by Lund, Dave
Ken assumed that the prisoner was killed after he had died and turned, which would explain the headshot and the condition of the car. Whoever did it took the trooper’s rifle and shotgun or whatever else there was of value or use. The keys hung in the ignition switch on the steering column and that seemed peculiar. Ken slowly spun in place, his piercing eyes scanned the area, looking at every shadow before feeling confident he was alone for the moment. He held his breath, opened the driver’s door, grabbed the keys, and quietly closed the door before letting his breath out. Even with the delay, the air that had escaped from the car was retched, the hard bite of rotten flesh that had been kept in a container too long. Ken flipped through the keys before unlocking the trunk. The trunk was more organized than Ken would have thought. Wires and electronic boxes were mounted around the interior wall of the trunk. Two big green ammo cans sat in the bottom. After checking, each contained a large number of loose 5.56 rounds. Although Ken didn’t have a rifle that fired the round, he knew someone would and that ammo would be good bartering materials. A heavy black vest was picked up next. It had patches front and back that identified the wearer as a police officer. There were six large magazines for an AR-style weapon on the front of the vest, armor plates front and rear along with flex cuffs, a trauma medical kit, and an unopened can of Copenhagen in a pocket. Under the vest in the trunk was a thick black helmet meant to stop bullets. It was heavy, but it was still nicer than the steel pot that he took to Vietnam. Ken tried on the vest and the helmet, and after some minor adjusting, they fit. The AR magazines went in the truck with the ammo cans. The helmet sat on the bench seat next to the rifles, but the vest stayed on for now. The more Ken thought about it, the more Ken worried that he might encounter some shitheads or some end of the world religious whack jobs; either way, they might shoot at him. With the truck in gear, Ken turned the wheel and pointed north on Highway 75. His right hand shook with his finger thumping on the lid of the can of tobacco. He had quit dipping for his wife years ago, he even resisted starting again after she passed away, but Ken figured a dip would help him stay alert on the drive and who was left to care anyways.
Pahrump, Nevada
The dusty small town hadn’t changed in the few hours since they left. The problem was that nothing had changed; if it was only the dead following, then all they had to do was get safe and let the raging storm of Zeds pass by. If the Koreans or the Chinese were following, they might recognize their vehicle—although probably not—but they would recognize Zeds killed by headshots. Their fake castle from before was an obviously bad choice for that reason, but as they drove through town, nothing from the highway looked like it would be a safe bet either. Low buildings, small casinos, and RV parks made for poor choices in a zombie apocalypse and they knew it.
Arguing over the wind noise that whipped through the holes in which they once had windows was tiresome and they settled on simply finding some more fuel for the Suburban and driving on until they found something better. They tried to find a good spot to scavenge for fuel away from the highway far enough to hide, but still be close enough to run if need be was tough. They passed the fake castle and the gas station with the collapsed awning. It seemed that fewer of the Zeds trapped under the awning were moving than had been this morning, but Jason really wasn’t sure.
Nothing they saw suited their needs until they saw the big orange sign of a home improvement store that was set back off the highway. There weren’t many vehicles in the parking lot, but there were some and a few of those were big pickup trucks, which meant it was easier to get to the fuel tank to siphon gas.
The sliding glass doors at the front of the building were shattered, the interior of the store darker than one would expect, but through the shadows, Erin could see movement. The idea to first think that the movement could have been caused by survivors had long been extinguished for Erin, her first and correct assumption that the shadows were caused by Zeds. As useful as the tool and raw materials could be to another survivor, they weren’t useful enough to Erin to justify the risk. All they needed was gas for their ride; they weren’t out to build a tiny home for the apocalypse.
Jason turned and drove along the far perimeter of the parking lot before stopping in the middle of a parking aisle with a lifted Jeep Wrangler on one side and a big gas-powered pickup on the other. The Jeep looked like it was strictly a mall crawler, as odd as that would be when the area was surrounded by off-road trails seemingly built for Jeeps to drive on, but there were two bright red jerry cans on the swing arm of the back bumper. Jason left the Suburban running while he went to check on the jerry cans. Erin went straight to the truck to cut the rubber hose off the filler neck to the gas tank and slid the end of a garden hose brought along for such a purpose into the tank. Jason broke the cheap brackets that locked the cans into their carriers by twisting them off with the Suburban’s tire iron. Both of the cans were full of gas and one by one, each was fitted with the filler nozzle then tipped into the tank of the Suburban. While dumping the second can’s gas into the Suburban’s tank, Erin filled the empty with gas from the truck. Roughly 10 gallons of gas brought the fuel gauge needed back near the big F and they now had a spare 10 gallons of gas between the two cans. They were set for the rest of the day of driving, wherever that might take them, but for now, they had to get out of the parking lot.
While Erin had been filling the second jerry can, Zeds began coming out of the store and into the bright sunlight. Seemingly dazzled by the light for a bit, each of them zeroed in on their running shitbox of an SUV and began shambling their way toward the noisy intruders.
