The Renegades (Book 4): Colony

C
opyright
© 2016 by Jack Hunt

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

THE RENEGADES 4: COLONY
is a work of fiction. All names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

F
or Dax
, Baja, Specs, Jess, Izzy, Wren, Ben and Elijah

T
he Renegades

The Renegades Book 2: Aftermath

The Renegades Book 3: Fortress

The Renegades Book 4: Colony

W
eeks have passed
since the fateful day in NORAD ended in tragedy. When the Renegades are sent to a ‘safe zone’ in New York called the Hive, things go horribly wrong and it’s up to this daring band of misfits to stop a rogue government.

Shocking revelations are made, new allies formed and friendships will be pushed to the breaking point!

I
lay
my assault rifle down, press record, and stagger back.

A green light blinks, waiting, just waiting for me.

I stare.
Come on, say something
.

It doesn’t care what it records, or who stands before it.

Or even who I am.

It only has one job...

To capture and hold a snippet of time that might forever be lost.

Lost.

Found.

What does it mean anymore? Does it matter?

I wince, feeling another shot of pain as I look out at a burning sky. Its fiery palette of colors forms the backdrop for a world that once held it together.

I scoff, registering the irony.

Was it really ever that way?

Together, I mean.

I cough, crimson blood trickles from the corner of my mouth.

So when did the world fall apart?

Some will say the minute the infection spread.

I once thought it was when a bullet entered my best friend’s head, or when Z’s tore apart my father in Castle Rock. Hell, anyone watching these recordings right now might think Salt Lake City was a low point and, they wouldn’t be wrong. Those were some royal assholes painting the city red.

Still others might point to the moment I placed Jess, Izzy, and Ralphie on a chopper.

Or lost Danielle to a lunatic who thought he was making us strong.

My nostrils flare as I inhale the aroma of ocean salt and a mix of pungent death.

No.

That wasn’t it.

If you must know — maybe it was when Dax died.

But that’s not the truth.

This is…

M
idnight
. Somewhere in Kansas, minus Toto and ruby red slippers.

“
T
here’s
no place like home.”

I never thought I would say it but it was true, I was actually beginning to miss that shitty old town of Castle Rock. Its blistering heat, the eclectic stores and gaudy saloons.

Anywhere had to be better than here.

Which reminds me, you might be wondering how I came to find myself hogtied, stripped down to tighty-whities, and smeared up to my neck in peanut butter. Now I would like to say it was all part of some weird, sexy dream involving the entire cast of
Baywatch
but no… unfortunately Pam couldn’t make this reunion.

But Hasselhoff’s hillbilly cousin could.

“I want a piece of his ass cheek,” the largest of them said as the other sharpened my bowie knife on a flat stone. Okay, so they were into eating ass and they needed to cut it with something. But seriously... my knife? C’mon!

So how did I find myself in this predicament, you ask?

It all began with a plan. That went wrong.

Like they tend to when Baja is at the helm.

Actually, to be fair it all started when we ran out of ammo and happened upon a campsite owned by a trio of cannibal hillbillies. Well, we didn’t know at the time they had a sweet tooth for chewing human wieners, we just saw an opportunity to steal ammo, food, and anything else we could get our mitts on.

And, to be honest it might have worked.

Except it didn’t and they didn’t have any ammo.

Oh, did I forget to tell you, I had company? Yeah, Elijah couldn’t resist joining the asinine plan. Though I think he’d just got tired of Ben talking down to him like a naughty schoolkid.

“Now what do you want? The white or dark meat?” one of them asked the other two.

There were three of these freaks. And like the mythical hydra, they might as well have been joined at the hip as they were some ugly ass motherfuckers.

Elijah craned his head up off the floor. “Hey, you know they say white meat is much better for your health than dark.”

“Thanks,” I muttered as he threw me under the bus for first pickings.

The man’s lips peeled back to reveal a set of rather nasty-looking teeth. “Is that so?”

“Oh yeah, there was a study done. I’m surprised you boys didn’t hear about it. It’s all the rage now. Yeah, white meat has lower saturated fats. Dark meats are not good for you.”

Now I would have palmed my forehead if I had a free hand.

Instead I decided to join these great minds in a riveting discussion about whether or not they were going to tuck into my ass or my friend’s. Honestly, I don’t think it mattered at this point but when your ass is on the line, literally, you’ll do anything to gain a few more minutes.

