Michael jutted his jaw. He had no place questioning Travis before he knew about his history, back when he thought he was just a retired FBI agent. That fact alone was enough for him not to question any decision Travis made. Now that he was dealing with Jason Bourne, he needed to be on his “A” game. He wasn’t going to budge on his stance, though.
“We owe it to them. I won’t leave here without helping fill up that prison with good people, even if that means that you leave without us,” Michael said.
Lindsey’s ears perked up. “Baby, I don’t think we should pass this up for any reason. We owe it to our daughter to get to safety. You owe your family, not these people.”
Michael knelt down and gently placed his hand on Lindsey’s. She started to tear up, her eyes welling up with wetness.
“Baby, there are families out there just like ours who don’t have the luxury of being able to run away. It’s up to people like me and your father to take care of those who can’t take care of themselves. We have to be the ones to help. If we don’t, then no one else will,” Michael said.
Travis got up from his armchair. For a brief, fleeting moment, Michael thought that Travis was going to hit him. Travis brought his hand up, offering up a handshake. Michael heartily accepted, firmly shaking his father-in-law’s hand.
“All right, Michael Caine. We stay and help these people. I’ll give it a week or two, and then we’ll see from there. I suppose that your noble endeavor has an outline at least.”
Michael felt a swell of pride. He was a man of few words; Travis was not. What little thought and planning he had would have to do for now. He didn’t have much to say, but he looked his father-in-law in the eyes and grinned, ever so slightly.
“I have an idea, yes.”
Betty went into the kitchen of the spacious home. She was used to taking care of crisis situations, so her current one wasn’t much different than the time Travis had to go to Afghanistan the day after 9/11. She’d learned not to ask too many questions over the years. As long as Travis came back unharmed, that was good enough for her. Being the wife of an operator wasn’t a glamorous one, but she wasn’t in it for glamour. She was in it for Travis – nothing more, nothing less. The less that she knew, the better it was, at least sometimes. She was afraid of the trip to Kansas, which was for sure. Hundreds of miles across the heart of America just for safety. Not to mention Michael, Lindsey, and Anna. Especially sweet Anna. With all her granddaughter had been through already, one would think a road trip would be the least of their worries.
Lindsey came into the kitchen with Betty. Anna was asleep in her arms. Betty smiled and motioned to the spare bedroom down the hall. Betty and Travis always kept a spare bed for Anna ready to go. Lindsey took her daughter down the hall and laid her down, gently closing the door as she exited.
“Well at least someone isn’t fazed by the apocalypse. She fell asleep with me holding her. She’s such a sweetheart,” Lindsey said, smiling.
Betty wiped her hands with a cloth and smiled. “Yes she is. She played with your daddy all evening. Poor lil thing got wore out playin’ with Pawpaw Travis.”
Lindsey looked away absently. “I just want her to be safe, you know? I don’t want to have to leave home. I want her to know where home is, not some missile silo out west. That’s not home,” Lindsey said. She looked back to Betty shyly. “And I haven’t told Michael about Anna’s new friend.” Lindsey cupped her hands at her belly, the universal symbol for an expecting mother.
Betty’s eyes widened. She pulled Lindsey’s hands close to her own and smiled. “You’re pregnant?”
“Yeah, I think so. I took a home test and it’s positive,” Lindsey said. She didn’t know whether to smile or burst into tears. She and Michael talked about having another child, but nothing serious. Now she was pregnant in the middle of the apocalypse.
“Honey, I know Michael will want to stay here if he finds out that you’re pregnant. Truth of the matter is that we need to get to Kansas. Now more than ever. They have a medical staff with doctors and everything you’ll need for delivery. That gives us plenty of time to get there before you start showing, so let’s just keep that between us girls, okay?”
Lindsey smiled, holding back tears. “Okay,” she replied meekly. Betty hugged her daughter lovingly.
“I’m not interrupting, am I?” Michael said, entering the kitchen.
“Not at all sweetie,” Betty said, releasing Lindsey. Lindsey quickly swept away tears before turning to Michael.
Michael held her hands gently. “Everything all right?”
