Red Hammer: Voodoo Plague Book 4 (4 page)

Rachel came out of unconsciousness with a start.  Face down
in mud, she was cold, shivering, her body screaming in protest when she tried
to roll over.  Her head pounded and every inch of her ached, making her catch
her breath and stop trying to move.  Slowly, she gently started moving
different parts, just a couple of inches, testing for injury.  When everything
seemed to move ok, even though it hurt to just wiggle a finger, Rachel steeled
herself for the pain and rolled onto her back.  She wanted to cry out, but bit
down on her lip and stayed silent.  With no idea if there were infected close
by she wasn’t about to announce her presence.

Lying there, Rachel managed to get her breathing under
control and looked up at the night sky.  Night?  It had been early morning the
last thing she could remember.  What
was
the last thing she remembered? 
The train derailing.  Fighting through the infected as they ran for the
bridge.  The terrifying helicopter flight back to get the train.  Driving the
train to the bridge, then being attacked by Roach.  Roach!  Rachel
involuntarily sat up, stifling a groan of pain as she wrapped her arms around
her bruised body.  Dealing with the pain she looked around frantically, fearful
that she would see Roach standing there with a smile and a knife.

Not seeing any immediate threats, Rachel climbed onto her
knees and slowly raised her head up to survey her surroundings.  She was
kneeling on a narrow strip of mud, the waters of the Mississippi lapping
against the bank only inches from her feet.  The shoreline was on the outside edge
of a sharp bend in the river and Rachel could only assume the current had
washed her onto the bank.  But where was she?  How far downstream had the river
taken her before mercifully depositing her in the mud?  And which side of the
river was she on?  The sun wasn’t up to tell her east from west, then as Rachel
sat there shivering she realized all she had to do was look at the river.  As
she faced it, it flowed from her left to right, which put her on the western
bank.  Thank God for that small mercy.  She didn’t know how many infected were
on the west side of the river, but she sure new how many were to the east. 

Dog!  Where was Dog?  His rescue of Rachel from Roach’s
knife was what had knocked all of them off the train and into the water below. 
Where the hell was he?  And why hadn’t John found her?  Rachel felt herself
slipping into despair and mentally chastised herself.  She didn’t have time to
feel sorry for herself or worry about why something hadn’t happened.  Even if
they weren’t right on top of her, there were likely infected in the area and
she needed to start thinking and acting before she became a late night snack.

Checking her holster, she breathed a sigh of relief to find
her pistol still firmly secured to her body.  She had learned a few things from
living with John for the past few weeks and drew the weapon to make sure it
hadn’t become fouled or blocked by mud and debris.  Satisfied with the results,
she ran her hands over her body and found three of the five spare pistol
magazines were still with her. 

She carefully checked each of these, first unloading then
reloading the magazines to ensure they were operating properly.  Her knife was
gone.  Rifle was still in the locomotive’s cab, and she had no idea where her
pack was.  She had no food, no water, nothing other than the clothes on her
back and a pistol with 64 rounds of ammunition.  Reminding herself that she
wasn’t very good with a handgun, Rachel decided she would use it only as a last
resort.  Besides her lack of skill, it was loud and would draw more infected to
her, so it was for emergencies only.

Finger combing the wet and muddy hair out of her face,
Rachel stood, stifling a groan.  She felt like she’d been beaten with a
baseball bat.  In a way she imagined that was a good analogy.  She had already
been banged up when she fought with Roach, then the fall to the river and who
knew how many new bumps and bruises as the water had carried her downstream. 
She wished she knew how long she’d been on the bank so she could have an idea
of how far south from the bridge she was. 

Rachel tried to remember what she had heard about the
Mississippi River over the years, finally settling on a vague memory that the
current ran at about three miles an hour on average.  If that was the case, and
she had gone into the water in the early morning, more than twelve hours ago,
she could have been carried anywhere from a couple of miles to nearly forty
miles.  It all depended on how long she’d been unconscious, and she had no way
of knowing.

