by Lund, Dave
Aisle C2 had a black and orange stripe painted in the middle of the row that appeared to run the length of the dark shelving units. Jason turned the wheel and followed the line to the right.
“God, we should leave breadcrumbs or something. This place is massive.”
“Maybe, but isn’t that how the witch tracks you down to eat you?”
“No, that road is yellow and bricked,” Erin said with a straight face. Her humor was dry, dry enough that Jason had to remind himself that she was often making a joke and not being weird, except that he liked her weirdness. Jason pinched her thigh, and Erin squealed and slapped his arm, her eyes smiling at him. Jason loved Erin. After he watched his wife die then reanimate, he really didn’t think he would love like this again. He glanced toward the dark concrete ceiling, took a breath, and whispered quietly in his thoughts.
Is this OK, my love? I miss you dearly. Is it too soon to love again?
Jason felt like he knew the answer and that his wife wanted him to love again and love soon. Life was already too precious, too fleeting before people stopped staying dead, and now life was much too fragile to do anything but love.
Erin squeezed his hand, sensing Jason’s internal conflict. Jason squeezed back and brought her hand to his face with a soft kiss. The cart stopped. They were at the end of the aisle and were looking at a cold concrete wall, but the dark grey wall wasn’t smooth; a large, heavy-looking metal door that appeared reinforced stood starkly against the smooth concrete surface.
“What do you think is in there?”
“I don’t know, Jason, but I do know there is only one way to find out.”
The door didn’t have a door handle like a house, but a handle to pull on and a metal latch that reminded Erin of doors on a ship. The latch flipped over with a hard tug, but it took both of them to pull the door open. The hinges glided effortlessly, but the door was so heavy it took a lot of force to get it moving. Thankfully, the door had thick hydraulic struts that slowed the door as it stopped and clicked all the way open. A narrow corridor stood before them, lights flickering to life one by one, fighting back the darkness.
“Wow. Erin, this looks like that secret area—”
Erin cut him off. “Yeah, it does, so be careful. We don’t know if there are any others back there or anywhere in here, really.”
“It really looked like the other vehicles in the garage area hadn’t moved in a while.”
“So fucking what, Jason? Survivors can’t be trusted; no one can be trusted but you and I, only each other. There could be people who walked here or their vehicle failed out on the highway. There are so many ways we could be walking into a trap. We play this straight until we know for sure we are alone.”
There was no use in arguing with her, so Jason retrieved his shotgun from the cart, Erin already holding her M4. They stepped through the blast-proof doorway and into the corridor. They left the door open behind them without really having a good reason why besides it felt wrong to close it. Slowly, they made their way along the corridor, expanded steel mats comprising the floor, piping and conduits visible below the metal floor. Massive springs were mounted along the walls every few feet.
“They’re serious. These springs are like what they have the internal structures mounted with at Cheyenne Mountain. That’s badass. I’ve only seen these on TV. I mean, I’m sure it was like this at Groom Lake, but I never saw it.”
Erin grunted. She didn’t really care and was more worried about what they would find through the smaller, yet still heavy metal hatch before them. Erin glanced over her shoulder at the door they had first come through then to Jason before unlatching the door and opening it. The room on the other side was dimly lit by red emergency lighting. As the door opened, lights began flickering to life, bathing the dark interior in humming electrical light. Nothing moved and the air inside was slightly stale. A heavy hum could be felt starting more than it could be heard, followed by a whoosh of air as the HVAC system apparently clicked on for the first time in a long while.
“That’s a good sign, Erin.”
She nodded and her shoulders relaxed slightly, a small amount of dust swirling in the room around them. The room before them was simply large even though the ceiling was low. Wide open with painted lines on the floor, it appeared to be setup to process hundreds of people. Chairs and tables were stacked against the far wall. A set of metal double doors stood on the opposite wall. Across much of the wall space were large patriotic murals and photographs of majestic patriotic places, like Mount Rushmore and the Washington Monument. Erin and Jason walked across the room and cautiously tried the set of doors on the opposite wall. The doors were not locked. The doors clicked into the open position and lights began turning on chasing away the darkness, revealing a long hallway with doors and openings along both sides.
“Further down the rabbit hole, my love?”
Erin gave Jason a sideways glance. He knew she was in the mode, but he couldn’t resist the joke.
Las Vegas, Nevada
“We only have about an hour of daylight left, Chief.”
Aymond nodded slowly, searching the scene ahead of them with binoculars. “There’s a fence break about a half klick ahead. Take us up there to check it out.” Aymond keyed the radio. “Stay put; we’re going to check our entry spot.” The M-ATV began forward with a lurch as they drove toward the damaged fence. After a few moments, Aymond keyed the radio again. “OK, all vehicles follow us through the hole in the fence.”
