by Lund, Dave
Bexar smiled and held Jessie’s hand. They had been driving for some time before they turned to travel down a long row of shelves. It was as if someone had taken two full-sized Costco stores, put them underground, and filled them with all the weapons and supplies of war.
“If you see an employee, could you flag them down and ask where the family-sized vat of dish soap is kept?”
Jessie stared at Bexar for a moment and began laughing; his comment was so unexpected it took a few moments for her brain to catch up.
“Screw dish soap. I think we should take this time to finish our baby registry; this seems like our kind of store.”
Bexar laughed for a moment. “Maybe there are humanitarian supplies here. If there are, then maybe there are diapers and formula and such.”
“There is the baby stuff in the FJ that I picked up before getting to Groom Lake.”
“Yeah, that’s a good start, but we’re going to need…” Bexar was trying to figure out the number of diapers a month they would need. His mind spun with numbers and could only think of four diapers a day for three years, which didn’t seem right, and it seemed low.
“So if this baby uses four diapers a day—”
Jessie cut him off. “Don’t even start; the number is too overwhelming. We will probably need to do cloth diapers, but then we’ll need to wash them. However, we will still want some disposable diapers too; I know we’ll end up needing and using them. Formula is the big one. I’m planning on breastfeeding as much as I can, but I want to be ready in case we need to supplement, especially since we’re not going to be able to pump and freeze the milk this time. Christ, this is why there used to be wet nurses.”
They reached the shelf location the map indicated for medical supplies and found massive stacks of crates, boxes, and other bags and containers. Some of the boxes were labeled well, some not so much, only with numbers and letters instead of an actual name of some sort. After 10 minutes of searching, Bexar found readymade medical kits, what he would refer to as “bail-out kits” if he was in charge of marketing. Regardless as to what they were called, the large case held four duffels with various supplies for treating problems ranging from traumatic injury like gunshot wounds to sunburn and seemingly everything in between. The case had a manual with instructions, a guide of sorts showing what was in each bag and what you needed for most typical injuries and how to treat them. It seemed like the case was designed to be dropped or given to civilians or untrained persons and Bexar was impressed. Two of the cases came off the shelf and onto the back of the cart to take back to the FJ; a third case was opened on the floor and left there when they were done. Before they drove off in the cart, though, Bexar wrapped Jessie’s ankle and activated an instant ice pack, which was wrapped onto her ankle as well. The rest of the instant ice packs in the open kit were taken out and placed on the cart along with an ankle splint, an ankle brace, more ACE bandage, and the entire bag of medications. That bag was in a duffle bag about the size of a loaf of bread and it contained a bit of everything including antibiotics and morphine. Luckily, it had Tylenol too, since that was all that Jessie should take being pregnant as far as they knew.
“How are you doing, baby? Do you want to ride in the cart while I go shopping to re-up our gear and ammo or do you want to take a break at the front?”
“I’d rather ride with you,” Jessie said, smiling.
After dropping the medical gear by the FJ and checking the facility map again, they held hands as they drove through the seemingly endless rows of gear, stopping when they reached a row and shelf location. Jessie sat and watched, her sprained ankle resting on the dash, elevated slightly, while Bexar pulled crates and boxes, opening them and inspecting the contents. It seemed like a slow process, but neither of them knew for sure. There were no clocks that they could see; they had no watches and no other way to tell time. For all they knew, they could have been underground for an hour or a week; they had no idea. That thought gave Jessie an idea though.
“We should see if we can find a box with watches in it; the same for GPS devices, batteries, and all the other electronic gear we could want. All of this stuff should still work, shouldn’t it?”
“Yeah, it should have been protected underground like this, but I would be surprised if it didn’t though.”
Nevada
It wasn’t that it was a bad drive for the drive per se—this was turning into a bad drive due to everything else besides the Zeds. The interstate was basically clear, cars pushed to the side of the road, overturned by herds of Zeds; even the big semi-trucks were pushed to the side. That made the driving easier, having to dodge bodies and random debris, but that made life harder when it came to finding fuel to scavenge for the big, thirsty MRAP. So far, they had figured that they had about a 300-mile range, which Erin assumed was great for war, but sucked for cross-country interstate driving.
Mesquite, Nevada was a ghost town. It looked like it had been nearly one before the change, but neither of them had been there before, much less heard of the town before. If there were any survivors left in the town, they didn’t see them or any sign of them. It appeared that most of the Zeds were gone too. It was eerie and unsettling when they stopped, like an old episode of the Twilight Zone. They were able to top off their fuel, though, so that made stopping worth the effort.
Soon they had entered the southern reaches of St. George, Utah. Bexar had told her and Jason about Guillermo and Angel; they sounded like good people, not that Erin cared about them as people. No, if Bexar thought they were good people, then they might give them a place to rest, fuel, and eat for a night on the way through. The afternoon was getting late and that was the best option they had, besides the typical random building they usually chose.
Part of the interstate was scorched; there had been a battle, a fire. A burned-out hull of an old pickup sat in the center median. Erin sat in the passenger seat, leaned up, and looked out of the thick windows trying to remember the details of where to find Guillermo’s compound.
