Plague Years (Book 3): This Thing of Darkness I Acknowledge Mine

by Rounds, Mark

  Since there were no functional phones, Chad decided to walk over.

  “Corporal Taylor,” said Chad as he walked out the door. “I have been in the office almost non-stop since the attack on Fairchild. I am going out for some air. I’ll be within shouting distance if anything goes down.”

  “Sir,” said Taylor, reaching behind his chair and proffering his M-4 carbine, “Col. Amos just issued an order that all personnel were to be armed as there were roving bands of Infected in the area.”

  “I saw the order,” said Chad who took the proffered weapon. Automatically, he checked to make sure there was not a round in the chamber and the weapon was safe. Then he headed out the door and started walking toward the Life Sciences building. He could see the light on in his brother’s office which was unusual. He normally liked to work in a cave, even when there was plentiful power. With the current restrictions, it was just out of character.

  While he was mulling over the issue of the light, one of the side doors on the life science building slammed open and a man in an unfamiliar utility uniform exited with a weapon at the ready. He was just about to shout at him when the man behind him drew a bead on Chad who reflexively threw himself to the ground. As it was, the shot whistled over his head mere inches from where he came to rest.

  “Cease Fire,” shouted Chad, afraid of a blue-on-blue incident. He knew that lots of folks around here were armed and jumpy. The response was more rifle fire. Chad made use of the scant cover of the curb. Then he saw something that made his blood run cold. It was his brother, shackled and beaten. Behind him came more men carrying boxes, one of whom was Macklin!

  Chad took him under fire immediately and was rewarded as Macklin stumbled. But the hit was non-lethal, or perhaps he was wearing body armor, for several more men returned fire. He was now pinned down, unable to fire.

  Corporal Taylor opened the window on the third floor. Since he had handed his M-4 to his boss, Terry pulled his M-9 and began firing. Hitting someone would be a bonus, but if he could take some of the pressure off Chad, it might help.

  He was answered with a firestorm of small arms that drove him back from the window. LTC. Amos, who had been managing the battle from the comm room down the hall came running into Terry’s office.

  “What the hell is happening out there?” asked Amos, quickly diving for cover as rifle fire continued to shoot out pieces of the window.

  “Captain Strickland went outside for some fresh air sir,” said Taylor as he reloaded his M-9. “The next thing I knew, there was a bunch of shooting out on the lawn. I called it in to Captain Maitland’s HQ and then tried to help. All that did was get the windows shot out.”

  “What did Maitland say?” asked Amos who was drawing his own M-9.

  “They have pulled a platoon out of the fight on Mountain View Road,” said Taylor. “They’ll be here in twenty minutes. They are on foot.”

  “Not good enough,” said Amos peering out the window from the corner. Before accurate rifle fire drove him back behind the file cabinet, he saw that upwards of thirty well-armed men were hustling down the walkway towards the Wallace Complex. They were carrying several crates and were dragging an older man down the walk. Chad was up and moving, following at a discrete distance.

  “Damn it!” exclaimed Amos. “They have kidnapped someone, I don’t know who. And they are headed north. I have a battle to manage but they are headed for the Wallace Complex where all those college students eat and hang out. It’s bound to get ugly.

  “Taylor, round up all the staff weinies in the building. Leave the minimum comm watch on the sat phone and the drone feed and gather the rest of them downstairs pronto with whatever arms they have. We are going to engage these hostiles, rescue if possible, but at all costs keep them from the kids in the dorms. Get word up the chain to Fort Lewis and then meet me downstairs. Don’t take longer than five minutes. Move!”

  July 11th, Saturday, 4:26 pm PDT

  West of the Hartung Theater at the University of Idaho Campus, Moscow ID

  Chad was perhaps a hundred yards behind Macklin’s gang that had kidnapped his brother. Bob Strickland had attempted to resist, but he had been beaten severely for his efforts. It built a cold fury in Chad’s heart as there was little he could do. He had sniped at them as they moved, trying to slow them down, but when Macklin sent four mercenaries to push him back, it was all he could do to keep them in sight and keep his own hide intact.

