by John Ringo
Kaplan referred to unpainted concrete building that bore a large blue TVA logo across the top floor. The three-story structure resembled a blockhouse. Behind it, enclosed in a smaller fenced area, was a large complex of masts, wires and high power lines.
“Well, we aren’t getting across that dam unless we use the trucks,” Robbins said appraisingly. “Lotsa zombies, but it looks like there is a watch tower and a heavy fence. I think that we can make it.”
“That’s not what I mean,” Kaplan said. “No infected in view on the far side of the fence. No broken windows, all the doors are shut, no fire damage. I hate to offer any optimism, but it actually looks intact. Might even be occupied.”
“Hmm,” Robbins raised his binoculars and leaned across the hood of a burned-out pickup while he scanned the far bank. “Yeah. It looks…intact. In fact, look over there, on the right side. The fence extends to the water line.” He continued to look before excitedly adding, “There’s a boat!”
“So…probably occupied,” replied Kaplan. He scratched his chin reflectively and looked at the scene a bit more. “I sure wouldn’t appreciate it if I’d gone to the trouble to set up a defense, maintain the electric plant and then some assholes crashed through my fence and made a ruckus big enough to draw every zombie for a mile in every direction.”
“How do we get in?” Robbins retorted. He gestured back towards their convoy where every able bodied adult was pulling security. “The easiest way in is straight through. Our collective ass is flapping in the wind out here!”
“We approach from the other side,” Kaplan said confidently. “We go around, probably upstream and make an approach. And we ask nicely.”
“Okay,” Robbins replied. “Only let’s not dally. How do you figure the other guys are doing?”
* * *
“We would be doing a lot better if Miss Eva would just grow a pair and turn us loose,” opined Dragon AKA Short Round, eliciting a quiet round of dirty sniggering. “Ain’t more than a couple of dudes staying just out of sight. Attack them again, in force, and we push right through. Cost us something, sure, but then we nail ’em! Then we can get back to camp and live a little better!”
A general round of assenting grumbles met his complaint. The Gleaner convoy had been playing cat to the harassers’ mouse. In addition to the man shot at the first bridge, they’d been forced to leave one truck behind when a sudden avalanche had catapulted heavy boulders onto the narrow mountain road. In exchange they had twice wasted ammunition hosing down the suspected locations of their tormentors, each time after only catching the merest glimpse of their enemy.
Circled up in a clearing well away from the main road, they were eating canned rations instead of the hot meals that were the norm in the main base. The intermittent autumn rain wasn’t helping morale, either.
“You volunteering to be the first guy in the charge?” Jason said. He didn’t expect an answer, and Short Round didn’t disappoint, choosing to stare at his bootlaces.
Jason looked over his shoulder at the command car where their leader was looking at two different maps. He hooked a thumb in her direction. “I think that Eva is doing exactly what Mr. Green directed. If she hadn’t stopped at the first bridge, their bomb could have wrecked half the convoy. We don’t even know how strong these guys are. They got unlucky twice. Push into them, on their ground, maybe their luck turns.”
“So what’s the point?” the ex-con said, grousing as he slid his blue-gloved hands along his rifle. “What we doing here?”
“We’re looking for where these assholes come from,” Jason said, trying for the confident tone that his old watch commander had used in the squad bullpen. “Then we push, or maybe go back for everyone else.”
“Hmmmf,” was Short Round’s only reply.
* * *
“Hnnnnng!” Tom tried to hold still as Pascoe fished around in his shoulder for a bit of a round that had fragmented against a rock where he sheltered before spitting metal slivers into his deltoid. “Stop playing with it and just get it outta me!”
“Heh heh,” Pascoe spit tobacco to one side, then resumed his work. “That’s what she said.”
“How you doing, Boss?” Junior said as he walked up. “Sounds kinda…bad.”
“Sssa!” Tom exhaled during a particular deep dig and glared at his helper. “It’s not bad. The armor kept the rounds out. I just caught some jacket metal and Dave here is playing at panning for gold.”
