Winchester: Over (Winchester Undead) (10 page)

Broomfield, C
olorado

Reaching the Rocky Mountain Municipal Airport in Broomfield, Cliff continued out onto the ramp to see where the smaller General Aviation aircraft were parked. Parked on the ramp to his left were a handful of small aircraft. That there weren’t many wasn’t too surprising since it was the dead of winter, but at least it gave him a direction to drive.

He
was thankful that this airport was much smaller than DIA, but it was still larger than most small municipal airports around the U.S. From what he could see, there weren’t any undead out in the field or on the runway, which made sense since most pilots wouldn’t have been at the airport in the middle of the Colorado winter when the attack came. Luckily, the airport also had a fence wrapping around most of the perimeter, so there was a little protection gained from that.

A few moments later
he located the old T-style hangars with sliding doors. He didn’t want to use a hangar with a door that rose upwards, because although he could hand-crank the door up, it would take forever, and could put him in a bad position if he was trying to leave in a hurry. Faded blue paint and a padlock were all that kept him from gaining access to the second hangar from the end. Removing this padlock would be quieter than the last; he’d had the time to make a shim for the lock.

Emptying a Dr. Pepper
soda can he had taken from Walgreens, Cliff took out his SOG multipliers and began cutting the can. Making a modified “T” shape with a point, he bent it slightly; now it would only take a little effort to shift the Master Lock padlock open.

In short order Cliff
had opened the faded blue doors and found an old Beechcraft Bonanza sitting in the hangar. Further investigation of the hangar found it clear of persons, dead or otherwise, and a pull bar, which he used to pull the plane out of the hangar, letting it roll towards the tie-downs. It was a nice, well-maintained airplane, but he really didn’t care where it ended up or if it was damaged in the process, he just needed it out of the way.

Once the hang
ar was emptied of its aircraft, Cliff backed his procured VW van into the hangar and turned off the motor. It was time to close up shop and scavenge for the supplies he needed out of the airport.

Checking the cabinets in the hang
ar, Cliff found a few cans of Plexus, some cleaning rags, a garden hose, and three gallons of distilled water. The hose and water were the big find. Distilled water did him no good since he needed electrolytes, but he could pour out the water and the jugs would get him started on his task. A section cut out of the garden hose would be the other piece to the puzzle; with these tools he could siphon gas and bring it back to the hangar. Also in the hangar was a basic set of tools, a socket set, some vice grips, and a variety of screwdrivers. All the tools went in a plastic tote in the van; when you’re driving an old air-cooled Volkswagen, you never know when it might break down and leave you stranded if you don’t have some tools.

Cliff left the hang
ar and pulled the door closed, leaving the lock off but tying a small piece of 550 cord through the lock hole. That would keep the undead out, and also let him know if anyone else went into the hangar while he was gone.

The sun was getting low on the horizon when Cliff set off at a trot towards the fly-in restaurant he had passed earlier near the ramp.
It would have been faster to drive around the airport, but that could bring a lot of attention, undead or otherwise. He had a mission to complete, and he had to be alive to complete it.

First
, he needed to find gas. In the small airport parking lot he found a couple of beat-up old Subarus and an old Chevy K1500 Blazer. The Blazer was his first choice, so after quickly scanning the area for threats, he slid under the back of the old truck. Using his Emerson knife, he cut out a section of the hose between the gas tank and fuel filler opening. Lying on his back, he slid the section of garden hose he had brought with him into the tank and began sucking on the other end. The gas flowed quickly, and some got into his mouth. Coughing, he filled the three water jugs with gas, left the hose in the gas tank, and ran back to the hangar. Three trips later, he had completely filled the VW’s fuel tank and had three extra gallons of gas for his trip.

I
t was now dark. Cliff shut the hangar doors, set the door pin, and tied the doors together from the inside. He was exhausted. He needed to get some sleep, but he still had some work to do first. Setting the alarm on his watch for five o’clock in the morning so he could start out before the sun came up, he pulled out a Phillips screwdriver and removed the bulbs from the turn signals, the dome light in the van, and the taillights. If he was driving at night, he wanted to be completely blacked out, and not accidently illuminate his position by bumping a turn signal. He also disconnected the horn.

Maypearl, Texas

The trucks were packed with all but the essentials the group needed for the night and one of the tents, which everyone was now sharing. The roof racks of both the FJ and Wagoneer were nearly overloaded, and all three trucks sat low on their rear springs. The group’s plan was to wait to review the full route the GPS suggested. Much like everyone who wished Google Maps had a “not-through-the-ghetto” option for directions, they did not want to be routed through a big city like Austin en route to Big Bend. They had to get this right.

Bexar took the first watch, followed by Jessie, then Sandra and Jack.
The trucks were repositioned to face the camp’s exit, through their secret gate, so they could make a hasty exit if they needed to.

Dinner was beans, rice
, and Gatorade, the last cooked meal at their cache site. The fire dwindled and twilight gave way to darkness, and everyone but Bexar went to bed. The dark winter sky was aglow to the north from the fires. Dallas was on fire, and Bexar knew that their time at the cache site was up; it would be nearly suicidal to stay. Even if the fire didn’t continue to spread that far south, the undead hordes would be pushed this way, like rats fleeing a sinking ship. In a few short days Bexar had decided that if there was still a God left in heaven, he was the angry and spiteful God of the Old Testament.

December 30
th

Maypearl
, Texas

The orange glow on the horizon persisted throughout the night. Jack said that during his watch he was sure it had actually become brighter.