Looking around now that she was standing, Rachel could only
see a few yards in the darkness.  The moon was up, but it was only a few days
after a new moon so there was very little light.  To her west, she could see a
tall levee that loomed in the darkness.  It appeared to be straight, following
a direct north/south path as it paralleled the river.  Stumbling forward
through the mud and thick vegetation, Rachel made her way to the base of the
tall mound of earth and started climbing the gentle incline.  Quickly reaching
the top, she was surprised to find herself standing on a gravel roadway that
stretched in each direction for as far as she could see.  It was hard to tell
in the dark, but in front of her the land stretched out and away to the west,
appearing as flat and featureless as a billiard table.

Drawing on lessons learned from watching John, Rachel closed
her eyes after making sure there were no infected anywhere within her limited
sight range.  Eyes closed, she breathed quietly and listened to the environment
around her.  She could hear the river making a shushing sound behind her as it
flowed over and against its banks.  What was surely thousands of frogs sang,
nearly masking all other sounds, but she could also hear the occasional night
bird.  The buzzing of mosquitoes and stealthy rustling of small animals in the
grass were the only other sounds.  Absolutely no man made noises.  Rachel
imagined this must have been what it was like to stand here a few hundred years
ago before the first European settlers reached this part of America.

What to do?  Follow the gravel road on the levee to the
north until she reached the bridge?  Then what?  The chances that John or Dog
were waiting for her at the bridge were so slim as to be nearly non-existent. 
Heading south didn’t seem like a good idea.  There were supposed to be large
herds of infected in all the gulf coast states and Rachel sure didn’t want to
go find out.  West, cross country?  But how was she going to find John?

Rachel wasn’t ready to contemplate thoughts that she might
never be reunited with him.  The last few weeks, her time with John, fleeing
and fighting the infected, felt like a lifetime.  She had fallen in love with
him.  There was no denying that any longer.  Now he was gone.  Would he be
trying to find her?  How did he even start looking?  It was hard enough to
survive the new world.  Starting to slip back into despair, Rachel struggled to
calm her racing mind, then it hit her. 

Oklahoma City!  That’s where the train was headed.  If he
couldn’t find her, that’s where John would go!  How far was it?  Rachel had
never been west of the Mississippi River before, and had only a vague idea of
the geography of the western US.  Could she make it?  Straightening her back
with a grimace, she made her decision, crossed the road and descended the
steeper side of the levee to the rice paddy below.

The sun was setting, sporadic rifle fire in the distance
reaching my ears as soldiers and the surviving civilian population mopped up
the remaining infected.  We were in West Memphis, Arkansas, a few miles west of
the Mississippi River.  Actually, we were a few miles west of West Memphis,
occupying the public airport just south of US 70.  Two Apaches were on station
a hundred miles farther to the west, acting as an early warning if any more
Russian aircraft started heading our direction.  Eight Black Hawks and half a
dozen Apaches sat on the tarmac, refueled, rearmed and ready to go, but go
where?

Two fat C-130s sat at the far end of one of the two runways,
empty after having disgorged their cargo of soldiers, missiles, ammunition and
maintenance crews for the helicopters.  Both aircraft had been on stand-by at
Little Rock AFB, waiting for Colonel Crawford’s call.  When they arrived, the
first one on the ground had delivered 110 Army Rangers in full battle rattle
who cleared all the airport’s grounds and buildings before spreading into the
adjacent town where they linked up with the remnants of civilian law
enforcement to finish the job.  The second one was heavily loaded with all of
the ordnance needed to completely re-arm all of the helicopters, resupply all
of the ground troops with ammunition and give everyone a hot meal courtesy of
the mess hall at LRAFB. 

The train Jackson had driven across the river sat on a
siding a quarter of a mile from the airport, guarded by a couple of dozen
Rangers.  The evacuees had been allowed to disembark, but the Lieutenant in
charge at the siding had orders to keep all of them within a hundred yards of
the train in case we needed to get them moving in a hurry.  They were eating
the same chow as the rest of us and sat in subdued groups as the light faded.