“Stop. We need to go up that hill.” Erin pointed out the driver’s side window. Jason nodded. The center barrier still partially stood and he wasn’t willing to chance damaging the truck or getting the cabling wrapped up in the driveline to cross it. He drove northward until reaching an exit. Jason took the exit and drove under the bridge. There they found another smashed and burned pickup truck. Jason looked up at the bridge as he turned and it appeared the truck had driven off the edge. He shook his head, wondering if the person in the truck had survived or if they only lived long enough to become a Zed and shamble away.
Now southbound on the feeder road, they passed hundreds of homes. There was movement between the homes in the long shadows as they stretched across the landscape. Jason turned and drove up the narrow road toward the hilltop and took the last driveway on the right.
The scene that they found wasn’t what they had hoped for. The buildings that had been there were burned, and what appeared to be recently dug graves stood in contrast to the destruction. A large forklift was overturned and appeared pock-marked from small arms fire. The fence that appeared to have stood around the property was also damaged and no longer useful.
“Fuck,” Erin muttered as she climbed out of the MRAP.
Jason was silent, but agreed with his love’s sentiment. He shut off the engine and climbed out as well. After a few moments of exploration and investigation, they had deduced that the PLA had attacked and killed everyone.
“Who do you think dug the graves? The Koreans?”
“I would be surprised if they had, Jason. That doesn’t seem like them.”
“What do you want to do?”
Erin looked at the horizon where the sun had just dropped below and the sky burned a dark red with the coming twilight. “We should stay here. It’s too late for us to safely find and clear another place. We can sleep in the truck and figure things out in the morning.”
Jason nodded. “I’m going to get the truck turned around in case we need to leave in a hurry, and then I’m going to set out our new defensive measures.”
Erin smiled at Jason and walked off to explore the grounds a little more thoroughly. Jason turned the MRAP around and began setting out the claymores; the clackers would be run into the truck where they would sleep taking turns. If they were attacked during the night, the first response would be to detonate the claymores then to immediately drive through the carnage to escape. Jason wasn’t sure if that was the right way to set a defensive position—in fact, he was quite sure it wasn’t—but it was the best they could come up with. So far, they had survived through sheer will of luck, and they would continue to hope their luck held.
Once their camp for the night was set, they shared a quiet dinner comprised of MREs before Erin kissed Jason goodnight. He had the first watch and she needed to get some sleep before it was her turn.
“Baby, we should raid an outdoors store and pick up some hammocks to hang up back here. That would be much mo’ better.”
“Like a Bass Pro Shop or something?”
“Or an REI. I have no idea. It’s just a thought.”
“OK, sweetie, good night. I’ll wake you up in four hours.”
Jason climbed through the roof hatch to sit on the roof for a while, alternating between watching for any threats and star gazing. The night’s cool air could be felt gently blowing into the truck from the open roof hatch. Jason’s view of the driveway and the approach glowed in the moonlight, the stars overhead shining brightly.
When the light of these stars began their journey, the dead didn’t stand up and walk…when the light of some of these stars began their journey, the human race hadn’t evolved yet, much less fell to near extinction.
Jason’s mind continued to wander as he laid back to have a better look at the night sky.
Groom Lake
Aymond surveyed the firebase, which is how he thought of the above-ground portion of the facility. The work that his men and the civilians had completed was nothing less than spectacular. Big metal CONEX boxes made two concentric rings, which were actually squares because the boxes were shaped like outsized Lego blocks. The security construction for the walls and fighting positions were nearly complete, not that they would ever be actually completed. There were always changes and improvements to be made, but they were quickly near being in a position of having good defenses for the next attack.
There was no question about it, everyone in Groom Lake knew they would be attacked again. They knew it would involve more troops and heavier firepower, they just didn’t know when, so it was a race against the clock. Aymond continued to stroll around the outer perimeter. The Zed problem wasn’t much of a problem here for the moment, but just like being in the Stan, he wore his kit and was fully armed just in case. Yelling coming from the other side of the metal wall snapped his attention back into focus.
“Chief! Bandits inbound!”
Aymond ran toward the entry, his eyes and head swiveling, looking for the approaching aircraft. The sky toward the east was growing dark, the sun hanging just over the edge of the mountains toward the west. Squinting, he could faintly see what one of the sentries had seen, two aircraft flying in formation descending with the sun at their backs.
“Get the fucking Stingers up! Everyone else, get below ground!” Aymond yelled as he cleared the entry. The entry was basically a tunnel made out of the containers, with another that slid into place to block entry after Aymond cleared it.
People were running toward the entrance, which was also capped with containers and heavily reinforced with what seemed to be hundreds of filled sandbags. His Marines stood ready, armed. Select civilians that they had trained stood ready with a half-dozen Stinger missiles, ready to engage. Oreo, Andrew’s dog, ran up to Aymond and trod alongside, seemingly aware of the serious situation that was unfolding. Aymond scratched Oreo’s ears quickly before returning his hand to his rifle.
“Chief, they look like fucking A-10s!”Happy stood behind cover, binoculars to his face.
“Roger! Everyone hold fire until we can confirm!”
