A Place Called Hope (Z-Day Book 2)

by Daniel Humphreys

  “Are we going to talk about what just happened?” Kendra blurted. Sandy glanced back over his shoulder. Jason shook his head and kept steering the boat toward the opposite bank. “I know we haven’t been out in the world much since it happened, but that was some fucked up shit, Sandy. Have you seen anything like that before?”

  In his haze, he hadn’t considered it, but he understood her question immediately. The infected inside of the pharmacy had acted well beyond the range of what he’d observed as standard behavior. They’d resisted the call to react to noise, they’d utilized stealth and cooperative tactics, and now that he thought about it, there’d been something off about the way they moved. Less stumbling drunk and more agile.

  “No,” he admitted. “There’s precedent, though. The same infection will impact people of different ages more, or less, severely. That’s why you see recommendations for the young and the elderly to receive certain vaccines. Or…” He fell silent as a truly disconcerting thought crossed his mind.

  “Or what?”

  “Or the virus is mutating. It’s becoming better at controlling and modifying dead tissues.”

  “Which would be bad, right?” Jason’s voice was shaky, but at least he was talking.

  “If it becomes widespread, oh yeah. Very bad. One of the only advantages we have over them is brainpower and agility. If they have the cunning of say, a dog, and can move as fast as the ones in the store? We’re extinct. It’ll just be a matter of time.”

  “Can we stop it?”

  Sandy shrugged. “Kill every one of the fast-movers we can. Hope it doesn’t spread.”

  “Going silent,” Jason announced, and the conversation came to a halt as the three of them turned to study the approaching shore for any sign of danger. Jason cut the outboard as they neared the boat ramp. Sandy and Kendra took up oars and paddled the boat the rest of the way in. The constant burble of the river covered up the noise of those efforts, at least. Though circumstances could change at any moment, the bank seemed clear.

  They’d built up enough of a head of steam coming across the river that it wasn’t much work at all, and the hull scraped on the ramp as their efforts brought it to a rest.

  As one, they climbed out and hauled the boat the rest of the way out of the water while keeping conversation to a minim. As soon as that task was complete, they got their guns out.

  Kendra broke the lull. “Grab the packs,” she muttered. “We’ll bring the trailer back down and haul the boat inside. I don’t feel as safe leaving stuff out here as I do on the other side of the river.”

  There were other boats, but Sandy understood the sentiment. If anything, the gas in the outboard was more valuable than any of them.

  Kendra led the way, and the other two followed her up the ramp in a rough triangle shape, weapons pointed outward. They crested the bank. The wall of boats still stood and the surrounding area seemed empty. Despite the appearance of calm, something about the scene felt off to Sandy. As they approached the entrance, he realized what it was. None of the people they’d left behind were visible. They were close enough for recognition, so why hadn’t Pat or Stacy greeted them?

  The thought hadn’t occurred only to Sandy. “Where the hell is everyone?” Jason muttered. He slung the shotgun over his shoulder and jumped the plow in one athletic move. Sandy didn’t think he could have duplicated it in a hundred attempts. “Pat? Stacy?”

  The click of the revolver’s hammer didn’t come close to the volume of Jason’s cries, but it shocked them into silence all the same. Jason froze, then raised both of his hands as a balding man in ragged jeans and a plaid shirt stepped out from where’d lurked behind the wall. The big, stainless steel revolver he aimed at Jason made the smaller one Sandy had found in the pharmacy look like a child’s toy.

  Another man, similarly garbed, but with a bushy head and beard of dark blond hair stepped around the back of the pickup. He leveled a sawed-off shotgun at Sandy and Kendra. “Nice and easy, now. Come on inside, we’ve got a few things to talk about.” He glanced over at Jason. “Hey, Jay-Dub. Where’s the rest of your crew?”

  “Got bit. He didn’t make it.” Despite the nickname, Jason’s tone made it evident that the two men were anything but friends.

  “Ain’t that a shame.” The blond raider wiggled the shotgun, urging Sandy on as he clambered over the plow and stood behind Jason. “You, I don’t know. What’s your name?”

  “Sandy Scopulis.”

  “He’s a doctor, Lee,” Kendra said quickly. She’d stepped up beside Sandy so quietly he hadn’t even heard her footsteps on the pavement.

