Caldera 9
From The Ashes
Heath Stallcup
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
About the Author
Also by Heath Stallcup
Also From DevilDog Press
You May Enjoy
Caldera IX From the Ashes
©2019 Heath Stallcup
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons living, dead, or otherwise, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
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This book is protected under the copyright laws of the United States of America. Any reproduction or unauthorized use of the material or artwork contained herein is prohibited without the express written permission of the author.
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Printed in the U.S.A.
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ISBN—
Created with Vellum
To my twin girls.
You both love zombie stories and this is a different twist on the genre for you.
It may not be what you’re used to, but if the ‘zombie apocalypse’ ever really does come, it most likely will be some kind of rage virus versus the slow, shambling, walking dead.
Rule #1: Cardio…
1
Hatcher watched the truck’s tail light flash just before the vehicle jolted to a dead stop. In the faint glow of the headlights he saw the passenger door open and it could only be Big Mike that stepped out. He lowered the binoculars and glanced at the men still clinging to the adobe walls. “Anybody got a high power scope? I can’t make out shit with these.”
A man he barely recognized stood and handed him a hunting rifle. Hatcher really didn’t care that it was a bolt action; he only wanted the optics. He lifted the heavy rifle to his shoulder and squinted, focusing his attention on his right eye.
Through the dust and haze brought on by the truck’s headlights, he could see a pale figure dart towards the front of the truck. Hatcher had to bite his tongue to keep from yelling and felt his chest tighten when a large body collapsed near the front bumper of the truck. “Oh no…”
He was just about to lower the rifle when the driver popped up on the opposite side, firing wildly towards the front of the truck. Hatcher pressed the rifle tighter to his shoulder and continued to watch events unfold. He saw another pale-skinned body launch from the passenger side of the vehicle, towards the shooter. That very same body collapsed to the ground, unmoving.
“They need help out there.” He lowered the rifle and scanned the men available. “You two, with me!” He handed the heavy rifle back to the other man and slung his carbine across his chest. “Move it!”
He hit the iron gates at a dead run and burst through the bent and nearly broken chain link gates. He could hear the other men huffing behind him, their heavy boots thumping the ground as they ran full force towards the stand of trees.
Hatcher held a hand up as he slowed, his boots slapping the ground. He brought the carbine up and shouldered it, his eyes scanning the area. He bucked the barrel skyward when Wally slapped the front fender of the truck, staggering along the side of the vehicle, using the dead metal beast as support. “Friendly!” he yelled as the trio approached. “I’m empty.” He held the pistol up and nearly lost his footing, his body sliding down the side of the truck.
Hatcher gripped the man by the upper arm and helped him back to his feet. He noted the dark stain covering the left side of his face and a nasty gash above his left eye. “What happened?”
“Got my bell rung when the truck hit the trees.” Wally turned away, his stomach threatening to heave on him.
“Where’s Mike?”
Wally reached out and gripped Hatcher’s arm, his head slowly shaking. “They got him.”
“What about Simon?” Hatcher feared the worst as Wally dry heaved.
His body retched a few times as he tried to catch his breath. He slowly turned and leaned against the truck, his eyes unable to focus. “I saw him.” He gulped air again and leaned his head back. “I shot at him. No idea if I hit him.”
Hatcher cursed under his breath. He motioned to the other two men. “Get him to the infirmary. I think he’s concussed.”
Hatcher let go of Wally’s arm and turned toward the front of the truck. Three dead Zulus lay spread out on the ground. He kicked the first body over and knew immediately it wasn’t Simon. The second body was missing most of his face, but was too tall. The third body was a stocky-built female.
“Son of a bitch!” Hatcher spun a slow circle, cursing whatever gods would allow that waste of flesh to still live. He listened intently, his hearing mostly deafened by the previous firefight. He stared at the blood splattered across the ground and barely caught sight of a speckled trail leading away from the trees.
Hatcher reached for his belt and pulled the small LED flashlight. He clicked it on and walked around the edge of the carnage. He could just make out the small smears of blood leading away.
He looked back at the compound and winced at the amount of flames that had spread. He turned back to the trail and the inky darkness that engulfed it.
Weighing his options, Hatcher knew that the safest play was to turn around and help save their home. He could hunt Simon down tomorrow. That bloody trail wasn’t going anywhere.
Carol whimpered as the beating continued on the glass door. She winced when Kelly screeched at the beast and waited for the gruesome end that she knew was about to claim her.
It took her a moment to realize that Kelly had grabbed and was shaking her shoulder. “It’s okay. He’s gone.”
Carol jerked away, her face pale and her eyes wide as she looked up at the infected woman. “W-what?”
