Deadrise 2: Deadwar (2 page)

Doctor Reilly also insisted that every single person at Rainbow Lake come in for a full physical examination and vitamin booster shots, and he and Norris had been at it almost non-stop since yesterday. There were various cuts and bruises and sprains among the band of refugees, now numbering at one hundred and six, and left untreated, it was an invitation for a host of other, more serious complications. Each of them also brought a complicated medical history with them; heart disease, diabetes, epilepsy, depression, acid reflux disease, addiction, and alcoholism. Amazingly, of all the refugee’s taken in, the only one seriously ill was the one sitting before him now; a young man, no more than twenty-five, his face jaundiced and his eyes bloodshot, his skin clammy and cool to the touch. He wore an open-backed patient’s gown.

“I feel like I have the flu.” The man moaned, his head swaying as if he might fall over on the table at any moment.

“Easy son, easy.” The Doctor said, gently laying him down on the examination table. He wore latex gloves, but the mans skin still was cool and clammy to the touch. The man closed his eyes and appeared to fall asleep and the Doctor began his examination. Almost immediately he found an inch long scratch mark along the back of the neck, swollen red and oozing pus. He leaned closer and took a whiff of the putrefaction. As he probed the wound the man writhed about and moaned in pain.

“I’m sorry son.” And he truly was. He’d seen this kind of wound before and knew what it meant. The man was infected with the plague. He took another whiff of the wound. The
twinge
the scent of the infection carried made it certain. A zombie had scratched him on the neck and the active plague virus had spread through his body, dooming him.

The Doctor had encountered his first zombie in his clinic. A local Kittewa man had died of a heart attack right in his office and reanimated ten minutes later, biting a nurse on the arm and breast. Luckily one of the Kittewa Deputy's, a gangly, pimply-faced college kid named Martin Porter, had been in the office for the annual physical and had managed to kill the zombie with a single shot to the head, but not before putting five shells into its chest. The bitten nurse became infected, of course, and her condition deteriorated over the course of forty-eight hours until she too died and reanimated after only five minutes. She had been bitten while the first zombie had died of natural causes. Doctor Reilly had surmised that a person infected by a bite or scratch would reanimate much quicker than someone who died of natural causes.

He finished his examination of the patient. With the zombie infection identified, there was no point in checking for anything further. He pulled the latex gloves from his hand and dropped them into the waste receptacle, and began writing his diagnosis in the patients file. Based upon his skin color and his vital signs, Dr. Reilly surmised that the man still had another twenty-four hours before the plague claimed his life…barring unseen complications. But the man wouldn’t live that long. The Doctor knew what needed to be done. Euthanasia...It was the only decent, humane thing to do. And then he would record the minutes passed until reanimation.
Science
and
Morality
would both be served.

“Is it the flu Doc?” The man asked through chattering teeth.

“I’m pretty sure that's the culprit. There’s not much I can do except give you something to help you sleep.”
But how long until you awaken?
Doc Reilly almost laughed at the thought but restrained himself for the patient’s sake.

“Anything's better than nothing.” The man tried to chuckle, but winced with pain at the effort.

Even reanimation as a zombie?
“Yes it is. I’ll be right back with a syringe of Valium.” Dr. Riley wondered if Norris had ever had to perform a mercy killing? If not, now was the perfect time for him to become accustomed to the practice. Perhaps he would also be interested in the reanimation experiment?

He tucked his pen in his pocket, folded the clipboard under his arm and left the examination room to prepare the death needle and find Norris…

CHAPTER 3

Monday, July 9, 2001

Rainbow Lake, UT

7:03 AM

From the first day they arrived Jenkins had taken their security upon his shoulders and the burden had caused him to lose many nights sleep…like now. He lay in his bed, his gut a writhing ball of acidic bile and his mind twisting and turning every which way, as he sought to see every angle of potential weakness.

