Eleven
“We’re going to pull over at that gas station up ahead,” the lieutenant informs us over the comms.
We are just a half hour outside of Vegas. The 24 hour travel stop appears desolate in the middle of the desert. Several cars, semi trucks, and a taco truck are stationed in the parking lot.
But the place seems empty.
After everything we’ve been through, I still pull the Humvee into the service station cautiously and keep my eyes peeled for any movement.
The interior lights are on in the shop, but there are no signs of activity inside. Blood streaks the glass of the doorway, and the interior lights reveal rows of empty shelves inside.
“Looks like somebody cleaned this place out already,” says Gibby.
“Probably got out of the city, loaded up and headed for the mountains,” says Mac. “That’s what anyone with a lick of common sense would have done.”
We climb out of the truck, and I keep my head on a swivel as we approach the store. Sarge, Gunny and the lieutenant trail along behind us, covering our backs. I push the door open and the bell jingles over my head. I wait to see if the sound attracts any attention, but the inside of the store stays quiet so I proceed inside.
Several empty rows of shelf fixtures occupy the right half of the storefront. Cleaned out beverage coolers line the rear wall. To the left, a couple aisles of maroon booths lead back to a sandwich counter.
“Looks clear,” I call out.
The remnants of Nightmare Company move inside, glancing around at the barren interior. Claire sighs when she steps through the door and looks around. She moves over to one of the booths and sits down, laying her arms across the table and using them like a pillow to rest her head.
“They took everything,” I say as I stare at the empty store. I spin an empty rotating display rack on the counter. “Even the fucking keychains.”
“That’s not accurate,” says Mac as he walks out from behind the counter. “They left the attendant. Most of him anyway.”
I peer over the counter and see a man in a gas station uniform slumped on the floor. Close range shotgun blasts left a blossom of wounds to his chest and a gaping hole where his face used to be.
“Corporal Collins?” the lieutenant hollers.
Collins leaves the truck and jogs over to the building.
“Yes, sir,” says Collins.
“See if you can get anyone on the radio,” says Will. “Hopefully we can figure out what the fuck we’re supposed to do with Miss Davies now.”
“Copy, sir,” Collins says and he jogs back to the truck to grab the long range radio.
“I don’t want to stay here any longer than we have to, so take a break but don’t get too comfortable,” the lieutenant tells the rest of us.
I follow the rest of the guys over to the closest booth and set my rifle down on the table. The throbbing pain in my fingers is so intense that it seems to resonate throughout my body. I even have a splitting headache, but maybe that’s from clenching my teeth as I endured the pain for so long.
“I have to take a piss,” I tell the guys before I head to the bathroom. Even though I have had to go for a while now, I also just need a minute alone.
The bathroom smells of urinal pucks and mold. I stand in front of the sink for a minute and unravel the bloody bandage around my hand. The painful sting as I pry the crusted material off my skin causes my vision to momentarily blur.
My hand is crusted in dried blood. Bone fragments stick out from the partial segments of my fingers. A sickly opaque puss oozes from the tissue.
I lean in to sniff the wound, but can’t detect anything.
With my other hand, I attempt to touch it out of some morbid curiosity to see how badly it will hurt. The instant I touch the remains of my middle finger, I flinch from the searing pain. The half of my pinky that was hanging by a thread of skin falls off from my sudden movement. It lands in the stained porcelain sink and slides down toward the drain.
“Fuck,” I curse.
I pick it up, but can’t figure out what I should do with it. So I wrap it in several paper towels and shove it in my pocket. Then I put down my pack and take out a bandage. I rewrap my fingers in the clean dressing and step over to the urinal. I tilt my head back and stare at the ceiling tiles while I piss.
In spite of everything, at least I’m still alive, but I feel like I don’t deserve to be. My eyes close, but then I feel lightheaded and nearly lose my balance. I step back and zip up and leave the bathroom.
I come back out and walk back over to the booths. Mac glances up from his notebook and gives me a strange look.
