The Dead Series (Book 4): Dead End (18 page)

Listening intently,
Steve heard the engines come to life, then idle. Then they started revving up and then idling, revving up and then idling, as if they were moving back and forth to get in position. Risking another look, he could see eight or nine large trucks had come down the firebreak and were jockeying for position as they backed toward either side of the opening. Men and women scurried about as they worked to haul some kind of trailers carrying long rectangular objects on them out of the woods to be hitched up. Within minutes, the trailers were attached and the trucks fell into a column. Blue exhaust filled the area between the trees as they sat idling.

The sight was entrancing,
and Steve hoped they were military. Watching them closely, he could see the people moved with discipline and skill but guessed by the mish-mash of weapons that they carried and their dress that they weren’t military. A few wore camouflaged fatigues and carried what looked like M16s, but most were dressed in jeans and work pants and toted a wide variety of automatic weapons.

Despite their apparent skill at killing the dead, he
couldn’t tell if they were friend or foe.

The
mini-army was facing away from his group, and hoping that they would go in that direction when they moved out, Steve felt his stomach drop when he spotted a Jeep Wrangler with a .50 caliber machine gun mounted on its roll cage coming down the column toward them at a high rate of speed. It didn’t stop when it reached the end of the woods and kept heading directly at them. As it neared, he could see it was manned by three people. A driver, a passenger, and a gunner. The barrel of the heavy machine gun was pointed upward, but the woman manning it kept her hands on it and could level it at them in less than a second

Calling out for everyone to hold fire,
Steve turned and saw that the entire group was watching the Jeep’s fast approach with their weapons at the ready. He knew they were well within the range of the .50 caliber, but it hadn’t opened up on them. This gave him hope that if these people weren’t friendly, at least they didn’t have any interest in killing them.

Despite this, he still called out for everyone to concentrate their fire on the gunner if the shit hit the fan.

The Jeep slowed, and the passenger half-stood in his seat as he started scanning the tall grass in front of them. They were close enough now for Steve to hear him say to the driver, “Slow down a little more. We don’t want to run anyone over.”

Knowing that they had been spotted, and encouraged by the comment that they not drive over anyone, Steve made a snap decision and stood up.
Knowing that the .50 caliber could rip through the grass and decimate his group, he also knew that if they stayed hidden, the Jeep would roll right over them on its current path.

Only twenty feet away, the vehicle
slowed. With a clear target, the gunner still didn’t bring her weapon to bear, but Steve swore he could see her hands tightening on the grips.

The passenger started to stand as the Jeep slowed
, but as it stopped with a slight jerk, he was thrown against the raised windshield.

Steve suppressed a smile when the man commented, “They used to make it look so easy on The Rat
Patrol.”

“The Rat Patrol?”
he heard the driver ask.

“Yeah,
the Rat Patrol,” the passenger insisted. “It was a TV series starring Robert Conrad as he led his band of merry misfits behind German lines during World War Two. They tore the Nazis a new one.”

Shaking his head, the driver replied, “Never heard of it.”

“Damn kids,” the man muttered as he stood up, turned his attention to Steve, and said, “Looks like we saved your butt, those dead-asses were fixing to roll right over you.”

“Thanks,” Steve replied. “Looks like you have quite a group here. My name is Steve Wendell. We’re trying to get to
Fort Polk.”

“Well, you’re in luck,” the man told him. “It’s still there. The Army pulled
all its forces back into the base, but they still run some patrols. My name is Rick Styles. I’m the head of the East Texas Zombie Relief Force. We control this area.”

Excited at hearing Fort Polk was still operational, Steve asked, “Are you in contact with Polk?”

Rick Styles shook his head and replied, “We used to talk to them every day, but they cut us off a few weeks ago.”

“So how do you know it’s still there?” Steve asked.

“We hear them broadcasting, they just won’t answer us. On top of that, we took in a couple deserters from there a week ago,” Rick told him. “They said the entire United States military is under orders to cease all contact with civilians. They’re having some major supply issues, so they’ve stopped taking in refugees, too. All the bases, forts and camps in the U.S. are having trouble keeping their own troops in beans and bullets, so they have to cut back. The military pulled back into all their bases when everything was falling apart, but then they came out swinging. They gained a lot of ground but couldn’t get control of a few key cities. They tried again, but they didn’t have enough supplies to keep them going.”

A million questions ran through Steve’s head, but
curious as to how the rest of the world was faring, he asking, “What happened?”

“
Heard they ran out of gas,” Rick said. “We might have oil in Texas, but who’s going to refine it and transport it to the military with all the dead wandering around? The cities are still thick with Ds, and you just saw firsthand the size of the groups roaming the countryside, so how are they going to move it?”

Steve grimaced at the thought. Everything needed to sustain an army in the field was either scattered across the United States or imported from overseas.
Every supply point, farm or production facility for everything from oil to onions would have to be fortified. Then, you would have to move it across a dead landscape where the inhabitants wanted to eat you. A thought came to him, and eyeing Rick, Steve asked, “I saw what you did to that gang of Zs, but with all the huge herds of dead roaming around, how did you manage to survive so far?”

Rick let out a short bark of laughter before saying
, “Survive? Hell, we’re trying to win."

Steve smiled
, then laughed out loud. With all the unorganized mobs they had run across, this one seemed to have their shit together and was actually trying to destroy the dead. His immediate reaction was to ask to join them, but then he remembered Cindy. She was their main priority.

Sobering, he asked, “So
you’re part of the military?”

“
Militia,” Rick corrected.

Steve worried at hearing this. For every
militia he had ever heard about that was formed to do good, there were four more formed by crackpots to suit their own needs.

