End Days Super Boxset (103 page)

"My name is William Hodder. You're at a military outpost called Base 42. I'm assuming your arrival here wasn't voluntary?"

"Why am I handcuffed?" she said, pulling at the railing.

"You assaulted one of our men. Stabbed him in cold blood."

"Your
men
assaulted me, starting with that psycho who killed my aunt. He's not going to get away with it. None of you are."

"Careful now—" Bill stopped. "What's your name?"

Veronica thought about giving him a fake name but didn't see the point. "Veronica," she said.

"Now, Veronica. I understand that you're upset, but I don't take kindly to threats. We have rules at Base 42. Rules that keep us safe and alive. One of our rules was broken when Jacob brought in an outsider, possibly contaminating the base. The other rule was broken when you stabbed one of my men. That, my dear, is why you're handcuffed."

Veronica dropped her head in defeat. "Why didn't your men just shoot me?" she said as her dark bangs hung down, covering her face.

Bill walked closer to her bed and stopped. "Why would we do that? If someone had shot you, I would have shot them. Simple as that. Where I come from, you don't shoot a woman for just trying to run away. That wouldn't be fair at all. In fact, it would be cowardly."

Veronica let down her guard and attempted to try reasoning with him. "I don't know who you people are, and I don't care. I don't want to be here. I'm asking you to let me go. I have a friend, and he's looking for me. Lots of friends actually. They'll come here, and that'll be the end of your 'no outsiders' rule."

"I doubt they could find the place," Bill said. "Besides, we're pretty well fortified here."

Veronica jerked at the handcuffs once again. Talking with Hodder was like a game. She was searching for the right thing to say. His cold, formal demeanor made him difficult to read, and the only thing she could see of him when he moved closer were his sunken blue eyes. "Mr. Hodder," she said. "I think we can work something out here. I have a house with supplies. In fact, I know of many houses with supplies not far from here. Jacob said that he was 'scavenging,' so I can assume this base is in need of supplies."

"That's very generous of you," Bill said. Every word was muffled, but he didn't even consider taking his respirator off. "Eventually, I imagine, we'll have to go on another scavenger run. Only I'll try to send someone more competent. You said that Jacob murdered your aunt. Why?"

An intense, emotional weight hit Veronica, and it was hard for her to speak. She looked down at the white floor below and held back her tears, shaking her head. "I don't know. Because he's a sick man."

"I'm sorry to hear about that," Bill said.

Veronica's eyelids squeezed together as tears rolled down her cheeks.

"It's very unfortunate." He walked closer to her mattress and stood over her. "Now your friends. Did he hurt any of them?"

Veronica shook her head, almost as if refusing to answer. "I need to know, please. The rules apply to everyone here, even those who answer directly to me. Jacob will answer for his crimes, rest assured."

She looked up, almost as if confiding in him. "He shot my friend, Greg."

"And did he kill him?" Bill asked.

There was a pause. "I don't know."

"And I assume your friend is responsible for that gunshot wound in Jacob's shoulder?"

Veronica said nothing.

"That's what I thought," Hodder said. He backed away from her and walked toward the door.

Veronica called out to him, and he stopped and turned around. "Please let me go," she pleaded.

Bill took a single step toward her, stopped, and folded his arms. "It's a fragile thing, what we have here. It could be gone like that tomorrow." He clapped his gloved hands together. "The people here respect action. You will be given a trial for attacking one of my men. It will be fair and impartial, just like our system in the outside world. Jacob will have to do the same."

Veronica was beside herself. "What trial? Under whose authority?”

"That's enough for now," Bill said. "I suggest you get some rest."

He turned around and left the room before she could respond. She could hear the door locking as it closed. The room was quiet again and she was more confused than she had ever been.

***

Jacob was lying in his bed, nearly dozing off from boredom, when the door suddenly burst open with Hodder and Marcus storming in, downgraded from HAZMAT to basic protective gear. He jolted awake and sat up, confused.

"What is it?" he asked.

Hodder stopped at the foot of the bed and loomed over Jacob like an angry storm. Marcus stood to the side not saying anything. Jacob, again, asked them what they wanted, but there was no immediate reply. Hodder slowly raised an arm and pointed.

"You're not telling us everything," he said.

Jacob looked around nervously. "What are you talking about?"

"The woman. Her friends. The one who shot you. Is he still alive?"

Jacob stammered in response. "I—I don't think so."