The pair of aircraft seemed to hang in the air and didn’t appear to be moving at all. Around him, Aymond could hear the electronic tone of a missile lock emitting from some of the Stingers that were aimed and ready to fire. The aircraft immediately broke formation left and right, wings banking over and diving for the safety of the mountains. Some of the tones were extinguished as the people aiming them tried to regain a lock.
As much as the aircraft seemed to hang motionless before, they seemed to be flying impossibly fast as they screamed by. Each taking a side of the firebase, they flew a simulated strafing run at incredible speed, diving even closer to the ground before banking and pulling out of the dive, splitting away from each other and away from the people. The aircraft were indeed A-10s and the markings were USAF.
“SAFE THE STINGERS!” Aymond yelled as the ear-splitting scream of the big twin turbines faded slightly.
Aymond climbed on top of the outer wall and waved both his arms over his head. One of the Thunderbolts orbited out of range while the other flew near once again, wagging its wings as confirmation of signal. The lead aircraft climbed and banked over sharply, ordnance clearly visible hanging under the wings. After banking out, the aircraft leveled, the landing gear lowered, and it landed on the ridiculously long runway. The second Thunderbolt in the flight followed and the pair taxied toward the firebase.
“Happy, Gonzo, you’re with me. Someone get below and shake Jones out of his rack to come up here. Hammer and Kirk, you have overwatch. Fucking waste them and make sure they never fly again if things go tits up.”
The heavy CONEX gate slid open just wide enough to let the trio out of the protection of the outer wall. The high loud whine of the big turbine engines stopped. The silence seemed louder than before with the absence of noise assaulting everyone’s ears. The canopies opened and the built-in ladder extended from the fuselage of both aircraft. Two pilots in dirty flight suits climbed to the tarmac cautiously. Aymond gave them space, worried that crowding the pilots might cause undue anxiety.
Jones climbed out of the underground facility to face the waning daylight, excited and surprised at what he had been told. The Marine Corps didn’t have A-10s, so he had never worked on one, but he would do what he could, if needed. After clearing the shipping container gate and stepping out onto the ramp, he saw them. Like angry wasps sitting on the tarmac, the aircrafts looked ready to kill at a moment’s notice. Jones knew that if the massive GU-8 gun was out of ammo that there would be nothing he could do, especially in Groom Lake. For all the awesome things this facility had, A-10s was not one he had seen…although he did have a grand time crawling around the “red squadron” of foreign aircraft, especially the SU-27 that they found in the hangar behind theirs. Aymond stood on the tarmac with what appeared to be the pilots. Walking closer, Jones began to hear snippets of their conversation.
“Yes, sir, but everyone just calls me Chief, a nickname I was given when I was a young Marine and first attending jump school.”
“Who is running this base? We expected to find someone at Tonopah, but didn’t and so we decided to come here, hoping that there was some JP-8 on hand. We’ve found some survivors, but nothing really organized yet.”
“I’m in command of this facility by order of the president.”
The taller pilot laughed. “The president? Our understanding is that the president was killed in Denver. We saw the wreckage of Air Force One.”
“You get around. I haven’t been to Colorado since the attack. President Amanda Lampton, formerly the SecAg, is our new commander-in-chief.”
Aymond continued the explanation and back story in the curt and quick explanation devoid of emotion that comes from experience in the profession of fighting for your country.
“No, none. We have no assets in place except for a loose correlation of civilian survivors operating archaic radios made of used car parts. So far, they have reported some instances of what we believe to be reconnaissance elements, but no main forces except for what we fought in San Diego.”
Major Pearce looked at Captain Hoose, her eyes burning with a hard intensity. “If we could get re-armed, we could knock the bastards down a few pegs. We’ve been hopping from airfield to airfield trying to find any.”
Jones stood at ease just behind Aymond. The world may have ended but he wasn’t going to break the military protocol that he had lived his life by. Aymond saw Jones approach and gave him a slight nod.
“Major, this is Jones, a mechanic we picked up at China Lake. I would like to offer his assistance to anything your aircraft needs. Jones, what are the chances we can re-arm their aircraft here?”
“Can’t happen here, Chief. We haven’t seen any ordnance we could hang off the wings, and we sure as shit don’t have any rounds for that big Gatling on the nose.”
Aymond nodded. “Major Pearce, where would we need to go to find what you need?”
CHAPTER 13
April 16, Year 1
SSC
Morning sun glowed yellow through the light fog and the trees. It was a beautiful Texas spring morning. Amanda wiped her palms on her pant legs. The AC was turned up in the cab of the heavy front-end loader, but that wouldn’t help her keep cool right now; she was too nervous. Eric was in the tree line about a half mile up the way toward the highway, his son remaining down below watching a movie on DVD in the Rec Room. It was almost like nothing had happened. If they had been a family, they could be out mowing the lawn on a spring morning with their son watching TV in the living room, except that they weren’t married, that wasn’t Amanda’s son, and she was working in her “yard” waiting for someone to shoot at her again. The last part was the clincher. The dusty impact marks on the up-armored heavy equipment, on the thick glass of the cab, were clearly visible, and the entire situation was more unnerving now than it was when she was originally being shot at.