Winchester Undead (Book 2): Winchester: Prey (22 page)

CHAPTER 48

Groom Lake, NV

February 17, Year 1

Cliff stood on the ramp of the C-130. Arcuni, Garcia, and the three PJs stood on the ground looking up at him while he spoke. “There is a rogue element that is not only terrorizing other survivors, but according to our survivors, they also have a prison camp of women and children they are using for forced sexual reproduction and slave labor. We cannot let this stand; we have to destroy the rogue militia and we must save the innocents.”

Cliff looked at each man. Their faces spoke of their solid resolve that they believed in the warrior’s code to protect those who were in their charge with every ounce of their being until their last breath.

“Simple snatch and grab. We need one of those assholes and we need to get the information on their location, where the civilians are, and what their command structure is like. Wright is working on some SATINT for us, but we need HUMINT and we need it now. Arcuni and Garcia, you are responsible for maintaining security for the aircraft. Rick, Evan, and Chris, you are with me in the truck. The survivors gave me a rough idea on where we can find the outer edges of their Area of Operation. We have no comms, so we have to set a departure on a timed schedule. Once we land, we have two-five mikes, twenty-five minutes, to get our prisoner and be back on the Herc. Arcuni, I want you wheels up at thirty mikes if we’re onboard or not. You are allowed to loiter on scene until bingo fuel for return if you have to take off without us. If we’re broke dick, we’ll return early, so be ready for an immediate departure. If we go Winchester on ammo and have to E&E, we’ll return early. From the Intel that we have, we can expect semi-organized resistance using light arms. But the general idea is that the cult wackos do not have any formal military training or hardware. Are we clear?”

The five men all showed thumbs up.

“Great. Arcuni, light the fires; let’s get this circus on the tracks.”

Near Fort Stockton, Texas

“What the fuck do you mean he isn’t there?”

“That’s what the kid said. Ended up talking with someone calling himself Major Wright. He said that the route north is broke dick due to a high concentration of walkers and gave us coords to a secondary site.”

Apollo handed Chivo the notepad with the coordinates. Chivo climbed into the Land Rover and dug through the map book until he had the right grid square.

“It looks like a camp site on a lake about five hundred miles from here, near Dallas.”

“We can’t go to Groom Lake because of a zombie horde, but we can go to Dallas? That’s fucked up, man. That fucking mass of walking pus was headed towards Dallas when we went by before.”

“Hey, fucking don’t shoot me; it’s not my clusterfuck. I’m just telling you what I’ve got, mano.”

“What do you think? Do we trust Major Wrong or do we stick to our original plan?”

The two of them stood looking past the other and watching the surrounding area for threats, which Lindsey thought looked odd, two people having an argument and not even looking at each other.

Chivo shrugged. “Fuck it mano, let’s go to the Big-D.”

Lindsey didn’t say anything, but thought that going towards a big city like Dallas was a bad idea. She didn’t really care as long as she could be with Apollo. She felt safe with him and only wanted to be near him for as long as they lived, which she believed would probably not be very long at all.

The man they’d saved at the park was still unconscious and wrapped in the survival blanket. Apollo climbed behind the wheel, Lindsey took the front passenger seat, and Chivo climbed into the back to switch out the man’s IV and keep tabs on him during the drive. Apollo turned the Land Rover around and bounced down the poorly made oil field road, back towards the small Texas highway, to find an alternate route across I-10 towards Dallas.

Cortez, CO

The C-130’s nose pointed towards the numbers at the end of the runway. Once the wheels were on the ground and Arcuni pushed the props forward to stop the big lumbering cargo plane, Cliff and the PJs were out of their seats and going through their last gear checks. Magazines were touched in their pouches and weapons were press checked to make sure a round was in the chamber. Garcia began releasing the retraining straps holding the old pickup to the cargo floor, and by the time Arcuni turned the plane around at the other end of the runway, setting the plane for a rapid departure, the expedition crew were in the truck with the engine running. Garcia lowered the ramp and the truck began backing out of the plane. Rick was behind the wheel of the truck, Cliff sat in the cab with his window down, rifle ready, and the other two were in the bed of the truck, rifles pointed towards the cold open air outside the plane. Ramps in place, the truck backed down out of the plane before speeding off towards the open fence and the crashed semi-truck. Arcuni stayed in the cockpit with the engines running, ready to push the throttles wide open. Garcia stood at the end of the ramp, M4 ready and headset plugged into the intercom.