“You all right?” Mac asks me.
I avoid his stare and look out the window where Gunny, Sarge and Gibby are keeping an eye on the perimeter.
“Just tired, I think,” I tell him.
“You look like hell,” he says.
“I’ll be fine,” I insist.
Near the front register, the lieutenant and Collins send out calls over the radio.
“They make contact with anyone yet?” I ask Mac.
Mac shrugs as he continues writing in his notebook. Even as the world is going to hell his writing is still more urgent. Seems crazy to me. If we don’t figure out some way to resolve this clusterfuck, there won’t be anyone around to even read that stupid shit.
I leave Mac to his writing and make my way to the booths at the end of the row and listen in as Will transmits on the radio. Beside him, Collins fiddles with the antenna, while Claire sits on a table across the aisle.
“Any luck, sir?” I ask them.
The lieutenant pulls off his kevlar helmet and combs a finger through his short brown hair.
“Camp Pendleton is gone,” Will informs me. “Miramar. All of it.”
Although it doesn’t come as a total shock after everything that has happened today, it still hits home to hear it from Will.
“So what is the plan?” I ask him.
“Hang on,” says the Lieutenant. He reaches over and raps his knuckle against the window and waves the guys inside. Gunny puts out his cigarette and then he follows Sarge and Gibby around to the entrance.
“I made contact with a secure facility about 130 klicks northeast of our position,” says Will. “As far as I can tell, that’s our best option right now.”
“130 klicks northeast?” Sarge says. “That’s...”
“Area 51,” Claire says.
“Apparently, she’s been there before,” says Will. “Once we escort her up there, we can pack it in. Head home. So let’s get moving.”
We grab our shit and drag our tired asses back out to the Humvees. Once we’re out in the hot sun, I start to feel woozy again. Maybe it’s from the amount of blood that I lost, or because we haven’t had much to eat since all this started. As I climb behind the wheel, everything starts to go black. I hang on to the door to keep from falling over. I squint my eyes and shake my head to fight the sensation off.
“Shit,” Mac says as he hurries to my side to help support me. “Sarge, we got a problem here.”
“I’m fine,” I insist, even though I feel pretty fucking far from fine.
“I’m not a doctor,” Claire tells Sarge from the backseat of the Humvee. “But if I had to guess I’d say he probably has an infection.”
“What can I do to help him?” Sarge asks.
“Get him to a doctor,” she says. “And fast.”
“You better drive, Mac,” Sarge says.
“Yes, sir,” Mac says as he helps me into the backseat beside Claire.
Sarge moves around the truck and climbs in the passenger seat. He looks back at me and I can see the concern on his face.
“Hang in there, Graves,” Sarge says.
“I’m too fucking tough to die, sir,” I smirk.
I don’t want him worrying about me.
“Damn straight, devil dog,” Sarge grins.
The engine rumbles to life and we get back on the deserted highway through the
vast and unforgiving desert. I lay my head back and stare out at the blinding sun that hangs above the distant mountains in the clear blue sky. After a couple miles, my eyes start to burn, so I turn my head the other way and find Claire staring at me, her fingers wrapped around the barrel of a nine-mil. I wonder briefly where and when she got it.
“Don’t worry,” I tell her. “I meant it. I’m too tough to die.”
“I probably couldn’t hit a damn thing with it anyway,” Claire smiles and she hands the gun back to me.
“Keep it,” I tell her. “Just in case I’m wrong. I’ve been wrong before. Once or twice.”
“That’s very thoughtful of you,” she smiles.
“You just got to promise me one thing,” I say.
“What’s that?” she asks.
“You have to swear that you will shoot Mac if he starts singing,” I say.
“I hear every word you’re saying back there, Chase,” Mac chimes in.
“Promise me,” I insist.
“Is it really that bad?” she asks.
I nod my head.