“He’s gone.” Kelly spoke with a soft, even tone. “I challenged him, and when he realized he couldn’t get in…” She shrugged. “It’s okay. You can stand up now.”
Carol came to her feet shakily then blushed. “Oh my.”
“What’s wrong?” Kelly asked as she led her away from the corner.
“I think I wet myself.” Carol looked away, shame filling her eyes.
“Don’t sweat it,” Kelly chuckled. “I think I did, too.” She stood taller and blew her breath out slower, trying to bring her heart rate back to normal.
“How did you think to…do that?” Carol asked.
Kelly shook her head. “I’m not sure. It was almost like a small part of my brain knew what to do even though my body didn’t want to.” She sat down heavily on the stool and held her hands out, her fingers trembling.
Carol placed a steadier hand on her shoulder. “Thank you.”
Kelly gave her a crooked smile. “I couldn’t let somebody else eat you, now could I?” She laughed at her own joke and Carol tried to join in, her own anxiety making it sound less than jov
ial. “Seriously, relax. I have no intention of hurting you.”
“Excuse me while I go and throw up,” Carol stated. “And…clean up.”
“I really didn’t mean it,” Kelly called to her in a loud whisper. “Sorry, but when I’m scared, I tend to say inappropriate things.”
“I worked with a fellow who was like that.” Carol stepped into the lounge and began stripping her pants. “Except he said inappropriate things all the time, not just when he was scared.”
Kelly blew out the remaining candles and stepped into the lounge while Carol finished changing. “That’s me, too.” She sat down heavily on the couch and reached for another water bottle. “My mom said it was my biggest flaw.”
Carol buttoned her jeans then slipped her sneakers back on. She caught Kelly watching her and gave her a slight shrug. “Considering our circumstances, I want to be ready to go if I we have to make a break for it.”
Kelly bent her knee and planted her foot in her lap. She ran a finger along the thick callouses and tsk’d. “If mom could see me now,” she chuckled to herself. “She was all about ‘presentation’ and manners.”
“I take it you weren’t as concerned with such things?”
Kelly leaned her head back, her mind drifting back to a simpler time. “I’d rather run barefoot in the grass and do things that my parents did not approve of.”
“Like what? Smoking?” Carol fell onto the opposite couch and rested her head on the arm.
“Much worse,” Kelly smiled as she reminisced. Her face suddenly sobered and she shook the bad memories away. “I think maybe we should get some rest.”
Carol could feel her hands still trembling. “If we can. That really got my fight-or-flight pegged.” She turned to Kelly and stared wide eyed. The woman was already asleep. “If only it were that easy,” she muttered.
Simon stumbled and fell, his wounded arm sending jolts of pain throughout his entire body. He rolled to his side and clenched his jaw to keep from screaming.
He lay on the ground, staring up into the night sky and knew that his days as Alpha were numbered. As soon as another hunter realized how bad his wounds were, he would be challenged.
He really didn’t want his pack eating his heart or any other parts of his body. For a brief moment he felt his bravado increase as he remembered his boomstick. Then he groaned as he realized that he’d left it behind.
“Damn it,” he groaned as he pushed himself over and slowly came to his feet. He stood swaying in the cool night air. He could return to where he left it and hope that he could find it or he could search for another weapon before returning to the store.
With a low growl he turned back towards the battleground. If nothing else, he could watch the Cagers burn before the sun came up and roasted him alive.
He forced himself to put one foot in front of the other until he had a steady pace going. He trudged for what felt like days, even though it had only been minutes. He backtracked, continuously watching the horizon. If another vehicle came at him, he had no place to hide. He’d be at the driver’s mercy.
“Mercy,” he spat. “That’s a foreign concept to those animals.”
He continued to plod along, his mind replaying the events of the evening. He had no idea how effective his warriors would be against the enemy. They had guns, after all.
He chuckled to himself as he realized that he’d sent half-starved drones into battle with nothing but a handful of rocks, sharpened sticks, and rudimentary bows. He laughed as he rounded the stand of trees and saw the bodies scattered across the ground.
He staggered past Clyde’s remains and shook his head. “You were a damned fine fighter, my friend.” He searched the area in the dwindling light of the truck and spotted his leather jacket. “I’ll be taking that back, thank you.”
He bent low and scooped the jacket from the ground, his hand slickening in his own congealing blood. “That ain’t gonna wash out.” He chuckled at his own joke as his eyes scanned the area again. He paused when his gaze fell on the big, hairy man.
He staggered up to the body, the eyes still open, staring into eternity. “Fucking traitor.” He tried to kick at Mike’s head and missed, nearly sending himself to the ground again. He turned and glared at the corpse. “Fuck you anyway.”