“Don’t listen to his shit. Sir, I couldn’t help notice you’re a little on the thin side, have a quite a bit of tooth decay going on, and your skin… ahhhhh… it’s a little pasty.”

He narrowed his eyes and clenched his jaw.

“Oh wait. No, that’s not a bad thing,” I let out a nervous chuckle. “It’s very reversible actually with the right amount of vitamins and a good dose of calories. Now I’m not an expert and I would never tell you what to do, but uh… I’m pretty sure they said dark meat contains more zinc than tuna and three times as much iron as spinach and… it holds a helluva lot more calories. And you know what calories mean, my friend? More meat on those bones. Oh, and here’s the best part, it can actually protect you against diabetes and high blood pressure.” I paused, nodding like a spasmodic turtle bobbing its head up and down. “And… the way that vein is popping out of your neck. Sir, I’m pretty certain you could lower the pressure a little.”

“Really?”

“Oh, you got to be kidding me,” Elijah said. “Sure, white meat has less fat and fewer calories but that’s only if you remove the skin. And everyone knows that’s the tastiest part. I mean seriously, it’s finger-licking good.”

Elijah grinned at me. Of course I was quick to retort.

“True, but you know what they say about the apocalypse.”

“What?” the ugly one grunted.

“The fat ones are always the first to go. It slows you down. No, you want to be lean. A lean, mean, fighting machine. And I got to hand it to you fellas. The reason you guys were able to take us down was because you were a lot leaner and faster than us. Yep, you got some superior genes working for you there. You don’t want to go fucking that up.”

“Superior! Please,” Elijah exclaimed. “He’s talking out of his ass.”

“Am I?” I jumped right back in before he could ramble any further. “Look, it’s like white and brown bread. Everyone thought white bread was so much more superior and better for you than brown. Who’s laughing now? Huh! Am I right?” I let out a nervous chuckle wondering where the hell Baja and Ben were.

“Shut the hell up,” Hasselhoff’s cousin said, coming over and smearing more peanut butter on my forehead. “There, that should do it. Tonight, we eat like kings.”

“Hey, Bo, turn the truck off, you’re wasting gas,” the other one hollered to his twin who was up inside a 4 x 4 Ford with oversized tires.

“I’m listening to the radio.”

That’s right, radio still existed. Now what station he was tuning into was anyone’s guess but with backup generators, battery power, and a country trying to communicate with anyone who wasn’t a Z, there were still some pretty sketchy broadcasts like the one he was listening to.

The song “Cotton-Eyed Joe” was blasting out and seemed rather appropriate, and a sure sign that the world had finally gone to hell and lost the plot.

The toothless wonder in front of me laughed. “He looks like a pig on a spit.”

I felt a strong rumble beneath me just as Bo killed the engine. It was the sound I was relieved to hear.

“That reminds me. You know what’s better than a pig on a spit?” I shot back.

“What?” he said, turning again to tell his brother Bo to turn off the truck. But it wasn’t on.

“A hillbilly impaled on the front of a battering ram.”

Suddenly, crashing through the feeble gate they had set up around the perimeter of their campsite was Baja and Ben in a…. COMBINE HARVESTER?

“What the hell? What happened to the Humvee with the battering ram on the front?” I asked Elijah over the noise of the hillbillies frantically yelling.

Crawling into the camp at a top speed of 20 mph was a monster-size green combine harvester with a blood-red revolving reel that was chewing up everything in its path. The first lucky contender to be tossed around was poor old Bo. Blood, guts, and bones squirted in the air like an overpowered fountain. It was magic.

Now, had these knuckleheads been armed with real weapons they would have likely taken out Baja and Ben with a few rounds, but they weren’t. No, all they had were machetes. Ben and Baja hopped off the sides of the monstrosity and began an assault on the remaining two maggots who looked like they had just stepped out of the movie
The Hills Have Eyes.

This was good news, at least until I realized what Baja had forgotten to do — kill the engine. So there we were lying on the floor, hogtied, covered in peanut butter, and looking to become the first human peanut butter and jelly sandwich.

“Baja! Shut it off,” Elijah yelled.

Unfortunately, you couldn’t hear a damn thing over the sound of sharp blades churning over.

