Winchester Undead (Book 6): Winchester [Triumph]

by Lund, Dave

  “Holy shit, they’re getting up!” Jason didn’t realize that had been Erin’s plan.

  Erin only grunted, scanning and waiting for the next soldier to appear in her view. She watched as one of the reanimated soldiers dragged a living comrade out from behind an APC. It bit and ripped a large piece of flesh out of the man’s neck and shoulder, thick red blood gushing and flowing, staining the pavement. The man appeared to be screaming, but Erin let him live, let him suffer through the brutal Zed attack, his fate now sealed for the arrogance of invading her country.

  My country.

  The words echoed and repeated in Erin’s mind as she shifted and shot another soldier. The other handful of soldiers she had killed were up and shambling through the carnage, a battle erupting down below, a new battle. There were two remaining PLA soldiers, either Chinese or Korean, Erin didn’t know or care, but they were no longer trying to hide and fight the unknown sniper: they were trying to kill their reanimated comrades before they were killed too. Erin made quick work of them as they came out of their places of cover. Both were killed with shots to the mid-section.

  Erin got up, pulling her rifle up with her. “We need to get the fuck out of here, leave those fuckers for their friends to find.”

  “We could kill them and raid their vehicles for anything useful.”

  Erin paused. She hadn’t thought of that, but Jason had better mind for such things.

  Jason continued. “We only have a little bit of time before all that rifle fire brings all the Zeds to the yard for your milkshake anyways.”

  Erin looked at him. “Dude, what?”

  Jason chuckled. “Never mind. Point being, we need to haul ass, but I think we should look inside those trucks first. Maybe we don’t have to kill the new PLA Zeds; we can get them to move for a bit, use the MRAP as bate, honk the horn, that sort of thing.”

  Erin gave Jason a sly grin. “I like it. Let’s go.”

  They climbed down the ladder. Erin passed the big Barrett rifle down to Jason after he was standing on the roof of the MRAP. He climbed into the gunner’s hatch and set it inside, starting the truck’s heavy diesel motor while Erin climbed inside and took her seat up front with him. A few moments later, they drove out of the parking lot and toward the highway. More Zeds were shambling toward them in the distance, so they didn’t have much time.

  Soon, they were on the highway and near the APCs. The new Zeds were already shambling toward the movement and sound of the approaching MRAP, but they really became interested after Jason honked the horn. Jason pulled alongside the first APC; he climbed onto the roof through the gunner’s hatch and jumped across the short gap to the roof of the APC, only taking his sidearm for the excursion. Erin climbed into the driver’s seat and drove forward and away from the APC at a walking pace. The trail of Zeds followed, unaware of Jason’s movement.

  Jason peered through the open roof hatch of the APC, using the light on his pistol to clear the interior; he didn’t want to be surprised by anyone remaining. Satisfied he was alone, Jason climbed inside the dimly lit interior. The weapons and ammo weren’t a lot of use to them, except that it would be smart to take some. There was one AK-47-looking rifle with a folding stock. Jason wasn’t sure what model of rifle it really was and he didn’t care. The boxes of ammunition were easy to identify, too. He opened the rear hatch, checked for any Zeds nearby, and placed the rifle and a few large boxes of ammo on the pavement. It wasn’t easy to figure out what stuff was because Jason didn’t know how to read whatever language was printed on everything. He assumed it was Korean but he didn’t know.