Simon continued to stagger around the battleground until a familiar shape caught his eye. “Ah. Boomstick.” He bent low and gripped the barrel.
He didn’t remember the thing weighing so much as he lifted it and propped it over his shoulder. He turned in a slow circle, making sure that there wasn’t anything else he might need before turning and plodding off into the darkness again.
He paused at the edge of the trees and looked past the truck. Small fires still burned at the Cager’s compound, but there were no more gunshots. Either his people had run out of sticks and stones or they were all dead.
Either way, he was still alive. That meant the war wasn’t lost, only postponed.
2
“We have to assess the damage. This is the worst time for you to be out there.”
Hatcher continued to shove his gear into the shoulder pack. “I won’t be long.” He turned to Will Stanton and placed a hand firmly on his shoulder. “I’m leaving you in charge.”
“Me?” Stanton nearly stammered. “Why?”
“You’re the most levelheaded person I have available. Every time you said we needed to do something, it took very little convincing to authorize it. You tend to weigh every option and I’d have to say, you’re the primary reason we’ve made it as far as we have.” He slung the pack onto his shoulder and picked up the carbine. “If I’m not back before dark, the job is yours permanently.”
“Wait!” Stanton followed him out of the office. “What are you saying?”
“If I’m not back by dark, I’m probably dead.” He paused and gave the man a serious look. “They need somebody who can detach emotion from their thinking when it comes to the common good. That man is you.”
“Mr. Hatcher, I’m afraid I must protest.”
“Tough.” Hatcher patted the man’s shoulder. “If it makes you feel any better, I fully intend to return.” He glanced toward the stand of trees and squinted in the early morning sunlight. “If Roger recovers, okay, hand the job to him. Or hell, even Coop…wait.” He shook his head. “Not Coop.”
“I have no desire to lead these people.”
“Then pray that either I come back or Roger recovers.” Hatcher took a deep breath and pushed past the wrought iron gates. He shook his head at the twisted chain link gates laying ruined on the ground. “First priority is the people, then the repairs.”
Stanton called to him as he marched out into the open field. “Your sister is tending to the wounded. The only thing left is to rebuild.”
“Sounds like you have your day planned, Will.” He turned and faced him, still walking backward. “Good luck.”
Hatcher did an about face and increased his speed to a trot. He slowed once he approached the dead truck and winced when his eyes fell on Big Mike’s remains. He pulled his radio and called back to Stanton. “Get a couple of hands out here to lay Mike to rest.” He glanced at the dead Zulus. “Burn the infected.” He clicked his radio off and bent low, his eyes scanning the blood on the ground. He walked slowly around the stand of trees, noting the blood splatters and droplets on the grass.
“Two trails?” He bent low again and wiped the drying blood from a wide blade of grass. “Two survivors?” He stood slowly and followed the trail across the empty field and to the edge of a street.
Hatcher moved methodically, his eyes searching for the blood trail. “Getting more and more sparse.” He looked up, his concentration following the direct-line path. He half expected to find a body sprawled on the pavement.
He continued following the paths until he came to a small pool, then one trail continuing on. He bent low and read the clues. “Why did you double back?”
Hatcher remained hunkered low, his eyes following the path b
ack to the scene of the carnage. “You left something.” He narrowed his gaze as he slowly came to his feet. “Or someone.”
He turned back to the street and fell into step, letting the blood trail lead him to Simon—or at least to the Zulus’ lair.
Andre stared through the small porthole window at Dr. McAlester, beating against the walls, snarling and spitting as if he were infected. His manacled hands were covered in his own blood from straining against the metal edges. The lightweight metal chair was now twisted and lying in a corner. He had already beaten it against every surface in an attempt to escape.
“Has he had any moments of clarity since he’s been locked up?”
The guard shook his head. “If anything, he’s just getting more and more aggressive.” He glanced at his watch and sighed. “He’s been going full steam for over twenty hours. You’d think he’d run out of gas.”
Andre sighed and turned to the technician standing beside him. “Do it.”
The man cranked a knob and the sound generator caused the walls to vibrate slightly, its frequency rising as the knob was adjusted. Regardless of the frequencies tested, Dr. McAlester showed no signs of reaction.
“Try the next range.” Broussard commented, his voice already defeated.
The tech flipped a switch and adjusted the knob again. The creature inside the steel room didn’t hesitate or slow down. He continued to throw himself against the walls, occasionally picking up the remains of the chair and slamming it repeatedly against the steel walls.
Caldera 9: From The Ashes Page 1