Winchester Undead (Book 6): Winchester [Triumph]

by Lund, Dave

  Thirty minutes passed as Bexar dragged bodies behind the sign and then drove the FJ around the back of the store to hide it. The tire marks in the dusty parking lot were still obvious, as were the drag marks and dark stains from the Zeds. Bexar wasn’t sure what he could do about the dark fluid stains from the Zeds, but he did walk along the drag marks and the tire marks, kicking dirt and trying to obscure the marks.

  They had water in the FJ, they had ammo and some MREs, and in the store they had some jerky made from a surprising mix of various animals. They also had time, with a few months to go before Jessie’s due date. He and Jessie would be fine for a while hiding out where they were and time is what they needed for Jessie to begin to heal up. They didn’t have any way to X-ray or image her ankle, so hopefully it wasn’t broken. If it wasn’t broken, it might be a few weeks before she was able to move and put weight on it if it was a really bad sprain. What they needed was Guillermo’s expertise and the help of the rest of the awesome survivors at the compound.

  We should leave in a few days no matter how Jessie feels. We need to get to Utah and accept their help.

  Bexar knocked gently and announced himself before entering. He would hate to startle Jessie and get shot for it.

  Indian Springs, Nevada

  “That is the question, really.”

  Erin shrugged. “I think after what we saw before we should ditch that hunk of shit and get one of those armored trucks. Besides, who the shit knows if our beat-to-fuck Suburban will make it much longer.”

  “OK, but what do you know about driving one of those things? Even if we found one that started and has fuel?”

  “A truck is a truck, how hard can it be?”

  Jason smirked. “Tell you what, honey, we can go test drive one, but no promises.”

  Erin flipped him off and gave him a quick kiss before opening the door and stepping out into the hard light of the morning sun in the desert. Jason took the rear position with his shotgun; Erin took point with her short-barreled M4. The previous afternoon when they broke into the abandoned air base they only saw a handful of Zeds shambling between the buildings, but they had to assume that there were more. Even though what they saw of the facility’s fence line appeared intact, they hadn’t taken the time and they wouldn’t take the time to check it. It wasn’t worth the effort for an overnight.

  Slowly, the pair made their way through the maze of buildings toward the fenced lot where they had seen trucks like the one President Lampton had driven to Groom Lake in. Neither could remember what the trucks were called, nor did they care.

  What would have been a few minutes-walk took half an hour due to the stop and start movements, trying their best to avoid being noticed by the handful of Zeds out for their morning stumble. It went without saying that they would use their firearms as a last resort; the sound would be a huge beacon for all the Zeds in ear-shot. At the gate, they found it locked with a heavy-duty padlock. The lot was fenced and had barbed wire on top of the chain-link fence.

  “If we’re on a secure air base, why the fuck do they have a lock and barbed fucking wire?” Erin was agitated at the redundancy.

  Jason shrugged. “Probably for the same reasons why there were locks on the doors underground at Groom Lake. I mean, how much more secret and secure do you get than that?”

  “Fuck this. Blow the lock with your boom stick, babe.”

  Jason winked at Erin and placed the 12-gauge shotgun’s muzzle next to the padlock. The shotgun blast echoed between the buildings and the ruined lock fell to the pavement. They quickly pushed the gate open and closed it behind them.

  “How long do you think, Erin?”

  Erin scanned the area, taking note of the movement in the shadows and between the buildings. “Uh, call it five minutes, maybe a little less?”

  “Well, start kicking tires. I hope you know how to hotwire one of these things.”

  The first truck sat on two flat tires, but the other four had better-looking tires, and at least they appeared to be fully inflated. Erin opened the driver’s door to the second MRAP and climbed in.

  “There’s no key, babe, just a switch to turn it on. Start it and shit.”

  Jason gave a thumbs up from the passenger’s seat. Erin tried starting the truck and all they heard was the click of the starter.

  “Shit, next in line,” Erin said as she climbed down from the driver’s seat. After climbing into the third truck, they were happy to find that the diesel engine coughed to life with a cloud of black smoke. Jason leaned over and scanned the gauges.

