by Lund, Dave
Twin Falls, Idaho
“How much room do you need?” Chivo yelled over the gunfire.
“Not far.” Andrew glanced at the windsock between shots. The wind was in his favor for once, the ragged windsock popping in the wind and blowing straight up the tarmac between the hangars. “We can take off right here if we can get clear!”
“Light the fire, pendejo!”
Chivo and Andrew’s morning was not going as planned.
Andrew turned to run and bumped into another Zed. Stumbling backward, he stitched rounds up the dead man’s torso before finally landing a round to the head. Getting up, Andrew ran to his plane and pushed hard on the hangar door that was still blocking one of his wings. A few moments later, skipping any pre-flight checklist ever created for the Husky, the engine roared to life, the propeller’s sound muffling the hard crack of Chivo’s rifle fire. Dirt and trash in the hangar whipped through the air from the prop blast as Andrew taxied out and swung the tail wheel around. Feet planted firmly on the brakes, Andrew ran the engine to full power and hoped to God that nothing failed, or this would be a spectacularly short flight. The edge of another hangar was directly in their path about 1,500 feet in front of them.
“Get the fuck in, you crazy asshole!”
Chivo flashed a thumbs up, walking backward slowly, changing magazines in his M4 and continuing the Zed slaughter. The problem was that even if Chivo didn’t miss a single shot, they didn’t have enough ammo to put all the Zeds down and there were thousands coming. At least that was how many they could see coming through the airport fence to the north. Chivo spun in place, took a few steps toward the wingtip to clear the prop, and shot rapidly, killing the dozen Zeds that stood in their path.
Barely in the fuselage, Andrew released the brakes and surged forward, Chivo clambering get in his seat correctly without knocking any of the dual controls. The tail wheel picked up, Andrew held the yoke forward, keeping the main gear on the ground as they continued to pick up speed. More Zeds came around the edge of their hangar. Andrew deftly popped the yoke rearward, the Husky leapt off the tarmac, but continued in a straight line only a few feet off the ground, picking up more speed. Chivo finally righted, sat upright in his seat, and was now able to see out the windscreen.
“Shit,” was all Chivo muttered as he saw the Zeds and the hangar followed by the fuel tanks in their path as they rocketed across the tarmac just feet off the ground.
Andrew quickly and smoothly pulled the yoke back hard, the view out the windscreen turning blue, only sky being visible. Chivo felt a thud and looked out the open window on his right. He saw a Zed tumbling across the tarmac as it quickly grew smaller, the aircraft quickly gaining altitude. The few gauges that were operational and still in the dash appeared normal to Chivo’s experienced, but non-pilot eyes.
“What the fuck, mano?” Chivo yelled over the sound of the propeller and wind noise.
“We needed the airspeed. Sorry, that was so close.”
“Close, what about that fucking Zed?”
“Hit the right side main gear, sorry. I thought we were going to miss. He must have raised his arms or some shit. It’s cool though. Everything worked out.”
Chivo smiled. Andrew may not have been a military pilot, but he would have fit right in with the men of the 160th or the old fucks from Air America, and that was just the sort of man Chivo needed to succeed when going against Clint.
Out of danger, Andrew trimmed the aircraft for cruising and backed the engine off a bit for what Chivo hoped to be a leisurely fight. With nothing else to do, Chivo unloaded his rifle, broke the upper off the lower, and pulled a bore snake, some CLP, and a small brush from his pocket. It wouldn’t be a great cleaning, but a well-lubed and clean rifle was a happy rifle, and his life depended on keeping his rifle happy.
Groom Lake
Sporadic gunfire echoed across the dry lake. One of the civilian patrol teams encountered a group of Zeds coming around the mountains from the northwest, the same way the PLA had come, the same way Chivo and Gonzo had come. Aymond wished they had a way to block that pass between the mountains, but the Corps of Engineers he was not, and nor did he have the resources, the manpower, or the time. So for now, security teams would handle the problem with one thing they had a lot of: ammo. The primary storeroom was exceptionally well stocked, but they had found the secondary facility that also had well-stocked stores and that was just the small arms ammunition. The CONEX of Stinger missiles was a handy find as well. It wouldn’t take long to train the civilians in how to use them.
