Winchester Undead (Book 2): Winchester: Prey (18 page)

CHAPTER 39

Groom Lake, Nevada

February 17, Year 1

Cliff and Wright sat in a conference room with the chosen leaders of the two civilian groups that had arrived at their facility just a few hours prior. The arrivals were still in quarantine, but after the SITREP from Rick, Cliff wanted to hear more about the group’s survival and specifically about the militant aggressor group in Colorado.

Mike Rodriguez represented the Dumas, Texas group, and Jake Sills the group from Cortez. Both men wore new and clean BDUs and both bore the look of someone who’d had a full meal and a hot shower for the first time in a long time. Cliff knew that look well, having worn it himself many times after long missions. Still, both of the new men looked uneasy, unsure of their new positions in the government facility.

Cliff looked each man in the eyes and began. “Gentlemen. Welcome to your new home. You are welcome here as long as you choose and as long as you contribute to the group. I know you both have a lot of questions, but first let me cover some things, which may give you some of the answers you’re looking for.

“My name is Cliff, and I’m in charge of the facility here. Many years ago, I was chosen by the United States Government to help facilitate the continuity of government, the survival of the United States, for a time that might come like what we have today. We, the intelligence community, knew this attack was coming, but the timetable caught us by surprise. We didn’t expect the Chinese to achieve success in their development of the virus so quickly.

“You probably don’t know this, but the Chinese, along with North Korea, initiated the surprise attack on the U.S. They detonated multiple nuclear warheads high in the atmosphere to generate an Electromagnetic Pulse, or EMP, which disabled just about every piece of technology on the continent. The reanimated corpses, zombies if you will, are also a result of the attack. The modified bombers they used were drones, either flown remotely or completely computer-controlled; we’re not sure. Regardless, they sprayed the populated areas with the engineered virus that jump-started this whole mess. Obviously, you see the results of the infection.”

Jake started to speak, but Cliff held up his hand.

“The Yama Strain is what we call it. It was first found by the Nazis in the Himalayas during one of their expeditions to research their idea of the master race. They tried to develop it, but couldn’t; they ran out of time and technology. The Soviets tried as well and failed, taking the facilities researching the strain and the scientists during the end of the war behind the Iron Curtain. After the fall of the USSR, the Chinese ended up with it, and obviously they were successful. This facility we’re at was on the cutting edge of finding a way to fight the virus, but the scientists and doctors working on that project were killed when the facility was overrun by reanimates. The last hope we had was killed when one of his research specimens broke containment and started another outbreak in the facility. Developing anything to fight the virus is thought to be impossible now. We are left only with survival.

“That brings us to our current mission—find as many survivors as we can, help them as much as we can, and get as many of them as possible back to the safety of Groom Lake. As we gain more numbers, we can start expanding from this facility, but we have to start here.”

Jake spoke first. “So how many others are here?”

“Your two groups are the first civilians we’ve brought in. The major arrived with his handful of airmen from Colorado a few weeks ago. Rick and his group of special operators just arrived when we took command of the plane we used to evacuate you.”

“Have you contacted many other survivors? What about our military? What about China?”

Wright nodded. “Jake, we’ve contacted a good number of survivors, but we believe there are many more that we can’t contact due to the lack of communications gear that survived the EMP. As for the military, many of the bases and installations were completely overrun. Soldiers aren’t typically armed or ready for an attack when garrisoned in CONUS. As for any overseas groups, we haven’t been successful yet, but we’re hoping in time our luck will change in that regard. Same with our naval vessels that are still at sea. Hopefully, as we speak, surviving vessels are sailing home as fast as they can. We’re still trying to contact them. The only contact we’ve had outside of the U.S. are some spotty reports on the shortwave bands coming from the UK, and a transmission from the International Space Station that they were going to wait for their supplies to dwindle while attempting to convert a Dragon supply capsule to use for a return trip to Earth. After those initial transmissions with the ISS, we haven’t been able to reestablish contact.”

“Fine, but what about China? We’re at war, right? Are we still under attack?”

Wright frowned. “We haven’t been able to detect any transmissions from mainland China since the onset of the attack. Satellite imagery appears that the urban centers are completely overrun by the undead, just as we are here. They appear to be in the same state of emergency that we are. All we can assume at this point is that somehow they lost containment of the virus.”