Counting Mac and himself there were twenty men with real military experience and another twelve volunteers for the militia. Despite his distaste for the military command structure, his time as a ranger had taught him it was a sound one and Jenkins had saw no point in abandoning it for the Militia, something he found bitterly ironic.

Perhaps it was a jab at the deceased General Parker, but Jenkins sarcastically promoted himself to General and handed down promotions to those that had survived the fall of Park City and the siege of Rainbow Lake like Caesar himself as well as assigning rank to the newest members of the Militia.

Mac had been against the idea.

“General? You’ve got less than fifty men under your command. That barely calls for a Sergeant, doesn’t it?” Mac chided.

“I was promoted to Colonel in Park City.”

“Brevet Colonel…” Both of them broke into a laugh.

“Fuck it! What does it matter? We’re starting this thing from scratch. Besides, I like the sound of General Blake Jenkins.”

“I don’t know…” Mac shook his head, open skepticism in his face.

“Who is going to say anything? Most people have already begun to fall into line.”

“Fall into line?”

“Most of them are sheep; lost and scared and waiting for someone to tell them what to do. I saw the same thing down at Douglas and the U. I know you saw it too.”

Mac couldn’t argue that one. Hell, he had been one of them; another soldier manning his post, waiting for someone to tell him what to do. His silence was all the confirmation Jenkins needed.

“It was the same in Park City. Once Parker and Sheen were dead, I simply asserted my authority, with Major Farrell backing my play of course. And everyone just fell into line.”

“So you're just going to assert your authority, huh?”

“Your damn right I am. And I would like your support…
Colonel
McReedy.”

They met each other's eyes, long and hard before both of them broke into a laugh…

Just as Jenkins had predicted, nobody challenged his authority once asserted, his new rank or those he had handed out and just like that, the Rainbow Lake militia was established.

General Blake Jenkins reigned as Military Commander with Colonel McReedy at his right hand. Major Farrell would serve as his special operative and report to him directly. Captain Turner and Captain King rounded out the officers.

Captain King had made a fuss about keeping his title of Commander even though his new rank was Captain, and after some heated back and forth it was agreed that he was to be called Commander.

Turner and King would each be in command of a Company, called Alpha Company and Bravo Company respectively. The remaining men would be divided between the two Companies and broken down into smaller platoons.

“Much smaller platoons!” Mac had joked as they had hashed out the structure.

It was a laughable, barely cohesive Militia and Jenkins knew it, but it was what he had to work with.

Jenkins also enlisted the aid of Kittewa Sheriff Ross Busley. The Sheriff was a bear of a man well into his sixties, with a large bulbous nose, a wide mouth full of coffee stained teeth, a long face with hound dog jowls, and a full shock of white hair which he wore under a large baseball cap. He had been the town sheriff since returning home from ‘Nam and nobody knew the area better than Ross Busley. He’d proved invaluable in planning the defense of the lake and the surrounding region.

There was only a single paved road leading up to Rainbow Lake, and it circled the entire perimeter before looping back on itself down into town, but there were countless hiking, off-road vehicle and horse trails zigzagging the entire lake and mountain area, several of them accessible from the main road. In their first coordinated exercise as a Militia they quickly secured the rest of the estates and cabins around Rainbow Lake. Once secure, the estates were looted for supplies but kept intact for future habitation. That had been two days ago.

Now, three separate security checkpoints manned by a squad of Militiamen surrounded the perimeter of the lake with another one half way down the canyon road. There were also daily patrols into Kittewa and the surrounding woods and mountains to map the trails and secure the area. Salvage crews were plundering the town and outlying farms for all available resources and vehicles, and within half a week the town would be stripped. bare.

Zack hadn’t contacted them since the destruction of Park City, and there had been no sign of zombies or Krylok aliens since the siege of Rainbow Lake. The surrounding area, including Kittewa and the neighboring farmland was relatively secure, and safe. Never the less, men on foot, horseback and in vehicles patrolled the entire area twenty-four hours a day.

