Up From the Depths (10 page)

Chapter 18

Joint Base Lewis/McChord (JBLM), Washington State

Holroyd was dividing his time watching the soldiers transfer pallets from the warehouse to the cargo bed of the HEMITT via a propane powered forklift and studying the rail yard. There were several unusual looking vehicles on a string of flatbed rail cars. He had noticed the desert tan paint scheme last time they were here but hadn’t been able to see what the vehicles were. Parked in a different location this trip, he was able to see more of the tan camo and most of the front of the first truck like vehicle. The rain and light fog that hung in the air prevented a clear view.

“Sully, you ever see anything like those before?” he asked his team sergeant. Sullivan leaned over the center console from the driver’s seat and looked where Holroyd indicated.

“Nope. Ain’t seen shit like that before, Cap’n.”

“Hansen, take Jorgenson and head over to those trucks. See what they are and if you can figure out how to unload them,” Holroyd directed. The two soldiers in the back seat exited and jogged over to the rail yard.

“Upton, you keep a sharp eye out,” Holroyd said to the soldier manning the roof turret.

“Hoo-ah,” Upton said in reply.

Sergeant First Class Hansen looked at the tan painted vehicles mounted to the rail car. He studied the front then walked along the side finally stopping at the next car that contained two more identical vehicles.

“Jorgie, hop on up there and see if you can open the door. You’re younger than me anyway,” Hansen said. Jorgenson looked at him, shook his head, and then climbed up on the train car. The two sergeants were actually the same age but Jorgenson’s birthday was later in the same month as Hansen’s so he was technically younger by a couple of weeks.

Jorgenson reached up and worked the exterior lever on the driver’s door and opened it. The ground clearance of the vehicle was such that his view was of the floor and lower portion of the seat. In a pocket on the door was a plastic envelope. He removed the envelope and looked at the contents. The packet identified the vehicle as a MATV 6x6.

“It’s an Oshkosh MAT-VEE,” he said, automatically changing the name to what a soldier would call it and holding the plastic envelope so Hansen could see it. “Looks brand spanking new for sure,” he said, looking at the plastic that still covered the seats and dash.

“Yeah, I kind of figured it was some kind of Oshkosh truck,” Hansen said. “Their name is on the front and side.”

Hansen studied the chains that held the vehicle in place. This train car was parked or rather butted right against a concrete loading/unloading ramp. Walking down the line of cars, he saw that each flat rail car was equipped with metal ramps that would slide into place to cover the gap between each car, enabling the MAT-Vs to be driven off. He stepped back and looked down the track. The line of vehicles continued for thirty or more rail cars with several different configurations represented.

“Get inside and see how much fuel this one has,” Hansen said. He didn’t think there would be much in the tanks.

Jorgenson climbed up inside the modified MRAP and looked at the dash. Like all military combat vehicles, there was a sequence required to start it as there were no ignition keys. He brought the truck to life with a rumble as the 7.2 liter, inline-6, Caterpillar C7 turbo diesel came alive. The fuel gauge climbed to show that there was only a quarter tank, just enough to drive the MAT-V off the rail car, park and wait for the unit it was designated for to pick up, take to the refueling point and then drive to that units motor pool. Jorgenson shut it down then climbed out of the driver’s seat.

“Not enough fuel to get it back to Cascade,” he said.

“I think I can get these chains off and we have a couple of spare fuel cans on the Hummer. That should give us enough fuel to get to the refueling point,” Hansen said. “Be nice to take a couple of these back and replace some of our Hummers.” He wasn’t sure the Log Center refueling point was working. They hadn’t seen any power on at any of the base buildings. But they did have hand pumps back at Cascade. And generators. He made a mental note to check a couple out next time.

The group’s vehicles had taken quite a beating over the last few months. Even before the outbreak, their vehicles had been slotted for replacement. Unlike conventional US Army units, Special Forces modified their vehicles based on their operational parameters and mission requirements. This usually took a heavy toll on the vehicles and created a different and more rapid replacement cycle.

