“Revenge?” Oliver asked. “Animals don’t get revenge.” He looked up at the flat expression from the Colonel. “Do they?” he added.
“Son, I have personally witnessed a bull elephant tracking a single man down to deliver some payback.”
“For real?”
“They are not stupid. They have about the same range of emotions as we do, and enough reasoning ability to pick out one man out of thousands and track his ass down.” Dale sighed. “But what I’m worried about is that bull in charge of the herd deciding to take out his anger on all of us or any of us. If that happens, then we’ll have to load up and find the herd and kill them all.” He tried to add a smile to his face and hoped he succeeded. “And we don’t want to do that, do we?”
“No, sir,” Oliver replied.
“Now, I want to have a look at that rifle.”
“It’s over here,” Ron told him. The two of them walked across the big, single room of the blockhouse and Ron unlocked one of the gun cases where he stashed some of his weapons. Pulling the double doors open, he reached in and retrieved the weapon.
“I’ll be damned,” Dale said. “I’ve not actually seen one of these.”
“What is it? I’ve never seen one, either. And believe me, I’ve raided armories both public and private all over this city. Never seen anything like it.” He handed it over to the Colonel.
“It’s a Blaser S2, Safari model.” His hands roamed over the intricately carved wooden stock, the surface oiled and well-cared for. A cape buffalo was carved onto the right side. There was the image of a bull elephant on the left. In detailed etchings on the barrel were images of a lion, a leopard, and a rhino, one following the other down the steel of it. “They made these for every kind of big game in Africa. The dangerous stuff,” he said. “Takes a .460 cartridge. Depending on the cartridge, it can kill anything that walks.”
“Where’d he get it?” Ron asked. “I thought the guy was pretty much house-bound.”
The Colonel handed the gun back to Ron who stowed it in the cabinet and closed the doors, locking the case. “The Trust Tower is a big place, Ron. I roamed over it with my team—including you—and we only scratched the surface. Looking for deads, mainly. Making sure we can keep those three floors operating smoothly. Beyond that…who has the time?”
“Lieber, I reckon,” Ron stated.
“Right. When he’s not doing the work we all need him to do, and when he’s not shooting at elephants or the Lund family…the crazy bastard has nothing to do but explore that place from top to bottom. And remember who worked there. If you call what some of those men did ‘working’. People with nothing better to do than collect valuable items had offices there. Even flats where they could stash artwork and girlfriends,” he said. “That gun there…someone probably paid about thirty thousand dollars for it.”
“Thirty grand? For a gun?”
Dale wanted to tell him that thirty grand for a gun could be considered cheap in his own circles, but he kept it to himself. He’d save that for a later date, if ever. “Yes,” he nodded. “I doubt the original owner ever even fired it. Has a kick like a mule. If you fire it and you’re not prepared or know what you’re doing, it can knock you on your ass.”
“Well…he doesn’t have it anymore. And there was nothing else in there, other than the cartridges.”
“What about the other videos?”
“Just average stuff. Lieber walking around the joint. Reading. Eating. There was a spot or two where he was obviously talking to himself, but the system you set up isn’t rigged for sound, so I have no idea what he might have been talking about.”
“Well, the main thing is we have that gun away from him. He has other rifles in there. I don’t want him to be completely vulnerable if security for the building is breached. But I don’t think he has anything else in there that can reach the streets with any kind of accuracy or stopping power.”
“I hope not,” Ron said. “How is Mrs. Lund and what’s left of her family?”
“She’s…doing as well as can be expected. There’s nothing we can do about what already happened. But she’s in good hands.”
There was a moment of silence between them. Ron knew what could be done about it, but he knew how much importance Dale placed on the work Lieber was doing. He only hoped that when that work was completed, they could deal once and for all with Lieber and in a way that would make him harmless. One way or another.
“Do you want to eat with us? We have plenty.”
“No. I want to be going. Meeting up with Joe Rankin in fifteen minutes. He’s coming with a vehicle to take me back to the hospital compound.”
