Primal Resurrection: A Whiskey Tango Foxtrot Novel: Book 8

by W. J. Lundy

  Sean laughed. “Don’t go getting all dramatic on us. Just trying to figure you out, is all.”

  “You all are assholes,” Riley said. “That’s what I’ve figured out about you all so far.”

  Laughing harder, Sean slapped the man on his shoulder. “Damn, you’re not a quick study, are you? Most folks, it takes an hour or less to figure that out.”

  Brooks slowed the car and moved to the center. “Hey, Chief, what do you make of this?”

  Sean looked up. They were at a three-way intersection. The two-lane road continued north, but there was a road going east that branched off from it. In the northeast corner was an old billboard with a hand-painted arrow pointing east. Below it were the words Three Corners Settlement, Traders Welcome.

  Sean turned to Riley. “Any ideas?”

  Lifting his head and scratching his neck, Riley said, “Outpost; there are a bunch of them out in the territories.”

  “They safe?” Sean asked.

  Riley puckered his lips and held out a flat hand, tipping it side to side. “Some more than others. This far out, still in Ohio, we’re probably okay. Closer to the New Republic, I wouldn’t risk it. These are like trading posts—supply depots, I guess you could call ’em. The New Republic uses them to get stuff. They pay the folks that live out here to gather things for them, and every now and then they truck it all back to the New Republic. Stuff that’s hard to find back home, where everything’s all been picked over. The New Republic let the folks that live and work here keep some of the excesses to trade with others; you know, the holdouts and survivors.”

  Looking back, Brooks asked, “What stops raiders from, you know, raiding them?”

  Riley shook his head. “No, not at outposts. They wouldn’t be welcome there.”

  Brooks laughed. “What difference does that make? Thought raiders do what they want.”

  “Outposts are under protection by the New Republic Regulars,” Riley said in a tone like he was talking to idiots.

  “The who?” Sean asked, cutting off Brooks’s next question.

  “Damn, you all really don’t know shit, do you? The Regulars, son; they’re like the real army. Real soldiers. Even raiders don’t mess with the Regulars.”

  “Wait,” Sean said, rubbing his forehead. “I thought General Carson’s bunch were the army.”

  “Hell, no! Carson’s lot are nothing but cutthroats and thugs. He runs the raiders; they do the dirty work. The Regulars secure the territory, put order to the chaos.”

  “The Monster block back there… who was that?”

  Shrugging, Riley said, “Could be either. But I’m telling you, there won’t be no raiders at this outpost. I can guarantee that. They might be close, they might be watching it, but they won’t be welcome inside.” He paused and looked out the window. “And this far from Pennsylvania, probably no Regulars inside either, but I can’t guarantee that.”

  Sean looked at the horizon; it was getting late in the day. “Well, hell, Three Corners it is then.”

  Brooks made the turn and waited to ensure the tail vehicle was following them, then eased back to the center of the road. The path ahead was clear and, unlike the road they’d turned off, there were no signs of disabled vehicles. Even downed trees and limbs were pulled back from the pavement.

  “We should stash the vehicle and walk in,” Riley said, looking through the windshield nervously. “Outies don’t trust people with rides.”

  “Outies?” Sean said.

  Riley shrugged. “Yeah, outies—the folks that live in the outposts. It’ll be suspicious, us rolling in with these vehicles. Horse and cart maybe, but it’s strange having wheels like this.”

  Sean considered the suggestion and slapped the seat ahead of him. “Brooks, find us a spot to stash the rides. And Riley, that’s a stupid nickname. I don’t want to hear it again,” he said.

  “Whatever,” Riley sulked.

  It didn’t take long and Brooks was guiding them on to a two-track overgrown trail. Set back in a distant tree line was a massive red, clapboard-sided barn. The nearby farmhouse was burnt down to its skeleton of framing and foundation stones. The trail was rough, and more than once Sean thought they might get stuck. The vehicle bucked, and Brooks moved it out of the two-track and onto tall grass. The barn had double doors at one end. The left door was still secured, while the right door was broken from the hinges and lying in front of the opening. The two-vehicle convoy moved past the opening and instead pulled behind the barn, parking between an old combine and a pair of hay rakes.