Now that they had strengthened and solidified their base, Jenkins was eager to send patrols to Evanston, Provo and Salt Lake City. There were bound to be pockets of survivors scattered about that could be brought into the fold and put to work farming and harvesting crops and livestock or expanding the ranks of his Militia.

Its time to get off your ass and fight.
Jenkins grimaced at the thought. But no matter how bad of a taste it left in his mouth, or queasy feeling in his gut, he knew it was time. They just couldn’t sit around waiting for Mordecai Necrotura or the Aliens and their deadfucks to regroup and attack. It was time to take a proactive, offense approach to their defense…

CHAPTER 4

Monday, July 9, 2001

Rainbow Lake, UT

8:33 AM

Park City was gone. Not demolished or blasted to ruins, simply gone. From the Old City to Kimball Junction, the alien city-buster warhead left nothing but a scorched black wasteland; everything, including the roadways and the forest had been vaporized and replaced with fine black soot that covered the entire length of the valley from the base to the bowl.

The helicopter hovered one thousand feet above the mountaintops on the eastern edge of the valley, midway between the Old City and Kimball Junction, giving the four occupants an impressive, panoramic view of the wasteland. All of them wore snug headsets and microphone so they could communicate over the noise of the chopper.

“Imagine if the Krylok invasion plan hadn’t been botched, and they had used these weapons from the start.” Jenkins said.

“Fucking amazing.” Matt said with awe. He was riding shotgun, his attention focused on the viewfinder of the digital video camera, which was mounted in a small bubble turret on the underside of the choppers nose. The controls were in the co-pilots console, and Matt swiveled it around and experimented with the zoom.

“Do you think it’s safe to be this close to the blast site?” Sheriff Busley asked from behind Matt.

“Zack told us there would be no radiation from the weapon.” Major Farrell said. He sat in the passenger seat behind Jenkins.

“We’ve wasted enough fuel gawking, I want to swing out over Salt Lake and see how bad things have gotten.” Jenkins piloted the chopper over the wasteland, swinging southwest towards Parleys canyon. “I’m going to follow Parleys down so we can scout Summittown and see if anybody or anything is on its way up.”

Jenkins kept the speed at an even 60mph as he wound up through Parleys canyon less than two hundred feet above the highway, the mountains rising up several hundred feet on either side, making the ride even more exhilarating. Just before they reached Summittown Jenkins climbed another hundred feet and slowed the chopper to 50mph. Summittown came into view around the next bend, and Jenkins slowed the chopper to a crawl and slowly circled over the small way-station.

“It looks as abandoned as we left it…” Matt said after a couple minutes of careful scrutiny.

“We should station a squadron of men up here.” Jenkins said. “Keep them well armed and supplied. If anybody should try and come up this way, we would have plenty of advance notice.”

“That’s a good idea.” Sheriff Busley said.

Jenkins peeled the chopper away from its hover over Summittown, heading west down the canyon toward Salt Lake City. Below, on the highway, the occasional vehicle was parked along the side of the road or strewn across the center. The occasional zombie could be seen as well, staggering about aimlessly. As they neared the mouth of the canyon, the number of abandoned vehicles increased, culminating in a compacted, burned out logjam of crashed and abandoned vehicles of all sizes and shapes, make and model, and several dozen zombies. The highway was completely blocked either way save for a single, central lane, which had no doubt been cleared by the zombie horde that had ascended the canyon and laid siege to Park City.

But their attention was quickly drawn from the carnage of the roadway below to the cityscape spread out before them. The entire Wasatch Valley sprawl lay before them, from Bluffdale and the point of the mountain in the south to the high-rise metropolis of downtown Salt Lake and the State Capitol building on the rim of the northern valley bowl. Several miles to the west the Great Salt Lake glimmered in the morning sunlight. Half a dozen fires still burned in various points across the city and the streets were cluttered with wrecked and abandoned vehicles, garbage, unmoving dead bodies, and shambling zombies.