In his state of constant pain, near exhaustion, and blood loss, Bob found it somewhat amusing that he was praying to God to allow him to live long enough to kill another…for revenge. His mind kept nagging at him that this just wasn’t right. Something about ‘vengeance is mine’ sayeth…someone. Something his grandmother had told him when he was little. Or maybe he had heard it when she dragged him to Sunday School. It didn’t really matter. He still begged for the chance.
Another car, another locked door. Another twenty feet of dragging his broken and bloody body across rocky, dusty roads to the next one. He paused at a long station wagon with the windows cracked and peeked inside. No water, no food, no signs of intelligent life. A map, some stuffed toys, and fast food wrappers that looked like they may have survived from the Kennedy era. Bob staggered back a step and took in the car. It looked like a late-Sixties or early-Seventies Oldsmobile. He smiled to himself as he realized, this hunk of junk would be considered a classic now. Tuna boats, he had called them. An honest gas-guzzling dinosaur. Probably got the same mileage as the motorcoach. Could probably take a harder hit than themotorcoach, too.
He staggered on to the next car and checked it. As Bob continued down the road, he was oblivious to the helicopter flying overhead in a zig-zag pattern, nor was he aware of the soldiers over the next rise sneaking up on a trio of infected. As he lifted the door handle of the Lexus, the alarm went off, startling him and causing the trio of infected to turn in the direction of the noise, noses lifted in the air, snuffling for a scent.
Bob staggered away from the offending car, willing his feet to move him farther down the line of vehicles and hopefully to something with an open door and, God willing, keys in it.
Bob grunted with pain as he forced himself to move faster down the line, mindlessly pulling on door handles, pushing buttons, or tugging on pulls. He could hear something moving rapidly in the woods over the sound of the nerve-wracking honk and bleep of the alarm from the auto behind him. He kept casting nervous glances back over his shoulder as he searched for the source of the noise in the woods, but he didn’t see them yet. Sometimes, the imagination is worse than reality; but somehow, he doubted that this was the case.
As he reached a slight bend in the road, he saw an empty space in the line of cars, thrown gravel along the road indicating somebody had left in a hurry. He used that break in the parked cars to slip on the other side and pray that he could hide himself from whatever broke through the woods.
He continued to check the door handles, his energy ebbing, sweat pouring down his face, when a shot echoed through the woods. Bob froze, threw himself against the side of the SUV he stood next to, and slowly slid down the side of it. Another shot rang out and a bloodcurdling scream echoed through the woods.
Bob lay on the ground, his ragged breathing sounding unusually loud to his own ears when an answering scream came from nearby. He wished that he could have been anywhere but where he was at that moment. He could hear movement in the woods close to him when the first screamer sounded again and a figure burst from the woods uphill from him. It stood near a truck and stared across the line of cars into the woods on the other side of the road.
Bob held his breath as he stared at the filth-covered figure. It had once been a man, but now, with his clothes ripped to tatters and his face and hands covered in fresh blood, Bob wasn’t sure if its humanity could ever be recovered. The man creature listened intently until another scream echoed through the woods, then bolted across the parked vehicles and into the forest at breakneck speed.
Bob let out the breath that he had been holding, and his body slumped into the dirt. His hands shook as his mind accepted the realization of just how close he had come to being a Manwich for Zom Doe. He did his best to gather himself and tried to get moving again when more shots rang out in the woods. He didn’t even want to take the time to wonder if the zombies got a hunter or a soldier got a zombie or…no. There were too many variables for him to even try to guess.
He worked his way farther down the line, pulling at door handles. One of these damned things had to be open. And when he found the one he knew providence had in wait for him, he’d be able to travel without totally draining his energy. He had to save some of that in order to get his revenge.
“Richardson, what are you doing here?” Maggie asked.
“Me? I work here.” Mitch stepped farther into the office. “What the hell are you doing here?”
Hatcher pushed his way into the office and looked around. “Where is Vickers?”