  Sean opened his doors and exited, stretching his tired muscles. He stepped away from the truck and walked to the barn. The floor was covered with packed clay, animal pens were empty, and hay was still stacked in a loft overhead. He looked back toward the men standing near the vehicles. “We’ll set up in here. Make a bit of a base camp, store most of the military gear, and go in with the lighter duffel bags.”

  “Why not take it with us?” Joey asked.

  Sean smiled. “If we want to look like friendly traders, we probably can’t run up on this place weighed down with weapons and heavy packs,” he said, moving back toward the trucks. “Let’s store the rucksacks and use some of those food bags to carry our gear—anything to make us look less militant.”

  Joey rubbed at his forehead. “I’m not so sure, Chief. Going in there soft is an effective way to get us killed. Splitting our forces is another.”

  “We aren’t splitting up,” he said, nodding in agreement. “I’m with you on that. That’s why you and Brooks aren’t going in. I’ll hold you two out here as a Quick Reaction Force in case we get into trouble.”

  “I’m not down with that, Chief,” Brooks said, walking past him to drop a pair of packs inside the barn door. “I go where you go.”

  “Nope. I’ll take Riley, Henry, and the boys. They look the part because they are the part. You and Joey look like a pair of sheepdog wolf hunters; no way anyone’s going to believe you aren’t shooters,” Sean said. “And the fact that you are my only shooters is why I need you out here in case we get into trouble.”

  Brooks moved back toward the truck and leaned against the fender. “That’s your call, but if they have booze in there, you better make a fair trade and bring me back some.”

  Chapter 19

  Thirty Miles North of Coldwater Compound. Michigan Safe Zone

  “He wants you to do what?” Chelsea said, looking at him, not attempting to hide the anger in her voice. She let her eyes move from Brad to Gyles and then back again. They were gathered in the small maintenance break room. “Why would you want to go with them after everything they’ve managed to do to us in just the last day? How is any of this our fight?”

  Gyles put his hands up in surrender, but he said nothing, so Chelsea turned to Brad for an answer. “We have to get the civilians out, and this might be the only way. Avoiding Primals is one thing, but combined with the attacks, it’s just too much; there are women and children in there.”

  She shook her head. “If you all want them out, then come with us and get them out. Help us lead them north.”

  The young soldier nodded, gritting his teeth. “They have too good an eye on the place. If our people come out, they’ll attack. They’ll just wait for them to get out into the open. They’ll attract the zombies to them. They only way to get them out is to hit the zombies and keep them busy while the civilians make their move.”

  Chelsea let out a sarcastic laugh. “Why do you know so much about the way they operate?”

  Shaking his head, Gyles made a fist and shook it then turned away. “We’ve already been over this. I’ve seen what they do to communities, the way they attack them.”

  “And how exactly is that supposed to work? So far, all we’ve done is lose people and equipment. We haven’t done a thing to hurt them—”

  “Ahh, that ain’t the case,” Palmer said, raising a hand from where he stood against the kitchenette. “You were sleeping when it happened, but I know I killed
a bunch when I destroyed the bookstore.”

  “I got blown up, you asshole. I wasn’t sleeping,” Chelsea snapped back.

  “Well, however you explain it, we hurt them. It’s not like you said.”

  She grunted and shook her head, moving back to Brad. “You don’t have to do this,” she said.

  “If I don’t, they might all die—all those people we saw down on that floor. I can’t live with that, can you?”

  “Fine,” Chelsea said, turning her back to him and moving around the table to a metal folding chair. “If it’s that important, I’m going with you.”

  Brad looked toward Gyles, who shrugged. “I mean, I thought she was injured when I suggested she go back with Palmer, but I guess if she can fight…” Chelsea grunted again and glared at him. “Well, obviously she can fight,” Gyles said, correcting himself. “So yeah, three guns is better than two.”