“You got that right. Seats are real comfortable. Still has that new car smell inside,” Jorgenson said. “Looks like this one has an I-GPK upgraded turret,” he said pronouncing the acronym for Improved-Gunner Protection Kit as ‘IG-Pick’. This model of turret offered enhanced protection for the gunner while providing an almost 360 degree view of the surrounding area through armored windows.

“The basic configuration looks like one but there’s something different about it,” Jorgenson said, noticing the changes to the roof enclosure and other subtle modifications. The turret’s weapon mount was empty as military vehicles were never shipped with weapons systems installed, tanks excluded.

“We’ll have more time to look at when its back at base,” Hansen said as he let his rifle drop on the single point sling and moved it aside so he could work the tie-down release that secured the truck to the cargo bed of the rail car.

“Get around the other side and get these chains off. We might be able to get this one off of here without too much trouble,” Hansen said and pulled the release then watched the chain grow slack. Jorgenson jogged over the where the two rail cars were coupled then climbed over to the other side. He released the tie-downs on his side and worked the chains through the frame of the MAT-V until it was no longer secured to the load bed.

“I’m good over here,” he said.

“We’re clear on this side, too,” Hansen said. “Get your ass back up in there and get this thing on solid ground.”

“On it,” Jorgenson said as he climbed back up inside the MAT-V and started the engine. With Hansen as a ground guide, he slowly drove the MRAP off the train car and onto the ramp then onto the parking area of the Logistics Center. Hansen climbed up the passenger side and got in.

“Nice,” he said as he closed the door and looked at the interior. The rear area had space for a squad and a lot of room for cargo and it was all enclosed and armored. The seats were covered in plastic and actually comfortable. Jorgenson drove over to where Holroyd was parked. Hansen opened the door and stood on the running board waving as they rolled up and parked.

Holroyd climbed out and looked at the large MRAP.

“What’d you find, Hansen?” he asked looking at the subdued manufacturer’s name on the front of the vehicle.

“Six-by MAT-Vee, Cap’n.”

Holroyd walked around the truck, looking at the V-shaped hull, the large, off road, deep lug military tread pattern tires, the lower profile therefore lower center of gravity than the M1078 and 1083 MRAPs which meant a decreased chance of a rollover, a very serious issue with those two models. He stepped back and studied the roof turret.

“Is that an OG-Pick turret?” Holroyd asked. “Looks like an IG-Pick but there are differences. Look at the sensor package. Damn.”

“Thought it looked different,” Hansen said, realizing now that as he studied the turret more it was the Objective Gunner Protective Kit turret.

“Damn, that is one sweet ride,” Holroyd said looking at the MRAP again.

“Plenty more where this one came from,” Hansen said. “Quite a few rail cars with two each of these babies onboard. Got to be at least thirty maybe thirty-five total.”

“Fuel it up and get it ready to head back to Cascade,” Holroyd said, thinking about how he would be able to move a sizable number of these MRAPs back to base. He knew that when vehicles were shipped by rail they had the bare minimum of fuel in their tanks. There was still fuel on post, literally millions of gallons, in the storage tanks less than a mile away. If he had more men and time, he would make sure that they fueled up all they could and brought back more of these larger MRAPs. He was aware that they had several vehicles down for maintenance back at Cascade with quite a few looking like they would be cannibalized for parts.

“Hoo-ah, Cap’n,” Hansen said as he and Jorgenson removed the spare fuel cans off the back of the Hummer.

The deep, thudding fire of a heavy weapon caused everyone to pause and look around.

“Where’s that coming from?” Holroyd asked as he slowly turned, trying to focus on where the sound was emanating from.

“The Warpig,” Hansen said.

“Shit,” Holroyd said. “Get that thing fueled and ready. Looks like we stepped in it.”

Holroyd climbed back into his vehicle and turned in his seat to slap Upton on the boot.

“You see anything?” he asked.

