shook his head in frustration. “I’m running out of hiding spots.”

  “Yeah, but you’re not completely out, right?” Brad asked.

  “Go to the Zoo,” Gyles said.

  Palmer’s head turned sharply toward the passenger seat. “The Zoo? You’re kidding, right?”

  “What’s wrong with the zoo?” Brad asked.

  The driver shook his head. “Because it ain’t a damn zoo. It’s filled with those Primals, and the only reason they’re there is ’cause they own the place, and we can’t figure out a way to get ’em out.”

  Gyles grinned. “We don’t call it a zoo ’cause it’s filled with fuzzy animals; it’s ’cause it’s filled with primal animals.”

  “Yeah, I get it… you two are a riot. So what is it then?”

  Gyles grunted. “Back in the day it was a high school—that was before FEMA converted it to a camp. Now the place is overrun with infected. It’s become a bit of a hive for the crazy bastards. And whatever the East has going on, it’s bringing in more and more of them.”

  “And why in the hell would we want to go there?” Brad asked.

  “Because I know the place, and those cocksuckers out there hunting us don’t.”

  Brad rubbed the back of his neck then nodded. “Works for me; let’s go to the Zoo then.”

  Chapter 13

  Eli Baker Farm, Southern Ohio. The Dead Zone

  Sean walked around the back of the vehicle. The Ford Explorer had a luggage rack loaded down with boxes of gear on top. Towed behind it was a small two-wheeled trailer filled with more equipment. Ahead of them was a Chevy Tahoe, more gear on the top but no trailer. Henry was off to the side of the narrow drive, talking with Eli and two younger men Sean hadn’t seen before. As he approached, he caught Eli’s eye and the man pointed at him.

  “This here’ll be your boss. You boys make do as you’re told, and don’t embarrass your uncle now,” Eli said. The two young men gave Sean a look of appraisal. Sean tried to ignore the inspection and extended his hand to them, the handshake readily returned.

  “I’m not so sure about ‘boss,’ but your uncle tells me you boys are decent scouts and trackers. If that’s the case, and you can live up to the expectation, I guess we’ll get along just fine.”

  The men nodded, holding their tongues, and exchanged glances with each other, avoiding eye contact with Sean. The senior military man had seen looks like that before from new recruits, and it didn’t concern him much. “How old are you two, anyhow?”

  The boy to Sean’s left—wiry and lean, with red hair to match his uncle—spoke up first. “I’m seventeen, and my brother Gage” —he pointed an elbow at a second boy— “is sixteen.” The younger boy resembled his older brother but had a stocky and sturdy body like a Nebraska football player.

  Sean laughed and shook his head. “Damn, Eli, you weren’t kidding when you said boys.”

  Eli chewed at his lower lip and put his hands on his nephews’ shoulders. “Now don’t you go doubting these two. Lucas and Gage have grown up on this ranch during the fall. They’ve been strong assets to us, and they have as much time out there in the wild as anyone.”

  Sean stepped back and placed his hands on his hips, looking the two over. Both boys carried short-barreled carbines that were painted an olive green and covered with strands of burlap cloth. The two had small nylon backpacks at their feet.
“You two can shoot?” Sean asked.

  Lucas smiled and looked back at his uncle, who returned the smile, before looking back at Sean. “Yes, sir, we can shoot.”

  The rest of Sean’s party had gathered around him, looking at him to see what he had to say about the new recruits. “Well, if you can shoot, that’s good enough for me. But let’s cut the sir shit. Get your gear loaded. I’ll have you two ride in the lead vehicle with Henry.”

  The old man nodded his approval and guided the two new men to the vehicle. Riley, the red-bearded stranger, began to walk toward the lead vehicle with them when Sean put up his hand. “Hey, big man, I think I’ll keep you in the back with me.”

  Riley grinned and shrugged. “Whatever you say; you’re the boss.”

  “Brooks, you drive the Ford. Joey, you’ve got shotgun.”