  “Oh, a doctor? That right, Sandy?” The man—Lee, he guessed—didn’t wait for an answer. He stepped forward, pushed Sandy away from Kendra with the barrel of his shotgun, then eased into the opening between them. With a broad grin, he circled behind her and pressed his nose into her hair. As Lee took a deep breath, Kendra straightened in terror, but to her credit, she didn’t move a muscle. “It’s funny, you know, Sandy. All through high school, miss hot-shit cheerleader here never so much as looked my way. How the worm turns, huh?” Lee reached around and groped Kendra’s breasts through her shirt. He kept the sawed-off shoved into her side with his other hand.

  “Leave her alone!” Sandy barked. He started forward, but Jason’s sudden grip on his arm and a sudden whistle from the bald raider drew him up short.

  “Getting a little jealous, Doctor Love?” Lee smirked. “That’s all right. I don’t mind sharing.” He winked. “I get to go first, though.” He gave Kendra’s chest another squeeze, then shoved her forward. “Walk over this way.”

  He directed the three of them toward the showroom building. As they came closer, Sandy saw a dusty Crown Victoria police car parked against the side of the building in such a way that it out of sight until you were inside the perimeter walls. He hung his head in disbelief.

  Everything we went through to get over and back and these guys just waltzed in here while we were gone.

  Two of the chairs from inside of the building waited next to the police car, and Pat and Stacy sat in them. His face was a dangerous-looking purple color while her eyes were puffy with tears. Sandy didn’t dare ask about the children, but he suspected that the two parents wouldn’t be so composed if something had happened to them.

  “Here’s the deal,” Lee announced. “Y’all have been living nice and peaceful through our efforts at keeping the area clear. It’s time you paid up.” For one semi-insane second, Sandy thought about asking about the horde he’d coaxed off the bridge, but he pushed the thought away. “While we were waiting for you folks to get back, we went through your stash. Not too bad, I’ve got to say. I hope you can find more because the cupboard is going to be a little bare. We left the Spam, at least. I hate that shit.”

  “You son of a bitch! I have children!” Pat surged out of the chair and reached for Lee’s throat. The other man stabbed the shotgun in his direction, but Pat drew up short, clutching his chest. “My—ugh—agh!”

  He fell to his knees, then tipped over on one side, still pawing at himself. Heart attack or stroke, Sandy realized with dawning horror. And either way, not a whole lot I can do about it.

  But that didn’t mean he was going to stand by and watch. Stacy had both hands over her mouth, frozen in her seat. Sandy stepped forward, reaching out to Pat.

  Lee didn’t like that. He jerked the sawed-off shotgun around and jabbed it in the direction of Sandy’s head. “Ah, ah! Hold still, now!”

  Helplessly, Sandy could only watch as Pat writhed on the ground. “He’s dying, you jackass! Let me do something!”

  The bald raider smirked. “We all got to die sometime.”

  Stacy wailed as Pat slumped into final stillness. Unable to look, Sandy turned his head and hoped the kids weren’t watching.

  “Accentuate the positive, folks. One less mouth to feed,” Lee pronounced. “Didn’t seem like he was going to do much to help y’all on your little field trip.” He grinned at Jason and
Sandy. “Makes you two top dogs, now, don’t it?”

  “What do you want?” Jason spat.

  “Oh, little of this, little of that. Carver, pop that trunk, boy. You can start by stashing your rifles in my car. Hold it! One at a time.” He gestured with his revolver. “You stay right there, Doctor Love. Give it up, Jason.”

  The younger man eased over to the open trunk of the old police car with his hands spread wide.

  “I’ll take those off your hands. Don’t want you getting any bright ideas.” Carver slid the sling of the shotgun over Jason’s head and laid it on top of the stolen MREs and canned food with what seemed to be uncharacteristic grace. “Your ammo, too. All good? Step back.” He fixed Sandy with a flat stare. “Your turn, guns in the trunk. Nice and easy.”

  Sandy gritted his teeth as he stepped up next to Carver. He lifted the sling of Richard’s M4 off his shoulder and held it out to the raider.

  “Thank you, thank you. Pistol, too, loudmouth. You’re not getting off that easy.” He jerked Sandy’s pistol out of his holster and studied it. “Nice light. That comes in handy, huh?”

  Carver must not have liked the look on Sandy’s face. In a flash, he shoved the barrel of the revolver into the soft flesh at the bottom of his jaw and wrapped his other hand around the back of his head to keep him from pulling away.