  After climbing out of the APC, Jason slung the new rifle and picked up the metal boxes of ammo, carrying the heavy load to a spot on the edge of the roadway away from the APCs. Jason, winded from the effort, quick-walked to the next APC, the rear hatch was already open, and he could see it was safe to enter. Inside, Jason found a handful of green canvas bags. He opened the first one, his heart quickened and he let out a low whistle when he realized what he held. The bag had four curved green devices, about 50 feet of coated wiring, and a device with a switch that had a safety. Jason had found the PLA version of a Claymore mine. Each of the five bags had the same kit. Excited and trying to imagine what he could do with them, Jason’s thoughts were brought back to the present by the sound of rapid rifle fire. Two Zeds fell to the pavement just outside of the open APC rear hatch. He realized that fun time was over. Jason shouldered the satchels, drew his pistol, and came out of the vehicle. Erin was already loading the new rifle and ammo into their truck. Jason joined her, smiling, giddy like a kid on their birthday. The possibilities to use 20 anti-personnel mines, or whatever the PLA called them, seemed endless. As they drove away from the carnage they had caused, Jason told her what he had and a broad smile crept across her face.

  “So do we start calling ourselves The Wolverines yet?” Jason asked with a smirk.

  “What? No, fuck that movie! That was war porn that teenagers jerk off to. This is the real fucking deal. Besides, they all died; you and I are going to live forever.”

  Over Montana

  Andrew banked, pointed out of the side window, and yelled over the engine and wind noise, “I’m going to put down there on the highway. We can check those cars for gas and check that tanker. Unleaded of any kind, unless we can find a sports car and get some high octane stuff, but I’ve got a limited amount octane booster too.”

  Chivo flashed a thumbs up and press-checked his rifle again. The act was nearly mindless a reflexive muscle memory action to get ready for insertion. That’s what it felt like, every time they landed it was a potentially hot LZ; not a truly hot landing zone, but it could be. At least for the most part, they were only worried about the Zeds and not taking small arms fire, but if they had another group like the bikers in Texas, it could go sideways very quickly. With only the two of them, they would do better to avoid conflict that could be that intense, as they probably wouldn’t fare well.

  After a couple of deep breaths, Chivo focused on their task at hand. Andrew would handle the fueling, and he would provide security. It was a good arrangement that made perfect sense. Chivo scanned the landscape; it was stunningly beautiful, as Montana tended to be, and patches of snow still glistened in the sun, although it had begun to melt a little. Andrew banked and pulled power, the nose of the Husky pitching downward slightly, and Chivo felt the descent for landing in his seat more than anywhere. Another glance out the window toward the east and something caught his eye. They were still about 5,000 feet above the ground and descending, but Chivo saw what looked like an MRAP parked next to a ranch-style home. That was where they needed to go and it was only a few miles away. Chivo scanned the area again, memorizing details so he could find it easily after they took off again, and returned his focus to where they were going to land.

  Andrew was going to land on the highway. A tanker truck was shining in the sunlight, a smattering of cars and pickup trucks near it. They had no idea what was actually in the tanker. It could have been fertilizer or it could be diesel and anything in between, but even if the tanker was a bust for a fuel stop, they should be able to scavenge gas from the other vehicles.

  Snow flew into the air as they touched down, blown by the powerful propeller and kicked up by the tundra tires bouncing to terra firma, but soon, Andrew had spun the plane for a quick exit and turned the engine off. The area was quiet and still, nothing moved. Chivo pulled his shemagh over his face against the cold wind and climbed out of the cabin. He took a few quick steps away from the aircraft and took position behind a Subaru after glancing inside to check for Zeds or hostiles. After a few minutes, both he and Andrew were confident that they were alone for the moment and they got to work. Andrew retrieved a fuel can out of the plane and poured the contents into the wing tank. With a length of garden hose, Andrew went in search for more gas. The tanker had the wrong placards to be gasoline, and Andrew wasn’t sure what the
tanker held, but it didn’t matter because it wasn’t gas. Beginning with the car next to the tanker, Andrew unscrewed the gas cap and pushed the garden hose down the filler neck. Chivo walked over.

  “Hang on; let me show you something Bexar showed me.”

  Chivo pulled on the back passenger’s door handle and was surprised to find the car unlocked. A few seconds later, the bottom of the backseat was out of the car and thrown on the roof of the car. Shortly after that, the fuel pump was unscrewed, leaving easy access to the gas in the tank. There wasn’t any dope in the fuel tank, which would have been funny, but there was about a half of a tank of gas. It took four vehicles to siphon gas from, but soon the Husky was full, Andrew’s fuel can was full, and they were ready to fly off.