“Nothing yet,” Upton replied as he swiveled the big M2 heavy machine gun around and stripped off the weather protective tarp that was covering it.

Behind them, in the clear area between the two Defense Reutilization Material Office warehouses, he could see muzzle flashes then the delayed echo of weapon fire reached him. Through the rain, he could make out shapes emerging from some of the buildings, stumbling across the railroad tracks to shamble towards the parked SOF modified LMTV.

A few of the forms looked to be running with a strange primate like lope. Upton jerked back the charging handle to chamber the first round of the linked belt in the ammo can. They all could see the men in the Warpig as they engaged the infected. The two M2 heavy machine guns, twins to the one on the roof of the Hummer, opened up and tore through the packed horde. The passenger was swiveling his M240 in a wide arc and ripping huge swaths out of the mass, taking down several of the loping infected as well. A sudden series of explosions rocked the mobile weapons platform as the M18A1 Claymore mines were fired along one side. An orange fireball accompanied by a thick cloud of smoke obscured their view of the battle.

Holroyd stepped out onto the running board in time to watch a body and other unrecognizable items fly up into the air then land several yards away from the Warpig. The constant rain kept the fireball from rising higher into the sky. Four headlights came on, cutting a swath of white light through the debris, smoke, and rain. The highly modified M1078 rolled out of the haze, smoke trailing from one side, the side where the anti-personnel mines had been detonated. The metal frame of the cargo bed looked scorched. The crews manning the weapons were still alive and laying out a steady stream of fire into the infected that were just now regaining their feet. He watched as the men in the rear threw their arms into the air then ducked behind the sandbags and armor plating as the grenades cooked off. If they were already down to Claymores and grenades, the situation was deteriorating faster than expected.

“Last load!” a soldier called from the warehouse as the forklift loaded a pallet on the HEMITT and the UGVs began rolling out of the warehouse. Holroyd knew the UGVs would follow their programmed route back to Cascade. He was more concerned about the rest of the foraging party.

“Did you get the water filtration equipment?” he asked as the last UGV cleared the warehouse door and rolled down the ramp.

“It’s on the HEMITT!” the soldier called back.

“Lock it up and pull out!” Holroyd yelled before bringing up his rifle up to engage a small group of infected that appeared at the corner of the warehouse.

“We’re done here as well,” Hansen said as he tossed the empty fuel can into the cargo bed of Holroyd’s MAT-V.

“You two head back now. You got no teeth on that rig,” Holroyd called out as he reloaded.

“Hoo-ah, Cap’n,” Hansen said before he climbed up the passenger side. The MAT-V started up and rumbled after the retreating shape of the last UGV. Jorgenson watched in the mirror as more infected moved towards the captain’s position. He brought his attention back to the road and slowly shook his head. Glancing over at Hansen he saw the same expression on his face. The two men looked at each other and knew what each was thinking. It went against their training to abandon their unit when under fire but they were in a vehicle that had no offensive weaponry. At least Holroyd had several gun trucks with him and the Warpig. That mobile weapons platform alone was capable to laying waste to vast numbers of hostiles.

For as long as its onboard ammunition stores held out.

***

Chapter 19

Camberley, Surrey, United Kingdom

Jack Larkin hacked and slashed at the infected that came into range. At his feet lay a pile of severed limbs and heads. He couldn’t remember how long he had been fighting this group but he did know the muscles in his arms burned as he continued to slash. He was breathing heavy and labored, as the struggled to keep on fighting. At his periphery, he saw someone watching him. Exhausted, unable to continue using his sword, he collapsed to his knees and hung his head. Breathing deeply, trying not to gag on the smell of rotted flesh and spilled entrails, he awaited the bite that would end his life. His heartbeat was loud in his ears as he breathed. The asphalt was starting to brighten.
This was it
, he thought to himself,
this was how it would end. A bright light then nothing.
Something was wrong. He swore he heard soft applause. He tiredly looked up. The narrow alley was full of infected. But they were all on the ground surrounded by gore, pools of black, rancid ochre, and internal organs that had spilt out of sliced open body cavities. Sweat dripped into his eyes, irritating them with their salty sting. The applause had stopped.