Jake shook his head. “But if they were planning an attack, wouldn’t they have invasion forces? Do you think there are any Chinese troops here?”

Cliff raised his eyebrows. “Quite frankly, we haven’t had the chance to consider that, because we’ve been so focused on trying to establish a survivable foothold and locating survivors. China’s ability to move personnel and equipment has been quite limited historically, but a lot of the West Coast has been obscured by smoke for the past few weeks. But you’re right, just because we didn’t know about any troop transport ships of any significance doesn’t mean they didn’t build them. They did sneak the attack by us, after all. Major, would you put together some people to look into that?”

Wright jotted some notes on his notepad and nodded.

“Now, for our new guests: we should be able to release you from quarantine once you reach the forty-eight hour mark, but I have something for you to work on while you’re in there. As your groups are the first civilian arrivals, you will be tasked with drafting the civilian rules, duties, rotation schedules for those duties, and leadership structure. We can meet tomorrow afternoon to discuss your starting thoughts, but please keep in mind that the Constitution is still the supreme law of the land. Our job is to uphold it; your job is to live it.

“Now Jake, I want you to tell me your group’s survival story, and I want all the details you have about the aggressor group of survivors left in Cortez.”

CHAPTER 40

Pyote, Texas

February 17, Year 1

Lindsey sat on the cold concrete floor, her new M4 field-stripped, while Apollo walked her through the process of inspecting and cleaning her new rifle. The past two hours had been spent teaching her how to operate and use the rifle, followed by a lot of live fire training. If someone came to the supply cache after them, they would be really upset if they needed spare tires for their Humvee.

Luckily the cache had numerous pallets of XM193 .556 ammo for their rifles. More than they could count. So they had no worries about using up their ammunition in training. In fact, their biggest worry with their ammo supply was that they’d loaded too much into the Land Rover and the weight would cause problems.

Even though at the beginning she was intimidated by the rifle and all the gear, by the end of her training, Lindsey was beginning to move and shoot like an old pro, pulling loaded magazines out of the mag pouches on her vest carrier, dumping the empty mags in a dump pouch, and even making smooth transitions from her rifle to her pistol. Although her accuracy still needed work, it was close enough that it could make a difference. It would take her more shots than Apollo or Chivo, but she would eventually get the job done and be a productive member of their fighting unit. Apollo was confident that if they had a month, he could turn Lindsey into someone who would be at home on any top-level SWAT team in the country.

“I didn’t even think I would enjoy this kind of shooting this much. All I ever did was shoot skeet in high school.”

“Well, times have changed, my friend. And I’m glad that now you have the skills to make sure you’ll never be trapped on top of a highway sign again in your life.”

Lindsey gave Apollo a long look with a gentle smile before Chivo interrupted, “If you’re done holding hands with the senorita, come make a final inspection of our load out so we can get wheels up. We only have a few more hours until sunrise and then we need to get moving.”

Apollo glanced at Lindsey. Instead of a face flushed with embarrassment, she gave him a sly smile as he walked off.

“Sorry to break up fun time in fantasy land, mano, but we’re on mission; you need to get your shit squared.”

“You’re right. But this isn’t like any mission we’ve ever run together over the past fifteen years. Besides, what’s wrong with being friendly?”

“Nothing. Just remember your prayers.”

Apollo bowed his head. “Dear Lord, please don’t let me fuck up.”

“Exactly.”

Thirty minutes passed as Apollo and Chivo checked the load out in the Land Rover, checking equipment off the list each of them held. Lindsey joined them, M4 clean and reassembled, magazine inserted into the rifle and weapon on safe.

Chivo, satisfied with the inspection, unfolded a sleeping pad and lay down, pulling a poncho liner over his head. He quickly fell asleep. Apollo was always amazed at how quickly Chivo could fall asleep. The three had decided earlier that since the time was very short and the facility secure, they could all three sleep at the same time. Apollo walked to where Lindsey sat, laying out her sleeping pad.

“Lindsey, we only have a quick hour to sleep. Bag out while you can.”

“How far do we need to travel today?”