They were near the runways after emerging onto the air base. The PJ’s facilities were to their right and down a ways, but what they wanted were in hangars across the runways and near the flight line. With the feeling of being totally exposed, the convoy traveled quickly across the tarmac, across the runways, and to the flight line. A few dozen Zeds milled around near the hangars, but surprisingly, the undead population was light where they were. All of them knew that there had to be thousands and thousands of Zeds on base, many of them trapped inside by the perimeter fence and security measures. It only took a few minutes to break into the correct hangar. With only a short time to work, it was nearly dark by the time the group was able to push out the two aircraft that were partially disassembled for maintenance or repairs to make room for the convoy’s vehicles. That was as much as they would get accomplished for the day. For an unknown and uncontrolled facility, Aymond wasn’t willing to risk dealing with Zeds at night to locate the munitions storage and begin organizing for the return trip. For his team’s safety, that work would have to begin at first light.
CHAPTER 17
April 18, Year 1
Groom Lake
Low clouds blotted out the stars, the moon, and any hint of impending twilight for the approaching day. The air was still, not even a breath of a breeze coming from the desert down to the lookout position on the heavy metal container-made-wall. Below ground, the last two days have been filled with drills, fire drills with all hands on deck to fight a fire and rescue trapped persons; it reminded Hammer of being aboard ship. Depending on the skipper, the ship may not be even out into blue water before drills commenced. Besides fire drills were other drills that would be expected, like battle stations and attack and others that were new, like containing an outbreak.
A distance sound grew in volume and intensity from a faint whistle to a full scream of protest.
“Fuck!”
Hammer keyed the radio. “MORTARS!”
He had just barely finished the radio transmission with the far corner of the CONEX wall exploded in hard thump, punctuated by the sound of twisting, ripping metal. Hammer knew the sound much too well. More mortars fell, the air ripped asunder by the blast of a klaxon horn emanating from the facility below ground and more falling rounds. The front gate and wall still stood, but the high-explosive rounds walked across the wall, tearing huge gaps in their protection from assault. More rounds fell, this time insi
de the courtyard as people ran to take fighting positions for the impending assault. These rounds appeared to be white phosphorus, bodies of men and women not blown off their feet erupting in flames as they staggered and fell.
Hammer scanned the edge of the mountains near where the first PLA observation post was found before and then the edge of the lakebed for where the mortar crews might be. The landscape glowed green in his NODS. Rounds continued to fall in the courtyard. Hammer lay prone at his still intact fighting position and picked up a FLIR scope. After flipping the NODS on his helmet up, Hammer powered the scope and scanned the same areas. This time in the darkness, the heat of mortar tubes glowed, blooming brightly with each launch, the bodies of the crews glowing early in the cool spring air. Hammer radioed the attacker’s positions, which was relayed below ground by the repeater erected by Bill with the rest of the VHF communication gear below ground still wired to antennas above. The next round fell true, ripping Hammer’s fighting position to pieces, along with his body, thankfully leaving a corpse that wasn’t able to reanimate.
As suddenly as the onslaught had begun, the air fell silent. Bodies on fire popped and burned where the WP rounds had fallen in the courtyard. Kirk made it topside, scanned the scene, and sprinted toward the front gate and wall.
“We need men and women topside to repair and fight. We may not have much time. Guys, check in.”
“Davis.”
“Snow.”
“Chuck.”
Silence.
Kirk went toward where Hammer’s position was and found the mangled remains of his body mixed with the twisted metal of the destroyed CONEX he had been on.
“Hammer is KIA. Snow, lead the repair party; Snow and Chuck, secure the perimeter.”
Three “rogers” were the replies followed by Major Pearce. “Kirk, we are going to fly out to Nellis to protect the Hogs, and we don’t have a hardened bunker.”
“Whatever, Major,” Kirk replied, annoyed. Those planes were worthless to him without any armament.
And so are the pilots, Kirk thought. He had more important tasks at hand.
“Incoming,” an unknown voice yelled from across the courtyard. The first bone-jarring crunch of an exploding round mixed with the yelling. Kirk sprinted and slid to a stop hard against the metal wall, finding what little cover he had. Shrapnel hit the metal container just above his head with hard pings.
Kirk keyed the radio. “TURTLE, TURTLE!”
A moment later, a different horn sounded, the get-below-ground and get-secure horn. They were going to lock down the facility and try to get teams up through some of the more remote escape hatches. Small arms fire erupted around him, and Kirk realized that much of the wall he was hiding behind no longer existed. After a quick glance, Kirk rose off the ground, took aim, and began engaging the approaching PLA forces. After killing three combatants, a heavy machine gun answered his effort, ripping through the metal of the CONEX and through Kirk’s body armor.
The loud whining scream of jet turbines in the distance filled the small pockets of silence punctuated by gunfire and explosions.
“No roll out, just fucking punch it and go, Hoose.”
Major Pearce looked at her gauges as she ran up the engines, trying to get them to operating temperature quickly, taxiing through the shadows out of the hangar next to the battle. Her lights were off and she hoped no one noticed them, but she knew better. She heard rounds impacting her aircraft. Pearce glanced at the gauges. “Fuck it.” She pushed the engines to full throttle. Still under temp, this wasn’t good for the engines or generating power, but it was all she had.
Barely off the ground she retracted the landing gear and stayed low as she flew south, trying to give the enemy forces less time to shoot at her as she passed. If she had just a handful of JDAMs or even just a full drum of ammo for her big Gatling gun, then she could make a difference, but she didn’t. All she could do is turn and run and it burned painfully in the pit of her stomach for doing so.