  “Make your move, Doctor Love.”

  Sandy held his breath. The other man held him there for what felt like forever, then grinned.

  “About what I thought. You’re still in gear for the old world, ain’t ya?” He lowered the revolver and patted Sandy on the cheek. “Hate to inform you, but the cops ain’t coming. The Army ain’t coming. It’s just you and me. Willpower and muscle.” He brought his face close to Sandy’s and growled. To his credit, Sandy didn’t flinch—much. “Law of the jungle, baby!” Carver drew back and whooped. “You a no-shit doctor before the end, fella?”

  Sandy swallowed and managed, “Yes.”

  “Yeah. I worked at a Jiffy Lube. How about that? Who’s on top of the mountain, now?”

  When Sandy didn’t respond, the bald raider slammed the butt of his revolver into the side of his head hard enough to drive him to the ground. Seeing stars, he curled up into a ball and grasped for the source of the agony.

  “I asked you a question, boy!”

  “You are,” Sandy stuttered. “You are.”

  “That’s right. And don’t you forget it.” Carver spat, most of it landing on the pavement, but a bit splattered on his shirt. He slammed the trunk of the car and strolled away.

  Lee knelt next to Sandy. “What’s in the backpack, Doc?”

  “Medicine for Pat,” he snarled. “Guess that was a wasted trip, huh?”

  The other man chuckled and patted Sandy on the cheek. “Well, now that you’ve got the lay of the land scouted out, you’re going to do something for me.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Well, we’re all pretty healthy. I’ll let you keep your medicine. Since you lost your friend and all, getting it. And we’ve got a few more folks to feed than y’all, so you’re going to get us some more food.” Lee leaned closer and winked at Sandy. “See, I feel like you and I have a kinship, Doc. We’re both educated men. They make you take much history in pre-med?”

  “Some. Not much.”

  “Well, that’s okay. See, what we have here is a feudal situation. I provide security, you provide me with food. Now, we’re just getting started, but I figure a smart guy like you has all sorts of plans upstairs. Farming, irrigation, who knows? Ha! I see it in your eyes. So that’s our deal, friend. Consider me—oh, a baron. No need to put on airs. You scratch my back, I keep yours safe. Deal?”

  Sandy worked his mouth, considered a few snappy comebacks, then muttered, “Fine.”

  “Good man.” Lee straightened, then reached down and hauled Sandy to his feet by the straps of his backpack. “I’m glad we could come to an understanding.” He glanced at Kendra. “But so you understand, I don’t trust you yet. I’m going to need to take some steps to make sure everything runs smooth. She comes with us.”

  “What?” Sandy gasped. “No!”

  “This ain’t a democracy, Doc. She comes with me, or we wash our hands of this little outpost.” Lee gave his shotgun a meaningful shake. “She’ll be safe. We won’t touch her as long as you hold up your end of the deal.”

  “I’ll go,” Kendra blurted. “Don’t hurt anyone. I’ll go with you.” Sandy bit his lip and gave her an imploring look. She shrugged and mouthed, “It’s okay.”

  Sandy turned back to Lee. “Look, you don’t need to do that. Stay here, let us go out now. We’ll help load up the trunk and the backseat. All you want. There are plenty of supplies across the river.” Sandy urged. “There’s no need to take hostages.” Promises to the contrary, he didn’t like the way the blond man leered at Kendra. Alone and unarmed in an enemy camp, what chance did she have to avoid trouble?

  Rape, idiot. Lie to the world all you want, just don’t lie to yourself. Trouble’s not the right word.

  “That knock on the head must have broken your good sense.” The bearded raider snorted in disdain. “I ain’t bustin’ my ass unloading your shit, Doc. Baron, remember?” Lee glanced at Jason. “You know Chad Martin’s old place, up 265th?”

  “Yeah. Wait. Old?”

  He jerked a thumb over his shoulder in the direction of the plow truck. “You want your sister back, you load that bad boy up. Show up by noon tomorrow.” He reached out and slapped Kendra on the rear. Her face darkened in anger, but she bit her lip and remained silent. “I shouldn’t need to tell you not to be late.” Lee pulled open the back door of the police car and shoved Kendra inside. Slamming the door, he gave Sandy and Jason a mock bow. “Until we meet again, gentlemen.”

  Carver pulled the plow truck out of the way, hopped out, then joined Lee up front. The big blond man gunned the engine, squealing the tires all the way down the drive. He turned right, skewing the rear of the car around in a maneuver that was reckless as it was pointless.