“Chivo thinks it will be about three hours to reach the AO, Area of Operation, for the rescue attempt.”

Apollo turned to walk around to the other side of the Land Rover.

“Please don’t leave me alone. Why don’t you lay down here next to me?”

Apollo looked over his shoulder to where Chivo lay sleeping and then back at Lindsey.

“OK, let me get my bed roll.”

Apollo returned to find Lindsey lying on her sleep pad and laid his head a few feet away from her, pulling a poncho liner over himself. Lindsey stood and pushed her sleeping pad next to Apollo’s and lay down again, draping her arm over his chest and resting her head on his shoulder.

“This is better,” Lindsey said with another smile.

The Window

Bexar limped up the Oak Spring Trail to where it rejoined The Window Trail. He felt the intoxication of the whiskey fading, the strenuous hike on an injured leg having a strong sobering effect, and his mind was fuzzy from the Vicodin even though it helped take the edge off the pain. His thoughts were just out of reach. Bexar looked up the trail and towards the eastern horizon. The glowing approach of sunrise was his enemy. His only chance to get near the cabins to lay an ambush would be to get past the cabins on the Pinnacles Trail before fading into the woods, but to do that, he needed to get to the trail before daylight. The trail passed very close to the camping area, the hotels, the parking areas, and the cabins to give visitors easy access to the system of trails in The Basin. However, Bexar’s immediate problem was that the rest of the morning’s hike was all uphill.

The camping area passed on Bexar’s left and he approached the back of The Basin Convenience Store before taking a fork in the trail to his right and passing behind the hotels. The rusty metal sign said the trail’s name was Laguna Meadows, and as many times as Bexar had been in the park, he didn’t recognize that name. He’d always thought it to be a part of The Window Trail from the cabins.

The sky was turning light gray as Bexar passed his old cabin. He smelled cigarette smoke, heard someone snoring loudly, and heard someone else coughing. Bexar could only hope they didn’t notice him passing just below the back porch of the cabin. The trail widened out to a small rock-covered road that went to the large water tanks the entire Basin used. They were one of the sets of tanks at which Bexar had installed solar panels. Taking cover a few feet off the trail, Bexar stopped for a moment to catch his breath, drink some water, and listen to the surroundings while gathering his thoughts. The big green tanks loomed like dark shadows in the early morning light. Bexar jerked in excitement, realizing he could shut off the water supply to the cabins. He scanned the area around him to see if anyone had noticed and limped up the trail as quickly as he could.

Reaching the fenced area around the water tanks, Bexar opened the gate; the lock and chain had been removed the first time he visited the tank weeks ago. Sheltered under a lean-to with a metal roof were the main valves for the tanks. One controlled the water intake from a tank down near The Window; the other controlled the output to provide The Basin hotels, cabins, and restaurant with water. Using a large piece of angle iron lying next to the tank as a level, Bexar pushed hard against the valve. Slowly, it rotated closed. He had no idea how much water was in the pipes and how long that water would last before water stopped flowing out of the faucets, but he hoped it would be soon.

Closing the gate behind him, Bexar limped into the clump of trees and brush near the tanks, took cover, and waited.

CHAPTER 41

The Basin

February 17, Year 1

The water wasn’t hot, but it flowed from the showerhead, which was more than Russell had enjoyed since the world stopped. He stood with his arms against the shower wall, water running over his head and down his back. Two naked women rubbed soapy washcloths on his body. He may not have hot water, but he was the king of the new world and now he didn’t even have to bathe himself. Russell thought that was a fair trade.

The best part of the women bathing him was the last part. Both of them would spend extra time “cleaning” his dick. They had just started when the water cut off.

“What the fuck?”

Russell looked at the water knobs and turned them both off and on again with no result.

“God dammit.” Russell pushed one of the women out of his way and stepped out of the shower. The back of her head bounced off the sink basin with a thud and she collapsed on the floor, a small trickle of blood starting to drip down her face. Russell stepped over his new bitch, whom he had found untied when he returned to the cabin the night before. This time her hands were tied tighter and also tied to the bed frame. One of her eyes looked like it was swollen shut, but Russell didn’t care. He thought it was the start of teaching his new bitch her place. He pulled on his dirty jeans and a sweatshirt and, lighting a cigarette, stepped out of the cabin into the cold morning air.