“Just worried about the trip is all, babe. I think I need some rest.”
“Well your dad and I are going down to the basement to get some things to take to Black Mountain, why don’t you and your mom just hang out in here? I don’t want you guys going outside unarmed and unprotected.”
Lindsey made a mock pouting face. “Come on now, Michael Caine. You aren’t trying to be all protective of me, are you?”
Michael didn’t say anything; he just pulled his wife close.
If you only knew how much I want that to be true…
CHAPTER 25
Officer Henderson swung with all her might, connecting the monadnock baton with skull. The resulting bash splattered brains and blood like undercooked gelatin. The batons were wooden, so they broke a little easier than they would have liked, but they had plenty of them. Putnam and Henderson had spent the last twenty minutes hitting the undead with the bumper of the Explorer. Henderson tried Putnam’s idea of hitting them on the move, but the stinging sensation in her hands hadn’t gone away. The idea sounded good on paper, but she couldn’t execute it properly, so to speak. After the third or fourth swing-and-miss in a row, they’d decided to nail the shambling corpses with the business end of the Ford. Once the dead were incapacitated, they went around and put them out of their misery. The latter idea worked much better.
Henderson masked her face as the stench became unbearable. “Jesus, these things reek!”
Putnam laughed. He’d been eating sunflower seeds the entire time. He popped another in his mouth. “Well, they ain’t been dead long. Give ‘em a few months and then they really gonna stink.”
Henderson shuddered. “Thanks for that mental image, Putnam.”
Putnam tossed another seed in his mouth and grinned. “Anytime, Janey.”
Henderson wiped off the business end of the baton. “None of this shit seems weird to you. Does it?”
Putnam chewed on his seeds. “Nah. I kinda figured somethin’ like this would happen eventually. All those goddamn viruses, GMOs, insecticides, shit like that. Hell, it’s a wonder this ain’t happened long before now.”
Henderson furrowed her brow. “I didn’t take you for one of those tree-hugging, organic banana-eating assholes, Putnam.”
“I just don’t like nobody fuckin’ with my food,” Putnam said.
Henderson shrugged. “Fair enough, but you seem awfully attached to those sunflower seeds. Don’t you think those things had all those herbicides and whatnot sprayed on ‘em?”
Putnam opened his hand, showing the seeds. “These? Hell, I grew these myself. Didn’t need no Miracle Grow, either. I make a helluva lot of my food myself. I am damn well suited to be just fine nowadays. Just get me out and let me hunt some turkeys. You ever had turkey jerky? Got some deer jerky at home, too.”
Henderson waved him off. “All right, all right mountain man.”
“Hey ev’body makes fun of the rednecks til the apocalypse hits. You better be awful glad I’m your friend.”
Another cadaverous sound made its way across the parking lot, followed by the ghastly creature that made it. Henderson and Putnam both stopped and listened for a moment. The lone walker wasn’t far off, but something about the sound drew their attention elsewhere. There wasn’t much for sound to bounce off, so pinpointing a location wasn’t that difficult. There were a few dirt berms at the edge of the parking lot, but this sound emanated from somewhere else.
Henderson tossed the baton to Putnam. “Batter up, big boy.”
Putnam caught the baton, spilling a handful of sunflower seeds. He looked forlornly at the ground as they scattered. “Ah, dammit Janey.”
Henderson laughed and pointed to the general direction of the sound. “Go get it, ya big goon.”
Putnam glared at Henderson. He pointed the baton at her. “I’m gonna get this one, but you got the next three for spillin’ my seeds.”
Henderson rolled her eyes playfully. “Whatever, just go get it!” She hissed.
Putnam meandered over between two cars, trying to pinpoint the sound. After a few seconds, he spotted the lone walker, its shorts caught on the trailer hitch of a pickup truck. Comical as it may have been, he didn’t waste any time dispatching the infected with a swing that Barry Bonds would have been proud of. The monadnock hit with such ferocity that it nearly split the wooden baton in half. Luckily, there were a dozen more in the Explorer. Putnam broke the baton the rest of the way in half, cracking over his knee like an oversized twig.