  “Hey, check this out, there’s an air system and it’s leveling out the air pressure in the tires.”

  “That’s cool as shit,” Erin said with a rare smile.

  The fuel gauge showed that they had about three-quarters of a tank. Neither knew how far that would get them, but before they could siphon any fuel, they needed the hose from the Suburban.

  “Drive to the Suburban, transfer our gear, siphon fuel, and haul ass?”

  “That sounds perfect, Erin. I’m going to dig around in the back and see what we’ve got on board,” Jason said as he climbed over the center console and climbed up into the armored turret on the roof. Although Jason had high hopes, he wasn’t surprised to find that the heavy gun that would have been mounted in the turret position wasn’t there. After securing the hatch behind him, Jason dug around the Spartan interior of the rear. There was nothing in the truck.

  “I guess they keep ammo and the guns and stuff separate from the trucks,” Jason yelled up from the back.

  “That’s odd. Why do you think they do that?”

  “Probably because we’re in Nevada and not fucking Iraq or some shit.”

  The big armored truck rolled forward and stopped abruptly. “Sorry, it’s going to take a little time to get used to this thing—get the gate, would you?”

  Jason climbed back to the front and then out the passenger’s door. Four Zeds bounced against the fence next to the gate. Jason pushed and slid the gate open quickly, which rattled loudly. Running away from the approaching Zeds, Jason climbed back into the cab of the MRAP, which felt deceptively safe. Even the doors were heavy with armor plating; they shut with a hard thunk almost like a door of a gun safe.

  Erin drove the truck forward, the big diesel motor rattled and the turbo whined. For the first time since they left Groom Lake, they felt like there was no chance they could lose. A few moments later, they were outside of the still-running truck, tossing their gear from the beat-to-hell Suburban into the MRAP. Their task complete, they climbed back into the armored truck and sat for a moment.

  “Should we get on the road or do some scavenging while we’re here?”

  Jason furrowed his brow as he thought for a moment. “We could spend months checking the different buildings and stuff. I say we go back to the other trucks, siphon enough fuel to top off our new truck, and then haul ass.”

  Erin nodded and put the truck into gear. A few minutes later, Jason spit diesel fuel out of his mouth after sucking on the end of the cut-up garden hose, starting the fuel transfer from the MRAP with flat tires to their truck. Once again, he had closed the gate behind them after driving into the small fenced lot and once again, Zeds bounced against the fence trying to get to him and the truck. Repeating the same process as before, they drove toward the front gate. Ten minutes later, they were on the road, bouncing down the highway toward their chosen destination to spend their lives together.

  Jason held Erin’s hand and smiled, yet his heart still ached for his wife. The scene of her death played in his dreams every single night; there seemed to be no relief. The sight of her body on the floor of the C-130, the blood, and then her reanimated corpse sitting up to attack the living, it was just too much. For all the death, all the destruction, the complete upheaval of reality, losing his wife, his best friend, and his soulmate was the worst of it all. With Er
in, it felt different. Jason knew he loved her, his heart leapt with happiness with each electric shock of her touch on his skin, but still he felt guilty, like he was somehow cheating on his true love. Jason turned his face away from Erin as a tear streamed down his face. No amount of heartache, no amount of longing, nothing he could do would bring his bride back to him; only the veil of death separated them now, but he knew it wasn’t time to join her in whatever afterlife there actually was. No, Jason felt that as sad as he was, he was right where he was supposed to be. There was some destiny that he was to fulfill. He couldn’t say that thought out loud for how silly and childish it sounded, but in his heart and in his mind, he knew it to be true. There was a reason he was still alive, there was a reason why he and Erin had fallen in love, and there was a reason they were doing what they were doing. Only time would reveal what his final destiny would be.