“Roll,” Elijah said to me as he began rocking back and forth. Yep, it was easier said than done. Try rolling when your feet are tied to your hands behind your back. But it was all we could do to try and escape. As I twisted to turn I caught a glimpse of Ben engaged in a full-out war with the Hoffmeister. My eyes widened as the combine crashed through a table, spitting wood in every direction.

A few more feet and it would annihilate us.

Elijah looked like a helpless turtle stuck on its back in the middle of a highway as a Mack Truck came barreling towards it.

I glanced up just in time to see its long, sharp rotor blades coming down.

This was it! This was how I was going to die.

And all because of Baja’s need to play the all-American hero.

Now most sensible people would have at least tried to avoid having their light snuffed out but something had clicked in me. Call it what you will, survivor’s guilt, insanity, or the effects of watching one too many Jerry Springer shows.

But I didn’t move.

In that final moment, as the combine blades got closer, I welcomed death.

T
he strange thing
with facing imminent death in this new world is it’s not as bad as you might imagine. Unless of course it comes at the hands of your harebrained compadre, then it’s just plain ridiculous.

When I pried open my eyelids, I imagined I would see a colorful display of unicorns and a harem of naked women. Unfortunately, I was still very much alive, and staring up at Baja who was grinning like a complete buffoon.

He offered us a hand, which considering our situation seemed a little absurd and quite frankly, insulting, so yes, in answer to any questions about what I would have done if free from my restraints — I probably would have kicked him in the dick if it wasn’t for that fact that I was still tied up like a Thanksgiving turkey.

One slash of a knife and the pressure of rope against my skin suddenly loosened as the bonds dropped. Instinctively Baja backed up, anticipating that I would go all Jackie Chan on his ass. But, when you’ve been bound for over an hour, the joints tend to seize up.

I groaned, untangling myself from the awkward yoga bow position with all the speed of an old-age pensioner.

“You idiot, you could have killed us,” Elijah screamed, hauling himself up and slamming Baja hard up against the side of the now stationary combine. Ben immediately intervened.

I didn’t say anything. I got up, brushed off dust, and went about finishing the search we had begun on the property before the hillbilly triplets bamboozled our plan.

“Johnny, why didn’t you attempt to move?” Elijah asked.

I wasn’t sure what had pissed Elijah off more. What Baja had done or what I hadn’t.

“Siphon the vehicle, we need to leave,” I said, not answering his question. The truth was I really wasn’t sure why I didn’t. As that blade rushed towards us, I kind of wished it had rolled over me. The loss of my brother had practically turned me into a shell of my former self.

Daily, Dax’s words echoed in my thoughts.

“What we are fighting for?”

“Each other,” I had replied. Now I wasn’t sure.

We left camp hillbilly with zero ammo, zero food but a large amount of gasoline that would hopefully last the remainder of the twelve-hour journey. Elijah wanted to take the 4 x 4 but that thing was a gas-guzzler if I had ever seen one. Even with a full tank we wouldn’t have made it much further than Kansas City.

We drove east, taking I-70. It was the most direct path to Wright-Patterson Air Force Base. It would take us through the cities of St. Louis and Indianapolis. Of course like Kansas we had to take a few detours to avoid large herds of Z’s. It had slowed us down but allowed us to find food in small towns along the way.

The world had gone to hell. The further east we drove the fewer living people we met. Between Cheyenne Mountain and Wright-Patterson our days became a routine of putting in as many miles as we could, stopping in tiny, off-the-beaten-path towns and scavenging for food. We bathed in rivers, and hunkered down in buildings waiting for large groups of the undead to pass.

I would have to say it was a miracle that we made it to Wright-Patterson with all our limbs intact but we did. Not that the world around us hadn’t attempted to anally probe us at every turn in the road. It had and what a fuckfest it was.

As we approached the entry point to Wright-Patterson just east of Dayton we fully expected to find no one there. Our track record for coming across people alive since leaving was low. To our surprise that wasn’t the case here.

Four military trucks came rushing towards us before diagonally blocking the entrance road. Out of the back at least ten military personnel jumped out wearing camo fatigues and aiming assault rifles. They barked their orders loud and clear, making sure that we knew if we made them nervous we’d be eating bullets for breakfast.

“Get on the floor now.”

One by one we hopped out with our hands behind our heads and hit the tarmac. The ground was slippery and wet. The sky had opened up only half an hour earlier, turning the roads into slick death traps.

