by Tufo, Mark
“Yup.”
“And we’re going down there?”
“Yup.”
“For what?”
“Recon.”
“Again, for what? We’re looking at recon,” he said, shaking the picture.
I handed him another photo, this one from much further out.
“Mike?” he asked.
The picture looked like a Great Lake with all the tributaries pouring in. In this case, it was zombies.
“I don’t know why they’re coalescing, though I have a guess.”
“Dewey.”
“Most likely.”
“How many are we talking?”
“Look at the bottom right-hand corner.”
“It says over three million. Can that be right?”
“That’s what the software says. And more keep adding to it.”
“I don’t even need to ask where they’re headed, do I?”
“I mean, you can, if you want.”
“Where was this taken?”
“Kansas, Colorado border.”
“So where are we going?”
“Grand Junction. We’re going to touch down this side of the Rockies, head east on I-70, set up in Loveland.”
“This isn’t strictly a recon, is it,” he stated.
“Not quite.”
“You realize I’m your second in command; don’t you think you should tell me?”
“I was going to wait until we landed because I know how much this stuff freaks you out.”
“That’s worse than an answer,” he said when I didn’t elaborate.
“See those two giant crates?” I pointed to the back of the plane.
“Yeah.”
“Rose is thrilled they’re aboard.”
“Rose? Why would she care? She’s demolitions…oh, shit. They’re full of explosives, aren’t they?”
“Jam-packed.”
“Why?”
“The colonel saw this as a way to delay the zombies.”
“Is there any reason to believe they’re coming to Etna station? I mean, I realize that Dewey can talk to them, but he just got there. And correct me if I’m wrong, didn’t they fly him back? How could he have set this up?”
I was shaking my head.
“They didn’t fly him in, did they? Why the fuck not?”
“Didn’t get an answer. Maybe the plane was full.”
“Full of what?”
“Don’t know. Nukes, medical supplies, refugees, cans of Spam.”
BT was quiet. “Mike, holy shit. I think he did this on purpose.”
Now it was my turn to be surprised.
“Think about it. The colonel would have to be thick to not take your word for it that Dewey could talk to his kind. So what’s he do? He parades him across the entire country, then all of a sudden we have, easily, the largest amassing of zombies ever seen. Then he sends us to a choke point where he wants us to bottle them up.”
“That’s a pretty ballsy maneuver. Gonna one up you, though.”
BT nodded.
“If that was what Bennington was thinking would happen, why not set up a fake base to draw the zombies in too? If this fails, which, I mean, most likely it will, he’s left a meat-crumb trail right toward us.”
“You freak me out sometimes, you know that, man? You’re the kind of guy that cracks himself up when he farts in a crowded room, but then you go and figure shit like this out. It just shouldn’t be. It’s like watching a dung beetle play chess.”
“Thanks, man.”
“No problem. So, you think the Old Man fucked this up, then?”
“I guess, BT. You see another explanation I’m missing?”
“So, this whole excursion of ours is him trying to stop the train wreck?”
“Has to be.”
“Why not an airstrike, then? Couple of missiles to the side of the mountain…problem solved.”
“You know boots on the ground is always going to be the preferred method. The missile strikes would be too haphazard. Rose over there is damn near a magician with how she blows things up. I wouldn’t doubt if we end up with a Great Wall comparable to the one in China. She takes out the Eisenhower Tunnel, no way for them to come without some serious rerouting. Maybe we’ll get lucky and they’ll still be stuck up here over the winter, get destroyed in an avalanche or something.”
I handed a copy of the orders over to Rose. Her eyes got wide as she looked at the part she was to play. “That stuff is on this plane?” Unlike BT, she wasn’t concerned about it, but thrilled. “Finally, we’re gonna have some fun!”
“What’s going on?” Stenzel asked, looking over Rose’s shoulder. “Holy shit, all of that is in there?”
“Is that bad?” BT was asking me.
“We’re still here; so far, so good. We should be all right,” I told him.
We arrived at our destination at 9 am. The sky was a brilliant blue. A couple of wispy clouds shouldn’t have marred up the view, but I knew them for what they were—cirrus clouds, which often warned of an impending storm. Wasn’t necessarily a bad thing, unless you were going to be high up in the Rockies, cut off from the rest of civilization.
Eastman had come out to look over his plane and talk to me. “I’m only authorized to stay out here for five days.”
“I know, I read that.” I was looking to the snow-capped peaks we needed to travel to.
“But what you don’t know is, if zombies or inclement weather comes in, I’ve been ordered to leave.”
Now I turned to look at him. “You’d just take off?”
“It wouldn’t be my first inclination. What I’m trying to tell you, without outright trying to tell you, is that the colonel pegs you and your team’s safety a distant second to this plane and her crew.”
“Isn’t that the way it’s always been? Ground pounders are expendable.”
“This seems different, Talbot. I got the sense that he wants me to bug out at my first excuse. I think you need to be careful. In fact, I’m pretty sure the reason I’m flying this mission is because he thinks I’m no fan of yours.”
“Are you?”
“No, not at all. But I respect you and what your squad does. I would never willingly leave you stranded.”
