by M. K. Dawn
“You have the code?” Smith asked as she laid Sloan on the ground.
Archer pulled the paper from his back pocket. “Here.”
Smith rushed it over to the awaiting soldier who entered in the second code. The first he’d written down before they’d left.
“What the hell happened to her?” Evelyn cried, collapsing beside Sloan.
He didn’t have the strength to speak.
The entrance groaned and shook.
“Okay,” Smith said to the dwindling group.
How many had they lost on the way up here? Five? Ten, maybe? Then he noticed one person in particular missing. “Where’s Travis?”
Evelyn shook her head. “They came out of nowhere. Broke the glass. Water and fish went everywhere. We couldn’t get to him in time.”
“We’re making a beeline for the hangar,” Smith continued with her orders. “We stay in a group. Those with guns will circle around those without.”
The main entrance continued to creep open. It was a damn slow thing, but another foot and they would be free.
“On my mark.” Smith stood ready.
Archer scooped Sloan into his arms.
“Go!”
***
They made it halfway to the hangar before they saw the first infected. Brizzi took it out with ease, but Archer had seen how they moved. How they could come out of nowhere and attack without warning.
“Stay on guard!” Smith said. “Keep your eyes open in every direction.”
Guns were raised, ready to fire at will, but no others showed.
They filed into the hangar and locked the door.
Baby Herc—the same military plane that he and Sloan had hitched a ride on that first day—sat there waiting for them.
The back hatch was opened and the survivors boarded. They all fit with room to spare. A sad fact as the plane was only equipped to hold about sixty people max.
It wasn’t until the back was closed he realized they didn’t have a pilot.
He sat Sloan down on a chair next to Evelyn and gathered the remaining soldiers. Six of them left out of the three hundred who’d been assigned there. “Anybody know how to fly a plane?”
They looked amongst each other.
“I do,” a stocky man to their left said.
“And you are…?” Archer asked.
“Matt Cover. I got my pilot’s license a few years back. Never flown anything quite this size, but I think I can get her off the ground and back down again.”
Damn, if that wasn’t divine intervention he didn’t know what was.
Archer glanced at his men and they shrugged. “Well, Matt. Looks like you’re our pilot.”
“I’ll start the preflight now. Though a co-pilot would be helpful.”
“Hey,” Brizzi said, “I’m your man. Always wanted to learn how to fly.”
Fifteen minutes later, the wheels left the ground and Archer collapsed. They’d made it. A few of them anyway. Evelyn took care of Sloan, who was semi-conscious. She had also ordered Archer to get some rest. It was an order he planned on following.
“Colonel Archer,” Matt Cover said over the loudspeaker. Archer opened his eyes. So close. “Good news is we have a tank full of fuel, but we’re in need a destination.”
Archer dragged himself from the floor and addressed the group. “Does anyone have a suggestion?”
No one spoke up. He didn’t expect they would. They had all been brought to The Bunker—a band of orphans—because of their lack of ties with the outside world. All except for one.
Sloan was in the back of the plane, head against the window. Evelyn sat close beside her, attempting to examine her wrist.
“How’s our girl?”
“In shock and in desperate need of medical attention. Fortunately, you have me and a decent medical kit on board. What the hell happened to her?”
Archer grinned. “She became the bad-ass everyone believed her to be. Saved us all.”
“Not quite the explanation I was hoping for.”
“When she’s ready, I’ll let her tell it.” He brushed a stray hair out of Sloan’s face. “How you doing, honey?”
Her body swayed in rhythm with the plane. “Okay.”
“Did you hear the announcement?”
She groaned. “The location?”
“Yep,” God, he hoped this didn’t upset her. “I have an idea. You can say no, but I think it’s our best option.”
Sloan forced her eyes open. “Where?”
“I think we should head for Montana. To your family’s ranch.”
“My home?” Archer couldn’t tell if the tears in her eyes were from joy or sadness.
“No one else has any suggestions. No family. No home.”
She shook her head. “I don’t know.”
Archer clutched her cold hand. “You’re the only one who had a family, a home they left behind. Plus, in the middle of the country, surrounded by hundreds of acres, who knows…?”
“Please don’t…” Tears drenched her cheeks.
“Sloan, I didn’t mean to—”
“It’s fine,” she cut him off, “we can go.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Sloan had told Archer to instruct the pilot to head for Malmstrom Air Force Base, Montana which was the closest landing strip to her childhood home.
After the commotion of their newly-decided location had been announced and Sloan insisted to Evelyn that she was fine, she had fallen into a deep sleep. It was short-lived, as the flight from New Mexico to Montana was about two hours long.
The impact of the wheels on the ground had stirred her, as did the bumpy landing and rough stop. But it was the sound of gunfire that startled Sloan fully awake. Through the window, she watched as Archer and his men cleared the way of the infected as they headed for a large hangar. When had they debarked the plane? She wasn’t sure. Her brain was still fuzzy from the blood loss mixed with painkiller Evelyn had insisted she take.