  “So, I’m the back then?” Riley scoffed.

  Brooks laughed and gave the red -bearded man a sideways glance. “Did you just do that math in your head?”

  “Screw you.” Riley scowled and turned away, moving to the Explorer and strapping his pack on the top with the others. When the rest of the men had moved out of earshot, Brooks reached out and grabbed Sean by the elbow. “I don’t like that man. There’s something off about him.”

  Sean stopped and turned back. “Did you see something?”

  Brooks shook his head. “Nothing like that; it’s just something about him. Last night at dinner, he took his chow and kept to himself. But later, he came by my cot wanting to chat. He was talking about the women and how he was looking to track one down and wondering what it might cost him. Like he was going to go have him some midnight fling with one of these farm ladies.”

  Shrugging, Sean turned back toward the now-loaded Ford. “Well, maybe it was just banter; the guy doesn’t know anyone and he’s still trying to fit in.”

  Brooks grimaced. “Yeah, maybe. I just don’t know many guys who cry about wanting to rescue their wives one minute, then want to go and chase tail the next.”

  “Whatever… how many married guys you know these days?”

  Brooks nodded, keeping his eyes on the vehicle. “Yeah, I guess.”

  “I hear ya though. I’m not all that sure about him either. That’s why I stuck him in the back with me. Let’s just get on the road, and we’ll figure the shit out later,” Sean said, reaching down for his pack. He moved along the side of the vehicle and strapped it to a rail on the top then opened the door and dropped into the leather seats. He sat and waited for Brooks to get in behind the wheel before he looked around then turned to Riley beside him. “Hell, is that you or did something die in here?”

  Riley laughed. “Chief, I hate to be the bringer of sad news, but something literally did die in here; the old man said they found this ride up on the highway with the owner over the steering wheel. Matter of fact, if your boy gets to sweating, he’ll probably get some dead guy juice from that seat.”

  With that, Brooks leapt out of the vehicle and stomped off to the barn. Returning with a horse blanket, he opened the door and draped it over the seat. He then got in and started the truck up, which purred like it was brand new off the lot. He looked back at Sean in the rearview mirror, receiving a nod, and then tapped the horn. The Tahoe in front of them flashed brake lights then pulled ahead.

  They moved quickly down a rutted trail that eventually ran parallel to the stream. After less than a mile, the truck ahead slowed and dropped into the water. Sean was expecting them to sink but, looking out his window, could see that rocks had been piled just below the water level to create a hidden crossing. The trucks easily forded the stream and entered a field. After less than a hundred yards through tall grass, they cut onto a blacktop road and turned east.

  It was an old country road, not many homes to be seen, and what were there were old farmhouses with broken windows or burnt barns set far apart. Occasionally, they slowed to pass an abandoned vehicle until they moved toward an intersection where a gas station sat back from the road. All the pump handles were removed and lying on the ground. The convoy slowed, and they turned their heads to examine the station windows as they passed.

  Primal eyes looked back at them through dirty glass. The things didn’t move to attack; they just watched the passing vehicles. Riley laughed and reached for a knapsack between his knees as they left the station behind them.

  “You find something funny?” Sean asked.

  Riley shook his head. “Nah, just the way them things look at us now. I remember when they’d attack on sight. Day when they would have come through that window to get at us.” He unzipped the bag and pulled a Mason jar from inside. “But look at ’em now. It’s like they’re learning to pick their battles.”

  Sean nodded in agreement and looked at the jar. “What do you got there?” he said.

  “Apples,” Riley answered. “The barn back there had a storeroom full of ’em. I figure we ain’t hitting that gas station for snacks, so what better time to get into them.”

  “So they gave you their canned goods?” Brooks asked, looking at him in the rearview mirror.

  Laughing, Riley unscrewed the jar and fished out an apple slice. “Shit, they didn’t offer, but I wasn’t going to pass up the opportunity for some fruit.”

  “So you stole from them?” Brooks asked. “You stole from folks that went out of their way to help us?”