The truck drove north at a high rate of speed. According to Jake, the operating base of the aggressor group was probably at or near the middle school by Highway 491. They weren’t ready to engage the full group, but they hoped to find a sentry on the edge of their area. Closing within a few miles of the middle school, Rick slowed the truck to a much more reasonable speed before turning off the highway and onto a side street. Cliff looked at his watch and the countdown timer running. They were ten minutes away from the plane; they had five more minutes to find someone to turn back and make the twenty-five-minute window. Rick slammed on the brakes, sliding the truck to a halt.

“There, a technical drove across on a street four blocks north.”

Cliff nodded and climbed out of the truck. The other two PJs climbed out of the bed of the truck before Rick sped north towards the armed civilian vehicle he’d seen pass. The group’s plan was to have Rick flush the target and have it follow in pursuit while the other three set a class “L” ambush. Although the destruction was apparent, the group was surprised at the lack of undead walking through the streets. Bodies lay on the street, rotting slowly in the cold winter air, but nothing appeared to be upright. A few moments later, they heard the truck’s horn honk twice in the distance. Rick was signaling that he was en route to the ambush with the target following. A few moments later Rick and the truck flew through the intersection before sliding to a halt a block to the south. A rusty old Ford rambled down the road towards them, smoke billowing from the tailpipe. An M-2 fifty-caliber machine gun was mounted in the bed of the truck and the man standing in the bed behind the large weapon was firing a steady stream of rounds towards Rick. Cliff knelt on the sidewalk using a mailbox for concealment, raised his rifle, and fired a three-round burst. The machine gunner’s head snapped back and he fell out of the bed of the truck to the road below with a wet thump.

The driver of the Ford slammed on the brakes and slid to a halt a block away from Rick, directly in the kill zone of the ambush. Cliff and the other two PJs opened fire, flattening the truck’s tires and punching holes in the radiator while rushing forward towards the driver. The driver raised his hands in surrender. Cliff held cover while Evan ripped him out of the cab and onto the cold asphalt before using flex cuffs to secure his hands behind his back. Rick drove to the group and they tossed their prisoner into the bed of the Chevy before climbing in and driving south towards the waiting plane as fast as the truck would go.

Evan searched the prisoner and found a pistol, a pack of cigarettes, a lighter, a small glass pipe, and a baggy with small dirty crystals that looked like sand mixed with salt. Evan held up the baggy for Cliff. “Fucking meth, man.” Cliff shook his head. Evan used EMS sheers and cut off the man’s clothing, leaving him bound and completely nude in the cold winter air. A few minutes later, the truck drove up the ramps into the back of the C-130 while Garcia secured the truck to the cargo floor.

Cliff stopped Garcia from raising the ramp. “Leave it open for a little bit. I need to take care of something.” Garcia shrugged and went forward in the plane. Cliff put on his headset and plugged into the intercom jack at the back of the plane. “Arcuni, I need you to do something special after taking off.” He continued to explain his plan while Arcuni began running up power and released the brakes to begin rolling down the runway.

Moments later the plane launched airborne. Cliff, wearing a loadmaster’s safety harness, pulled the naked man out of the bed of the truck and dragged him towards the half-open cargo ramp. Cliff clicked in his safety line and walked the prisoner to the edge of the ramp. Arcuni leveled the plane at about two hundred feet over the ground and banked the plane to fly over the town of Cortez. Cliff held the man by his cuffed arms behind his back, leaning the man over the edge of the ramp as the Colorado landscape sped beneath their feet. Urine trailed down the prisoner’s leg.

“Where are the women and children being held?”

“F-f-fuck you.”

Cliff slapped the man across the face with the side of his pistol. Blood erupted from the man’s nose.