“And when you radio Base to tell them you’ve dropped us off, what are you going to do if they say a severe storm is coming in, or some other threat, and you need to take off?”
“We had to fly a little further south than our flight path because of a storm brewing, passed over Salt Lake City.” The major hesitated, I had no idea where this was going. “We took this picture.”
He handed me a grainy, black and white photo; it looked like something you’d see from a hunter with an old Kodachrome as he stumbled upon a yeti in full run.
“Zombies, right?” It was an enormous herd, not as big as what was marching in to Colorado, but huge and getting bigger.
“Not the greatest pictures, but it doesn’t look like they’re moving. Waiting is more like it.”
“Waiting for the rest,” I said.
“And Mike, Salt Lake City would be the way you would be going if you were trying to get back to Etna.”
“I’m pretty big on conspiracy theories, and I’m still having a tough time swallowing this.”
“Forest for the trees type of thing,” he answered.
“This is some pretty great lengths to go if he’s trying to get rid of me. Why not just put a timer on that giant box of party favors we have in the back of your plane?” We both turned to look, fully anticipating a pyrotechnics show.
“Hurry up and get that stuff off my plane!” the major shouted. “Thanks for the paranoia.”
“Hey, it’s what I do. But if I remember correctly, you started this.”
“I’m going to stay as long as I can. If I get ordered to leave, I’ll say I have some mechanical problem that needs fixing. You just be safe out there, and when you get back, you might want to start digging around and figure out what’s really goi
ng on.”
“Thank you, Major. I appreciate the candor.”
He nodded and went to check on the offloading.
“What did he want?” BT asked. I’d gone over to the Hummer he was sitting in. Gary and the rest of the squad were behind the vehicle, loading magazines.
“He thinks we’re being set up.”
“I told you!” He smacked his head on the roof of the Hummer as he tried to get out quickly. “Fuck!”
“I’m not completely sold.”
“What? Mr. ‘I’m-not-so-sure we landed on the moon-Talbot’ isn’t sure?”
“There’s a lot easier ways to accomplish our undoing than the grand plan laid out before us.”
“It’s more difficult to make something look like it was an accident,” BT said. “If we just blew up, or our plane went down, questions would be asked. Getting taken out by a huge zombie horde…that shit happens every day. Who’s going to think twice about how?”
“You smell that?” I asked.
He took a whiff of air. “Just mountain air, why?”
“Smells like Chanel No. 5 that’s turned sour,” I said.
“Deneaux,” he replied immediately. “That woman makes no sense. I swear she does this shit to fuck with you. If she wanted you dead, seems she could have just gone and done it. Maybe she’s got a crush on you.”
“I will fucking shoot you myself if you say something even remotely similar to that again.”
“What’s the matter, you don’t like SILFs?”
“Don’t make me ask what the hell that is.”
“Snakes I’d like to…”
“Enough, you sick bastard. Can we just get ready to move?”
BT was smiling as he got the squad organized. He inventoried all of our supplies. I was dazing off, not focused on anything. A large ammunition crate was coming off next; I saw a big white sticker adhered to the side. It read: 5.56 Ball Ammunition. Something about that tugged at a small corner of my mind. Then I completely forgot about it as Grimm and Kirby began to argue about who would man the Hummer-mounted machinegun first.
So we said our goodbyes to the major and his crew and began the five-hour ride to Loveland. A lot of that depended on the condition of the road. I’d been assured that the way was clear, according to surveillance video, but now what could I trust? I hadn’t seen the footage myself. Still, it could have been worse. There was the occasional boulder smack dab in the center of the road, along with a few washouts, abandoned cars and trucks, par for the course. For the most part, it was uneventful. Even so, we went slow; we weren’t in any particular rush. The zombies were just outside of the Denver city limits; we should have two days to set our explosives, watch the results, and head back. If everything went as planned.
Took a break about three hours in as we arrived in Vail. Wanted to stretch my legs and get a look at the former playground for the rich and famous. The mountain tops sparkled with the snow that stubbornly clung to them, and high above were thickening clouds. All in all, still a beautiful day, but these were the mountains that could change faster than a politician’s stance once the lobbyist’s checks cleared. Tommy was handing out MREs, I was lazily walking around, found myself at the back of one of the Hummers, peering at the ammunition crate and its annoying sticker. I was walking closer to the box with no real reason why. Then it dawned on me; the sticker, it made no sense. Cargo info was always spray painted on the crates; it was just the way it had always been. Why would it be different now? I worked until I got a small flap to pop up and then pulled nearly half of the label off. My heart took a couple of weird thumps as I looked at what was underneath. This sign read: Damaged and Defective Ammunition.
“Everyone stop what you’re doing,” I said.
It wasn’t long until they were all gathered around me.
“What the actual fuck,” Kirby said, food falling from his mouth. Normally I would have found this disgusting, but my attention was elsewhere.
“Tomm...” Before I could finish the word, he had handed me a crowbar. I popped the top off the box and was staring at a mess of bullets. Some looked all right, but the majority had visible defects that would have been tough to miss. Bullets lodged incorrectly within the brass, some without lead in them at all. Cracked brass casings, some severely dented, even bent.