That’s when he heard Henderson scream.
Putnam looked up smartly, trying to see what caused the fright. Henderson wasn’t one to overreact, so whatever scared her must be something godawful. He ran as fast as he could back to the Explorer, dodging past parked cars as he did.
“Get off me you fuck!” Henderson screamed. Several infected had appeared seemingly out of nowhere. One in particular was wrestling with Henderson, desperately trying to take a chunk out of her. She elbowed the walker in the face, flailing away at it without much effectiveness. The creature knocked her to the ground, pinning her down. Without being able to get her hands up, she was doomed. The infected bit down on her neck, just above her collarbone, making a sickening crunch as it did. Henderson tried to push its face away, but to no avail. The creature simply bit down on her hand, severing two fingers and showering her in more of her own blood.
“Shit! Hang on, Janey!” Putnam yelled. Once he got within a few feet, he reared back with the broken end of the baton and thrust it into the right eye socket of the walker. The creature’s eye exploded in a shower of blood and pus, spraying all over Putnam’s face. It immediately ceased its attacking and fell onto Henderson. Putnam flung the deceased walker off Henderson. Once he did, he saw the severity of her wounds.
“Oh fuck, Janey! Ohshitohshitohshit!” Putnam rambled out. He tore his shirt off and pressed it against the wound on her neck, trying to stem the blood loss. Henderson was already turning a sickly shade of gray; he knew she didn’t have long. The harder he pressed, the more blood pushed through his fingers, oozing across the top of his hand.
Henderson coughed. When she did, it sounded almost like vomit. The blood was already seeping into her lungs, drowning her in her own body fluids. Putnam pressed harder, trying to stop the bleeding.
“I’m so sorry, Janey! Oh shit, I’m sorry!” Putnam blubbered. He was trying not to cry, but the tears were already flowing. He couldn’t help it. It was his fault that Janey Henderson was now bleeding to death in front of him. He reached down and lifted her head up. She was fading fast.
“Hey, Putnam,” Henderson said weakly.
“Yeah, Janey. What is it, honey?”
Henderson’s eyes widened as if she was trying hard to keep them open. “Don’t you let me turn into…one of those…things.”
Putnam nodded vehemently. “Okay, Janey. Whatever you want, sweetheart.”
In his grieving daze, Putnam didn’t notice the other infected slowly shambling behind him, but Henderson did. She reached up and pointed behind him. Putnam turned around and drew his Glock. There were three infected directly in front of him, about thirty feet away. He drew a bead on the first one and fired, striking it directly in the nose and blowing its brains out the back of its head.
“That’s right, motherfuckers! Daddy Putnam got something for your ass!” he screamed. As soon as the first one fell, he aimed at a second and fired. Shoot, adjust, repeat. He fired off three more rounds at oncoming undead, each one hitting home directly in the cranium. As cordite hung in the air, he turned back to Janey Henderson. Whatever life remained in her had left and she lay dead on the ground. Putnam brushed aside tears and aimed the Glock once more.
“I’m sorry, Janey,” Putnam said, and pulled the trigger. Ending Henderson’s suffering was the only thing he could do right now. His body refused to function. Maybe he wasn’t as cut out for this kind of life as he thought. Too much death, destruction, and loss already and it was only the second goddamned day.
The sound of an engine hitting high RPMs drew his attention away for a moment. Putnam looked up, expecting to see a car doing a hundred-plus through the parking lot. Whoever was coming, they were hauling ass.
Putnam reached into the Explorer and grabbed the 870 out of its cradle. As the sound got closer, he racked a round into the chamber and brought it up. Whatever was coming was going to get a load of 00 buckshot if they weren’t careful.
Tires screeched as the SUV came roaring into sight. Putnam stalked forward with the shotgun raised, ready to unload. A white Chevy SUV came barreling into the parking lot, straight towards him. Putnam eased his finger onto the trigger, ready to fire. He slowly squeezed the trigger, but before he could fire a round, he saw a white shirt being waved excitedly. He let off the trigger, but kept the gun raised. The SUV came to a halt about fifty feet in front of him.