“Identify yourselves.”

“Friends of ours are here at the base.”

Several of them removed our assault rifles from the jeep while the others zip tied us. Not that it mattered, without ammo we were using our weapons as baseball bats. But the zip ties, that I objected to. The sweet memory of the triplets was still fresh in my mind and I began to feel myself choking up with pure emotion. One of them got on the radio and spoke with his commanding officer.

“Who are your friends?”

“Jessica and Izzy,” Baja yelled.

We couldn’t be certain that either of them was alive. We were going on a hunch and a message scribbled in blood. He relayed back what we’d told him to his superior. For a moment I had a feeling they were going to cut us loose and send us on our way with a bullet in our ass. Thankfully that wasn’t the case.

“Get up. Let’s go.”

They strong-armed us back to their idling trucks and one of them drove back our jeep. In the back we bumped around, looking at each other wondering how this one was going to pan out. Truthfully, I really didn’t care as long as it didn’t involve peanut butter or combine harvesters.

“So which one of you is Iceman?” Baja asked, grinning. “I feel the need, the need for speed, right?” He nodded his head up and down as if they hadn’t heard that before.

They never replied.

“I wish you had felt the need for speed back at the hillbilly camp,” I muttered. “What the hell happened to the Humvee with the battering ram on the front?”

“We ran out of gas.”

“You only had to travel a mile,” I replied.

“Have you seen how fast Humvees drink gasoline?”

“Would you two shut the fuck up?” one of the officers said.

“Alright, Maverick,” Baja replied, readjusting his position.

“No, he’s not Maverick. More like Goose,” I added.

“Duck, duck, goose.”

One of them pointed his gun at Baja. “I will pull this trigger, motherfucker.”

“Oh please, Wolfman, it’s common knowledge that you Air Force boys are all mouth and…”

Before he could finish the guy slammed the butt of his gun into Baja’s face.

“Hey, hey. What the fuck,” I said. “He was just playing with you.”

“You think I’m fucking playing?”

I had a sweet comeback for that, but I thought these boys had enough. Instead, I bit my lip and tried not to cry with laughter. Meanwhile Baja was sporting a wonky nose and bleeding.

The truck bumped its way past one of fourteen security entry points. This one had a sign for Gate 12-A. Off to the left was a statue of a jet plane.

Inside, these folks weren’t messing around. They had armed guards stationed in various points around the perimeter. There was lots of activity. Trucks, jeeps, and people rushing back and forth between one building and the next. We came to find out from one of the friendlier officers that the base was split up into two sections: Area A and Area B. There were eight hundred and fifty facilities with over two thousand people still alive. Now that might sound like a lot but when the workforce was usually around twenty-two thousand, it was clear to see that the Z virus had already worked its way through a large chunk.

The place was self-sufficient to some extent. They had a gym, surgery, pharmacy and clinics, golf club, gas station, hell, even a taxi service. Not that I could see anyone wanting to hail a cab in an apocalypse.

We were driven up to a massive, cream-colored, official-looking building with lettering that said:

T
here were
six flags either side of the walkway, flapping in the wind. Each one was a different color with military insignia on it. We were going to be taken to the 88
^th
Air Base Wing, which was the host organization for the base itself.

When the truck came to a halt, one of them brought down the steel flap and dragged us out.

“Are the restraints necessary?” Ben asked.

“Precaution until we get you cleared away.”

“Cleared away. By that you mean being tucked into a bed and told a goodnight story?” Baja asked. “If so, I’d like to put in a request for
The Three Little Pigs
. I’ve always had a soft spot in my heart for that one.”

The officer who had previously slammed him in the face pushed him forward. That was the thing about Baja, the guy didn’t have an off switch.

We were pushed forward through multiple doors. Military personnel stared at us like we were freaks from a traveling circus. With the amount of facial hair we were sporting it mustn’t have been a pretty sight.

I really hoped that whoever was in charge of this setup wasn’t a complete dick. I was tired of running into egotistical lunatics carrying a chip on their shoulder. Finally they led us into an auditorium that was filled with computers and screens that were lit up with dots all over them. To anyone who worked here it probably made sense, to us it might as well have been the old Atari Pac-Man game as it was just a confusing display of colors, dots, and movement.