“What the actual fuck,” Kirby repeated.
“We going back?” BT had a hard set to his mouth.
That was the smart thing to do; bring back the fucked-up box of ammo and drop it on Bennington’s desk, better yet, on his head. That wouldn’t work though. If this was his doing he’d never admit it; he’d make some lowly supply sergeant pay for this transgression. All that would prove was that I was now abundantly aware that he was trying to do me in. It would make things that much more dangerous for my family, my squad, and for me.
“How much ammo are each of you carrying, and did you pack the magazines yourself?” I asked. Between the ten of us, we had well over three thousand rounds. I was thankful my preparedness had been passed down to the rest of the squad; if we’d relied solely on the box of paperweights we’d have no choice but to turn back. That, or we’d be dead.
“Mike?” BT asked.
“We can’t go back. No matter what skullduggery is going on back at Etna, the zombies are still amassing and all signs would indicate they’re coming there. We need to delay them as long as possible.”
“Has anyone had their weapon in the armory lately?” BT asked addressing the squad.
“I was in last week; I cracked my hand guard,” Stenzel said.
“Break it down,” he told her.
“This a chemical attack type of thing?” Kirby asked.
“You’ve got to let that go,” I told him. “None of us even have hazmat suits.”
Stenzel released her magazine and pushed out the forward breakdown pin, levering the rifle in half. BT had his hand out as Stenzel gave him the bolt out of her rifle. We both spotted it at the same time.
“No firing pin,” he said as he handed it back.
“What the actual…”
“We get it, Kirby,” I said. I didn’t need to give the order for everyone else to check. “Any chance this is your doing?” I asked her.
“As if. That motherfucker. He was all flirty and smiles as he handed it back. Said it was as good as new.” She was fuming.
“Who was the armorer that day?” I asked.
“Sergeant Dankins,” she replied.
“Dankins.” I was thinking. “Tall guy with the porn-stache?”
“That would be him.”
“Always struck me as a decent guy…seen him enough because of all the hardships I’ve caused my weapon,” I said.
“Now that I’m thinking about it, he did hand it off. He never left the counter; kept talking to me.”
“Who’d he hand it to?” BT asked.
“I don’t know, someone in the back room.”
“Still having a tough time with the conspiracy part, Mike?” BT asked.
“Not so much. All right, Stenzel, I know this isn’t your weapon of choice, but this is what we have.” I handed her my 1911 and the five full magazines of .45s.
“Just fucking perfect,” she said sourly.
“We blow up the tunnel and we head back. We’re not going to stick around to see if it worked.”
“Oh thank goodness. I thought you were going to cancel the mission,” Corporal Rose said.
“Winters, can you radio into Eastman? Tell him we’ll be back tonight,” I said. “Five more minutes, people. Eat up, take a piss, whatever. I want to get this done and get back so I can break some noses.”
“I’m coming with you,” Kirby said.
“Not a chance. You’ll start swinging at everyone. We’ll never get close to the target.” I told him.
Winters gave me the thumbs up after he got off the radio.
“Mount up,” I said.
“How diplomatic you going to be?” BT asked once we were underway. “Yeah, you
have a lot of circumstantial evidence, but nothing that can’t be explained away by human error.”
He was right; all we had was a sticker and a missing firing pin. The label could have gone on months ago. The blame for the rifle rested at Stenzel’s feet; maybe she was careless and had not put it back in after cleaning the weapon. Horseshit, for sure, but that didn’t mean it wouldn’t be the argument used to explain it and no one could prove otherwise. It was imperative we were successful in destroying the tunnel. If I just went back now, I’d be in trouble for failing to accomplish the mission, and they would know we know. We’d gone another hour and a half when we came across a rockslide that had taken out the majority of the highway. The damage to the roadway was severe—twenty feet of the guardrail to our right had been ripped free and sent to the bottom of a steep chasm.
“It’s going to be tight,” BT said, looking at the width of roadway available to us.
I didn’t like it. The pavement on the edge did not have any support under it; any weight and it was sure to give. “Winters, how far are we from the tunnel?” I asked, walking over to the destruction.
“Twelve clicks,” he replied after a moment. I turned. “Sorry—seven and a half miles.”
“Corporal Rose, can we pack out enough explosives for you to do your thing?” I asked.
“More than enough. Although, I was kinda hoping to bring down half the mountain.”
“Get out what you need. We’ll get it there,” I told her.
“Yes, sir!”
“We’re pack-muling?” Kirby asked.
“Walk will do you good.” I patted his stomach.
“Is he saying I’m fat?” he asked Grimm.
“Sir, you have a second?” Stenzel asked.
“Of course,” I said as I grabbed my pack and began to check the contents to see what I could take out and what needed to stay. I looked up at the sky. The weather was still holding.
“This rockslide, sir. I don’t think it was natural. There are scorch marks on the side of the mountain.”
“…Someone blew it?” I stood to look at where she was pointing. “Lightning strike?”
“Sure, it’s possible, but…”
“But given everything else that’s happened today why would we assume natural causes?” I finished her thought.