“He’s just jealous of my incredible talent,” Mac says. He starts belting out a song, one of his driving favorites by REO Speedwagon.
“Shoot him,” I whisper loudly.
“Shut up, Mac,” Sarge says.
“Come on, Sarge,” Mac says. “I need to defend my honor here.”
“Your honor?” Claire laughs.
“Hell yeah, I have honor. You see, I am a man of knowledge and culture, not just some neanderthal killing machine like my jarheaded colleague back there.” Mac continues.
“Shut up, Mac!” Sarge repeats.
After thirty hours with no sleep, we’re all starting to reach our limits and losing our focus. But for just a minute there, everything felt normal again. Just four people riding along in a car, getting on each others nerves.
“So what were you up there for before?” I ask Claire. “In Area 51. You must have been involved in some super secret squirrel shit.”
“I’m not really supposed to talk about that,” she tells me.
“I thought you’d say that,” I say.
“Don’t worry, I never saw any aliens there or anything like that,” she says.
“Thank god,” says Mac. “I honestly do not think I could handle seeing a zombie and an alien in the same fucking day.”
“Mac,” says Sarge. “Shut the fuck up and watch the road.”
“The truth is actually rather dull,” she says. “They only let me examine samples of alien DNA.”
“What?” Sarge says.
The Humvee is silent for a long moment. She gives me a sneaky smile then turns to look at the desert out the window.
“She was joking, right?” Mac says.
I’m not sure whether this gal is messing with us or not, but it helps keep our minds off the bad shit we’ve been through out here. I’ve got to admit, I feel bad for giving her a hard time before. Maybe this chick isn’t so bad after all.
Twelve
“Hold up,” says the Lieutenant when we reach the outskirts of a small town.
Mac brings the Humvee to a stop behind the lead vehicle in the middle of Great Basin Highway. Sarge gets out to join the lieutenant and Gunny while they scope out a pair of vehicles a couple hundred yards up the road.
I feed some subsonic .300 Blackout ammo into empty mags for the Honey Badger. Focusing on something else distracts me from the nauseous feeling I have been battling during our drive through the desert. I’m not the type to get motion sickness. I take it as another sign that something is not right. I’m getting sick.
“The pickups are shot to shit,” Gunny says. “Looks like the work of a fitty cal.”
“You think somebody cleared the town out for us already?” says Sarge.
“It’s possible,” the lieutenant says. “I’m not seeing any movement.”
He lowers the binoculars.
“We could play it safe,” Gunny says. “Backtrack to that dirt road a few miles back and try to cut through the mountains.”
“If we get lost on some of these backroads and run out of gas in the middle of the desert we may never get there,” says Will. “Let’s punch through.”
“I’m with you, sir,” Sarge says. “We don’t have time to fuck around. Graves needs to get some medical attention soon.”
“Be ready to rock and roll in case we run into trouble,” says Will before he and Gunny return to the lead vehicle.
As we approach the bullet-riddled wrecks, Mac follows the other Humvee off the road. I situate my rifle in the window so I am ready to fire at anything that moves.
The door of one of the trucks creaks open and a body flops out on the ground. The thing is so shot up it can only move one arm, but I engage it anyway. I kind of just want to test out the new rifle. The Honey Badger spits out a bullet that rips through the skull of the corpse. It collapses and splatters gore across the pavement.
Sarge looks back at me from the front seat.
“I fucking love this thing already, Sarge” I tell him.
He smiles and turns back to look at the town. The rifle is compact and lighter than my M4, but still tears through bodies with ease. The Trash Panda silencer makes it incredibly quiet in comparison, too.
“You look like you need a minute alone with that thing,” Claire says. “Should I close my eyes?”
“Very funny,” I shake my head as I turn back and position the rifle in the window as we pull into town.
Bodies lie in the dirt along the street in front of shot up buildings and mobile homes. A number of other structures are nothing more than smoldering heaps. The tires nudge aside spent bullet casings that ring like faint chimes as they roll along the pavement.