  Chad heard some noise behind him, and worriedly, he turned to face what he thought were some more of Macklin’s men, sent to take him out. He was relieved when he saw LTC Amos leading half a dozen military members including two PJ’s with a variety of weapons. Chad waved them over to his position with a feeling of relief.

  “What’s the situation, Captain?” asked Amos when he had taken cover next to Chad.

  “Macklin and about thirty of his henchmen have kidnapped my brother,” said Chad pointing to the retreating group of men. “They are heavily armed, and I have only half dozen rounds left in Corporal Taylor’s rifle. I have been sniping at them, slowing them down some, but they are clearly not interested in engaging me.”

  “This is the same Macklin who has been dogging you since the Plague began?” asked Amos.

  “The very same, the bastard,” said Chad with more than a little anger.

  “Chad,” said Amos kindly, “I am going to give you an order you won’t like. You need to go back to headquarters.”

  “But … but … why?” asked Chad stammering.

  “Because you are likely to get your brother killed,” said Amos a little more coldly. “They are more heavily armed then we are. If it looked like we might lose them, you would be motivated to attack. You would likely fail, and maybe get your brother killed along with several of these troops. You need to go back.”

  “Yes sir,” said Chad after what seemed like an excessively long silence. He handed Taylor’s M-4 back to him. “I didn’t leave you much ammo, soldier.”

  “It’s ok sir,” said Taylor as he took the weapon and replaced the magazine, “I was able to get my LBE with all my spare ammo.”

  “We’ll keep track of them Chad,” said Amos more kindly. “There is a platoon coming up behind us and you can coordinate whatever other forces we have back at HQ to stop these guys.”

  Chad nodded and left before he had to say more. He hadn’t been particularly close to his brother before the Plague, but finding him alive had helped him hold onto the pre-Plague past a little. He knew Amos was right, but it didn’t help him as he headed back towards campus.

  Mary spotted Chad dejectedly walking back up 6th street on his way to the Commons. She knew instantly something was wrong so she stopped helping the students who were building the makeshift fortifications for the Towers and went to him.

  “They got Bob,” was all Chad could trust himself to say.

  “Is he dead?” asked Mary fearing the worst.

  “No,” said Chad haltingly. “Macklin has him. He clearly wants to get back at me. Amos is chasing them, but he sent me back. He said I would be too risky and might get him killed. My forebrain says he is right, but I still want to hunt Macklin and get him back!”

  “Come up to the room,” said Mary. “You can rest a while there.”

  “I can’t!” said Chad pulling away, “Amos wants me back at HQ to coordinate the response.”

  “Amos is right,” said Mary firmly, “You’ll be of more use to your brother there. You have shown you can handle a rifle, but you are far more dangerous when you are using that brilliant mind of yours. You’ll think of something!”

  “I wish I had your confidence,” said Chad with the beginnings of a smile.

  “Hush,” said Mary, “you have work to do and so do I. We will talk more later, I promise!”

  July 11th, Saturday, 5:01 pm PDT

  Near Airport Road, west of the Moscow ID

  Sayla and Twitchel had thought to get in contact with National Guard troops or some of the local residents,
but with the incursion of the Infected, both the local residents and the National Guard troops fired on them before they could get close enough to talk to them. Then Sayla spotted the mercenaries that had recently held them captive.

  “Macklin,” said Sayla with his usual economy of words as he pointed to a group of people moving across their path.

  “If you say so,” said Twitchell, squinting into the early evening sun. “I can barely make out that they are human.”

  “We need to follow them,” said Sayla.

  “Wait one,” said Twitchell, eyeing the moving forms suspiciously. “Weren’t we trying to get away from that same gang just a bit ago?”

  “They have kidnapped someone,” said Sayla shielding his eyes. “They aren’t moving so well.”

  “We’re not really equipped to do a hostage rescue,” said Twitchell nervously.