Maggie turned to stare at Hatcher as though he had materialized out of thin air. “Who are you?” She turned to Mitch and hooked a thumb at Hatcher. “Who is he?”
Hatcher stepped closer to her, closing the gap and definitely getting into her personal space. “I was here earlier, sweetheart,” Daniel hissed through clenched teeth. “Vickers sent me off to the showers, told me to sit the fight out. Ring any bells? Said if my people weren’t here by the time he got here, to write them off. Jogging your memory?”
Maggie’s eyes widened as she stared at Hatcher. “Oh, you’re the game warden guy.”
Hatcher’s eyes narrowed. “Park ranger,” he corrected.
“Right.” She turned back to Mitch. “Why are you here? I heard you dropped off the grid.”
Hatcher turned an angry eye to Mitch who was still staring at the major. “I did,” Mitch said quietly. “Got sick of being other people’s pit-bull, so I quit.” He motioned around him, “This is home now.”
“Seriously?” Maggie’s eyes widened, the distaste in her voice apparent.
“Yeah,” Mitch nodded, “seriously.”
“You were a warrior.”
“Still am.” Mitch kept the rifle leveled at her.
“Excuse me,” Hatcher interrupted. “Where the hell is Doctor Evil?”
Maggie rolled her eyes at him and placed her hands on her hips. “He’s not here.”
“I can see that.” Hatcher was losing his patience. “Care to explain?”
“He took a bird up to get an overview.” She turned back to Mitch. “What are the odds?”
“Slim,” he said, smiling.
Candy stepped up and stuck her hand out. “Deputy Candice Olson.”
Maggie looked at her as though she had just climbed out of a wet bag of garbage. “A pleasure.”
Hatcher motioned toward the major. “Will she work? For the plan?”
Mitch suddenly sobered and stared at him. “No, she won’t.”
“What plan?” Maggie asked.
“The ‘nunya’ plan,” Hatcher said as he pushed past her. “None ya business.” He began rifling through the things on his desk as she came around beside him.
“What are you doing?” She reached for the papers he held.
“Looking for anything we can use to help us stop Vickers,” Hatcher stated.
“There’s nothing here.” Maggie tried to pull the folders from his grip.
“You’ll have to excuse me if I don’t take your word for it.” Hatcher jerked the file folders free.
“Hatch!” Mitch yelled. “She ain’t the enemy.”
Hatcher paused and stared at him. “She’s working for the enemy, bud. That makes her one of them.”
“Actually,” Maggie began, “I’ve been questioning my part in all of this.”
“Oh, really?” Hatcher shot back sarcastically.
“Yeah,” Maggie said in a defeated tone. “I’ve found out a few things recently that…” she trailed off.
“What did you find out?” Mitch asked as he moved in closer to her.
Candy watched his body movements and felt a sudden pang of jealousy. She watched his hand as it rubbed down the lady soldier’s back, consoling her, and Candy’s vision went red. She couldn’t explain her sudden onrush of emotions, but she knew there was a lot more to their history than met the eye.
“They’re planning on doing experiments on the survivors,” Maggie said softly. “Horrible experiments.”<
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“Like what, Mags?”
She lifted her big doe eyes and probed his own. “They’re going to infect them with the virus. Right here, at the park. Not in some secret government lab, but here.” Her voice nearly broke as she admitted this to him.
Mitch looked at Hatcher who froze behind the desk. “Is that what that huge white tent is for?”
“No,” she shook her head. “They’re going to use the trailer.”
Candy squared her shoulders. “Our trailer? The MU? Oh, hell no.” She glanced at Hatcher. “We can’t allow this.”
“We won’t.” Hatcher closed the folders he had been rifling through. “I have this. It’s a start.”
Maggie turned and looked at the folder he held triumphantly over his head. “What is that?”
“Top Secret orders,” Hatcher said with a smirk.
Maggie shook her head. “Those aren’t real. The real ones are locked in a metal briefcase.”
