Zompoc Survivor: Inferno (20 page)

“Welcome to Heartland. Part kibbutz, part craft fair, and part SCA event,” Will said as we blinked in the brighter light. “Let’s get you settled and you can take the tour after lunch.” He led us into one of the buildings and up several flights of stairs. The first floor was filled with neat rows of crates and boxes, as well as miscellaneous equipment I could barely put names to in the few seconds I could see it. The second floor seemed to be one giant workshop dedicated to…well, everything. I saw two complete forges, a woodworking bench, what looked like an auto body or mechanical tool bench, and a half a dozen crafts, from textiles to papermaking. The third floor was mostly empty of people, but had furniture scattered all around it. Not far from the stairwell, I could see an expedient field kitchen with several camp stoves, large metal washtubs, and improvised counters set up. A group of men and women were seated around one tub peeling potatoes while a smaller group was chopping up vegetables. We finally stopped climbing on the fourth floor and found ourselves facing a sea of blankets, sleeping bags, and hammocks. There was still plenty of open floor, but this area looked like it was easily home to fifty to sixty people.

“There’s blankets and sleeping bags over there, and even a couple of hammocks if anyone’s up to the challenge,” Willie said as he gestured toward the pile of soft fluffy things near the stairwell. I grabbed a hammock and a couple of wool blankets, and Amy grabbed a heavy sleeping bag and a blanket of her own. She laid her bag out with the blanket on top of it and helped me string the hammock up between one of the support columns and a heavy eyebolt that had been sunk into the wooden column set in one wall. We both left our backpacks and the cache tube on our bedding, and Amy followed me back to where Willie and a couple of his people were waiting by the stairwell.

“What’s your rule on guns?” I said.

“Everyone who can, fights, everyone who fights is armed,” he said. “Once they authorize.”

“How do you authorize?” Amy asked.

“You have to take a gun safety course, then pass an oral exam and a practical range test. But, if you have military or law enforcement experience, all you have to do is the oral exam and the range test, unless you were still in on Z Day.”

“Sign me up,” she said. I nodded and raised my hand to be included.

“Amy, go with Nick here. He’ll get you started. Dave, I need you, Kaplan, and Hernandez to come with me.” I motioned to the two Marines and followed Willie to a hallway further on one side.

“What about authorizing?” I asked as we stepped into the hall. It turned out to be the catwalk between two of the buildings.

“I’ve seen you shoot in a fight. You’re authorized,” he deadpanned. I looked over my shoulder at Kaplan and gave him a smug grin. He flipped me off casually. “Besides, we have something more important to discuss.” We came out into an open area that held a row of desks that were set up facing each other. Piles of paper were held down on more improvised tables by anything that weighed more than a postage stamp. If the activity in this room wasn’t as physical as some things I’d seen being done, it was just as loud and animated. It seemed like every non-productive meeting I’d ever had to sit through at Prov-Am was taking place at the same time in here. Fortunately, Willie led us to a set of stairs that ran along one wall, and we found ourselves on the top floor of the building.

Where the floor below reminded me of corporate America, this floor was more of a military command post. Maps of Kansas City, Missouri, and Kansas were posted on bulletin boards that were set up on one side, while a conference table had been set up in the middle of the room. Opposite the maps sat a table with a shortwave radio set. My breath caught in my throat at the sight of it, and my heart fell into the pit of my stomach when I saw a man fiddling with a circuit board in the table in front of it. Maya’s name was on my lips as I took a step toward it.

“Mr., Stewart,” a familiar voice called out. The man who had been questioning me at the quarantine station straightened from his place at the table. “It seems we were right to be concerned about you.”

“Lay off, Pete,” Willie said without breaking stride.