  Palmer ran a hand through his hair. He was still standing in the back of the break room, leaning against the countertop. “So where does that leave me?”

  Gyles looked to Chelsea and Brad and, seeing that they weren’t about to speak, cleared his throat and answered. “Well, you just wait here until we leave. Give us time to head back south, then you mount up and make it straight back to the compound. Let them know what’s going on and do whatever you can to convince the captain to evacuate to Lansing.”

  “Why Lansing?” Chelsea asked.

  “Tanks,” Palmer said, answering for Gyles.

  “Tanks?” Brad asked, leaning forward. “If Lansing’s got tanks then let’s go after these guys. You didn’t tell me you had armored support.”

  Palmer shook his head and bit at his lower lip. “We don’t, not really. Anyhow, they’re hardly mobile. The few we got were tore up bad during the fall, and parts been hard to come by—not to mention the techs to work on them; replacing a tread ain’t exactly something you can get done at a dealership. But they’ve got them dug in good all around the capital building and convention center. They might not drive, but those main guns and coax machine guns keep the bad guys away.”

  “Whatever. Why are we even talking about this?” Chelsea said, not impressed. She’d pushed away from the table and was standing. “Let’s get our gear and get moving. If this is as critical as you all say, we’re wasting time just bullshitting around this table.” She turned and locked eyes with Gyles. “I assume you have a vehicle, or were you planning to make us walk?”

  He nervously adjusted the hat on his head and nodded. “Hell yeah, I got one.”

  Chelsea lifted her backpack to her shoulders then shrugged it higher to her back and tightened the straps. She looked at Gyles and Brad. “Well? Are we leaving or not?” Without waiting for a response, she turned and moved into the hallway.

  Palmer chuckled and looked at the two remaining men. “You all better get moving; she’s liable to take off without you.”

  Brad stood and grabbed his rifle, Gyles doing the same as they took off after Chelsea. They moved back down the long hallways to the outside door they’d entered earlier in the day. Chelsea was already there with her rifle in her hand posted up. “You said you had a ride. Where is it?”

  Gyles unhooked his rifle from his chest rig and slung the 12-gauge shotgun over his back so that it lay high on his rucksack. “Back outside the way we came. Go right; it’s a short bus. I’ve already got some gear on board.”

  “Short bus?” Chelsea said, her head turning sideways. “Is it going to start?”

  Nodding, the young man said, “Palmer rigged it to a trickle charger; it’ll crank.” His lips narrowed with uncertainty. “But…”

  “But what?” she said.

  “It’s not in the fence enclosure.”

  Brad stepped closer and put a hand on Gyles’s arm, turning him. “Then where is it? Outside in the row of busses we passed on the way here?”

  Shaking his head, Gyles cleared his throat and lifted his rifle into a low carry. “It’s no big deal. It’s outside and around the corner, near the high school auto shop.”

  Leaning forward, Chelsea looked at Gyles and asked, “Why am I thinking this is bad?”

  “Well… we kinda used the shop to get the bus up and running, got new tires on it, new battery, changed the plugs, and all of that. Even rat rigged some plate steel and chain link over the windows. We got her purring good. We’d just filled her up, so she would be topped off and ready to go.”

  “And then?” Chelsea said sarcastically.

  Gyles’s face reddened. “Guess we made too much noise. Something crashed inside the school; they got into the halls. They took out the doors to the shop class, and we had to make a run for it. But no worries, the outer fence stopped them.”

  “No worries,” Chelsea spat. “So where is your short bus now?”

  Gyles moved past her and unbolted the door. He pulled it up and looked outside into the bright light then looked back at the other two. “It’s parked just outside the shop’s overhead doors.” He looked up at the bright-blue, cloudless sky. “Cold sunny day like today, there won’t be many of them outside.” He finished his sentence then stepped outside with Chelsea staying close to him.

  Brad cursed under his breath and reached into a nylon pouch on his chest, removing a suppressor for his M4. He threaded it onto his barrel before dropping and press checking the magazine. He looked back into the dark hallway behind him and followed the others outside.