  SSC

  It didn’t take long for Amanda to get back into her old routine, minus sleeping with who she thought was her trusted friend, not just her lover. Bruised and battered, her head was still a little tender from where she had been knocked out by Chivo before, but the knot had gone down. The steam filled the large locker room shower. A pair of scissors sat on the counter; her hair was really short once again. Somewhere in the facility had to be a pair of electric clippers, but she hadn’t found them yet. Once she did, the plan was to shave her head. She didn’t have the time or patience to keep up with long hair and being the President of the United States, or what was left of it, Amanda figured that any biting comments comparing her to GI Jane or calling her a dyke or whatever else the old world would have done would not happen. Even if it did, she didn’t care.

  Amanda’s skin glowed pink from the hot water. Her workouts had quickly picked up where she had left off. She started every morning with runs in the tunnel along with pull-ups, pushups, and hanging leg raises. Today, she had used two ammo cans full of .50-caliber ammunition like kettle bells for her squats and presses. The workouts gave her mind time to work through the problems she faced. The steaming hot shower afterward was where her mind solved the problems and by the time she was dressed for the day, Amanda had a clear plan in her mind.

  The uniform of the day was a pair of ACU pants, T-shirt, boots, belt, and pistol. Amanda carried her chest carrier loaded with full magazines for her M4 and pistol. She carried her M4 as she went about her day, but she only put the sling over her head if something set off the hairs on the back of her neck or if she went topside. She was confident that the underground facility was clear of Zeds, and she was mostly sure that there weren’t any booby traps. She was alone, but there was a nagging thought that Clint may have left the facility intact and without any traps for arriving enemy forces. That meant she had to be ready. She had to keep the access points secure and she wanted to complete the topside improvements she had begun. HESCO barriers were in abundance and she had a front-end loader; that was going to be her afternoon task. Amanda figured that Clint had somehow kept his handlers informed of the status of the SSC, so outward appearances be damned. If the PLA was going to try to take out the facility, she was going to make it as difficult as possible.

  However, that was this afternoon; the morning’s task involved the computer systems. She had a basic working knowledge as to how to operate the facility, but she needed to have a better understanding of what she had available and how to use it. Maybe if God smiled upon her, Amanda might be able to figure out the issue with the communications between the SSC and Groom Lake, but that would be a huge stroke of luck. Her background and education wasn’t computer security or digital communication. Luckily, the task of logging onto the system took no great feat of hacker skill. Clint had given her an ID card on a computer that was setup in a small office seemingly for only that task. Amanda took the plastic card out of a holder she wore on a lanyard around her neck. Her photo was on the card, along with the presidential seal and “POTUS” in bold letters under her name; the gold color chip on the end of the card was the important part. Amanda slid the card into a slot on the workstation and was greeted by a login screen. After entering her username and password, which Clint had setup for her as well, the system welcomed her and took her to the desktop screen.

  The computer ran what appeared to be a normal version of Microsoft Windows. Amanda was sure, or hoped at least, that the operating system was beefed up for national security use and was more stable; a blue screen of death could be more than a little annoying during a battle. Amanda took the mouse and clicked through the system, taking notes on what each of the programs seemed to be. Like the movies, there were large monitors on the wall, a dozen of them, and she could display different information in different configurations on the screens. Sitting at what she assumed was the commander’s desk at the back of the room, playing with the room displays was neat, but not what Amanda was really looking for.

  The communications terminal was something she was familiar with, but it wouldn’t connect with Groom Lake. In fact, it appeared to not be transmitting or working at all. Amanda knew that the satellite imagery had been working, new images being downloaded and seen well after she and Clint had arrived in Waxahachie, but the program Clint had used for that now displayed unintelligible error messages when trying to use it. Two more hours of frustration passed before Amanda decided her morning task was hopeless. She left for a quick lunch and to fill the Camelbak she was going to wear with her normal tactical kit. Amanda had an afternoon of hard work on a dusty piece of heavy equipment.

  Groom Lake

  Amazingly, the old Caterpillar front-end loader ran, not well, but his men had got it running with a little help from one of the survivors. Jones said that it was old enough that there wasn’t an engine control module—a computer—that made it run. Aymond hadn’t realized that even construction equipment could be taken out by an EMP.