A tall bald man wearing a dark navy-blue uniform with more badges than the Boy Scouts was engaged in a conversation when we were hustled into the building.

“Hey, you want to stop shoving us before I shove something up your ass,” I said.

“Actually I think he would like that,” Baja remarked. It must have been the final straw for the officer who had taken a disliking to us from the moment we’d shown up. He jabbed Baja in the gut hard, which enraged Elijah. While our hands were tied we still put up one hell of a fight.

“Sergeant Banks, stand down,” the officer in blue bellowed. We now had a name for the prick. Banks. He was obviously lower down the chain of command. The officer approaching us had four silver stars on his shoulders and a gazillion medals on his left chest. Banks scowled at the officer but listened to him.

“I’m General Jackson. We’ve heard a lot about you. The risk you took to obtain the cure has become quite the conversation piece around here.”

He relieved the men of their duties. Banks scowled as he walked away.

“I’m sorry about that, they have been a little high-strung since this outbreak.”

“You think? Crackheads,” Baja muttered.

I was about to ask where Jess and Izzy were when a door across from us opened and I spotted them. A sudden rush of hope flooded my being. Now I would like to say that Jess was all smiles, hugs, and kisses. But that wasn’t the case. If the others parting like the Red Sea was any indication of what was coming towards us, it would give you a rough idea of how she looked.

The first slap she gave was to be expected. The second, was Jess being Jess and the third, well, Izzy stepped in at that point, saving me from being humiliated any further.

“I think he’s got the point, Jess.”

I blew out hard, feeling my cheeks sting. “Thanks.”

Then Izzy turned and slapped me. “That’s for doing that to my friend.”

Now I certainly wasn’t going to mention Danielle at that point otherwise I would have probably been picking my nuts off the floor, or at least what would have been left of them.

After which Jess hugged me and planted a kiss that made all the shit before that point melt away for a brief few seconds.

“Where’s Specs?”

I pointed to a rucksack and she must have thought we were carrying his ashes. “Radio,” I muttered. “I’ll fill you in later.”

Izzy’s head bobbed up and down as she looked past us. I knew this was going to be difficult to explain but how much, that I wasn’t sure about.

“Dax? Is he still outside?” She had a smile on her face as if she’d been waiting to see him again. All our eyes dropped. No words needed to be said. Izzy turned around and walked out of the room.

“I should go and… God, I’m sorry, Johnny,” Jess said, hugging me again.

Again I began to feel my eyes welling up. “Yeah, well…” I blew my cheeks out releasing the heaviness in my chest.

“Jessica, you’ll be able to show your friends to the dorm rooms?”

“Yeah, I can do that.”

“Again, welcome and while you are here, you are our guests. If you have any questions don’t hesitate to ask.”

Baja raised his wrists. “You wanna get these off?”

“Oh, right. Of course. My apologies, precautions, I’m sure you understand.”

“Uh-huh,” Elijah muttered.

Another officer cut the binds and Jess led us out of the command center. She was looking good, healthy, they must have been treating them well. And damn she smelled good. I’d almost forgotten how gorgeous she was.

“Glad to see you found my message. I didn’t know if I would ever see you again,” she said before her eyes drifted over the others.

“Same here,” I muttered as we followed her over to what I thought was going to be your standard military bunk beds; instead we arrived at building 1216. It was like most of the structures on the air base. It was made from brick and covered in thick cream paint. Inside the rooms were small but comfortable. Compared to the jeep or some of the trashed places we had laid our heads down in, it was luxury. Carpets, a captain’s bed with recliner, desks, chairs, wardrobes, and the one thing we were all counting on. A shower.

We must have all smelled like roadkill.

It was actually odd to see so many people on the way over to the dorms, looking clean and without bags under their eyes. The first order of business was to have a shave and a shower. They had more than enough rooms for all of us, so that we didn’t have to share.

Jess said she would check back with me later, she was going to check on Izzy and make sure everything was okay. I didn’t think she would take it so hard but Jess had mentioned that Izzy still had strong feelings for Dax. That hadn’t ever changed even if they were apart. I kind of wished they had sorted through their differences. But that wasn’t meant to be.

The warmth of the water rushing over me as I stood beneath it was invigorating. I looked at the dirt turning clockwise down the drain. A mixture of soil and dried blood. It had become almost like a skin in this new world.