  Sean could see Riley’s jaw stiffening at the accusation. He locked eyes with Brooks in the mirror and shook his head no. Brooks took the hint and set his eyes back to the road. “I’m sure a missing jar of apples won’t hurt anyone. You take anything else?” Sean asked.

  Riley grunted. “Nah, I wanted to though. Jars are too damn heavy and last thing I want is them breaking open on me.”

  Sighing, Sean turned back to the window. “You ever been out this way?”

  Slurping down an apple and placing the lid back on the jar, Riley leaned forward and looked out Sean’s window. “Yeah, we took the same road when we moved west.” The red-bearded man strained and pointed to a distant ridgeline. “The railroad tracks are just over there.”

  “So, you didn’t come out here by train then?”

  Riley shook his head. “Nah, laborers like me rode in covered trucks. Others on horseback.”

  “You say Carson and his men took you captive. Big man like you, what did they have you doing?”

  The man wiped his face with the sleeve of his jacket and turned his head, looking away. “I just helped at first. You know, cutting lumber, building fences, loading trucks…”

  “At first? So, then what?”

  “Carson—well, Gus really, he had a way for promoting people. Like trustees, I guess you could say. I worked hard, I kept my head down, and did what I was told. Eventually, I was removed from the labor teams. They made me a lookout, then a runner, and eventually I worked a gate with some others. But they never put me in charge or left me alone.”

  “So, you became a collaborator?” Brooks said.

  “Man, what’s your problem with me?” Riley spat back at him. “I did what I had to, did what I needed to do to survive. I was just trying to work my way up to where I could escape. Do what I could to get back to my family.”

  Sean could see Brooks smiling in the front seat and knew the man was intentionally pushing buttons—truth tended to fly out of pissed off people. But right now, Sean wasn’t sure if they could afford too much truth. He could tell that there was no trust between the two men, and probably never would be. He grimaced and looked back at Riley. “So, you were part of their security; tell me about them.”

  “What’s there to tell?” Riley said. “I wasn’t part of their army. I just stood watch in a tower or along a gate. We opened a gate or closed a gate. Let some folks in, told other folks no. Not much to it.”

  “So, tell me about the army then. How many?”

  Laughing, the man looked back at Sean. “A lot. What you saw back at Crabtree was nothing. All of you? You’re like pissants compared to what they
got back in Pennsylvania. They got outposts between here and there and each one of them is fully manned and stocked. Not dirt bags in camo either; like real soldiers.”

  “Numbers,” Sean said, not impressed. “How many men in an outpost?”

  Riley shrugged. “Hundred, two hundred, maybe. Depends on what kinda spot it was.”

  “Spot?” Sean asked.

  “Well yeah, you know… a place like Crabtree, right on the rail line. Hell, could be upward of five hundred, including civilians. But get farther out, the little satellite spot—trading posts, or places they just use as lookouts to keep an eye on settlements—could be as little as fifty. Hell, sometimes no soldiers at all.”

  “And you know where these places are?”

  The man pursed his lips and looked away. “I know where a few of them are.” He sighed and looked back at Sean. “My family is in one of them. But there were more like it all along the rail line.”

  “We’re stopping,” Brooks said as he slowed.

  Sean could see the truck ahead was slowing. They were at railroad crossing.

  Chapter 14

  Thirty Miles North of Coldwater Compound. Michigan Safe Zone

  Brad had fallen asleep, and when he woke, the Humvee was nestled between tall snow-covered pine trees. He heard the dripping of water smack the roof armor as snow melted from the pine boughs. He lifted his head and looked around the vehicle. Chelsea was still asleep in the seat beside him, wrapped in green poncho line. He removed his glove and put his hand to her cheek, feeling the warmth of her skin.

  “She’s okay,” Gyles said from the front. “She woke up a bit ago and asked for water.”

  “You should have woke me up,” Brad said, putting his glove back on.

  Gyles shook off the comment. “It was my watch, and I’m perfectly capable of serving water.”