Seeing Steve’s eyes narrow,
Rick added, “Don’t worry, we’re the good guys. We keep the peace and kill the dead. The law is pretty simple now. Looters, thieves and brigands are hung, and the dead are eradicated. The dead-asses are making it easier since they’re running in big packs nowadays.”

Steve thought for a moment before asking, “We’re heading east, what’s it look like in that direction?”

“There are a lot of small packs of dead-asses, but there’s a few big ones, too,” Rick replied. “We keep an eye on them so we can set up ambushes like we did here.” Eyeing the sky, he added, “Look, Steve, it’s getting late, and we’re heading back to camp. You’re welcome to join us if you have a mind to. We can jaw some more once we’ve eaten.”

Steve
replied, “There’s more than just me. We’ve got-”

Rick cut him off by saying, “There’s
fifteen of you and a dog. We’ve had people watching you since you crossed into our territory yesterday. They reported that you lost a few people last night and have been running all day. Nothing much goes on in this area that we don’t know about.” He paused, then asked, “So do you want to sleep somewhere safe tonight or not?”

Quickly weighing the options, Steve gratefully accepted the offer.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Fort
Redoubt:

Tick-Tock pointed to the weapon being towed behind the truck and said, “When I pulled that dart out of the tree, I saw about twenty more stuck into the others nearby, so I kind of had an idea they were using something like this. I just didn’t think it would be so big.”

Steve studied the weapon as he tried to remember what they were called. He knew it was used during medieval times, but
with modern warfare being what it was, he never would have imagined a resurgence in its use. Fully eight feet wide, it was only twelve inches in height and three feet deep. Numerous holes had been drilled all the way from front to back, where a large, flat board was strapped to its rear by bungee cords. This board could be retracted along rails and locked into place before the darts were loaded into their holes with about an inch of their tail left exposed. Once triggered, the board slapped forward with tremendous force to launch a spray of small missiles. Mounted with locking handles on its sides so that it could be swiveled up and down, Steve couldn’t see anything that would let the weapon be rotated to the left or right. Looking closer, he noted that it was slightly convex in its shape and realized it didn’t need to be. It could easily throw over two hundred darts in a flat arc, decimating anything in their path.

“Kind of like an early claymore mine,” Steve commented.

Having decided to ride with the newcomers, Rick said from where he sat next to Tick-Tock, “It’s called a porcupine. We’ve got twenty of them in all, with a few more in production. I knew early on that ammunition would be getting scarce, so I went retro. However World War Three is fought, World War Four will be fought with sticks and rocks. I didn’t want to go that far back, so we came up with this. We track the larger groups of dead-asses and get in front of them. The firebreak is the best place since we can set up on both sides, but it really doesn’t really matter where we do it. The Ds don’t know what the hell it is, so they walk right up to it. Sometimes we bait them and get a whole bunch staggering right into ground-zero.”

“Bait them?” Steve asked.

“We’ve got some good runners in our crew,” Rick answered. “If a group is heading in the wrong direction, they get out in front of them and lead them into the killing zone. We set the porcupines up to fire at between five feet and six feet high for maximum damage. Anything left standing after that, we clean up with rifle fire.”

“What other kinds of weapons do you have?” Tick-Tock asked.

Rick thought for a moment before asking, “New or retro?”

Tick-Tock shrugged and replied, “
Both.”

“We raided a couple National Guard armories
, so we’ve got some mortars and a few small field artillery pieces, but hardly any ammunition,” Rick told him. “All the small arms had already been issued when we got there, but they never released the heavy weapons, so they were there for the taking. We hit the armories in San Angelos and Lafayette, Louisiana. The others we went to had already been picked clean. Those missions were hairy as shit since they were inside or near towns that had been overrun, but that’s probably the only reason they had been left alone. Ammunition is really scarce for the heavy weapons, though, so we only use them for perimeter defense. We built a couple of catapults, but we can’t seem to get them to work just right. The porcupines are easy to make, since you’re basically drilling holes in a big block of wood, but we can’t quite get the catapults to land their load where we want. For the smaller groups, or single Ds that come around, we use a bow and arrow on them. I’ve got about twenty people working full-time making darts and arrows.”

Coughing at the dust kicked up from the
dirt road they were on, Rick cleared his throat, turned and spit over the side of the truck before continuing, “We’ve got plenty of small arms, and a good supply of ammo.” Pointing to a woman wearing camouflage sitting near the cab, he added, “Those are my officers wearing the cammies, they all carry M16s or M4s. Everyone else carries whatever they’re comfortable with or what they’ve scrounged. When the shit first hit the fan, we were scrambling to secure all the weapons and ammunition that we could.”

Seeing Steve’s quizzical look, he explained, “Most of the military grade stuff we picked up was from National Guard units that had been wiped out by the dead.
They were exposed to the elements, so we had to move fast before they turned to rusted shit.”

“I can relate,” Steve told him.

“You stayed alive this long, so I guess you can,” Rick said as he eyed the M4 assault rifle in Steve’s hands. “I was living in Jasper, Texas, when it first started. There were about thirty or forty members of the militia back then. We tried to hold the town, but it was useless. Just when you thought you had an area secured, one of the Ds would pop up and infect someone, who infected someone else, and so on. When I saw it was hopeless, I took what was left of my people and headed for the woods. We built tree houses to live in, but we kind of outgrew them when we took in a couple small groups. We decided that we needed something better, so we pulled out the maps and took a hard look at what was around us. We knew we needed water, so we headed for the lake. It’s also got the water treatment plant nearby. That’s where we built our main base and fortified it against an attack.”