Although the topside construction project had slowed overnight due to darkness, they hadn’t stopped. Now that it was again daylight, the pace was back to where it should be, yet the process was still painfully slow. So far, the first earthen berm was nearly complete with fighting positions being put in place. The second berm was on hold while the first group CONEX containers were being dragged in position. The urgency hit the flashpoint just after dawn when a thick white contrail was seen crossing west to east to their north. There was no way to know what kind of aircraft was leaving the trailing water vapor behind, but everyone knew for damn sure where it had come from. Another attack on Groom Lake wasn’t so much of a question if, but a question of when, and whatever progress they could make between now and then would be all they were able to make. Once the attack came, they would either succeed or would die, for the Marines all knew that the next attack would be made with much greater numbers and armament than before.
Outside Las Vegas, Nevada
Jason took the exit from Highway 95 onto the beltway and drove into a bad traffic jam. Cars and trucks were all stationary like the parkway had meant to be a driveway. Being in the desert was the only good thing about the situation, giving them ample room on the sides of the road to drive through the hard-packed dirt and sand. If they were just about anywhere else, trees and water-logged ditches might have been the end of them. Erin had experienced this before during her trek across the country with her mom, but Jason had only been in Cortez then flew to Groom Lake in the C-130 since the attack; this was a new experience for her husband.
“Smooth and steady, babe. The worst thing we could do is wreck. As long as we can keep, moving, we’ll be OK.”
Even as she told Jason that, she only half believed it. It didn’t seem possible to ever be OK. What annoyed Erin the most of this situation is that it would be ludicrous to get down on the surface streets to look for a gas station or a drug store to pick up a supply of tampons. By the time they got through this, she would be a mess, which was exactly what annoyed her. Jason was doing a good job of swinging the big armored truck left and right, dodging cars and Zeds, mostly driving in the dirt on the side of the road at the blistering pace of about 20 mph.
“How are the Koreans and Chinese going to handle all of this? All of the Zeds? All of the abandoned vehicles clogging the roads?”
Erin shrugged. “Maybe they’re in no hurry. Maybe they have huge versions of that radar truck the Marines stole…or maybe the Zeds will eventually die off on their own?”
“Shit, we could be so lucky. I doubt it though. If they were going to die off, why would they have already invaded? Seems like they would have sat back and waited.”
“Maybe this is worse than they meant it to be. What if things hadn’t gone as planned for them?”
Jason didn’t respond immediately. He hadn’t thought about the possibility that the PLA had made a mistake that things in the U.S were much worse than the planners had expected and now the invaders were simply trying to hold on just like the rest of the survivors.
“If that’s the case, then maybe there’s a chance for us, or maybe everyone is doomed and the human race is going through its own extinction event?”
“No, Jason, I won’t believe it…we need to change our plan.”
“How’s that?”
“Instead of going to Big Bend ri
ght off, we should go to where Amanda is. Once everything is settled, we can go to our new home.”
Jason nodded. “If that is what you think we should do, then we’ll do it.” It wasn’t that he was a pushover, a leaf on the wind of Erin’s whims, but he knew she was right and he hadn’t felt right about running away. Although the thought of being able to roll into a beautiful national park with cabins, fresh water, solar panels, and game to hunt really was appealing. They would get there, they would have their utopia to live out the rest of their lives together, but first they had to do the right thing by their friends.
The MRAP nosed into a thick group of Zeds, swarming like clumsy ants that could kill you with a single bite. Slowly, Jason nosed the front of the truck through the crowd. Some of the Zeds fell under the truck, but most of them were pushed to the sides as the MRAP parted the sea of death at a slow walking pace.