  Chapter 20

  Three Corners Outpost, West of Lancaster, Ohio. The Dead Lands

  They walked in two columns with Henry leading the way, Riley just behind him. Sean was on the shoulder with the two Baker boys, lagging back farther behind the group. They’d lost all their military gear, all of them now carrying large duffel bags or civilian-style backpacks. Armed with shotguns and bolt-action rifles, only Sean with his M4 stood out. But this was the fall, plenty of men carried M4s now.

  The road was broken, large potholes with weeds breaking through the bleached surface. They had to lift their feet and pay attention to prevent twisting ankles. Sean looked up; the sun was to his back as they approached what was determined to be the Three Corners outpost. It wasn’t a walled-in compound as Sean expected it to be. It was literally a large, red-brick building at the end of a dead-end street. The type or original purpose of the building was hard to make out. Government, maybe commercial. It was tall, four stories at least, and stretched close to three football fields wide. The bottom two floors of windows were all covered in plywood. The perimeter of the building was covered with orange construction fencing, which made Sean think the building may have been closed prior to the fall.

  Stepping near the intersection, Sean saw that every other building in the area had been burnt to the ground, nothing but charred remains left behind to show they were ever there. He examined the blackened beams of the buildings as they walked past them. Maybe they were burned for security purposes to not give anybody nearby a place to hide. He let his eyes scan left and right. He could see plenty of stumps but no trees. The fields as far as he could see were clear of obstructions for at least a hundred feet.

  Henry stopped up front and unshouldered his pack, setting it on the ground by his right foot. He turned back toward Sean and angled his chin, signaling him forward. Sean kept his eyes on the tall building, scanning the rooflines and windows as he moved forward. He saw no signs of life. No gates, doors, or vehicle entrances. He moved up alongside Henry and stopped.

  “How’s this usually work?” he said, looking at Riley.

  Shrugging off his own pack, Riley set it on the ground by his feet then dropped down to sit on it. The big man was sweating profusely. The Baker boys moved in close and stepped to a weed-covered street curb and dropped to the ground. Riley avoided looking at the building. “As soon as they caught sight of us, they started sizing us up. Running word to whoever is in charge. They’ll call for their security guys—usually whoever it is they got that can handle a rifle. Then they’ll let the people inside know
they have visitors. The leader, whomever that might be, will come to some spot along the wall—or a window as this place might be—and take a long, hard look at us. Then they’ll either ignore us, shoot at us, or send someone out to talk to us,” he said.

  As if on cue, they heard the dull ringing of a bell. The bell rang at least eight to ten times before the sounds of screeching metal joined it. Sean turned on his heels and looked toward the face of the building. Between tall windows and at the top of a set of stairs, an opening appeared in what before looked like a barricaded entrance. At first it opened into nothing but a darkened space. Soon after, a pair of figures appeared then stepped out and stopped just short of the steps. The men carried shotguns, their heads scanning the front. A third figure in a dark hide jacket walked out between them. He wore faded blue jeans and tanned leather boots, a heavy fur hat on top of his head. The man kept his thumbs in a gun belt with the wood handle of a revolver tucked into the right side. Sean could just see the grip of a second handgun in a holster under the man’s right hand.

  Henry looked back at Sean and grinned. “How about you let me handle this one while you take notes?”

  Looking at the man approaching, Sean returned Henry’s smile; he could tell this was one of Henry’s type. “Carry on then.”

  The old man nodded and reached into his shirt pocket for his pipe. He lay his lever-action rifle over the top of his pack and stepped off in front of the group to meet the strangers. Henry had the pipe between his lips and was touching a match to it just as the man with the fur skin cap stopped to their front.

  He looked at the group, his eyes studying them the same way Sean had seen chieftains study him overseas in war zones. The fights might have changed, but the people stayed the same. Once the game of looking everyone over ended, the man switched his stare to Henry and said, “What business you folks got in Three Corners?”