“Let’s make something perfectly clear. You tell me what I want to know, or I’ll push you off the ramp and you can rejoin your little group after trying your hand at learning to fly. Where are the women and children being held?”

The man shook his head back and forth violently. Cliff shot the man in the back of the shoulder. The prisoner screamed in pain. Blood poured down his naked body, the wind whipping the blood around the back of the plane.

“Where are the women and children being held?”

“T-t-t-the school.”

The town of Cortez sped by below their feet. The plane banked hard to the right. Cliff looked over his shoulder, barely holding onto his prisoner, just in time to see a trail of smoke rocketing towards the plane. One of the engines on the left wing exploded in a ball of flame, pieces of wing, props, and engines falling off the wounded aircraft. The plane shuddered hard. Cliff fell on the ramp, remaining in the aircraft only because of the safety harness and tether. His prisoner fell off the cargo ramp into the wind, screaming as he fell into the cold abyss.

The truck slid against the tie-down straps and the pistol fell out of Cliff’s hand and off the ramp to the earth below. Smoke trailed the plane, and the flames from the wing were visible behind the plane. The ground rushed towards the ramp while Cliff and the rest of the group held onto anything they could find. The plane hit the ground flat and the last thing Cliff saw was the dirt and sky alternating places as the fuselage tumbled violently across the ground.

CHAPTER 49

The Basin

February 17, Year 1

Jessie wheeled the Scout to what remained of the cabins. A handful of the previously killed bikers now wandered through the parking area, their burnt and broken bodies slowing their ability to move. This time Jessie was sure to thumb the safety to single fire to conserve ammo and quickly dispatch the undead. Jessie walked through the ruins of the three cabins destroyed by the blast. The fires were mostly burned out and the ruins just smoldered, smoke still rising into the cold desert air.

Grief and loss overwhelmed her as she looked at the destruction that was once their refuge. She couldn’t fathom how a group of people could be so cruel. Her little girl, her princess, dead, and her family left in shambles. Jessie collapsed to the cold pavement, too tired even to cry, just looking at the macabre scene around her.

I can’t sit like this. I have to survive. I have to focus and I have to take it all one step at a time.

Jessie stood unsteadily and walked towards the larger cabins. The cabin that had held Jessie and Bexar’s supplies was in complete ruin, but it looked like some of the supplies might be salvageable, including a few boxes of .223 that Jessie saw at first glance.

 
Maybe I can check ammo off my must-have list
.

She slowly checked each cabin in the rows of smaller cabins across the parking area. Using the technique that Jack and Bexar had developed the last time they’d cleared the Basin, Jessie opened a door and banged on it and then waited for a response. Every single cabin was found empty. Some had obviously been used by the bikers and their harem women, but some were untouched, clean, and had beds with blankets.

 
Now I can check shelter off my list.

The sun hung low in The Window, filling the cold desert sky with muted colors of purple, red, and pink—God’s beauty overseeing unholy destruction and Jessie’s profound loss. It was nearly dark by the time Jessie finished checking the cabins and the surrounding area in The Basin. There was no sign of Bexar.

If he was here, I would have found his body.

Before darkness fell, Jessie moved some of the supplies she’d found in the destroyed cabin to the Scout, including a case of MREs and two cases of ammo for her rifle. Jessie chose the cabin she and Bexar had stayed at over ten years before when they came to Big Bend for their honeymoon. She shut the curtains, locked the door, and collapsed on the bed, absolutely exhausted from the past two days, her ears still ringing from the blast that morning.

CHAPTER 50

Near Fort Stockton, TX

February 17, Year 1

Daylight was quickly fading by the time the group backtracked and made it to outside of Fort Stockton. The decision was made to drive through the night using NODs. Chivo would rest for the first half and he would switch with Apollo for the second half.

The drive through Fort Stockton and across I-10 was slow, but Apollo was able to drive around and evade the clusters of zombies, even with the Land Rover’s headlights out, by using the flip-down night optic device. The discussion between Chivo and Apollo on which road to take north was settled for them when they found that Highway 18 crossed under I-10 and FM 1053 crossed over I-10. The number of shambling undead was still high on the Interstate and, after losing Odin, the thought of crossing under the Interstate and all of those zombies did not sit well with any of them.