“We would already have been killed if we were still in that old Suburban.”
Erin agreed.
SSC
The armored front-end loader was secure, she was secure, and now Amanda sipped coffee while flipping through the different security cameras that were still functional. Surprisingly, some of the cameras above ground appeared to be working. Whether designed to withstand an EMP or luck, she had a view to the outside world. Clint hadn’t shown her these systems, so finding the security system was fortuitous. It also made sense as to why he knew what she was doing and where she was, which really felt creepy now. Amanda felt even more betrayed and like she had been a foolish schoolgirl, taken by a cunning older boy, used and thrown away when he graduated.
At least the guy in Montana, Dorsey, had seen through Clint’s bullshit early on. Hopefully, it was early enough for Chivo to take Clint out. Amanda didn’t know what sorts of safety systems were in place for launching an ICBM. Years before, she had read “Command and Control” and knew that launch security was tight, but she was the first sitting president in the nuclear age without the nuclear football by her side. The policies of the United States since the USSR detonated their first nuclear weapon was that any weapon of mass destruction attack would be returned in kind; if she had the nuclear football, the launch codes, and that entire command structure was still in place, then Amanda would have launched a counter-attack against Korea and China, but she didn’t have that capability. Unless what Dorsey sent in his last message was true, then Clint has a way to bypass the safety systems. That was a serious proposition, that it might be possible to launch a nuclear strike. With as much damage, as many deaths that have occurred, would a nuclear strike be worth the added destruction? Did Amanda even have any idea of what she would strike? Not without some more intelligence gathering, which she couldn’t do at all.
Maybe Bill could figure out these systems? Maybe he could get the satellite imagery back online? Probably not. Major Wright would have been better experienced to do such things, but wanting for nothing since he was dead.
Movement on the computer monitor caught Amanda’s attention. The screen was split into a dozen different camera views. With a click, the camera’s view expanded and filled the screen. There was the movement; it was a person, a man. Even in the daylight, he was hard to see, the man sticking to the shadows. He wore camouflage of some sort, had a pack, and a rifle that looked like an oversized M-16. It was quite possible that this was the person who had shot at her yesterday. Anger flared and Amanda felt her cheeks flush. She stood and shrugged on her body armor and carrier, then slung her rifle. She was going to find out.
The man stopped, his head scanned the area, then he motioned off frame. A child came into view. The child had a smaller long gun; what it was Amanda didn’t know, but it did look like the child was quite comfortable carrying it and his small pack. There was no way that the kid was more than 10 years old. Anger receded, replaced by concern. Except for some older teenagers, Amanda hadn’t seen any living children since the attack, and the rotted faces of the dead children that reanimated that she had shot flipped through her mind like a rolodex of horrible death masks.
Amanda sighed and started toward the hatch nearest their position. The man and child, maybe his son, were near the houses on the south end of the lake, near where Clint had magically appeared that one afternoon and put down all the Zeds after she had snuck out. Amanda jogged through the facility to the tall ladder that took her topside. Once she reached the top, Amanda took a moment to catch her breath before slowly releasing the locks and cracking open the hatch.
Sunlight burst into her shadows through the small sliver of an opening. After a brief moment, Amanda’s eyes adjusted and she could see the man and son. Their backs were to her. Cramped for space, Amanda drew her pistol and let the hatch snap open on the spring-loaded hinges, which clunked loudly. The man and boy spun toward the sound, to see Amanda a third of the way out of the hatch, her pistol pointing at them.
“Do not move. I don’t want to hurt you.”
The man motioned for the boy to lower his rifle, letting his own rifle hang on its sling. “We don’t want you to hurt us either.”
“Why did you shoot at me yesterday?”
“We didn’t. We just made our way over here this morning. We ran into a scouting element of Asian soldiers. I think they might have been Koreans, but they had Chinese and Korean markings on their APC and uniforms.”