Hatcher’s face fell and he turned to Mitch. “Does that sound right?”
Mitch shrugged. “Beats me, man. I never worked with the paper pushers. I was a ground pounder.”
Hatcher turned back to Maggie. “Show me.”
Maggie stepped away from the desk and to the filing cabinet. She pushed the cabinet from the wall and pulled a metal case from behind it. “It’s locked.”
Hatcher tossed it to Mitch. “Do what you can.”
Mitch pulled his knife and made quick work of the locking mechanisms. “Cheap piece of shit,” he mumbled as he tossed the briefcase on the top of the desk.
Hatcher lifted the lid and Maggie pulled the orders from inside. “If we get out of here alive, this is what you’ll need.”
Candy nearly jumped out of her boots when the front doors of the station banged against the wall and feet could be heard running through the center. “Someone’s here,” she whispered as she melted against the wall, bringing her pistol up to bear on whoever rounded the corner.
Her eyes went wide and she quickly lowered her weapon as Buck and Skeeter came sliding across the linoleum floor. Both kids slid around the corner and nearly screamed with relief when they saw the huge black man standing in the doorway to the office. “They killed Fisher!” Buck yelled as he closed the distance to the office.
Hatcher pushed his way through the office and pulled Mitch aside so he could exit the office. “Are you sure?” Buck collided with him, nearly collapsing into his arms.
Buck was nodding his head. “Yes, sir, I’m positive. He was shot at least twice. The second one took his face off.” Buck was nearly yelling from the excitement of the run.
Candy caught Skeeter in her arms as the young girl caught up to Buck and she pulled her into the small office. “Are you okay?” She held her at arm’s length and inspected her as a mother would check a child.
“Were y’all seen?” Mitch stepped out of the office and bent his neck to peer out of the windows.
“No, sir,” Buck huffed as he tried to catch his breath. “I don’t think so.” He gulped another breath of air. “There wasn’t anybody out there when we ran across the parking lot, but somebody might have seen us from up there.” He pointed to where they had been camped.
Mitch slid over to the window and stared up at the ridge. From where he stood, he didn’t see any activity up there at the moment. He stayed against the edge of the window and continued to watch, studying the ridge for any movement. He was about to give up when he caught a slight movement at the edge and the glint of a reflection, most probably from a rifle scope.
He edged back away from the window and turned to Hatcher. “I don’t know if they saw the kids come in or not, but there’s somebody up there now.”
“We have to assume they did.”
A familiar sound broke the silence of the office and Mitch bent his head back around the corner. A small transport helicopter was coming in and flying low. It slowed its approach and he could tell it was preparing to land. “We’re about to have company.”
“That would be Vickers,” Maggie stated.
“Okay, we need to set up a welcoming party for him,” Hatcher said. He turned to Candy. “Grab the kids and go around by the back doors. Stay low, stay quiet, and stay out of sight until we have Vickers.”
“Roger that.” Candy grabbed each child by the hand.
Mitch ducked low and headed toward the front doors of the station. As they approached the doors and began to take position, Mitch turned and looked at Maggie. “You with us on this?”
She had her back turned to him. When she turned around, she held a .45 caliber pistol and was raising it. “I can’t be a part of your little revolt, Richardson.”
Richard shook his head as he tried to think of another way off the mountain. “The only ways that we can get out of here is the county road or the highway. Unless you can sprout wings and fly!” he shouted sarcastically.
Bill slowed the Buick and stared at Richard in the rearview. “Anybody up this way have a plane?”
“What?” Richard asked, not sure he heard him correctly.
“Does anybody who lives out here own a plane?” Bill asked again, more slowly and deliberately.
Richard thought a moment, slowly shaking his head. “Not that I know of. Why?”
Bill sighed and settled back into his seat. “Nothing. It was a long shot, anyway.”
“Why did you ask?” He honestly wanted to know.