“Don’t shoot! Don’t shoot! It’s me!”
Zachary Grant came bounding out of the driver’s seat, waving a white shirt in surrender. Putnam lowered the shotgun.
“Dammit, Grant! I almost shot your fuckin’ ass! What the hell do you want?” Putnam yelled. “You done run off once. You had your chance, dick cheese.”
Grant wasn’t listening. He motioned for his passengers to get out of the vehicle. He pointed to the front entrance to the prison, and they ran towards it. Putnam watched in confusion as a young woman and two children ran into Black Mountain’s main entrance. Grant came running up to him.
“Putnam, we need to get inside. Like…now,” Grant said exasperatedly.
“What the fuck are ya’ll doin’? Why you haulin’ so much ass up here?” Putnam asked, looking behind Grant as he did.
Grant smiled, placing his hand on Putnam’s shoulder. “Buddy, if you only knew how many of those zombies are on their way up here, you’d be haulin’ ass, too.”
CHAPTER 26
Travis Pierce’s basement was a gun lover’s wet dream. The fully furnished basement was nice enough on its own. Travis had a pool table, bar, eighty-two inch LCD TV, and wall safes lining two of the walls. Both of the wall safes were hidden, of course, but what was locked up in them made plenty of noise. Two rows of rifles were nothing but M4s, not civilian AR-15s that only fired semi-auto, but fully automatic, military grade M4s. Michael looked at the rifles in awe.
“Do I even want to know how you got hold of these, Travis?” Michael asked.
“Nicaragua had a really bad arms smuggling problem about twenty years ago…” Travis started.
“I get it. Don’t ask questions that I don’t want the answers to. Understood,” Michael said, browsing through the rows of rifles. “That being said, do you have any more of those HK416s?”
“No, but I have a SCAR L that hasn’t had a round shot through it yet,” Travis said, laughing. “That HK416 came from a buddy at the Capitol Police. They’re damn hard to come by.”
Michael eyed the desert tan rifle. The SCAR L (Special Operations Forces Combat Assault Rifle – Light) was a 5.56mm assault rifle used by America’s elite forces such as Navy SEALs and USAF Special Tactics Officers. The rifle was originally set to replace the oft-used M4, but for some reason, the US Army decided not to use it, despite its clear superiority to the M4 platform.
Michael grabbed the rifle from the rack. It’d been a while since he’d held one. During the academy, he’d only fired ten rounds through an AR-15 that desperately needed cleaning. Being an ex-
military man, he was tasked with cleaning the thing once he’d finished. Half the class he was assigned to had no idea how to shoot weapons, let alone clean them. Those were the kind of people he’d just defended to Travis Pierce. The kind of people that liberal America had deemed to be “good citizens” because they didn’t believe in owning guns, let alone use them. In his haste to defend the bleeding hearts, he’d forgotten what a pain in the ass they’d been for the last eight years. They were the kind of people that didn’t believe in “shaming” someone simply because they couldn’t keep up with the rest of the population. They gave kids “participation trophies” for simply showing up to sports. The sad fact was that not everyone was suited for certain things. It wasn’t a sleight against kids for not making the team. It was simply natural selection. The more he thought about it, the more he realized what he’d resigned himself to doing. He was going to have to go out and save people with the survival instincts of a dead possum. People who didn’t believe in what he’d done in Iraq in the defense of the freedoms that those same people so disappointingly took for granted. It reminded Michael of a song he’d heard a couple years back. How does it feel to know that someone’s kid in the heart of America has blood on their hands, fighting to defend your rights so you can maintain a lifestyle that insults its very existence? Truer words have never been said.
They never contributed a fucking thing to the country they love to criticize.
Damn right, Michael thought. Too bad I still have a conscience.
“How many weapons are at Black Mountain? I assume they still use the .40 Glock, .223, and 870 shotgun?” Travis asked, breaking Michael away from his thoughts.
Michael thought for a moment. He honestly had no idea. He’d heard one officer say that there were enough to arm an entire shift with firearms, but he hadn’t paid attention to the exact numbers of guns.
Refuge From The Dead (Book 1): Lockdown Page 16