“Okay, then,” Ron told him. “I’ll see you to the ground floor.”
NEXT
It took quite a while for Stan to come out of the stupor into which the drugs had placed him. The stuff Dale was using on him was quick to act and slow to release him from its clutches.
He had to lie there and tolerate the Colonel’s presence for a two full hours after awakening before the man would leave him. Fortunately, it didn’t take much willpower to pretend not to hate the man who was keeping him drugged. The chemical haze made that part of the act easy. His rage was subdued and reduced to a dull ache, like a minor nagging pain only lightly felt.
As soon as his visitor pretended to be concerned about his welfare and had vanished down the corridor, doors closing securely behind, Lieber made his way to the kitchen where he found what he needed to restore his senses.
By now, he knew exactly where all of the cameras were located. Dale was stupid if he thought Stan wasn’t aware of his little spying eyes. He’d found each of them and, rather than disabling the damned things he had left them where they were, continuing to watch him, continuing to record his movements. And he made sure that it ultimately did them no good, at all.
Let them think he was just being a good boy and going about his work preserving those eyes in the sky. He allowed them to believe he had nothing else to defend himself but the two pathetic handguns and the pair of hunting rifles they knew he had now.
The hacker knelt down, searching for a glass in the lower cupboard. He removed a small section of wooden shelf and retrieved a couple of amphetamines and quickly popped them into his mouth and covered them with his tongue. It wouldn’t do if he stood and the camera caught him obviously holding something in his jaws. Unscrewing a bottle of water, he quickly drank it down, washing the speed with it. In a few minutes, he knew, he would feel like himself and the docility they thought they were instilling in him would flee.
After that, it took some will power for him to actually work on the Colonel’s vital project. Of course it was his vital project, also. He wasn’t completely acting out as he worked on the program that would nudge satellites into higher orbits there, move others along one latitude, some to more synchronous longitudes. He was shoring up the GPS the fading bits of civilization depended upon. When he was done—and the task was 99% complete—they wouldn’t have to worry about the things until their internals started to fail in a decade or so. Longer, if they were lucky.
He sat, typing away, referring to his written notes, jotting new calculations and installing improved software. For two hours he did this, focusing on the task at hand and finally, casually, going to the kitchen to prepare his supper.
There, he fixed a simple meal of canned vegetables and corned beef from a can. He sat hunched over a small netbook that he had prepared, blind to hacking, and activated its own secure Wi-Fi so that he could access his own set of secret cameras and hard drives. Lieber searched the spying eyes that were nothing more than analogs of the ones Dale was using to watch him. And he watched until he saw that asshole Cutter finding and removing the big game gun he’d pretended to hide, just for them.
He really didn’t need to care that they’d located and taken it. That’s why he’d done it. Tossed them a bone that would fool them and redirect their attention elsewhere.
But it still pissed him off.
And he’d get even with Cutter. Soon. And his boss, Dale.
Very soon. The next time he saw them both together—and he would keep a close watch for that—he’d kill them both.
NEXT
On a Friday, the biggest aircraft that Cutter had ever seen came roaring in over the city. Oliver, Jean and Ron were all spilling out of their rooftop aerie to see what was making the noise.
The sound had begun as a minor whine, so subtle that at first they didn’t pay it much mind. The family was making supper and the home was filled with the smells and sounds of the meal that was simmering in pots on the stovetop. Poke salad boiled, seasoned with venison. And a stew of that same meat swimming in broth with potatoes and carrots harvested from the sprawling gardens near the hospital added to the wonderful bouquet of food smells.
Thus, the three were moving around, talking about the supper and the day’s accomplishments instead of paying note to a faraway mumble that was growing into a gigantic, dish-rattling growl.
The first to race onto the rooftop was Ron and he was suddenly a sculpture frozen in place, his eyes to the heavens. Jean followed, only belatedly realizing that she’d emerged through the door gripping a pan she’d been about to store away. And Oliver popped free of the nest last, pointing and hopping about. His thin finger aimed toward the looming sight of the gigantic airframe that was tilted slightly to the left as the great thing banked, turning toward the airport.