Amanda was surprised, although she tried really hard not to show it. “They were probably mixed forces. The Koreans attacked us with the help of the Chinese; that’s how this all started. Where are they? You and the kid need to get down here before they see you.”
The man smiled. “They won’t see us, and they didn’t last night when I attacked their camp.”
“What?”
“They were about two clicks that way.” He pointed toward the southeast. “Unfortunately, their APC was disabled during the attack, and otherwise, we would be long gone.”
Amanda lowered her pistol. It seemed like the man was telling the truth, and Amanda wanted it to be true.
“Where are you headed?”
“Area 51, if you can believe it. There’s supposed to be a safe place there, a big underground bunker.”
Amanda smiled and decided to follow her instincts. “Well then, guy, you’re in luck. My name is Amanda Lampton and you’ve found the other underground bunker. Come below and let’s get you two something to eat, hot showers, and some clean clothes.”
The boy looked at the man who nodded.
Amanda holstered her pistol and descended the stairs. “Dog the hatch on your way down.”
The man and the boy followed into the dark hole, closing and dogging the hatch behind them.
In The FJ
Not much had changed in the short time since Bexar had come through the area with Chivo. The highways showed damage from Zed herds, which was nice in that the vehicles that had been abandoned on the road were now off the road. Only the occasional Zed was swerved around.
The drive would have probably taken all of three hours before the attack, but with the slower driving speed, the need to stop and siphon gas out of abandoned vehicles, and Jessie’s nausea, badly twisted ankle, and a growing baby pressing on her bladder, it was hard to keep the doors closed and the hammer down. It really didn’t matter, though. After about five hours, the FJ drove up the hill toward Guillermo and Angel’s compound. Bexar had spent the drive telling Jessie all that each of the wonderful people had done to help him and Chivo—the opposition, the battle and ambush, and the victory.
Cresting the hill and turning up the driveway, Bexar stopped at the gate. The big forklift was visible on the back of the property, but that was the biggest thing left standing. The home was a burned-out ruin, the shop further destroyed than it had been in the assault on the compound. Bexar turned off the engine and climbed out. Jessie opened her door and stayed seated, unable to really stand on her own yet. She headed her rifle and scanned the are
a for any threats. Jessie saw what was left of some gallows, a buzzard sitting on the last one, a body twisting slowly in the wind. Jessie watched Bexar walk toward a dark pile in the middle of the driveway in front of what was the house.
Bexar turned and scanned for threats in a full circle before focusing his attention on the bodies at his feet. Each of the bodies had their hands bound with flex cuffs, and each of them had single shots fired into the back of their skulls. Bexar rolled one of the bodies over, the pungent stench of rotting flesh filled the air.
Guillermo.
Most of his sweet little friend’s face had been destroyed by the exit wound, but it was obvious who it was. Bexar counted the bodies and checked off the list of people who had been living at the compound when he and Chivo had left.
All of them. All of their bodies left out to rot, left out for someone to find…those motherfuckers.
Bexar stood and scanned the surroundings again before walking to the body hanging from a noose. The body was one he didn’t recognize; it could have been another attacking group or a single interloper who tried to attack or steal from the group. Behind what was left of the house were a handful of graves. They hadn’t been there when he left, clearly new. Each of the graves had an SKS rifle planted in the dirt muzzle down with a helmet for each. The helmets were on the ground, but Bexar assumed they had been left on the butt of each rifle. The helmets were the same that the Chinese and Korean forces wore.
Bexar kicked one of the helmets off the cliff’s edge and walked back to Jessie and the FJ. Jessie was in the driver’s seat, the FJ turned around pointing back the way they came, and the motor was running.
“Watching you, I knew that we would be bugging out and it might be in a hurry. I’d rather you drive. It hurt like a motherfucker trying to drive with this damn ankle.”
Bexar helped Jessie to the passenger’s seat, climbed in, and drove off in silence.
After reaching the access road for the interstate, Bexar turned left and drove the wrong way, not that it really mattered.