The last hour of the trip was made in silence, each of the people in the Land Rover lost in their own thoughts. Lindsey held Apollo’s hand while he drove. The open desert of West Texas between I-10 and I-20 was a heavy blanket of darkness, and with no lights, only Apollo could see anything past the hood of the Land Rover. A moan from the back of the Land Rover broke the peace. Apollo glanced in the rearview mirror at Chivo. “Did you let that fucker die and now he’s going to bite your skinny ass?”

Chivo drew his pistol and pointed it at the man’s head while searching for a pulse with his other hand. “No mano, he’s got a pulse. Wait, do the zombies have pulses?”

“I seriously doubt it.”

The man’s eyes snapped open and blinked a few times very hard. Slowly his eyes came into focus and they found the muzzle of a pistol pointed at his face. “WHAT THE HELL?”

The man tried to sit up. Chivo held him down by his chest and holstered his pistol. “Hey man, I’m here to help. We saved your life today.”

“What?”

“Cliff sent us to check on your group. We found you fighting that biker gang.”

Bexar slowly looked around the inside of the Land Rover and caught a glimpse of long hair in the dark interior. “Jessie? Thank God, baby!”

Lindsey looked at Bexar, who sat up, not realizing that he had an IV in his arm. “My name is Lindsey.”

Bexar looked at the woman and realized he didn’t know her, then looked at the man next to him. “Where is my wife? Where is Jessie? She was there. The bikers had her, I saw her.”

Chivo slowly shook his head. “I’m sorry, mano. You were the only one who survived the blast.”

Bexar’s shoulders slumped and the life seemed to dim out of his eyes, visible even in the semi-darkness. Lindsey took a deep breath, fighting back the urge to cry for the anguish plainly visible on the man’s face.

Bexar realized that he was now completely alone. He’d failed, and his family was gone, all of them gone; the emptiness of that realization felt like a lead weight had pulled him to the bottom of the ocean. Chivo pumped up the pressure cuff on Bexar’s arm and took his blood pressure before taking his pulse. Bexar felt the pressure cuff inflate and looked at it disinterestedly, seeing that there was an IV in his other arm. Immediately Bexar came to the realization that he was completely nude. “Where are my clothes? Who are you and where are you taking me?”

Chivo gave him a half smile. “First, what is your name, guy?”

“Bexar.”

“OK Bexar, I’m Chivo, that’s Apollo and Lindsey. The short version is that we work for a government organization. Another person in our organization made contact with you recently via HAM radio. He realized that you could be in danger and wanted us to come by and check on you since we were in the area.”

“You were the sniper?”

“Yup.”

“You set and blew the explosives?”

“No, I don’t know how that happened. There was a van in the parking area; it caught fire and then exploded. It looked like a vehicle-borne IED, but I don’t think those guys were stupid enough to do that.”

“That was the bikers’ van; they had a machine gun in it the first time they attacked us.” Bexar drew in a sharp breath. “Don’t you have anything for the pain?”

Chivo nodded, opened a red bag, dug out a small vial, and, with the hands of an experienced nurse, drew out the clear liquid before unscrewing the needle and inserting the syringe body onto the IV tube, administering the narcotic.

“There you go, mano. You know our story. What is yours?”

Slowly Bexar let his breath out as he felt warmth spread throughout his body from the shot. “I’m a Peace Officer, a cop, or at least I was one when this started. Jessie, my wife, and I, along with our daughter, fled our home to meet with our friends at our cache site ...”

It took Bexar about twenty minutes to give the Reader’s Digest version of his journey, repeating himself and slurring some of his words as a result of the strong painkiller Chivo administered. A few minutes after finishing his story, Bexar succumbed to the warm comfort of the painkiller and fell asleep. Chivo checked his pulse and, satisfied that Bexar was probably going to be OK, rolled him to his side. It wasn’t for a medical issue, but just because Bexar began snoring loudly.