Sandra
had stayed up with Jack during his watch, enjoying the alone time with her husband. It had only been three days since the world ended, but it felt like a lifetime ago. Speaking in hushed whispers so as not to wake the kids, they discussed what their future was, and what sort of future Will would have in this new condemned world. There were no easy answers.

They
’d also talked about whether Maypearl had been the best choice for their cache site. Malachi had wanted to use their favorite camping spot at Paw Paw Creek on Lake Texoma, but that would have meant Bexar had a much longer drive, never mind that the fluctuating water levels and the popularity of the campsite would have put their cached supplies in jeopardy.

The orange glow
of the night sky blended with the crimson of the rising sun. Sandra longed for the heat of the sun. The night had been bitterly cold, and even if it wasn’t much above freezing during the day, it was still warmer than it had been.

A
sudden shotgun blast from within the campgrounds roused Bexar from his tent, and sent Jack flying to his feet, both with their ARs in hand.

“
Was that one of the trip wires?” Bexar asked.

“
Jesus, Bexar, go put pants on, I’ll check it out,” Jack replied.

Bexar went back in his tent and came out
a few seconds later dressed in loose pants, untied boots, and a hooded sweatshirt. Sandra took Will, still groggy, to the Jeep, where they were quickly joined by Jessie, with Keeley in her arms crying at the top of her lungs. The sound of the crying toddler was soon drowned out by the gurgling moans of the undead. More shotgun blasts went off.

“
Shit!” exclaimed Jack, “there’s got to be two dozen of them—Bexar, grab our shit, I’ll cover.” The sound of the undead trampling through the brush wasn’t nearly as loud as the chorus of moans coming from the dark woods. Bexar threw his rifle over his back and dove inside the tent to gather the last of the gear. He worked as fast as he could, accompanied by the sound of Jack firing his AR and cursing loudly.

Outside the tent
, Sandra started the jeep and turned on the headlights. With the wood line illuminated, they could see another two dozen or so undead making their way through the brush. The lead zombie looked horrible, wearing only a pair of soiled and torn jeans, with a large gaping hole where his belly button had been. Only the remnants of intestines that had spilled out of his body remained, dragging on the ground behind him. Bexar exited the tent just in time to see Jack squeeze the trigger of his AR and explode the undead’s head backwards.

Bexar took what he had gathered
up from the tent and threw it in the back seat of the Scout. They didn’t have time to take down the tent; luckily, they had packed the other two.

“
Jack, wheels up man, we’ve got to go!”

“
Right, Bexar, what about the gate?”

“
Fuck it, we’ll get to it when we get to it—let’s roll!”

Jack sprinted for his FJ and started the engine.
Bexar dropped to a kneeling firing position and began taking out the closest undead threats. “Breathe, sight, and press,” he repeated quietly to himself. The Magpul CTR stock pulling into his shoulder, he systematically drove the rifle to the next target and repeated the process. Having brought down the four closest undead, Bexar stood and moved fast to the Scout.

Jack was leaning out of his open door to cover Bexar’s retreat
, and only began to drive once Bexar had started his truck. The three of them started towards the gate. Slowing, Jessie got out of the Wagoneer and ran to the gate; there she stood ready, pistol in hand, waiting for Sandra to pull the Wagoneer through. With her focus on the vehicles pulling through the gate, she didn’t see the old undead woman shamble up behind her from the woods. As the cold, dead hands grasped her shoulders and began to pull her over backwards for the kill, Jessie began screaming loudly.

Bexar
had stopped the Scout when he saw the zombie approaching his wife, but didn’t have time to warn her. Instead, he opened the driver’s door and stood in the doorframe, steadying the rifle on the top of the windshield. As the old woman pulled Jessie off balance, he had the one minute of angle—1MOA—to get the point of his red dot lined up with the bridge of her nose. Before the zombie could bite and kill his wife, the old woman’s head exploded, showering Jessie with skull and brain matter. Jessie ran as fast as she could to the Wagoneer now clear of the gate, and jumped in.

Like it or not, the group was
back on the road, and would be until they reached the safety of the Chisos Mountains.

Rocky Mountain Metropolitan Airport, Colorado

Although this all seemed like some sort of bastard training exercise thought up for the Survival, Evasion, Resistance and Escape (SERE) school Cliff had attended ten years prior, Cliff knew that it wasn’t; he was completely on his own, and the enemy gave no quarter. The few hours of sleep that was afforded in the cold aircraft hangar outside of Denver was the best thing Cliff had experienced in the past seventy-two hours.

At least the undead won’t water board you if you’re caught
, Cliff chuckled to himself. He lit a chafing dish after bending a wire coat hanger he’d found in the back of the van to make a little cooking stand for his procured can of vegetable stew from Walgreens. He had another long day ahead of him, so he took a little extra time to pack things just right in the van after breakfast, and to relieve himself in the corner of the hangar. Once he was set, he pulled the locking pin for the hangar doors and untied the 550 cord he had used to secure them through the night. Before pushing the door open slightly, Cliff drew his pistol and held it close to his chest in the SUL position. About three to four inches of fresh snow had fallen during the night. Although a curse for the drive, it was a blessing for Cliff’s security. He could instantly recognize that no one, dead or alive, had been near his hangar during the night. This was the first good break he’d had since the facility under Denver International had gone dark.

Cliff pushed the hang
ar doors open far enough for the van to clear, climbed into the old VW, and started the motor. In a few moments he turned onto Airport Way and continued on his route towards I-70. As he drove, he occasionally thought he could see movement in the dark windows of businesses along the road, but saw only a handful of undead moving out in the open. He had still seen no sign of any living people. He knew the Yama Strain was exceptionally virulent, but surely someone else had also survived.