A couple of warning lights glowed in the dark cockpit, but Pearce knew her plane well and was confident she could make it to Nellis. She glanced over her shoulder and saw the dark shadow of Hoose followed by a glowing streak racing toward them.
“Fuck!”
Major Pearce keyed the radio. “SAM!”
Pearce slammed the control to the right while releasing flares and chafe, turning sharply. From the cockpit, it looked like she might drag a wingtip on the desert floor and there were mountains racing up toward her, but Pearce was calm, her eyes scanning her path as she banked hard the other direction. She glanced over her shoulder at where Hoose’s aircraft should be in time to see the SAM explode, taking most of his starboard wing with it. Hoose’s A-10 seemed to hang impossibly suspended in time and space before it tumbled and cart-wheeled in a fireball across the desert floor and into a building.
Anger burned hot in the pit of her stomach. Even after flying and fighting in Iraq and Afghanistan, she hadn’t been this upset. A single sob escaped her outwardly cool demeanor before Pearce took a deep breath and focused on flying to Nellis so she could arm up and fly back to Groom Lake.
I’m going to kill each and every one of those motherfuckers.
North of Hillsboro, TX
A small diesel engine had a distinct sound, especially one that wasn’t exactly new with all the emissions control. Ken blinked. He was tired, he was dehydrated, he was cold, and he was now really confused. Trapped on the roof of a manufactured home, Ken wasn’t exactly having a good journey to find the facility where the president now resided. No, the trip from Crockett had been a complete disaster, if not for being rescued.
The rattling noise of an engine grew closer. Ken took a peek over the edge of the roof at his truck still in the middle of the highway. The two dozen Zeds that still congregated around the manufactured home, pawing at the walls, all turned and began shuffling toward the approaching vehicle. Ken tried to swallow but had difficulty. During the previous night, he had come to terms with dying on top of the manufactured home. He worried about his corpse reanimating after he died, but Ken couldn’t bring himself to completely give up and eat a bullet.
Blurry-eyed, Ken saw an old beat-up Mercedes diesel sedan roll to a stop. It looked like a movie villain’s car from a 1980s action movie, complete with the deeply tinted windows. The car stopped, and two men climbed out. Both wore tie-dye shirts, had long hair and beards. One man began pulling stuff out of his pocket while the other yelled, waved his hands, and began walking up the highway. Zeds in view all turned their heads toward the new people. If they hadn’t already, the rest began to follow the man yelling and waving his hands like some sort of perverse pied piper.
The other man who had been digging items out of his pockets moved and Ken could see a slingshot in his hand. The man lit a firecracker and launched it with the slingshot. The pop sounded louder than Ken thought it should, thinking it sounded more like a rifle shot than a firecracker. A dozen yards away, the man who had been yelling and waving his arms stood as still as a statue while the Zeds turned toward the exploding firecracker. A few minutes later, the Zeds were herded away from the Mercedes, away from Ken’s truck, and away from the manufactured home. Ken mustered his strength, emboldened by the strangers about to loot his truck. He slid off the far side of the roof to the ground with a muffled grunt. Ken snuck around the side of the home and watched the men walk up to his truck. He waited; Ken wanted to believe that they were concerned that someone might be in the cab and trapped. To his surprise, the men checked the cab first. He could tell they were talking, but they were apparently whispering so he couldn’t hear what was being said. After checking the cab, the men looked around for where the owner might be. It occurred to Ken that they might know the area really well and they might know that his truck is a new addition.
Unable to find the driver, the men began looking in the bed of the truck. They were just begi
nning to open the aluminum cases when Ken stepped onto the road near the men’s Mercedes.
“You two, stop there!”
Ken stood with his rifle ready, but with the muzzle held low. The men spun around, shocked and surprised to find a stranger standing by their car with a rifle.
“Hey, man, be easy, man. We can split it with you since we got the zombies to stagger off for a bit.”
Ken looked around and saw that the Zeds were not staying away; all within sight had zeroed back in on them and were converging.
“Guys, look, my truck is in a bad way. That gear is my gear and the longer we stay here, the more likely we all die from the Zeds. So I can kill you both and take your car or we can quickly load what we can into your car—do you have a secure place near here?”
“Yeah?”
The other man started giggling.
“What’s his deal, guy?”
“He is Keith, I’m Carl, and he’s laughing for how outrageous all of this is. Just a few months ago, things were more normal. It’s like a bad fucking trip, man, except that we never get to come down off it, so why not laugh at the absurdity of what man has done to itself?”
Ken looked from the men to the closest Zeds, turned, and raised his rifle. A single shot echoed off their surroundings, the nearest Zed’s skull ripping open as it collapsed to the ground.
“Shit, man, that was a person, man.”
“OK, then you stay here and hug it out with all the other persons walking up to say hi; I’m getting the fuck out of here. Or are you guys going to help me get my stuff and we can all go together?”
“Come on, Keith, get the zombies off our ass and then give me a hand to get this stuff put in the trunk.”