  Before climbing into the aircraft, Chivo pointed the direction he had seen the MRAP. “I think that is the one. It appeared to be a launch facility and there was an MRAP parked out front. Even if it isn’t the one we’re looking for, someone is or was there and it’s worth checking out.”

  Andrew agreed and a few moments later, they were airborne and climbing out toward their destination. They climbed to about 1,500 feet AGL and flew by the MRAP offset by about a mile so they could check it out and be out of range of small arms fire. Besides the MRAP, there was a big green heavy-duty truck-tractor that looked like something out of a Mad Max movie, but Chivo recognized it as a truck used in the recovery of armored trucks in theater. It was basically a semi-truck with armor and more axles, and it sat next to two large silver tanker trailers. Those were off to the side of the facility, but still inside the fence. The MRAP sat on the paved apron next to the above-ground, house-looking building.

  The road that passed in front of the facility was small, but it appeared well built. Andrew banked and descended to land on the roadway after making a few orbits of the facility so Chivo could evaluate their target.

  Once on the ground, Andrew turned the aircraft for a quick departure and put chocks on the tires. There wasn’t anywhere to tie down, so they hoped that it wouldn’t be too windy until they had a chance to better secure the aircraft later.

  “What are we going to do? Go over the fence? Go through the fence? I have some small bolt cutters in the plane.”

  Chivo smiled and shook his head. “No, we have to assume that all the security systems are still functional. There’s nothing that will hurt us above ground, but there are many alarms and sensors, so they would know we were there. I think we’re better off knocking on the front door.”

  “What are we going to say? ‘Hi, we’re here to kill secret agent man and secure the nuclear weapons’ or are you going to try to sell them a magazine subscription?”

  With a smile, Chivo responded, “No, but you are.”

  Andrew looked surprised, but listened as Chivo laid out his plan. It was simple but might work.

  ***

  Dorsey looked up at the monitor mounted on the wall near the desk. The desk was covered with one of the rack mount electronic components, which was in a state of disassembly. He was in the middle of the process of changing the system to allow a rogue launch. Not that it would; without fully understanding the process or the safeties against an unauthorized launch that were involved, the former fighter pilot had a vague idea as to what some of the systems did, but not all of them.

  Clint walked near Steve Dorsey and stared at the man on the screen. The man was talking, but they couldn’t hear anything inside yet. Steve pressed a button on the console and a speaker crackled to life.

  “I’m hungry, lost, and need help. Any help you can give me, anything, and I’ll be on my way. I’m trying to get to Wyoming.”

  The man had the look of someone who used to weigh more and had lost the weight quickly; his cheeks were gaunt and his eyes tired. The man kept pressing the call button and persistently asked for help.

  Clint’s expression didn’t change, but he sighed when the man began shaking the gate and pleaded for help, nearly in tears. “Go topside, give him a case of MREs out of my MRAP, and make him leave. If he doesn’t leave, kill him. If you can’t kill him, I’ll come kill him.”

  There was no emotion in Clint’s voice, only minor annoyance, which gave Dorsey chills.

  Steve nodded, slung his leather shoulder holster, and walked toward the staircase that led into the surface. He hadn’t realized that Clint kept supplies in the MRAP; he hadn’t had the opportunity to go in that truck and dig around. Inside the topside facility, Dorsey flipped through the different camera views. He hadn’t dared while next to Clint just in case it was a responding force. It wouldn’t have mattered, the only camera feed that still worked was the one by the gate, which was strange because the other cameras had been working just the previous afternoon.

  After slinging his M4, which he kept topside, Dorsey cracked open the door and walked outside. The man by the gate waved with both arms over his head, excited to have someone to help when Dorsey heard a voice behind him. “OK, Colonel, do not turn around, do not move. I’m here on orders from President Lampton. What did Clint send you up here to do?”