As for now, the numbers were few and they were staggered enough that Jason calmly dispatched each one by one with his pump shotgun, but the view coming from the store was bleak. The straggling dead were quickly becoming a churning riot of Zeds determined to destroy him and Erin. However, Erin finished filling the second can and the two of them were inside the Suburban and trying to drive away. Hundreds of Zeds poured out of the store and onto the parking lot with no end to their numbers in site. They threaded through some gaps in the groups of the Zeds before Jason was able to slam the accelerator to the floor to gain some distance and safety.
Jason drove over the curb toward the west and onto the empty section of desert between the store and the main highway. Dirt rooster-tailed into the air as he accelerated hard to gain some distance between their vehicle and the dead pursuers. Erin bounced out of her seat and hit her head on the interior ceiling as Jason launched through the roadside ditch, over the sidewalk, and slid to a stop on the paved highway.
After a quick glance to make sure his love wasn’t hurt, he pointed the nose of the SUV north and back the way they had come from Groom Lake. When they got to the highway intersection from before, he would turn right and head east, away from Groom Lake. He wasn’t sure how they would get around Las Vegas to get to Erin’s chosen destination, but they’d figure it out when they got there. Erin slid across the seat and against Jason, taking his hand in hers. Jason looked at her. She may be the toughest woman I’ve ever met, and I’m lucky that she has chosen me.
Jason smiled as he drove. Looking at the sun in the western sky, he figured they would have to find shelter for the night in the next hour, but until then, it was just a pleasant road trip through the desert with the woman he loved.
Groom Lake
Dirt slid, small rocks rolling past the tires as the FJ ground to a stop. Bexar and Jessie were out and working fast to break camp. Faint gunfire could barely be heard echoing over the mountain’s edge and over the rattling low hum of the Toyota’s still-running engine.
“Hear that?”
Jessie nodded. “I can’t tell where it was coming from, but it didn’t sound close.”
“No, it didn’t, but it was also a full-auto burst.”
“That’s not good. Think that’s still heading our way?”
“Reminds me of Maypearl,” Bexar said while
lashing the EMT poles of the wall tent together with bungee cords. The pole bundles went on the roof rack to be tied down when they were finished. The tent was stuffed in the back of the SUV, along with the cases of ammo, MREs, and other gear they had squirreled away in their tent away from the others. Another full-auto burst could barely be heard in the distance, almost like trees rustling in the breeze. Both of them picked up the pace and moved more quickly now.
Bexar climbed on the roof rack and Jessie tossed him a ratchet strap. “So what’s the plan? Stay or go? If we stay, do we go below ground? If we go, then where do we go? St. George?”
“We need to go, but do we have enough gear to keep going if we have to?”
“Uh,” Bexar stood on the roof rack and looked around, mentally checking through everything he saw go in and on the FJ, “no, we really don’t. If we get cut-off, or something happens, we don’t have enough to make our way anywhere else real. We need more water, like 10 more gallons to be safe, another couple cases of MREs would be smart too—”
“OK,” Jessie interrupted, “we go down the hill, we park the FJ in the hangar so it’s protected, maybe we can have it poised for escape if we need to, then we go below ground and start really prepping.”
Bexar climbed off the roof rack while Jessie gave their site another quick walkthrough to make sure they weren’t leaving anything important. They drove down the hill and north through facility, past the dormitory buildings and out onto the ramp, while making their way to the former flight line and the entrance underground.
Near The M-ATV
“You know some of these are craters from nuclear detonations.”
Gonzo ignored Chivo as they walked.
“No, seriously, some of the most powerful explosions known to man were blown the fuck up out here, mano.”
Chivo shook his head. Marines never seemed to have a sense of humor, and his friendly trip companion Marine Raider that just stopped in the middle of the road to stare at him seemed to fit the mold.
“Look, mano, we’ll come back for your truck tomorrow, but for now, we have to outpace that cloud growing in the background back there.” Chivo jerked his thumb over his shoulder.
“I get that, mano, but I don’t get you. What the fuck are you for trying to play your stupid fucking spy games on the guy you’re buddied up with. Trying to catch a glimpse of them fucking so you can beat off to it later, you sick fuck?”
Chivo shook his head. He understood why Gonzo was upset, but it wouldn’t do either of them any good if he couldn’t broker some sort of peace. Besides, Chivo suspected that if Gonzo was too annoyed that he might catch a round in the skull and have a harrowing tale of being overrun by Zeds told upon Gonzo’s return to the facility.
“No, it was about security, making sure they stayed out of trouble.”
“Why would they need your help if they obviously don’t want it?”
“They don’t know they need it. Look, mano, once I’ve got them set up in a good place and that baby is born safely, I’ll feel better. Until then, I’m the guardian fucking angel they don’t know they have.”
“Well, a good fucking job you’re doing of it. They’ve burned off and we’re humping it like assholes.”
The M-ATV sat at the bottom of a bomb crater. Chivo didn’t think it was one of the nuclear detonations, but he didn’t know for sure. Either way, the crater appeared to be much shallower and much less steep than it really was. They were caught off guard when the FJ stopped and reversed course without much warning and they needed somewhere to hide the big four-wheel-drive armored truck out in the desert flats. Chivo pointed and told Gonzo to go. They did, even with the Marine’s objections, and now the truck was stuck for all eternity, or until they could bring the other M-ATV around and pull this one out. Before that could happen, they needed to walk back to the facility and where Aymond was, and before that, Chivo and Gonzo had to either outpace the looming cloud of flies or find a place to hole up. In hindsight, it wasn’t Chivo’s best decision, but they had some of the gear they brought, including the big .50-caliber rifle strapped to Chivo’s pack.