“Keep your eyes peeled,” Sarge reminds us.
“Whoever came through here and wiped out this town was pretty thorough,” I say.
“This wasn’t a bunch of trigger happy locals,” says Mac. “This was military. They even killed the dogs.”
I look over and notice the lifeless body of a big Rottweiler in the grass.
“Like someone is trying to sterilize the place by wiping out anything that’s alive,” says Sarge.
“Probably the Air Force,” says Mac, gesturing at an impact crater. “They bombed the hell out this place.”
We roll out of town and proceed up the highway. About ten miles down the road we reach another smaller town that was also wiped out. The buildings are mostly reduced to ashes or rubble. We drive around another giant impact crater in the center of town and take a left on to Extra Terrestrial Highway.
When we reach Groom Lake Road, a sign warns against trespassing on Air Force grounds. We proceed up the gravel pass that climbs the mountains.
Sarge pokes his head out the window and looks up at the sky.
“What’s wrong?” asks Mac.
“I think we got a drone watching us,” Sarge says.
“What the fuck?” I say as I lean my head to the side and peer up at the sky. With my blurry vision I can’t make out much of anything.
“Maybe they just want to make sure we get there safe,” Mac says.
“I don’t like it,” Sarge says.
We reach the top of the bluff and I see a sprawling complex and airstrip beside a dry lake bed. It is more than just an installation. This place is nearly the size of Nellis.
“There she is,” says Mac.
The road to Area 51 descends the mountain and skirts around the edge of the lake bed. From across the expanse, it’s difficult to see what we might be heading into. All of the buildings appear intact, but there doesn’t seem to be a lot of activity.
“Looks too quiet,” I say. “Doesn’t make sense.”
“Stay frosty,” says Sarge.
Gunny slows down the vehicle in front of us as we cautiously approach the entrance. No guards are posted outside the gates. This is definitely not standard procedure for one of the most secretive installations in the nation.
“Are those bodies?” Mac asks as he gestures at a hangar off to the left.
Several corpses in maintenance uniforms are sprawled on the tarmac beneath the scorching desert sun.
“I doubt they’re just getting a tan,” I say.
We pull up to the runway and bring the trucks to a stop. I look up and down the strip, but the place seems deserted.
“I don’t get it,” I say. “This place is like a ghost town. There’s no one around.”
“Not up here,” Claire says. “The real stuff happens underground.”
A pair of vehicles appear at the far end of the runway.
Ambulances. They turn and speed toward us.
“Here comes the welcome wagons,” Mac says.
The trucks skid to a stop and a squad of men wearing CBRN suits and carrying submachine guns burst out of the back doors and approach our vehicles.
“Get out,” one of the men demands.
“Who the fuck are these guys?” I ask Sarge.
“I don’t know,” he says. “But we don’t take orders from them.”
The lieutenant opens his door and steps out of the other Humvee. One of the guys in the CBRN suits moves around the vehicle and has a word with Will, then Will looks back and gestures for all of us to get out, too.
I open the door and follow Mac and Sarge toward the emergency vehicles, but I can barely walk. My equilibrium is all fucked up. Claire takes hold of my elbow and helps steady me as I focus on putting one foot in front of the other.
“Sergeant,” she says.
Sarge looks back and sees me struggling and pauses to drape my arm over his shoulder to help me along.
“Hold up,” one of the MOPP suits puts a gloved hand up to prevent Sarge from passing.
“What’s wrong?” Sarge asks.
“Is that a bite?” the guy gestures at my hand.
“No,” says Sarge. “Friendly fire. He needs a doctor right away.”
The MOPP suit looks at me for a long moment before he waves us into the truck.
They close the doors and drive us across the facility. The men let us out into a hanger where a huge ramp leads down to a massive blast door. The head CBRN guy talks to someone on comms and then the huge doors slide open and reveal a lobby with several elevators.
ROTD (Book 3): Rage of the Dead Page 8