Evelyn came and sat beside her. “We need vehicles. The pilot—Matt Cover I think he said his name was—got us as close to the hangar as he possibly could. Archer and his men went to check things out. Sent back word they found some vehicles all gases up and ready to go. Fortunately, there weren’t many of those monsters wandering about.”
The massive hangar doors retracted and four military grade Hummers roared to life and headed for the plane.
“Looks like our ride is here.” Evelyn stood and offered Sloan her hand. “Need some help?”
“I think I can manage.” The two hours of sleep had helped her recover, though she still felt a bit groggy.
When Sloan was on her feet, Evelyn linked their arms. “How you holding up? You know, going home?”
Sloan dragged her teeth along her bottom lip. The thought of coming home to a desolate farm broke her heart, but what she feared most was to arrive and find her family—her sister and her kids—had been turned.
“It’ll be okay.” Evelyn’s voice trailed then she added, “Either way, we’re here for you.”
The light that hit Sloan’s eyes as they debarked was blinding. A year underground had did a number to her senses.
Archer was waiting on the passenger side of the first truck, door open. “We’ll take the lead since you’re the only one who knows where we’re headed.”
Sloan climbed in the front while Evelyn squeezed in the back. Four Hummers meant the remaining forty-plus people had to cram in, not that anyone complained; they were all just happy to be alive.
“Got a map here,” Archer said. “Which way?”
“North on eighty-seven until you hit State Highway two-thirty-three—about sixty miles or so—then hang a left at the fork.”
“All right.” Archer switched on the shortwave radio and relayed the message.
Then they were off.
It didn’t take long for the country road to lull Sloan close to sleep. There was nothing out here but farmland nestled between rolling hills and mountains. It was more beautif
ul than she remembered, but the predictable landscape could barely hold her attention. Even though she knew they were getting close, she couldn’t keep her eyes open any longer.
Until someone behind her gasped. “What the hell is that?”
Sloan’s eyes flew open. There was nothing around that would warrant that kind of reaction. Then she saw it: a massive wall to her right, at least ten feet high, welded out of what looked to be scraps of sheet metal. It took Sloan a moment to realize where they were. “That’s my family’s land.”
“Where?” Archer asked.
“There, behind the wall. That old stone building up ahead. It’s been there my entire life. When I was a child I used it as a marker for when we were close to home.”
Archer rested a hand on her thigh. “This is a good sign.”
An inkling of hope weaseled its way into her thoughts but Sloan quickly pushed it away. “We’ll see.”
“Look at that,” Archer pointed out the windshield. “Guards.”
There were four of them, posted on top of the wall, rifles strapped to their backs. The thunderous vehicles had caught their attention, though none appeared overly concerned. Was it possible vehicles were common out in these parts?
Archer brought the convoy to a halt. “Do you recognize any of them, Slash?”
“No.” They were scruffy, burly men; full beards and leather jackets but at the shoulders with some kind of biker emblem on the back. These were not the type of people her family normally associated with. Weren’t the type of people she regularly saw in the small surrounding towns either.
“I think we’ll have a little chat with them.”
Sloan thought they were more likely to shoot on sight than to listen to anything they had to say, but they had come this far. “Take it slow. We don’t want to startle them.”
Archer eased off the brakes. “Don’t think those are the kind of men who startle easy.”
Nor was Archer. “Maybe I should talk with them.”
“Sure. With me by your side.”
Sloan frowned. “Your clothes are covered in blood and black…whatever that is. Your face is bruised and scratched. You don’t exactly scream victim.”
“The same could be said for you.”
“But I’m a woman,” Sloan argued. “Most men take pity on a woman who looks the way I do.”
Archer shifted the Hummer into park and peered up at the guards, who now had guns aimed at each of the vehicles.
“Out of the truck!” one of them yelled. “Hands where I can see them.”
“Let me handle this, Archer. Please.”
He unholstered his gun and laid it on the console between them. “I’m right here if things turn south.”
“I know.” She pulled the handle and let herself out. “My name is Dr. Sloan Egan. I grew up here.”
“Really?” one of the men scoffed. He was more handsome than the others and younger as well. His bare arms—though it had to be under fifty degrees—were covered in tattoos. Jet black disheveled hair hung at his ears and blew aimlessly in the cool breeze. “Funny. Never seen you before.”
“Is Britney here?”
He threw back his shoulders. “Who?”
There was something about his eyes that told Sloan he’d recognized the name. “Britney Campbell. She’s my sister. What was your name?”
“Axel. And you are again?”
“Sloan Egan.”
He lifted his chin towards the man to his left, who pulled out a walkie-talkie and murmured something that sounded like a name. He waited for a moment then shook his head. Guess no one had answered.
“Now that we’re friends, mind telling me how you found us?”
“Like I said, I grew up here.”
“So you said. Got any proof?”
Sloan thought about her phone and all the pictures she kept stored on the SD card. It had been so long since it was turned on and the battery was probably dead, but it was worth a try. “Give me a second.”
Axel snorted. “Take all the time you need.”
She leaned into the trucked and rummaged through the small bag she’d taken from the plane.
“What are you looking for, Slash?”
“My phone.”
“Why?”