“You’ll have to excuse Peter,” the older woman who’d been beside him said. She got up from her chair and walked toward us. When she wasn’t out in the field, she wore a long gray sweater that hung down below her hips over a plain wool top. She had a pistol on her hip, and wore a pair of olive drab fatigue pants. As she got closer, she held her right hand out. Her hand was rough with callouses and her grip was firm enough to convey strength without trying to crush my own hand. “He is accustomed to seeing the worst in people as a necessity. He also forgets that he has earned equal enmity from this so called ‘Prophet’.  Though he does take pride enough in that to remind us of it when the occasion warrants it.” Pete gave her a long suffering look as he came around the table and held his hand out as well. My hand pretty much disappeared in his grip, but I got it back without it being crushed. They shook hands with Hernandez and Kaplan as well and gestured for us to take seats at the table as well.

“Pete Gill,” he said. The antagonistic tone was gone from his voice, and he even managed a little bit of a smile. “Robert Hall and I go way back. I busted him for attempted murder about ten years ago. This here’s Dr. Devira Shaked. I take it Willie told you the basics of what we’re doing here?”

“Yes, he did,” Kaplan said. “Though I’m sure there’s more to it than just finding a safe place to homestead.”

“Much more,” Devira said. “Though more by necessity than any philosophical leanings. Let me show you something.” She turned and headed toward the stairs. I followed her down to the third floor, where she stepped into the darkened area and turned to face me. Willie stood behind me as Dr. Shaked turned around and gestured to the men who had come with us. They pulled heavy cloth away from the windows to reveal stacks of boxes on palettes that reached to at least eye level. Off to the right, one palette held sacks of something, and to my left the floor was largely empty. I headed over to the stacked burlap sacks and searched for a label.
Rice 50lbs. (22.67 kg.)
under the brand logo. I straightened and looked the palette over, then went to the next. Boxes of salt sat atop baking powder and yeast.

“You could feed dozens of people for a month with what you have here,” I said, then stopped with one hand up and my mouth open. Most days I was pretty quick. Today, it was taking me a few seconds to understand the sheer scope of what this one room actually meant. “The floors below us are already full,” I said softly.

Devira nodded. “Realistically speaking, the institution we know…
knew
as the United States of America was as much an entity of infrastructure as ideals. With most of the population turned into a hostile element, that infrastructure is fractured beyond its own ability to repair itself. This city will provide us the supplies we will need to survive until we can repair some parts of that infrastructure for ourselves and begin to rebuild. Currently, we have about a year’s worth of food and other supplies. In time, we will be able to advance our own skills so that we can help others, too.”

“How do you decide who to let in?” Kaplan asked.

“We don’t,” Pete said with a rumbling laugh. “A night in quarantine weeds out most of the special snowflakes who think the world owes ‘em something. A couple made it through that, but like my pop used to say, they’ll either wake up or
get
woke up. Everyone pulls their weight or leaves. Any problems with that?” His last sentence was meant for everyone, but his eyes were on me.  All three of us shook our heads. “Okay. So Willie thinks you’d all do pretty good on his search teams. But I want you inside the wire, Mr. Stewart. At least at first, so we know if this Tate fellow is going to go running back to his buddy the Prophet or not.” Willie, Kaplan, and Hernandez protested immediately, but I shook my head and held up my hands.

“He’s got a point,” I said over their objections. “And you two both know Hall ain’t the only one gunning for me.”

“Please, Mr. Stewart,” Devira said, gesturing to me with one hand. “Elaborate.” That one word scared me more than anything I’d run across since the world went to shit, and left me with no doubt that if she thought I was a threat, Devira Shaked wouldn’t hesitate for a microsecond to put a bullet someplace important on my anatomy. I was also left with the chilling sense that she was perfectly capable of doing it from whatever distance she chose.

“Have you run into Patient Zero?” I asked. Three blank looks met mine. “Well dressed, voice like a gravel pit, all the other zombies are his bitches?” Pete and Devira looked uncomfortable, and it was Willie who spoke.

“The Necromancer,” he said with a note of triumph in his voice. “We told you he was real.”

“All the evidence was second hand stories,” Pete said. “And half your team never saw the guy. Of course we were skeptical.”

“He’s real. And he’s…third in line to try to kill me.”

“Third?” Devira asked, and her tone got frosty enough to chip ice off of. “Who else wants you dead?”

“Guy by the name of Keyes. Works for Homeland Security when he’s not moonlighting with Monos.”