“Buzzer, get over here!”

A prospect opened the door to a beat-up van with no windshield that was sitting in the middle of the parking area and jogged to Russell. “Buzzer’s dead, President Russell.”

“Shit, right. OK, you get someone to go with you and figure out why the fuck the water stopped.”

The prospect turned and jogged back towards the other cabins behind him to find the only other prospect left besides himself.

Pyote, Texas

Apollo’s eyes snapped open. Lindsey’s arm was still on his chest and her head on his shoulder. Careful not to disturb her, he raised his free arm to look at his watch. 0500.
Shit, it’s time to get wheels up.
At least he’d woken up before Chivo found them. He didn’t know why he cared that Chivo cared. Chivo wasn’t the team leader; there was no team leader. Hell, before being sheep dipped out of the Army, they both held the same rank. He and Lindsey were grown-ass people and it shouldn’t matter. Apollo slowly extracted himself from under Lindsey’s embrace, pulled the poncho liner off him, and began packing up his bedroll. He stuffed it in the Land Rover before shaking Chivo’s shoulder. Waking his buddy resulted in a pistol being pointed at him while Chivo’s eyes focused and his brain caught up with his surroundings. As quickly as the pistol had appeared, it disappeared back into his holster. After a quick breakfast of MREs, the unlikely trio was in the heavily laden Land Rover driving towards the ramp and the surface.

Chivo leaned out the driver’s window and punched in the same sequence of numbers. The roof above the ramp raised with a muffled hiss as the hydraulics pushed the small concrete building up. After Chivo drove to the surface and onto the dark desert floor, Apollo exited the SUV and closed the entrance behind them. They weren’t sure if they would need to stop back again to resupply, and it wouldn’t do to have their bountiful supply cache looted or filled with undead.

The sky began to take a flat gray color as sunrise crept over the eastern horizon. Apollo had a notebook road atlas that had been found in the cache site. He flipped through the pages and compared the handwritten directions they had. “OK, back out to the frontage road, head east about two clicks to FM 1927, and turn south.”

Chivo followed the directions and made the turn. The open expanse of the west Texas desert lay before them, and all they saw in the dim morning light was miles and miles of nothing dotted with pumper jacks. The six five-gallon cans of diesel fuel strapped to the roof from the supply cache and the refilled fuel tank of the Land Rover gave Chivo more confidence that they could reach wherever they needed to drive without too much concern with fuel economy. So, he took the opportunity with the open road to push the accelerator a little further towards the floor than he had yesterday. The desert blurred by beside them; they saw no cars, no people, nothing on the small Texas FM road. The morning grew lighter as they turned onto FM 1776 and continued south towards the AO, Big Bend National Park.

The sun continued its march into the sky and, without warning, the Land Rover approached the frontage road for I-10. Chivo stopped the SUV and over the sound of the engine they could hear it. All three of them climbed out of the Land Rover and onto the roof rack. Apollo raised a pair of field glasses and looked south towards I-10. An unfathomable mass of walking corpses was trudging eastbound on the highway. Cars groaned as they were pushed out of the way by the pressure of the sea of dead bodies. Like pebbles pushed to the beach by the rising tide, the cars slid to the side of the mob and onto the shoulder of the highway. Some of the zombies stumbled out into the low brush of the desert trees next to the highway, but most continued their mindless journey eastward like rats following the Pied Piper. Apollo scanned left and right with the field glasses.

“I don’t see an end or a beginning. I couldn’t even begin to guess how many there are.”

“Un Chingo. I don’t want to know; I don’t want to wait to find out. How does the bridge look?”

Their road, thankfully, was not I-10, and it crossed over the Interstate instead of under it.

“Looks clear.”

“Then we better get moving before those dead bodies figure out we’re up here.”

They climbed back into the Land Rover and quickly drove south. The far side of the bridge was clear, and now, on Highway 67 in the open desert, Chivo pushed the speedometer above seventy miles per hour, quickly leaving the horde of undead behind them. He had no desire to be anywhere near that many walking corpses, nor did the others.