“You know, the more you keep talking and moving the harder this is for me,” the former SF medic said lightly. “I’m a little out of practice though, so I don’t mind trying a few times. Keeps my hand in, like.”
“Okay, I’ll hold sti—gahhhh,” Tom said as the probe returned to work. He resolutely declined to watch what Pascoe was doing. “Just finish already!”
“Anyhow, if we just set a really solid ambush, like I have been saying, we can riddle these dudes,” Robbins Junior said. He had been bending everyone’s ear about taking the offensive. “You don’t have to stay behind to get shot at every time.”
Tom glared sideways. He had tried for a second shot at the bridge and barely ducked in time avoid the large but thankfully diffuse storm of fire that their opponents had used to sweep the ridge where he lay.
“Not up for discussion,” Tom gritted out.
“But, I’m sure tha—” the younger man said as he tried to explain himself.
“What part of not now isn’t clear!” Tom twisted to face Junior. “Owwww!”
A renewed rush of blood stained the formerly white battle dressing that Pascoe had taped under the wound. Tom looked at it and then away, breathing through his nose.
“Is it supposed to bleed like that?” Junior said, observing with keen-eyed interest. “You look a little gray.”
Carefully only turning his head this time, Tom leveled a very flat stare on the younger man.
“Why don’t you check the perimeter again, shorty?” Pascoe said firmly. “We don’t want to distract the boss while I’m working. Besides, I might have to practice on you next if you keep this up.”
“Okay, okay,” Robbins Junior said, turning away. “I’m just trying to help. Dad has been teaching me this stuff for years. I swear…”
His grumbling faded as he stepped away.
“Kid might not be wrong, Train,” said Pascoe as soon as the teen was out of earshot. “Pick our ground, set up a nice kill zone, we could bloody their nose enough that they stop chasing.”
“Maybe, maybe not, Davey,” replied Tom. “If we’d a trained group instead of a teenager and Fat Ralph, if we weren’t risking Robbie’s kid, maybe I’d try. All it takes is one slip, one bad roll and we get gobbled up, even by amateurs like this.”
“Only room for one boss, and you’re it,” answered Pascoe. “Ooh, look! There’s a little more jacket metal in the muscle. Gimme!”
* * *
It was time for a shower and some sleep.
Paul stepped into his CHU. The heavy blackout drapes that he had improvised in order to make it easier to sleep during daylight hours were drawn shut. He quickly closed the door in order to preserve the cooler interior temperature and began to step across to the window to get some more light.
“Uunnh!” Paul grunted as he doubled over, absorbing a powerful blow across his abdomen.
He collapsed to one knee, but drove upwards into the direction of the attack, only to absorb another blow, from the rear this time, to his kidney. Excruciating pain momentarily prevented coherent thought.
Someone swept his legs from beneath him and he sprawled on his back. Heavy, painful weights pinned his wrists and shins. Dry fabric was shoved into his mouth, immediately starting a king-sized case of cotton mouth.
The drapes were swept open and he saw two “walk-ins,” both burly farmer types. One kneeled across both of Paul’s wrists, painfully mashing the small bones together. The second kneeled astride his ankles. Schweizer also stared at him, one booted foot braced against Paul’s hip.
“Shoulda taken the deal, Rune,” he said with a grim smile. “I don’t have to like this, but it is necessary. Sorry.”
Schweizer leaned down and delivered a short, chopping right to Paul’s temple. Amidst a shooting burst of pain and sparks, the world went gray for a moment. Distantly Paul felt some kind of restraints being applied to his wrists. As his vision sharpened, he watched Schweizer withdraw a flat, black plastic case from his jacket. He opened it to reveal a serried row of syringes. He withdrew one that was loaded with what looked like water.
Paul struggled mightily as he felt the sting of the needle.