The gate and the buildings were a bit odd. They were already on what used to be heavily patrolled and secured government property, but if someone had snuck onto the grounds they would have had to drive countless miles across a serious amount of open desert to reach another gate, with what were probably heavily armed guards. Chivo suspected this was the route that commercial truck traffic took to bring supplies and whatever else was needed onto the facility. The thought of being a truck driver making deliveries to Area51 was almost humorous in its absurdity. As it were, the squat cinderblock-made government buildings would be their best bet until the impending swarm had passed.
Chivo went to the largest of the three buildings and looked at the lone dark window on the side of the building along the road. It appeared to be made of thick glass, probably bullet resistant. The sharp rapping of his knuckles on the glass returned muffled thumps. Chivo smiled slightly; it was bullet resistant. So hopefully it would be Zed resistant as well.
With a few quick hand signals, Chivo made his intent known, and Gonzo nodded in response before sliding silently from across the road to form up with Chivo. The metal door was unlocked and Chivo pushed it open, slapping loudly against the door frame. If there were any Zeds in there, they would be coming to say hi soon. Silently, Chivo counted to 10 before stepping into the dark building, the light on his rifle snapping on, sweeping through the shadows with trained efficiency. The lone Zed trapped inside was destroyed and dragged outside the door.
A few moments later, the door was locked. If they had a drawbridge, they would have raised it, but for now, the deadbolt would have to do. The building was, in fact, a glorified guard shack. There was a front office with two metal desks, the window looking like a bank teller’s window from the inside. Besides the restroom, there was a break room and two more offices. All in all, it was pretty sparse, but the big office water jug had water in it, cold water, because after flipping some fuses at the panel, the electricity came on. After some discussion about if it was the same electrical system as the underground base, to which neither of them had any real answers, Gonzo decided he didn’t care. He did care about the coffee pot in the break room, which soon filled the building with the smell of a freshly brewed pot.
CHAPTER 9
April 12, Year 1
Underground Facility, Groom Lake
“I’ll check first.”
Jessie held her rifle tightly tucked against her body as she eased around the corner to enter the hallway. She commanded herself to breathe after realizing she was holding her breath. After a painfully long silence, Jessie waved Bexar to follow as they walked into the hallway and up the stairs. After coming back below ground the previous evening, Bexar and Jessie found most of the survivors in the cafeteria holding a bit of a town hall-style meeting and there were serious problems.
Their first clue was that some of the survivors in the cafeteria were shouting at each other, but watching from just outside one of the doorways, Jessie and Bexar’s curiosity turned to horror as time continued. Standing on a table at the front of the room was a man that Jessie had only spoken with once or twice: Trent. Jessie couldn’t remember anything about where Trent was from or what he did before the Zeds, but standing on a table in the cafeteria, it was obvious the man knew how to handle a rifle. Athletic, late-30s with gray patches in his beard, he had the eyes of a man who was conditioned to violence and unaffected by empathy. Trent was a man who simply got what he wanted. Flanked on either side of him were about a dozen other men. They all had military bearing and the whole situation made Bexar feel unsettled.
“Who are they to rule us like a queen and her court?” one man yelled.
“They have risked their own lives to help save ours,” a woman across the room yelled back.
Trent held up his arms, silencing the bit
ter back and forth. “Friends, we are safe here, but for how long? We have supplies, but for how long? We have survived, but for how much longer? It is time to retake control of our own destinies. We are not cattle to be herded to and fro. We are not beasts of burden to unwillingly take part in our owner’s chores. No, we are a free people. We are still citizens of the United States, the real United States! Not one led by a self-appointed hack of a president! This will not continue, this will not stand.” Trent paused for a moment, lowering his voice. “We will have our freedom, we will take back our rights, we will survive, and we will do it on our own terms!”
The room erupted in cheering and clapping and with that scene, any thoughts of staying were washed away from Bexar and Jessie’s minds.
Safe and hidden, Bexar and Jessie later discussed how an uprising, a mutiny like this, could have happened under their noses and the answer was simple. Wright and the original crew of survivors had held this facility together. With their deaths and Jessie’s attempt to recover the facility while making it safer for the future, she had been away from people for too long. All the work with the top-side dorms, the jaunt into the desert with Bexar, sleeping in their tent while trying to pretend that everything was fine, and all of it took Jessie away for too long and their group was too fragile to survive.
So now, early the next morning, the two and a half members of the Reed family snuck out of the secret facility that was built into the already-secret underground facility and toward the surface. Large, old-style ALICE packs bulged with the weight of the supplies they were taking from the secondary facility’s own storeroom. Partially due to trying to be silent and use good tactics, but also due to their loaded packs, they climbed the stairs slowly, pausing on the false landings between floors to catch their breath and listen for anyone.