“Look!” Oliver’s cracked, boy’s voice rose above the vibrations of the enormous engines that were shaking everything from hundreds of feet in the sky. “What is it? What is it, Ron?”
Feeling the boy beside him, Ron put his arm around the kid’s shoulders and pulled him close. “Biggest goddamned plane I’ve ever seen, son. It’s called a Galaxy C5-A. When I was a kid, it was practically the biggest transport vehicle in the US Air Force.” He turned to track the thing across the blue sky. It seemed to lumber in the unpolluted Carolina cobalt blue. In truth, it was travelling very fast indeed, but because of the sheer mass of the thing, it only seemed to be creeping through the atmosphere.
“What’s it doing?” Jean asked. “I had no idea…” her voice trailed off.
“Well, the work crews have been working overtime to clear the airstrips at the old airport,” he reminded her. “They didn’t reopen the route from downtown to the old terminal for nothing. I figured something was going to happen, but I didn’t know this…” His own voice went to nothing as he thought about the implications.
“Who are they?” Oliver piped. “What’s going on? Won’t all that noise bring in the deaders from around the city? We’re going to be swamped with them,” he pointed out.
“Oliver’s right,” Jean agreed. She transferred the stainless steel pan to her left hand and put her fingers in the loops of Ron’s pants and tugged him toward her. “All of that noise and movement is going to draw the walking dead right out of the woods and into town. It’ll be like it was before. Maybe worse,” she added. “Goddamn it.”
By then, the ponderous thing was making its approach toward the airport. And it was only at that point that Ron noticed the lights glittering from formerly ruined and decrepit Charlotte-Douglas International Airport. And then it was his turn to point.
“Fuck if they don’t have the place powered up!” His voice rose as that of the growling jet retreated. “I didn’t notice it. But they’ve got the place lit.” Ron’s hand indicated the area to the east of the strip. “Damned if they don’t even have the radar working!”
As they watched, the C5-A came in on its final approach and seemed to glide in almost gracefully to the tarmac. It appeared an impossible dance for such a gigantic and gravity-laden mass.
“If they don’t turn off those lights, the zombies are going to swarm that place like flies on shit,” Jean said. “As soon as it gets dark.” She tugged on Ron’s arm until she was able to peel his attention free of the transport as it taxied to a stop.
“Ron. What are we going to do? They’ll be back in the city again. It’ll be like before. Maybe worse! I don’t know if we have enough food socked away for a long siege.”
He peered into her eyes and could plainly see the worry that had been at rest come clawing back to the surface. Her heart-stopping perfect features were etched with the fear that had been held in check for so long. His arms went around her and he hugged her tightly.
“I’m not sure what they’re up to,” he admitted. “But we all knew they weren’t clearing out the airport for nothing. Dale told me that there were plans. But I figured a few small planes.” Cutter nodded toward the airport that was growing shadowed as the sun began to dip toward the horizon. “I didn’t reckon on a C5-A to come in.”
“What kind of jet is it?” Oliver asked.
Ron released his grip on his wife and smiled at the boy. At least Oliver’s face wasn’t painted with fear. He was just curious.
“It was the biggest transport in the Air Force. At least it was when I was a kid. Now, I’m pretty sure it has to be the biggest aircraft on the planet. The thing can carry something like 270,000 pounds of cargo. Tanks. Helicopters. Even bridge sections.”
Together, they watched for a while until darkness began to overtake the scenery. Lights glittered at the airport. Control towers were revealed. They could see tiny forms—men scurrying around the monstrous aircraft and moving to and from a cleaned and refitted hangar. But soon the trio headed back to their shelter, remembering the meal that was waiting for them.
“What did they bring on that jet?” Oliver asked as they pulled the door closed behind them.