A rush of heat flooded across his skin and his heart began to pound. He tried to turn his head towards Schweizer but his muscles stopped obeying—
* * *
“Okay guys, I got to go,” Kendra said as she pushed back her chair as her table companions made the usual farewells. Paul’s CHU was only a short walk away. Everyone had heard how the salvage team had returned, savaged from their last mission. She’d seen Paul, still in his blood-spattered equipment, go to meet Joanna. By now he would be finished.
He might appreciate it if she just stopped by to say hi. A friendly face. Nothing more.
Smiling, she left the dining facility and turned down the path towards his room.
Ahead, the door to the CHU exploded open, banging against the railing like a gunshot.
“Hold onto his feet, dammit!”
She could make out several men trying to control the spastic kicking and bucking of…Paul?
“What the fuck are you doing!” she yelled as she charged forward, just as Ken Schweizer blocked her way.
“He’s infected, Kendra! Stay back!”
She tried to dance around the outstretched arms of the taller man. She could see that Paul was gagged and his arms were tied but he was screaming into a gag and fighting his bonds. His skin was flushed, his eyes were hugely bloodshot and the Saint Joshua’s medal that she’d returned to him danced on its chain as the group struggled to manage him.
“He’s vaccinated!” she protested, trying to side step around him. “He can’t be infected!”
“Kendra!” Joanna said, materializing beside her. “Let them take him to the clinic. He needs help right now!”
“How did this happen?” Kendra yelled again, but then allowed Joanna to ease her aside as the team of men maneuvered Paul towards the clinic. He fought and kicked, but without any perceptible control or skill. As his gag slipped, he began trying to bite the men holding his arms, causing a brief panic till another man could get the familiar stiff fabric of a Kevlar snake bag over his head. Growls and yells emanated from the off-white sack as the group renewed their progress towards the medical office.
“Paul felt very guilty about the loss of the people on the vaccine supply run,” Joanna said as she slipped an arm around Kendra’s shoulders and steered her in the wake of the lurching group. “He knew how badly we needed vaccine for the recent arrivals. We had some vaccine of unknown quality that he had recovered earlier. On his own cognizance he elected to try it.”
“That doesn’t make sense!” Kendra said, watching the procession fight to get Paul into the double CHU that was the new dispensary. “He was already vaccinated. How would a new vaccination be judged good or not?”
“I told Paul that I did not agree, that we needed him more than ever,” explained Joanna. “He felt that it was safe enough since he was vaccinated. He expected the bona-fides of the recovered medicine would be apparent either way. No reaction would mean that the vaccine was either counterfeit or denatured from improper temperature storage. A very slight allergic reaction would mean that the vaccine was attenuated but sufficient to provoke the immune system.”
“So how is he sick?” Kendra almost yelled. “You saw that! It wasn’t either of those things!”
“Either what he injected himself with was a new strain of the virus or…” Joanna paused, appearing to consider a new, unpalatable possibility.
“Or what, damn it!”
“Or the vaccine that the bank made wasn’t that effective after all,” concluded Joanna.
* * *
“No physical evidence, understood ma’am,” Schweizer said. He didn’t click his heels, but the rigidity of his frame would have done credit to any Wehrmacht sergeant.
The figure at the desk sat in shadow. Methodically, she rapped a knuckle against the blotter.
Tap. Pause. Tap.
“Once you have disposed of the body, the displaced persons who aided you in Rune’s quarters will be assigned to high-risk duties, yes?”
“I’m running the security since Rune became ill, ma’am,” Schweizer assured Kohn. “It will be arranged.”
“Very good, Ken.” Tap, tap. “That is all.”
* * *
“Well, don’t that beat all?” said Eva. “Not exactly subtle, are they.”
There was a tangle of tree trunks dropped across the road. The green foliage and white heartwood visible betrayed the newness of the obstacle, which was layered over an old three-car wreck. The Gleaner convoy had stopped short of the crossroads that lay ahead. A few others stood behind her while the rest stayed mounted up.
“There’s a bit of a gap between the wrecks and that gas station,” said Jason as he scanned in turn. “We could squeeze the wrecker through that, and the rest can make it no problem.”