Bill dismissed the question. “I took a few lessons way back in the day. You said the only way off was the county road or the highway. Unless we could fly.” He shrugged his shoulders and chuckled. “Like I said, it was a long shot.”
Richard sat back in his seat and thought again. “I don’t know anybody that has their own plane, but that doesn’t mean nobody does.”
“The odds of anybody up here owning a light plane and a flat enough piece of land to have cleared it for a landing strip?”
“Oh.” Bill hadn’t thought of that. Flat land in mountain country wasn’t easy to come across. Still…
Bill looked at Jason. “Any bright ideas coming through to you?” He wasn’t expecting an answer.
“I’m hungry,” Jason said.
Bill nodded. “Yeah, kid, me, too,” he answered quietly.
“I hate to say it, but, I suppose we could go back to the house?” Richard offered. “Grab a bite. Swallow some coffee. Recharge our batteries. I don’t know. Maybe think of something new?”
“Maybe give those soldier zombies a chance to clear away from their roadblock and give us a chance to run it?”
Richard shrugged. “As good a plan as any.” Richard reached over and ruffled Jason’s hair. “We can give junior here a chance to eat, freshen up. Maybe he’ll dream us up an escape route.”
“Deal.” Bill continued on toward Richard’s house. He could feel the Buick’s front end shaking as if it had been knocked out of whack or lost a few wheel weights. He thought maybe they should take Richard’s truck the next time out. If there actually was a next time. He had a sneaky feeling that once they got to the house, they might not get a chance to leave.
As he pulled into the drive, Bill kept his eyes peeled for any kind of movement. He drove the Buick up the driveway and parked close to the house, leaving the drive open so that the pickup could be pulled out and a hasty escape could still be made.
As Richard and Jason went inside to start a pot of coffee and throw together a quick meal, Bill opened the garage door and pulled the truck out. He grabbed their meager belongings and tossed them into the bed of the truck. Although the cab might get a little cramped, the truck had much better ground clearance than the car and should they be forced to take another county road, he felt more confident in their ability to survive the drive.
Bill walked back into the garage and looked around. He found a plastic tub that was labeled ‘camping gear.’ Pulling it down from the heavy wooden table, he noted its heft. Bill pulled the lid off and was pleased to discover a tent, still in the box, a camping
stove and hand axe lay underneath, along with two sleeping bags. Rifling around in the tub, he found a lot of useful items one could use while camping, so he snapped the plastic watertight lid back on and carried it to the pickup. He lowered the tailgate and slid the tub into the back and up against the cab. You never know if you might get stranded in the middle of nowhere and need emergency supplies.
He took another look around the garage and his gaze settled on a gas can. He picked it up and it felt nearly full. He set it in the back beside the tub and closed the tailgate. With emergency gear packed, he felt that they had everything they could take with them in case things got out of hand.
Bill paused and chuckled to himself. Got out of hand? They were on the run from the Army…there were hundreds, if not thousands of zombies raging through the forest attacking anybody and everybody they thought they could sink their molars into, his new friend just lost his wife to this blasted rage disease, and he’s thinking, IF things got out of hand? What the hell else would need to happen for things to really get out of hand? He sat down on the tailgate of the truck and shook his head.
“This retirement thing is really starting to suck.”
Vickers had just stepped from the helicopter when Captain Andrews came running up to him. “Colonel!” he shouted above the whine of the rotors winding down. “Colonel, can I speak with you, sir?”
Vickers sighed, but the action was lost on the young scientist. “What is it, captain? I have some very important calls to make, and time is of the essence.” He glanced at his watch.
“Sir, we’ve made some exciting discoveries that you need to be made aware of.” Andrews stated as he tried to lead the colonel back toward the tent. Colonel Vickers stood his ground, wanting to go to the station house where his satellite phone was set up. “Sir, if you’ll come this way, I can show you.” Andrews sounded very much like a child wanting to show a parent a good grade he had earned on a school paper.
Caldera Book 2: Out Of The Fire Page 12