Larkin looked around. Sometime during the battle, infected had gotten past him and went for Mike and Rachel. He vaguely remembered it but couldn’t place when it had happened. Mike was still holding his sharpened broom handle only the end was firmly embedded into the eye socket of an infected. The young boy was staring wide eyed at the body skewered to the handle. At his feet, Rachel, his sister, was curled up into a small ball and whimpering softly.

Had someone been clapping or was that the blood pounding in my ears?

Larkin tried to stand, stumbled, caught himself and finally stood up. He brushed his hair out of his eyes and surveyed the carnage before him. M’Banga had never arrived from the store. Larkin felt a sting of bitterness and anger that he had left the Ghurka behind when he had escaped out the delivery door.
Had he escaped? Was that the proper term?
M’Banga had nodded his assent, and then Larkin had grabbed what he could along with the two children and hauled ass. He was angry at himself for leaving the Ghurka behind after all the time they has spent together, training and foraging. Then he realized that if he had stayed in the store along with the Nepalese warrior, he would have suffered the same fate. He glanced over at Mike who was still staring at the rotted infected, wide eyed and unmoving. Larkin removed a rag from his back pocket and ran it along the length of the saber to wipe it clean. Tossing the rag onto the pile of infected, he sheathed the blade and moved closer to the young boy.

Making sure his gloves were secure, he reached out to remove the infected that was stuck on the end of the broom handle. Grasping the shoulder of the Reset Virus victim, he gave it a yank. Mike toppled over with the infected as the body came loose with a wet sucking sound. Larkin painfully crouched down and tried to separate the two. It was then that he noticed that the boy was dead. The infected that was speared on the broom handle had shoved its hands, bones really as the flesh had been worn off from repeated activity, deep into the lower stomach of the boy where those sharp spears of calcium had punctured. When he pulled Mike away from the infected, those bony spurs tore open the abdominal cavity and spilled entrails onto the pavement. Larkin quickly stepped back to avoid getting splattered as greasy gray ropes of intestine poured out in a wet rush.

“Fuck me,” Larkin muttered as he watched more blood and organs cascaded out of the eviscerated child. Death for Mike had to have been a shock as evident from the expression on his face. Larkin hung his head; he knew what needed to be done. He straightened up, drew the saber and in one swift stroke, decapitated the boy. He slowly shook his head as he sheathed the weapon then squatted down to check on Rachel. He reached out gently and shook her shoulder.

“C’mon, honey. You have to come with me now. It’s ok,” Larkin said.

Rachel turned quickly with a hiss, bit onto his hand through the glove and tore a large chunk of flesh out with a wrench of her jaws. Larkin stumbled back in shock and pain, falling to the street on his back. He moved to draw the saber but it was tangled up underneath him. He quickly reached for the Browning on the opposite hip. Rachel lunged at him. He brought up his injured arm to block her and felt her teeth bite deep into the flesh of his forearm. He stifled a scream as he drew the Browning from its holster. Thumbing back the hammer he brought it up to her head as she, apparently unaware of his movements, continued trying to rip flesh from his arm. He put the barrel between his arm and her face, forcing it into her mouth and fired. The 9mm bullet destroyed the back half of her head, sending skull fragments, brain matter, flesh and blood splattering over the street, buildings, and dumpster. Her small body flew back and lay still. Larkin regained his footing, tucking his injured hand and arm against his body.

“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck!”

The pain was already giving way to a burning sensation that was slowly moving up his arm. He stared at the children that now lay broken and dead on the ground as tears flowed from his eyes. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw something move, spinning and taking aim, he saw that it was Leesa or rather the image of Leesa, standing to one side with a sad expression on her face. Larkin shook his head and lowered his weapon.

“No,” he said. “You’re not here. I saw you die.”

Leesa approached him, reached out and put her hand on his shoulder. He was surprised that he felt her touch.