Crawford, Captain Blanchard, Jackson and myself had
commandeered the small air traffic control tower.  We sat around a folding
table, eating.  The tower provided a commanding view of not only the entire
airport, but miles in every direction.  The terrain here along the flood plain
of the river was almost perfectly flat.  Earlier, I’d picked up a pair of large
binoculars off the controller’s desk and looked to the east, across the river. 
Hundreds of thousands of infected lined the shore, all staring directly into
the setting sun.

This was our first opportunity to have a meeting.  Jackson
and I had spent much of the day in the field with the Rangers, routing out and
killing infected.  I was hungry, tired, and nearly obsessed with worry about
Rachel and Dog.

“Hell of a day,” Crawford commented, tearing into a large
piece of fried chicken.  “Let’s all get on the same page.  Captain, you’ve been
running SAR flights all day and getting our remaining train ready to keep
rolling.  What’s our status?”

Blanchard placed his fork down next to his plate, finished
chewing, drank some water and wiped his mouth with a paper napkin before he
started talking.  Jackson and I kept right on eating, devouring the food on our
plates like starving dogs.

“Sir, we’ve had multiple search and rescue operations
underway all day.  First mission was to look for survivors from the battle with
the Russians.  I’m sorry to report that the only survivors on either side were
the three men you captured.  Next we ran two operations.  The first operation
was a Black Hawk detailed to search the river for the woman and dog.” 
Blanchard turned to me before continuing.  “We have searched for fifty miles
downstream from the bridge, two passes over the water and one pass each on the
two shorelines.  So far we have had negative results, and I’m not optimistic
that we will find them.”

I started to open my mouth, but Crawford beat me to it. 
“Put up another Black Hawk now that the sun is down.  Maybe we’ll get lucky
with FLIR.”  I nodded my thanks to the Colonel and went back to my food.  I had
lost my appetite, but forced myself to eat.  Food is fuel, and without it the
body will suffer.  I needed to be in as good condition as possible.

“Yes, sir.”  Blanchard made a quick note in his small,
spiral notebook before continuing.  “The second train out of Nashville was our
large SAR operation.  When the air units arrived it appeared that the train had
been completely overrun by the infected, but there was one livestock car that
had been able to keep the infected out.  Using air assets we were able to clear
enough of the infected away from the car to start lifting people.  Some were
lost, but we did manage to rescue…” he paused to flip through his notebook. 
“We rescued 411, mostly women and children.  They are now with the other
evacuees at the first train.”

“411?  That’s it?  There were nearly 10,000 people on that
train when it pulled out of Nashville.”  Crawford didn’t try to conceal the
pain in his voice.

“Yes, sir.  That was all we could save.”  Blanchard answered
in a quiet voice, looking down at his plate of cooling food as he spoke.  We
all sat there in silence for a couple of minutes, each of us lost in our own
thoughts as we processed the number of people that the infected had ripped
apart. 

“Moving on to the train, with your permission sir?” 
Blanchard waited, Crawford finally nodding before taking another bite.  The
look on his face told me he was only eating because he needed to.  None of us
were enjoying the meal.

“We have found a retired railroad engineer in Little Rock
that is being flown to us.  We have also found plenty of passenger and
livestock cars on a siding ten miles to the west.  When the engineer arrives,
Lieutenant Anker will assist him in getting the extra cars coupled to the train
so our evacuees aren’t having to sit on top of each other.  This should take a
couple of hours, so before midnight we’ll be ready to load and depart on your
order.  That’s all I have, sir.”  Crawford nodded and looked first at me, then
Jackson to see if we had any questions. 

“Can I tag along on the Black Hawk you’re sending out to
keep looking for Rachel?”  I asked, but Crawford was already shaking his head
before Blanchard could respond.

“Negative, Major.  We’ve got some Russians downstairs that I
want you to have a chat with.”

“Me?”  I had forgotten he’d read my file.

“Yes.  You were trained in advanced interrogation
techniques, and I know you’ve put that training to use successfully, several
times.”