“I’ve heard that name,” Devira said, almost sounding like she approved. “When Monos moved its headquarters from Delaware to Missouri three years ago. There was a concern about a conflict of interest when he was appointed as the FDA liaison for their research center in Nevada.”

“The man gets around,” I said. “So, yeah, it might be better if I stay behind the wire here for a while, but only as long as no one knows where
here
is.”

“That won’t be a problem,” Pete said. “In a few days, we’ll be miles away from here. Which brings up another question. Will here says you’ve got the same thing in mind. Where are you headed?”

“Not my secret to tell,” I said.

“Fair enough,” Pete said. “We know what you and the corporal can help with, lieutenant. But what else can you do that does not involve zombies or salvage? Mr. Stewart?”

“I can operate that radio,” I said with a nod. “Not that you probably need it that much right now. Aside from that, I’m pretty decent with my hands, and I don’t mind a little hard work.” Pete and Devira looked at each other for a moment before Devira spoke.

“In truth, Mr. Stewart, if the radio worked, it would be a vital part of our plan. We have one that can receive only. The one you saw upstairs has transmit capability, or it should.”

“When I was in the Air Force, operating and maintaining comm systems was part of my job. I might be able to fix it,” I said. “If I can’t fix it, I could also build one from scratch with a set of blueprints and the right parts.”

“Sounds like we might need to hit a Radio Shack,” Willie said.

“And a library,” Hernandez added.

“The library is already on our list,” Pete said. “But I think it just got bumped way up. Okay, Willie, get your team ready. Sounds like this might be a heavy run either way, so prep the truck. Stewart, take a look at that radio and see what you can do with it. If you can fix it, fine. Whether you can or not, I also want you to put together a new one if we can’t scrounge another one up.”

“I’ll need some tools,” I said.

Journal
of Maya Weiss

Saturday, October 19, 2013

Fort Riley was a mixed bag. We lost ten of the Marines trying to get to the troops who were still alive, but we gained thirty men and women once we actually got to them. And we picked up a lot of stuff. Lynch and I didn’t see eye to eye on that part. He wanted to take some of the tanks and artillery, but that would have meant leaving other things behind. We compromised on some of the big armored vehicles called Strykers (the y is important for some reason,) and as much food and gear as we could manage. One thing we did agree on was the Stingers, a kind of portable anti-aircraft missile. We got some ammunition, but Lynch said it wasn’t enough. Captain Carson, the officer running the place, said her people had used a lot of what they had, and that the troops that had been deployed during the outbreak crisis had taken the bulk of the ammunition with them. So, we’re left with about ten thousand rounds instead of hundreds of thousands of rounds. We also have a LOT of food. MREs, First Strike Rations, and all the food that was left on the base. I’m not sure Nate is going to be ready for what’s going to be showing up on his doorstep.

The new government started broadcasting again last night, too. Martial law has been replaced by the Freedom Act. According to the man who calls himself the President, the new Freedom Act supersedes the Constitution. In other words, new laws. It’s illegal to be outside of a safe zone now and to carry a gun. It’s also against the law to ‘impede rescue efforts’ and to broadcast on the radio without a waiver. Of course, looting is still illegal, but now, so is sedition. And the list of seditious activities is pretty long, too. Lynch and Carson looked pretty upset, and they have good reason to be. If this is the government, it’s not the one they swore their oath to. All I know is that this government tried to kill us, and the two people I love most in the word are stuck in a city full of zombies because of them.

Since Mitchell showed back up, everyone carries a gun. Cassie never lets Bryce out of her sight any more, and she’s always armed. She taught Porsche and me to use the nine millimeter pistols, and all of us, Bryce included, got one of the Marines to show us how to use the M4. Porsche is still partial to the shotgun. I wonder if Amy will recognize me when she sees me again? Will I recognize her? If I know Dave, he’s already teaching her how to use a gun, how to kill a zombie (not like he was an expert, but leave it to him to figure it out) and how to build a car with a can opener or something like that. It’s funny the things that he knows. But that’s rule number one: 98% of survival is mental. I miss them both.