“Yes,” she said. “I am dead. Yet, I am here as well.”

Larkin lowered his head and wept. The burning he felt in his arm had moved up into his shoulder and chest.

“Bloody hell,” he said.

“Jack, you did all you could,” Leesa said, looking down at the dead siblings.

Larkin nodded, sniffed, used the sleeve of his shirt to wipe his nose then looked at Leesa.

“I didn’t do enough,” Larkin said. “I wasn’t able to save them, or save you.” His voice trailed off as he lowered his head and slowly shook it back and forth, squeezing his eyes tight.

“It’s not fair. These kids weren’t part of all this. It’s just not bloody fair.”

“I know,” Leesa said a sad look in her eyes as she glanced down at the two small bodies.

“Jack, look at me,” she said as she moved around to face him. Larkin slowly raised his head until he was staring into her eyes. She reached out and placed her palm against the side of his face. He felt the warmth of her skin against his.

“Jack, there isn’t much time. You did all that could,” she said with a sad look in her eyes. “Come to me.”

“Not bloody fair,” Larkin repeated, looking down at the children that he had sworn to protect. If they hadn’t seen them in the store window, would they still be alive? If he hadn’t deserted M’Banga would he still be alive? Larkin brought the Browning up under his chin; he felt the cold metal of the barrel against his flesh, the smell of the gun oil. He looked up at the sky, tears flowing from his tightly squeezed shut eyes. He saw the light of the false dawn and knew it was his last. He pulled the trigger. His body fell to the street still gripping the pistol as the sun’s first few rays broke through the clouds. The echo of the gun shot had barely dissipated when the rumble of engines filled the air.

A pair of SAS Land Rovers roared up to the intersection in front of the store and stopped. Several soldiers jumped off the vehicles and formed a cordon as the gunners of the mounted weapons scanned the area for threats.

“Stay sharp. The butchers are thick in this area. Check for survivors. We already have one. Look for some more,” the officer in the passenger seat said.

“What the bloody hell? This was one helluva tussle,” one of the soldiers said as he saw the carnage in the alley. Two soldiers cautiously approached, rifles ready then stopped and surveyed the scene.

“This wee fucker sorted these cunts right out,” the other soldier said. “Stacked them up like bloody cordwood, he did.”

“Aye. That he did,” the sergeant said, studying the way the bodies were laid out and replaying the events in his mind. “This bloke was a brave bastard. Stood his ground and gave them a what for.” The sergeant knelt down next to Larkin and used a hand to close the open, glazed eyes. He avoided looking too closely at the gaping hole where the top of Larkin’s head used to be. He had seen enough of those injuries.

“You rest easy now, lad. We’ll take it from here.” The sergeant removed the Browning from Larkin’s stiffening hand and tucked it into his own belt. He drew the saber, studied it by turning it back and forth looking at the edge before he placed it in Larkin’s right hand, moving his left hand to grip the quillon as well. He made sure both hands gripped the edged weapon and the blade was lying on Larkin’s chest.

“A warrior needs to have steel in his hand when he reaches the gates of Valhalla,” he said before he stood and tipped his hand to his beret.

“All right, lads, police up this area and be smart about it.”

Back at the Land Rovers, the OIC was engaged in a conversation over the radio.

“Bravo-One Zero, we’ve got nothing here.” He listened to the headphones then stood up and circled his hand in the air.

“Load up! We’re moving!”

The soldiers climbed back onboard the Land Rovers.

“Think we’ll ever know what happened back there?” one of the soldiers asked.

“Same shit we’ve seen since all this started. More of those bleeding infected.”

A small figure in the back of the second vehicle, covered in a blanket to ward off the chill of the morning, stared at the alley and the bodies piled up. M’Banga lowered his head and whispered a silent prayer that Larkin’s spirit would find peace. As he watched the alley, the sun flared into his eyes and for the briefest of moments, he was sure that he had seen two people, one male, one female, standing together watching him leave.

***