Hodder leaned over. For a moment, it seemed that Ebola was the least of his concerns. "Did you get in a head shot? Gut shot? Where did you shoot him?"

Jacob hesitated but could only tell the truth. "In the leg."

Marcus threw his hands up. "Now you tell me!"

Hodder gripped the bedpost with both gloved hands. "One shot in the leg. Then you stole his girlfriend. What about the others?"

Jacob looked confused. "What others? There were no others. It was just him and the girl."

Hodder released his grip and backed away, smiling under his respirator mask. "Well, I guess I can't blame her for trying."

He then paced around Jacob’s bed, slowly. Growing nervous, Jacob pushed his back against the frame. Hodder stopped, inches from the bed, and spoke directly and with calm authority. "That woman says you murdered her aunt. You tell us you shot a man in the leg. He's out there right now. You told him about the base, didn't you?"

Jacob looked at Marcus for support, but Marcus only looked away. "I-I...they tied me up. He questioned me. I was stalling. I didn't tell him where it is!"

"He could bring others here. It's only a matter of time," Hodder said.

"There's no one else around! He's the only one. He's completely alone, and he’s been shot. What's he going to do, fly over here?"

Hodder folded his arms behind him and rocked back on his heels as if displaying a mock military general’s stance.

"You were trusted to find supplies and bring them back, not go on a murdering and kidnapping spree. The rules are the rules and we'll have to consider a trial, lest word spreads around the base of this woman's story. It makes us look weak, ineffective."

Jacob couldn't believe what he was hearing. "Bill, please. Everything I did was to help out the base. I can't help it if I was attacked in the process. I was defending myself!"

"We'll have to sort it all out during the trial."

Jacob tried to speak but could only get out fragments of words and broken sentences. It didn't make any sense to him. He felt hurt and betrayed.

"You can't do this to me!" he shouted.

Marcus stepped in and put his hand up. "All right, Jacob. That's enough."

Hodder stepped forward again. "Or." He paused. "Or, you can lead a team outside the base, find this man, and put an end to what you started."

Jacob shook his head, trying to comprehend the situation.

"The choice is all yours," Hodder said.

From behind the weeds under the acacia trees on top of a cliff in the mountains, Greg had watched Base 42 for an entire day. There had been no outside activity, but he could see movement in the towers above the concrete walls surrounding the base. The main, and only, entrance was through the rolling chain-link fence, which itself was capped with concertina wire on top.

Two large red and white signs were attached to the gates that read, "Restricted Access," and "Authorized Personnel Only." Much time had passed since the outpost had operated as a drone site, and Greg wondered whether there was any continuing military presence at the base. He was concerned it had been taken over by a rogue group. The only question was why.

After a restless night’s sleep, it was soon morning, and Greg was determined to find a way in without being seen. However, the desolate area around the base provided no cover. To simply approach it would mean full exposure. Nighttime would be his only option, but he still would need a way in.

Lying on his stomach and propped up by his bug-out bag, Greg held his binoculars up and scanned the walls of the base. It was more of the same: no movement and no activity. The night before, he had noticed the glow of lights inside the base. They had running power, and that alone made Base 42 significant. The guards in the towers looked prepared to defend it against outsiders, much as Greg had been ready to defend his own home.

He had set some tripwire around his position before going to sleep the night before. The mini-sentry traps were attached to sticks he strategically placed into the ground around him. Once tripped, the wire would trigger a blast from a blank .22, immediately alerting him to an intruder's presence. It was the same concept he’d used at his house, only now the stakes were even higher.

A light breeze swayed through the trees above Greg, and the shade provided him with just enough cover and comfort. He blended into his surroundings, wearing a pair of tan jeans and a tan long-sleeve shirt, and he was alert and focused—confident that he was out of their view. He snacked on an MRE and waited.

Just when he began to expect another long day spent staring at the concrete walls with his binoculars, the gates opened and a large military 5-ton cargo truck drove out. The low growl of the engine echoed for miles as smoke billowed from its exhaust pipe, sticking up from behind the cab. Greg lowered his binos and grabbed his Remington. Looking through the scope, he followed the truck as it drove out into the open desert.

There were two people inside, and the cargo bed was covered by a camouflage tarp. They drove about a mile away from the base and stopped at the same smoking landfill pit Greg had scoped out a day earlier. The truck backed up to the pit and parked.