“Hell, son. I don’t know. But I’m sure we’ll find out. If I have to, I’ll ask the Colonel what’s going on.” And, then, together, a sense of unease creeping into their home as they closed and locked the door, they went back to their meal.
Whatever was going on, Ron knew that soon he would know what it was. He could only hope that he would like the answers he’d find.
NEXT
The alarm awakened them all before dawn. The sun wasn’t even streaking the horizon when Ron and the others had dressed and prepared a quick breakfast of instant oatmeal flavored with cinnamon and brown sugar. They all sat and ate, savoring the sweetness, glad that they’d scored the food—a lucky find in a shuttered house just outside the perimeter that Dale and his engineers had burned to create the buffer zone around Charlotte. Ron had popped the top on the large sealed tin and had discovered that it was still good—dry and unspoiled somehow after at least two years of sitting in the ruined, weed-riven house.
He recalled that first inhalation, breathing in those scents of cinnamon and brown sugar. Things like that were hypnotic and could make you forget about your safety. So he’d quickly resealed the canister, stowed it in a nylon sack and had beat feet back to his aerie.
“I want us all to stay together today,” Ron said. “No splitting up until we find out exactly what’s going on.”
“Why didn’t anyone say something about this?” Jean asked. “I mean… Hell. That is one big aircraft to come into the airport like that without anyone around here knowing about it. You’d think Colonel Dale and his team would have made some kind of announcement.”
Ron said nothing and just considered what she had said. Then he scooped up the last of his oatmeal and swallowed it, still warm and good. “I have no idea,” he finally said.
“I thought you were one of his top guys,” Jean responded. There was an edge in her voice.
All Ron could do was shrug his shoulders. “Maybe…maybe it caught him by surprise, too.”
“Well, we need to know. Whoever it is out there…you know they’ll have a lot of fire power. Friendlies?”
“It’s what they’ve been setting up for. I do know that,” Ron told her. “That’s why all the work clearing the airport runways. And unblocking the roads leading west out to Douglas International. We all knew that.”
She went to the door and peered through the spyhole. “I just do
n’t like it.” The sun was coming up, now, and painting the sky with orange and yellow. She opened the door and cool air rushed in to greet them.
“Cold,” Oliver said, suddenly zipping his coat.
“It really is,” Jean agreed. “Feels like forty or so.”
“I can check the weather station,” Ron said, taking a step toward the covered instruments.
“It’s not a big deal,” she said, stepping out onto the roof with Oliver, her breath leaving pale streamers of vapor in the still air.
“It’s no trouble,” Ron told her. “It’ll just take a second and—” His voice froze in his throat. At the little covered weather station he’d maintained for so long he could look over the parapet of the roof and see the streets far below as the sun was gradually lightening the city.
Down below, stalking the asphalt road and concrete sidewalks were zombies. Dozens of them.
“Jean. Oliver.” His voice hissed across the space between them. “Come here. Now.” He was afraid to raise his voice. It didn’t matter that they were safe looking down on the things, behind steels doors and solid locks. He never liked to attract their attention.
Behind him, the two trotted up, their boots crushing fine gravel into the sheathing that coated the roof. Then Oliver was at his left and Jean on his right. Together, they all crept to the edge of the roof and looked down, their hands on the four-foot wall that protected them.
“Good God,” Jean said. “Must be…,” she tried to count them quickly, “twenty-five, thirty of them.”
Oliver spoke up, whispering, “Where’d they come from? Why now?”
“Had to have been the jets,” Ron said. “Must have drawn them in. Those engines were pretty damned loud. All of that noise just pulled them out of the forests for miles around. They just started moving toward the airport and now…” He swept his arm at the streets where the doddering things were moving, looking for people to kill and eat. It had been a long time since he’d them like this—a genuine numerical threat.
“They must be all over town,” Jean said.
“Look.” Oliver was excited, pointing north.
The Coalition: Part III 2% Solution Of The Dead (COALITON OF THE LIVING Book 3) Page 3