  With that noise, they needed to get the plow back in place, but Sandy stepped out to the opening, following the car with his eyes. He clenched his fists. Jason stepped up to his side.

  “What are we going to do, Sandy?”

  He stood there and watched the Crown Vic fade into the distance for a moment before answering. At first, it was because he was, quite simply, afraid to speak. In his entire life, he’d never felt such futile rage. Day in and day out, he’d been an easy-going, even-tempered sort.

  Hell, even when Melanie broke up with me, I went numb more than anything else.

  He turned and met Jason’s eyes. The younger man took a half-step back in surprise at what he saw in Sandy’s gaze.

  “We’re going to kill every one of those bastards, Jason. That’s what we’re going to do.”

  Chapter 20

  March 26, 2026

  Aboard the USS Jack Lucas

  Z-Day + 3,081

  There hadn’t been enough elbow room aboard the Georgia for a formal meeting. That wasn’t a problem for the destroyer, though with over two dozen Marines, pilots, and other associated hangers-on, the meeting room was full to overflowing. At least there was plenty of electricity to go around. After he’d seen the size of the room, Pete had ordered the air conditioning turned all the way down. Empty, it was an icebox, but now that it was full it was merely comfortable.

  The quiet hum of conversation ceased as he stepped to the podium. “Good morning. I’m sure you’re aware, but for those of you who haven’t met me, I’m Major Pete Matthews. Before Z-Day—what you call the outbreak—I was a company commander in the 2-2. Did my time in the sandbox. No scars to prove it, but I’ve got some souvenirs from my first time in the Corps.” He reached down and rapped on one of his prosthetics. He’d lost his legs in a car accident while on leave, of all the stupid things, and it had ended his career. Hopefully these kids don’t see my return as the sign of desperation that it is. He kept
his face impassive. “I’m given to understand all y’all are 1st Division.” Pete winked. “I enjoyed a few years of retirement, but I’m interested to see if you can measure up to some good ol’ Carolina boys.”

  Someone shouted from the back of the room. “Oorah, Major!”

  Pete grinned. “All right. I’m not one to mince words or bury you in bullshit, so let me give it to you straight. The situation with our helicopter fleet is looking a little dicey.” He nodded toward McFarlane. “Ask the master sergeant or his team after the briefing if you want the gory details.” He eased to the side, exposing the projection screen hanging against the wall. He nodded to the electrician’s mate running a laptop.

  PowerPoint persisted, even after the apocalypse.

  The first slide was an overhead view of part of the California coast, with points of interest highlighted. When he’d seen the long stick leaning against the wall leaning in the corner of the ready room, Pete had chuckled and asked why they weren’t using a sand table. In the old days he’d used a laser pointer, but he supposed that watch batteries were getting harder and harder to find these days.

  “California love.” He tapped along the image of the coast. “Los Angeles. Ventura. Santa Barbara.” He moved the stick further inland. “And our ultimate objective, Air Force Plant 42, outside of Palmdale. Next slide.” The image changed to an overhead view of a runway surrounded by clusters of buildings of various size. One of the larger buildings sat separate from the clusters, and he indicated it. “For the last couple of years before Z-Day, this building housed a joint venture between Lockheed Martin and the Army Transportation Corps—Project Orca. Intent and purpose—develop a vehicle to ensure for easier resupply in high-altitude environments, with the potential to remain above the range envelope of anti-aircraft fire. Next slide.”

  The screen displayed a bulbous white oval with stub wings at the rear and a rectangular box section running along the bottom. “This is a variation on a civilian cargo airship Lockheed was developing. The military version was well into testing on Z-Day.” He glanced toward the section of seats the helicopter pilots had chosen. “I’m given to understand Lockheed designed the controls to be similar to a Black Hawk series helicopter.” He indicated a quartet of circles positioned at the four corners of the rectangular. “Directed turbofans, same as a hovercraft. This can land on a rough, unprepared field with little or no issue.” He favored his audience with a crooked smile. “But that’s of little concern to you at the moment. The biggest reason for our interest, other than the replacement for our helicopters, is this.” He tapped a section of the hull with a thin seam running down it. “It can haul, and air-drop, up to twenty tons of supplies. Or, of course, ordnance. We bring these back, we’re back in the bomber business, Marines.”