“I think that guy up there knows my sister, but he doesn’t believe I am who I say I am. He wants proof.”
“And a dead phone can help you how?”
“It’s been turned off this entire time. Maybe it has a little juice left in it.” She reached deep until the tips of her fingers scrapped the glass screen. “Got it.” Pressing the power button, she prayed it would turn on. A little miracle among the cataclysm, as Evelyn had said. The screen flickered to life and Sloan nearly jumped with joy. There was only two percent left, but it was enough. It had to be.
She turned back around and called out to Axel, “Proof. In the photos.”
“Toss it up,” he hollered back. “Don’t worry. I got the hands of an outfielder on a rainy day.”
Sloan did as he asked. As he scanned the picture, his face went from arrogant bastard to disbelief.
Static blared through the walkie-talkie and Axel snatched it away. He talked briefly, eyes darting from Sloan to inside the walls and back again. When the conversation broke, he turned his attention back to Sloan. “You can enter. Only you.”
“No.”
Axel seemed a bit taken aback by her blatant disregard of his authority. “Excuse me?”
“I’m not going to leave the rest of my group out here. We’ve been through so much already.”
“So have we,” Axel snapped.
“There’s only forty-two of us. Six soldiers. The rest are experts in their field of study. We’re not here looking for a fight. Just a place that’s safe.”
“Ain’t no place safe anymore, lady,” one of the more tattered looking men replied.
“Whoever you spoke to knows who I am and that I can be trusted. Please.”
Axel stared at her and then the rest of the Humvees and shook his head. “Open the gates.”
***
They followed Axel—who drove one of her father’s old beat up Fords—down the dirt lane towards the house. It was a good half mile from the main road. The first quarter was made up of overgrown brush and trees, just as her father kept it. The second leg had changed. In place of the wide-open fields she so fondly remembered were dozens of campers lined up as they would be in an RV park.
Archer blew out a low whistle. “I’m guessing that’s new.”
“It’s almost like we’ve entered some kind of sanctuary,” Evelyn said.
“There.” Sloan pointed out the window, her heart a bit lighter with relief. “That’s the house I grew up in.”
Axel pulled into the horseshoe driveway, parked, and jumped out of the truck. “Wait right here,” he yelled then hurried into the house.
Sloan couldn’t believe her eyes. The two-story house—the ranch-style her mother had spent years designing and the house her father had built— hadn’t changed a bit. From its whitewashed walls and wood shutters to the covered wrap-around porch. She was home. If only—
The front door swung open with a thump, reminding her of the times she and Britney used to race outside to the tire swing to see who could get there first. Brit had the legs to beat her and did most of the time, but occasionally, she’d slow, pretend to trip or pull a muscle, and allow her baby sister to win. The tire swing was still there, hanging off the big oak tree. The one her great-great-grandfather had planted all those years ago. If Sloan closed her eyes she could still see them as they were back then: innocent children growing up in a world without monsters.
“Sloan?” Archer nudged her arm.
She opened her eyes and he pointed out her window towards the house.
For a moment she was unable to look. If they hadn’t come here, they could all still be alive—even if it was only in her memory. But now she’d come face to face with reality and it was more heart wrenching than s
he could have imagined.
“It’s okay, Slash. You can turn around.”
Sloan rotated her head slowly to delay the pain she was sure she was about to endure, but what she saw broke her. On the porch stood her sister. Thin—so very thin—but as beautiful as ever. Beside her stood two boys who looked more grown-up than any children she’d ever seen. Tucked behind Brit’s leg was her little niece—the spitting image of her grandmother.
Sloan’s eyes locked with her sister’s and they both began to sob. Brit sprinted off the porch and Sloan couldn’t get her door open fast enough. They collided with such force they nearly fell.
“Oh my God!” Britney cried, her country accent still heavy over the tears. “How are you here?”
Sloan pulled her sister closer, not wanting to break contact for fear this all might be a dream “It’s a long story.”
“Auntie Sloan! Auntie Sloan!” the youngest—six-year-old twins Molly and Blake—screamed in unison as they wrapped their arms around her legs. The oldest—Carson, who had just turned ten—stood there fighting the tears that had flooded his eyes.
“Get over here!” Sloan grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and hauled him to her chest.
“Ugh, Aunt Sloan.” Carson wiggled out of her embrace. “You stink.”
They all laughed and sobbed then laughed some more until finally, Britney gained a little bit of control. “Come in. You need a shower and some clean clothes.”
Sloan skimmed the rest of her group, who had all gotten out of their vehicles to watch the reunion. “What about them?”
“We have quite a few empty campers. We’ve been collecting them as we go. They’ll have to share, but everyone will get their own bed. The shower is a bit trickier. You,” Britney glanced behind Sloan, “and that fella over there seem to be the worst off.”
Sloan beckoned him over. “Archer, this is my sister, Britney.”
“Ma’am.” He nodded. “I would shake your hand, but—”
Brit waved him off. “Completely understandable. Like I was tellin’ Sloan, as you two look to be the worst off, y’all have first dibs on the showers.”
“Thank you. I’ll gladly take you up on the offer. Though, I should get our people settled first.”