“Almost like they left that hole for us to use,” Eva said flatly, as she scanned ahead and then squinted at the sky. “The last two times they carefully hid explosives. Now they are practically waving a big sign that says ‘Easy place to drive through!’ That’s a hard pass, thank you.”
“So, what are we gonna do then, Miss Eva?” asked Short Round respectfully. “We could push right through that roadblock, if you want!”
“We’re gonna camp,” Eva said firmly. “Let’s go back a bit. We’ll stop just outside long rifle shot and build some fires. Finally eat some hot food. Let them see us relax. Then sometime after midnight, we are gonna set some of our folks in the vehicles while the rest go with me for a little walk.”
“In the dark?” asked a voice from the rear of the group. “Who’s crazy enough to go walking in the dark with zombies?”
“Exactly my point,” Eva said with a toothy grin. “I’m betting that our friends that prepared that innocent looking roadblock are going to wait to see what we are going to do in the morning.”
* * *
“Yeah, they aren’t moving,” said Junior. “Trucks are pulled up in a circle and looks like they are planning to settle in. Told you that we could have hit them at that last bridge. These trees are way too obvious.”
He handed the binoculars he was using to another rancher.
“I keep telling you Junior, the plan is to delay them for now,” Pascoe said wearily. “We’re buying time. If they want to camp, great. After we hold them for a night, we can scamper another five miles down the road and blow the bridge. By the time they detour around that, we should be at the bank’s camp.”
He looked over back downhill, but their vehicle was out of sight. Smith was fiddling with their radio since the distance to Site Blue was short enough that a transmission might get through.
In theory.
“Now go let Smith know what they are doing. We’re gonna have to keep an eye on them overnight.”
* * *
Jason had never spent any time in the military. Despite that lack, he was reasonably confident that their group would wake up everything within a hundred yards of the path. If their opponents had been made of dry sticks, the Gleaners would already rule the world, considering their unerring ability to loudly snap every single one in the state.
Thankfully, there was almost no talking. Or cigarette smoking. Eva had promised a painful death to any that fucked up and lived through the aftermath. Between that and the desire of their merry band of cutthroats to close with the little party that had been harrying the Gleaners for four days, the mood was upbeat and the
noise discipline as good as it was going to get.
Everyone was ready to get stuck in. Even Eva finally seemed optimistic.
Her instructions had been basic.
“No point in a fancy plan. We stay together so that we don’t end up ambushing ourselves or getting lost. Just have the guys walk up on the side where we think that those assholes are sleeping. As soon as we find them, we get in a long line and push forward, shooting. If they start shooting at us first, we just have everyone rush in and we use our numbers to roll over them. Meanwhile, the trucks push up the road. Keep the guys in the back from shooting the rest of us up front. Make them spread to the sides when the time comes, understand?”
She had also set Jason at the rear in order to ensure that no one strayed, either accidentally or deliberately, He couldn’t fault any of her logic.
Logic or no, it took a surprisingly long time to walk the half mile. The heavy cloud cover made for a dark night, so when the line jerked to a halt he naturally bumped into the man ahead of him.
Then he heard some loud shouts from the front of the column.
* * *
Junior and Pascoe had the midnight to two watch. Situated at the edge of a small copse overlooking the crossroads, the pair lay behind Junior’s leetle fren’. Although he had been teaching Smith and Ralph the manual of arms for the weapon, Junior remained the most proficient gunner for the antique machine gun.
It wasn’t unusual to hear the occasional zombie wander within hearing distance. This night was no different. A single infected, as far as they could tell, had drifted across their front a few times. So far, they had elected to let it pass unmolested. Lacking both a keen sense of smell and night vision, zombies were ineffective nighttime hunters, cuing on movement and sound. Simply keeping your nerve and holding still allowed the survivors to defer encounters with individual infected as well as small groups.
However, the noise level was picking up. It sounded like a larger group this time.
“What do you think?” Junior whispered, nudging Pascoe as the crunching drew closer. “Are they on the trail?”