Greg shifted his focus back to the base where guards had just finished closing the gate. He saw an opportunity, perhaps the only one he would have to get inside. It made perfect sense. The base had to dispose of their trash, and making routine trips to a nearby burn pit were necessary for sanitation purposes.

Curious, Greg moved his sights back to the landfill where the passenger and the driver, both in full HAZMAT, jumped out. Clouds of dust trails floated around the men, nearly concealing them, but Greg stayed locked in. His ballistic long-range riflescope gave him an up-close view of the proceedings, and he remained still, with his elbows dug into the dirt, balancing the rifle.

One man unlatched the tailgate as the other paced around in a circle, kicking up more dirt. The tailgate came down, and the two men walked back to the side of the truck near the front. Greg was intrigued. Seeing men in full HAZMAT had him thinking that he was no safer from the virus out in the desert than he was in Carson City. That, or the men were being overly cautious. The driver pressed a button on the side of the truck and the cargo bed went up at an angle, dumping all the contents directly into the pit.

Greg watched as long black body bags rolled over each other and piled into the gaping, smoky hole. A gruesome idea entered his head, but he tried to dismiss it. Several trash bags fell from the truck as well. The driver pressed another button, and the cargo bed moved back in position. The other man pulled out a can of gasoline and poured it into the pit. He lit a match and tossed it in as flames grew. He stared into the fire for a moment as the driver called to him, signaling it was time for them to leave. They walked to the front of the truck, and the driver stopped—as if by premonition—and began to look around.

Unless they had supervision, Greg knew that they couldn't see him. He continued to observe as they got back into the truck and rode back to the nearby base with their engine roaring. The entire ordeal took about ten minutes, and after the truck reentered the base, the gates were closed and locked once more. If the truck left the base on a schedule or routine, Greg could better position himself near the landfill in order to sneak onto the truck and get inside the base. He was ready to kill both passengers if necessary. Then a thought came to him, as if he was trying to talk himself down from the idea of automatically killing people.

Not everyone on the base might be like the man who took Veronica. There might be some good people here.

Regardless, he needed to have a plan, and he would need to act if there was a chance of getting Veronica and escaping with their lives intact.

He stood up to stretch for a moment, expecting another lengthy wait until the trash truck came out again. Suddenly, a guard wheeled the gate open and a small jeep left the base. Greg flew to the ground, among the dirt and pebbles, and picked up his rifle. Through his scope he could see that the jeep was filled with people, all wearing respirator masks, hoodies, and gloves. The jeep was speeding through the desert, leaving a long cloud of dust in its wake. He wasn't yet sure where they were going, but they were headed in his direction.

Greg saw another opportunity, though it was far more risky than riding into the base in the trash truck. If the jeep was headed for the mountain, they were most likely on their way back to town, as it was the only route Greg knew of. He carefully observed the jeep as it drove up the winding mountain curve, getting closer to where he was hiding. He lost sight of the jeep once it drove on a curve.

Greg jumped up again and looked around. It may have been nothing to get worried about, but his instincts told him differently. They were driving fast, and with urgency, as if on a mission. Greg began to rethink his strategy. He got up, moved his bug-out bag under a tree, and pulled out a small camouflage netting. He repositioned himself facing the road and lay flat on his stomach, rifle in hand. He pulled the netting over him, concealing himself among the weeds and the shade of the nearby tree hanging over him.

He peered out of an opening under the netting, aimed his rifle, and waited. He could hear the engine. The jeep was getting closer, and they were slowing down. It pulled to the side of the road only twenty or so feet from Greg's hidden position. They parked just out of view, but Greg remained still and alert, listening for their every movement.

He could hear a voice call out to the men. Though it was muffled by a mask, it was immediately recognizable to him.

"Keep your eyes open, gentlemen. A quick sweep of this area, and then we move on."

"Who the hell are we looking for? This some kind of wild goose chase?"

"We're looking for an outsider, a man, who poses a threat to the base."

"Well, he's got to be one Billy badass to stir up this much shit."

"Hodder thinks he's watching us."

"Why?"

"Because I stole his supplies, that's why."

"I heard you stole his bitch, too."

"Who said that?"

"Word gets around. Is it true?"

"The only thing that's true is that if we don't find this guy, we'll be pulling trash detail for a month."

"You think so?"

"I know so. Now keep your voices down and split up. We have a lot of ground to cover. We might have to backtrack all the way to his house."

“On foot?”