  After quelling the uprising, the other survivors had mostly settled down. There was grumbling and about a dozen had left, but things felt more settled than before. Aymond offered and allowed what Gonzo called party favors for those who wanted to leave. They received a case of ammo if their weapons were chambered in 5.56, which they all were for those who left, and a case of MREs. The reality of the situation was that Aymond didn’t have to do anything of the sort, but he felt that the gesture would go a long way to help calm everyone down. This wasn’t a military installation; well, it was, except that it was now a civilian community trying to survive the apocalypse. This took a different approach than what he typically had done in his long career in the Marine Corps. This was a job typically suited for what everyone called the Green Berets: organizing leadership and people in a population to help American interests.

  The first task was the destroyed blast door. That gaping scar of battle allowed unrestricted access to the facility below and that was a serious problem. The immediate second task was to build a perimeter wall to what Aymond considered to be a firebase. Firebase on the surface, surreal government facility below ground…it was just the way things were in the new world.

  However, Jerry Aymond knew that another attack may not be far behind the one they were able to stop before. They needed actual fighting positions, they needed the ability to secure the facility, and they needed it now.

  HESCO is what he wanted. As much of an annoyance as it was in Afghanistan, it served an important purpose. They found some while in Yuma, but so far, his men had been unsuccessful at finding any here, at least so far. His men were in a tough rotation, pulling security, organizing the civilians, and overseeing the new construction project, and added to the mix were two two-man teams currently going building to building in search of anything useful. The upside is that they had dozens of pallets with ready-to-fill sandbags; the downside is that filling them took a lot of work. Work that a rotation of civilian volunteers was helping with.

  Bill told Aymond that Jessie had a team that had been doing just that, except that he didn’t really know what al
l had been cleared and he had no idea what were in those buildings. A man named Wright had been running the facility. Jessie and her crew took leadership roles and they did a reasonable job, but now it was time for a professional war-fighter to set things on the right track.

  “Gonzo for Chief, over.”

  Gonzo and Happy had been checking some of the buildings, and Kirk and Davis were working on the others. Aymond wasn’t 100 percent sure where each of the teams were at the moment, but he knew they were working their way outward from the main hangars using a series of concentric circles.

  Aymond keyed his radio. “Go.”

  “Chief, you need to come check this out.”

  Aymond replied and confirmed the search grid location Gonzo relayed to him after checking the hand-drawn map he pulled out of his utility pocket and began walking their direction.

  Ulm, Montana

  So far, the work was tedious; hours were spent with each step. So far, they had worked through only the first few pages of the manual that the colonel had and that suited Dorsey just fine. At first, his thoughts centered around internal anger for letting Smith into the launch control facility, but late last night, Dorsey had a bit of an epiphany and that anger turned to satisfaction.

  I gave him access to a Minuteman III launch facility, but with me being here, I have the ability to sabotage the operation. If Smith had gone to one of the other numerous facilities, then he might have had full reign.

  As discrete as he could be, Dorsey pulled a ribbon cable off the electronic board, pushed the tip of a safety pin into the connector, and pushed the connector loose. He had no idea what this component did, or what effect that a couple of missing pinouts would do to the system, but Dorsey figured that if he continued to do little things like this that it might cause the system to fail. Failure wasn’t just an option; failure was the only way to succeed.

  SSC

  Dust blew away in a thick cloud behind the armored front-end loader like smoke. Amanda was sure that it could be seen for miles, but her other option would be to wait until dark to complete the work. As confident as she was in her skills, awareness, and weapons handling, Amanda wasn’t stupid. Trying to do much of anything at night with Zeds around was just stupid, although they were easy to kill with the heavy equipment. Amanda backed the front-end loader away from the now full HESCO container and turned to see a lone Zed appear from somewhere to investigate. She swung the bucket to knock it off its feet, backed up a little further, then lowered the bucket onto the dead thing that was once a man. His body squished under the enormous pressure like a roach.