“Yes, sir.  I have, but that was a long time ago.  Surely
there’s someone with more current training.  Better techniques.”  I’ve never
liked being the interrogator.  It’s a brutal, soul sucking job, and you come
away from it feeling like you need a shower, no matter how many times you bathe
yourself.  There are times it is absolutely a necessity, but if I had my choice
I’d rather leave it to the guys that actually like doing it.

“Nice try.  You’re the man.  You don’t have to like it, you
just have to do it.  I want to know everything those goddamn commies know.  The
two enlisted won’t know shit, and the Captain may not know much, but he’ll know
something.  I’ve lost all contact with command since before we reached Memphis,
and I’ve got a really bad feeling.  Right now, as far as I can determine, I’m
the ranking officer out of the entire US military.”

I’d been so busy and pre-occupied with worry over Rachel and
Dog that I hadn’t realized Crawford was working without a parachute.  All of
command was gone?  That most likely meant Mt. Weather in West Virginia and
Cheyenne Mountain in Colorado had been compromised.  How the hell had that
happened?  My first thought was an outbreak, but dismissed that as too
unlikely.  Both facilities experience another outbreak that is severe enough to
knock them completely out, and it happens at the same time?  Very doubtful. 
That left the Russians.  But how? 

Both bunkers were designed to withstand a nuclear bomb going
off on the ground, right above their heads.  How the hell could the Russians
have penetrated not just one, but both of them?  The one thing I knew for sure
was the Russian Captain wouldn’t have that information.  He was way too far
down the chain of command.  But he might have information about what the
Russians were planning, where they were staging, and how many of them there
were.

“Yes, sir.  I’ll take care of it.”  I said, suppressing a
sigh.

“Unless there’s anything else, we all have work to do.” 
Crawford looked around the table, and when no one spoke up, “Very well.  Thank
you.  Dismissed.”

We all stood, collected the detritus from our hasty meal and
headed down the spiral, metal staircase.  A large, plastic barrel sat outside
the control tower door, top cut off so it could do duty as a makeshift trash
can.  We deposited our garbage and paused in the evening air.  A gentle breeze
was blowing, blessedly cutting the oppressive humidity of the day.  Overhead,
stars were twinkling brightly as the sky continued to darken, a thin sliver of
a moon providing just enough light for me to see the faces of the men standing
next to me.

“Captain, no matter what time it is, please come find me
with any news from the search.”

“Yes, sir.  I will.  Now, please excuse me.  I need to get
that bird in the air.”

I nodded and pulled out a pack of cigarettes as he walked
away.  I’d come across a looted convenience store earlier in the day while
clearing infected out of the town.  The owner was trying to clean up and I’d
struck a bargain with him.  I traded the little .380 pocket pistol I had taken
off the fake cop I’d killed in Nashville for two cartons of cigarettes and a
couple of disposable lighters.  Knowing Crawford was a smoker too, I’d given
him one of the cartons.  He knew me well enough by now to know I wasn’t sucking
up or trying to kiss his ass, just being thoughtful.  Now, as Jackson and I
strolled out onto the tarmac, I lit a smoke and looked up at the glass enclosed
tower.  It was dark inside, but I could see the red, glowing tip of a cancer
stick as Crawford inhaled.

“Want some company?”  Jackson asked as we walked in the
dark.

“I want some sadistic little fucker from the CIA to do this,
not me.  That’s what I want.” 

“Yeah, never had much of a stomach for it either.”  Jackson
replied.  “But we need that information, and we need it fast.”

“I think I already know that, Master Sergeant.”  I said,
much sharper than I intended.  “Sorry.  It’s been a bitch of a few weeks.”

“No need to apologize, sir.” 

We strolled in silence for a few more minutes, winding up at
the guarded door into the small office building at the base of the control
tower.  The three Russians were inside, separated into different offices and
each had his own guard assigned.  They hadn’t been allowed to talk to each
other since their capture.  All had received medical attention for their
injuries and been given water, but they hadn’t been fed.  They were all
probably pretty scared by now.  I know if I had been captured on Russian soil
I’d be shitting my pants at the moment.  The guard opened the door for us, and
after crushing the cigarette out under my boot I led the way inside.