“No, not on foot. Are you insane?”

"Why not just go there now?"

"Because a guard said he saw some movement up here."

"Probably a damn coyote."

"Regardless, it's got Hodder spooked."

"Heard you shot this dude in the leg."

"You guys are worse than a damn sewing circle."

Greg could finally see them as they came around a bend and into view. There were five of them. They wore respiratory masks and were armed with rifles. They weren't wearing standard protective gear. Instead, they sported jeans, long-sleeved shirts, hiking boots, and gloves. The haste at which their mission was thrown together gave them only so much time to prepare.

Jacob paused to study the landscape, not sure what he was looking for. Catching Greg was a priority, and Jacob felt that his fate was singularly tied to the outcome of the search. Hodder had made that much clear. Jacob wasn't lying when he said that failing the mission would mean trash duty for the men.

The only thing he had left out was the punishment that awaited him. The men didn't care either way. They just wanted to go back to the base and get some rest. For Jacob, it was do or die. If the mission failed, he wasn't going to return to the base. He'd take the jeep and flee. If they succeeded, everything would go back to normal, and he would reclaim his position as one of the top enforcers on base.

Hodder wanted Greg captured for interrogation—to find out what he knew about life on the outside—but Jacob had other ideas. He was confident that, if found, Greg wasn't going to go down without a fight. Killing him was the only option he believed they had.
You don’t try to ‘catch’ a rabid dog
was his thinking. Jacob told the men to cover a half-mile perimeter. He pulled out a pair of binoculars from his jacket and handed them to a large bearded man named Dixon standing to his right before he walked off.

"Those should help you,” he said, turning back. “They're thermal binos. They can sense body heat."

Dixon took the binoculars and held them up with curiosity. He looked through them and scanned the area.

"You'll be able to see anything that's breathing," Jacob said.

"You sure you want to give these up?" Dixon asked.

"I've got another pair," Jacob answered, pulling another pair from his green army jacket.

"Damn, what else you got in that jacket?" Dixon asked.

"Pictures of your mom," Jacob said with a laugh.

"You're pretty funny for a guy that got chewed out this morning."

"Up yours, Dixon. Let's find this guy. And be careful. He's a dangerous one."

"There ain't shit out here," Dixon said. "Nothing but rocks and dirt. But you're the boss."

The men split up in different directions. Jacob continued walking down the road, passing right in front of Greg's view. A sliver of panic suddenly struck Greg. His van was parked nearby. Though covered and concealed, it wouldn't be too difficult to find if someone really looked. He watched the men go in their separate directions, carefully scanning the area with their rifles at the ready.

From their voices, he knew that one of the men was the one who had taken Veronica. Greg's heart raced. He had to get him. He was the key to learning Veronica's location. Greg also wanted payback. He could take a few of them out, but not all of them, as some were not even in range. Firing the rifle would expose his position, so he waited for the right opportunity to strike.

Suddenly, a short, skinny man walked into Greg's line of sight. The others had all disappeared. He seemed to be heading right for Greg, toward the cliff. Greg's finger caressed the trigger. The man was giving him little choice, but there was something odd about his approach. He was walking funny, like it pained him to move, and he didn't appear to take any notice of Greg's position under the camouflage netting. He walked right up to the tree, set his rifle down, and unzipped his pants.

"Man, I gotta piss!" he bellowed.

He raised his head up and urinated a heavy stream against the tree. Greg took a quiet breath, trying to remain motionless as the man stood a foot away, moaning in relief. It was the closest he was going to get to any of them. He lowered his rifle and pulled a hunting knife from his side holster. He slowly began to rise from the netting just as a puddle of urine was forming near him.

The man was facing away, in the process of zipping up, when Greg jumped up and charged him. He threw one arm over the man's neck and pulled him into a chokehold. The man fell back—arms flailing in the air—and tried to scream, but Greg's grip was too tight.

With his free hand, Greg held the knife in front of the man's face. His respiratory mask went crooked and loose on one end, nearly falling off. He kicked the air and tried to squirm away but was helpless to do anything.

"You make one more move, I'll jam this knife right into your throat," Greg said.

The man stopped moving and stood limp as Greg kicked his rifle away.

"Now, we're going to go to the ground. I want you on your knees with your hands against the back of your head, just like if you were being arrested. You ever been arrested before?"

The man tried to speak but could only gag in response.

Greg continued. "That's OK, just nod your head if you understand me."