  “They called you ‘Sky Warrior’ and laughed,” said Sayla not taking his eyes off the slow moving forms. “So are you a Warrior or a joke? I don’t have time to persuade you. Come with me or not. You choose now.”

  “I’m with you,” said Twitchell, shamefaced but determined. “But what can we do?”

  “For now, we follow them,” said Sayla. “They are far from their vehicles and there are Infected all around that will attack them even as they attack us. They will make a mistake as they get hungry or their water or Slash runs low. We follow.”

  The terrain was low rolling Palouse hills with homes spread across the landscape to take advantage of the view. Most of the houses were abandoned as people moved into town for safety, but here and there homeowners occasionally would fire at Sayla and Twitchell as they moved through the ravines and gulleys. The pair would only come up to the hilltops to see where Macklin and his gang were headed. Even then, they would receive fire for their troubles. After one such look, Sayla skittered down the hill and spoke to Twitchell.

  “They have begun to head north,” said Sayla.

  “Back towards the bus then,” said Twitchell pointing back toward Moscow Mountain. “If they had any other reasonable means of transport, they’d make for that. They also aren’t carrying much so they are likely short of Slash; they are going to be moving fast I think.”

  “Are all you ‘Sky Warriors’ this smart?” asked Sayla. “The only other one I know does this.”

  “It’s no big deal,” said Twitchell somewhat embarrassed

  “I will follow Macklin,” said Sayla abruptly. “You will go back to town and tell them this. I will do what I can to slow them down.”

  “OK,” said Twitchell who paused for a moment and then extended his hand. “And thanks. I’d be dead now if it wasn’t for you. Take care of yourself.”

  But Sayla was already focused on his target and moved off without a word. Twitchell shrugged and moved out, heading straight for town. Mindful of the Infected who were roaming about, Twitchell picked up a piece of broken fence and broke off enough of the end so it would be handy. He also put half a dozen walnut sized rocks in his pocket.

  Thus armed, he headed cross country toward the nearest habitation at the best pace he could manage. He had been without sleep and on the move for a long time so his best was more a staggering run than anything an athlete would be proud of, but in fifteen minutes, he neared a house that had smoke coming out of the chimney. Focused as he was on the house, he missed the band of thirty Infected who were closing on him from behind. Almost too late, he saw them and began running for the house. His fatigue slowed him and the fleetest of the Infected was on him in seconds. Wesley swung his makeshift club awkwardly and connected with the Infected man’s shoulder, which staggered both of them. Wesley went down, but the crack of a rifle shot issued from the house ahead and the chest of the man with whom he had been grappling exploded like a scene from a low budget horror movie.

  Several more rifle shots came from various windows of the house and the Infected were momentarily driven off. Wesley took the opportunity to head for the house. Several more Infected fell as he made the porch. A young girl of no more than seventeen opened the front door and vigorously waved him in the house. Wesley charged through and collapsed on the floor, a panting wreck from his exertions.

  The next thing he was conscious of was the muzzle of the twelve gauge shot gun pointed at the bridge of his nose. There was quite a bit of rifle fire still coming from the back of the house indicating that the rest of the family was still engaging the Infected.

  “And who might you be?” asked the owner of the twelve gauge, a tall well-kept man who appeared to be in his seventies.

  “Captain Wesley Twitchell, USAF” wheezed Wesley who knew he had to look a sight, with his broken and bloody nose, three day old beard, and a set of ABU’s that had seen three days hard use.

  “Well,” said the older man moving the shot gun away from Wesley’s much abused nose, “it seems that people have taken quite a few liberties with Regulation AF35-10 since I was in. I’m retired Chief Master Sergeant Steven Graysen. I used to be in the 319th Bomb Wing at Grand Forks AFB back when they still had B-52’s.”

  “Was that when giants roamed the earth, Grampa?” asked the girl who let Wesley in.

  “And that is my disrespectful granddaughter Molly Graysen,” said Steven with a smile and a soft tone that took the sting out of his words.