  “That’s lieutenant colonel, and I’m supposed to give that man a case of MREs or kill him.”

  “I would suggest you give him the MREs then.”

  Dorsey didn’t turn around; he stepped off the landing and walked toward the MRAP. It was full of cases of MREs, green ammo cans, a couple of wooden crates, and bottled water. Dorsey retrieved the MREs and walked toward the gate. Once at the gate and in view of the camera, the gate opened, activated by Clint on the inside.

  “Here you go, buddy. This is all we have that we can give. I hope it helps you get to Wyoming.”

  Andrew smiled nervously at Dorsey. “Oh, it’s more of a help than you can imagine!”

  With the case of MREs in his arms, Andrew shook Dorsey’s hand, turned, and walked toward his airplane. Dorsey smiled; the yellow Husky stood out of the beautiful landscape like a neon sign and was the most gorgeous thing Dorsey had seen since he landed his fighter back at base and nearly out of fuel late in the afternoon of December 26th.The gate closed behind him as Dorsey walked back toward the main building and the man standing in the shadows. While making the short walk back, Dorsey evaluated the man, whose name he didn’t know yet. He was short and not overly muscular, but contrary to the movies, most of the Tier-1 operators he had ever met were under six foot and compact. They were guys who didn’t know how to quit and what they might have lacked in size or strength they made up with effort and aptitude.

  The man flashed a quick smile at Dorsey and shook his hand as he opened the door to the interior. Chivo held up a finger, gently took the door from Dorsey, and closed it softly.

  “How many are there?” Chivo asked with a barely audible whisper.

  “Just the guy called Clint and myself.”

  “Good, how is he armed?”

  “Only a sidearm when I left.”

  “OK. This man is probably the most dangerous man you’ve ever met. Take me to where he is.”

  Chivo quickly outlined a plan that was so stupidly simple that Dorsey was sure it would fail.

  Pecos, Texas

  After the building lowered and the entrance had closed and they were fully enclosed underground, Bexar followed the directions and parked near the end of the rows of military vehicles. Some were quite impressive, armored and hulking in the shadows of the dimly lit parking area. At the end, Bexar found what was a cross between a golf cart and a John Deere Gator plugged into a charging station. It was similar to the motorized carts used inside the terminal of a large airport. He helped Jessie out of the FJ, her ankle still horribly swollen and throbbing in pain. After helping her to the seat on the motorized cart, Bexar laughed as he consulted a map of the cavernous facility, with a big red “YOU ARE HERE” dot, like they were at some large shopping mall.

  “Where to first, babe?”

  Bexar took
one last glance at the map before driving into the dim rows full of boxes, crates, and gear. “Medical supplies first. We’ve got to get something done about your ankle before we do anything else.”

  The electric motor whined, the tires squeaking on the polished concrete floor. Dust covered a lot of the shelves and boxes, making it obvious that this was a seldom if ever used facility, or even visited often. He knew that Chivo and his crew used this facility to resupply on their way to Big Bend. Some of their trash and boxes were piled up near where the carts were stored and charged, but that might of been the very first time the facility had been used in that manner.

  “This place is nuts. I wonder how many of these there are?”

  “Malachi used to say these were all over the United States. He called them inland cache or supply or something like that. I never believed him, but it looks like he was right.”

  “I mean, this is in fucking nowhere West Texas. Seems odd.”

  “Well, it is away from the border, it is on a major interstate, and there is probably a rail line very near. If another country invaded from the south, this would be a great spot to support the front line.”

  “Maybe we should just live here?”

  Bexar smiled. “That thought had crossed my mind, but for all the supplies, it would suck living here. We couldn’t live completely underground forever. We would want to be on the surface often, and I never understood how early settlers decided that this part of Texas was where they would live. If it wasn’t for oilfield work, I don’t think anyone lives near Pecos on purpose.”

  “I bet some people did. Some probably love this area more than anywhere else.”