  “So young man,” said Steven focusing back on Wesley. “What are you doing out here, miles from the nearest Air Base?”

  “I was captured by mercenaries or revolutionaries or something,” said Wesley, who was realizing how flimsy his story was sounding, “They hauled me here and I escaped with … a friend. We spotted the same guys kidnapping someone else and hauling him away from the University. My friend is still following them, but I have to tell somebody!”

  “Well you might be tellin’ the truth and you might not,” said Graysen. “This is my son’s house so I think he has a say about how we deal with this.”

  “Pretty tall tale alright,” said a younger, taller version of Sergeant Graysen who had just come from the back of the house packing a Ruger No. 1 Rifle, the weapon that made such an impression on the Infected chasing Wesley. “Now that those Infected fellows have been dealt with, just who do you think we should tell?”

  “Well,” said Wesley thinking fast and trying to remember the intel briefings he had given to Col. Phillips. “Strickland, Captain Strickland is the Air Force intel officer around here. I need to talk to Strickland.”

  “Strickland,” said the younger Graysen turning it over in his mind. “I think I remember that he was one of the officers that came in on the Chinook a few weeks back.

  “What do you think, Junior?” said the older Graysen coming to a decision, “I think we ought to get this young man out of here as he attracts too much attention. Probably ought to have Molly saddle up Old Dollar. Can you ride, young man?”

  “Um … I …no,” said Wesley stumbling. “I never have.”

  “That proves it, Dad,” said the younger Graysen. “He’s Air Force through and through. He probably doesn’t even know what side of the horse to get up on.”

  “My son served in the Army,” said the older Graysen who was still smiling. “Much to my chagrin. Molly, you’ll have to ride double with him into town. We’ll get you to see Strickland alright, but listen here, any funny stuff with my granddaughter and I’ll come a hunting.”

  “No sir, I would never …” began Wesley.

  “Don’t let my Dad fool you, son,” said Graysen the younger with a wink, “He dotes on Molly and to my knowledge, he hasn’t killed a one of her suitors.”

  “But the day is young,” said the elder Graysen, then looking up he shouted, “Molly!? Where is that girl?”

  “I’m right here Your Majesty, Sergeant, Granddaddy, sir!” said Molly coming back in the house proffering a disrespectful salute. “Old Dollar is ready.”

  “Molly,” said the younger of the Graysens, “Take this young man to the Commons. That’s where they have their headquarters. We�
�ll keep the Infected in check until you return.”

  “OK,” said Molly with a bright smile. “I could use some new scenery.”

  July 11th, Saturday, 5:52 pm PDT

  Mortimer Road, twenty miles south of Rosalia WA

  “So what you’re telling me is that not more than fifteen minutes ago,” said Dave out of the window of the Humvee that was doubling as his command vehicle, “that a bunch of armed men came through here?”

  “Yes, young man,” said the elderly woman from the window of her house. “They shot up my old garage and tried to get Dan Barker’s old dump truck to run. It’s been parked across the way for two years now. I suspect Dan would have paid them good money to drive the old wreck off if they could have got it running. Then they left.”

  “Did you get a look at which way they were headed?” asked Dave, glad that they were still afoot.

  “Understand that I was hiding in the barn,” said the old lady with a smile, “but they were headed generally north, down Mortimer Road.”

  “Thank you, ma’am,” said Dave.

  “Bye, Aunt May,” said Billie from the middle of the vehicle.

  “Tell your mother hello,” said Aunt May. “And quit traipsing around with those Army fellers. It’ll get you in trouble for sure!”

  “Wasn’t Uncle Chester one of those ‘Army fellers’ Aunt May?” asked Billie impishly.

  “You’ll be the death of me, child,” said Aunt May with a smile that softened her words. “Your dear departed uncle is exactly who I was thinking about; taking advantage of a sixteen year old hayseed like me, then asking me to marry him when your great granddad wasn’t looking. He nearly got shot for his troubles you know.”