Zompoc Survivor: Odyssey (13 page)

“Make yourself pretty or whatever,” I said as I got closer. She yanked her helmet off and tried to smooth her hair, but the wind caught it and blew it across her face, and I snapped the first picture while she was busy looking exasperated. The gust died down a moment later and I snapped a better pic of her in front of the monument.

“Oh my God!” she cried out a moment later. “Is that a dinosaur? Dave, you’ve got to get a picture of that…and those four over there!” She ran over and posed in front of the metal dinosaur like she was running from it, then she went to the four painted cars and threw her arms up. Once I took the picture, she ran over to me and took the camera from my hand, then dragged me over to a metal sculpture of a fish. Getting into the spirit of things, I held the pry bar like a fishing pole and posed as if I was trying to reel it in, trying to look shocked at the same time.

“You have seriously got to shave and get a haircut,” she said as she advanced the film. “You’re starting to look like a homeless guy.”

“I think it makes me look rugged and handsome,” I said. “Sort of like Hugh Jackman.”

“You look more like the Wolf Man than Wolverine,” she replied.

“Come on,” I said. “We still have some traveling to do. But here’s a souvenir.” She took the keychain and brochure, then hugged me.

“Oh, they built this place as a memorial for the artist’s dad,” she said. A few steps later, she added, “We ought to do something like that for Dad.”

“We will,” I said. “If you’re wanting to do Stonehenge, there’s plenty of cars laying around, but it’ll take some time.”

“Dave, stop,” she said, her voice suddenly unsteady. “I’m serious.”

“So am I. If you want to do something, we’ll do it. No matter how big you want to go. He saved my life, too.”

“Thanks,” she said. We stowed our gear and got back on the bikes, then got back on the road. We hit the next road that went west, then got on 385 going north. Our route took us past the worst of the traffic, but from a town the size of Alliance, that wasn’t much. If anyone had tried to get out of town, it looked like they had clear roads to travel on.

The landscape got more interesting about an hour later when we hit the Pine Ridge area. Trees sprang up ahead though they weren’t as thick or tall as I’d expect to find in Missouri. We followed the road as it dipped and curved then slowly climbed again before it leveled out. About a mile in, we saw the first infected wandering down the road. I moved to the left side of the road and the infected moved to intercept me, its movements fast. Ghouls. When I was a few yards away, I swerved right, out of reach. Amy followed suit and came around on my right. More infected started to appear ahead of us, too many to simply avoid.

On impulse I broke left and sped through a gate, with Amy only a few feet behind. The dirt road led down a hill. I risked a look to my right and saw that the infected hit the barbed wire fence at full speed. It held up for a few heartbeats, then broke under their numbers. Then we were among the trees and I lost sight of them. The bikes were a lot faster than even the fastest human, and among trees, they wouldn’t be moving in a straight line. If we were lucky, they’d try to follow the sound of the bikes and run off a ridge or break their legs somehow. Luck wasn’t something I’d learned to count on, so I kept the bike’s throttle wide open. The road turned right up ahead, so I slowed down and leaned into the turn, hoping Amy made it, too. When I straightened out, she pulled up on my left, then sped ahead and broke left again. This time I was the one trying to keep up as she wove through the trees, following a dirt trail that I could barely see.

The trail curved right before it came out of the trees, and Amy gunned the engine on her bike, heading for a dirt road. It turned into asphalt a few hundred yards later, and we sped along it as the first of the infected broke from the trees behind us. They fell behind and out of sight as the road curved. Amy looked back over her shoulder and grinned, then let off on the throttle. Eventually, the road T’ed and we turned back east until we ended up on 385 again. For the next hour or so, we simply rode north, following the highway. We skirted Chadron and crossed the border into South Dakota ten minutes later. About an hour later, I pulled to a stop outside of a town called Hermosa and broke out the Spitfire to check our coordinates.

“We head about ten miles west from here,” I said as Amy came back from her trip to answer nature’s call. “And maybe two miles north.”

“That’s right in the middle of the park,” she said with a nod toward a sign advertising the shortest route to Mt Rushmore. “Maybe we can stop and see that.”

“Sure,” I said as I finished strapping the radio back to my bike. “For that matter, if it isn’t overrun with infected, we could probably camp nearby. I’m sure there’s a campground we can use.” We started the bikes up and followed the road west, taking the winding turns as fast as we dared. The signs for Mt Rushmore put it very close to our true destination, and I started to get the strange feeling that it might actually
be
that destination. We blew through a tiny town a mile or so out, leaving a hundred or so second stage infected shambling in our wake, and took the last couple of miles as fast as we dared. Finally, we pulled into the entrance to Mt. Rushmore.

Whatever I had been expecting, it wasn’t a nearly empty place. We took the driveway up to the top of the parking garage, and I pulled up short when I saw two Blackhawks parked on the top level. A Chinook rested on the next parking structure.

“I think we’re in the right place,” I said after I pulled my helmet off. The hackles on the back of my neck started to rise as I looked around, and my gaze was slowly pulled northwest.

“Do you feel that?” Amy said.

“Yeah,” I answered. “There’s an alpha zombie around here somewhere.”

“What the hell is it doing way out here?” she asked.

“No idea,” I said as I pulled the M4 from its scabbard. “In Springfield, they thought Patient Zero was the source of the infection, so I figured they’d show up where there were a lot of infected. The only one I know of that wasn’t in a big city was the one in Nevada. And DHS imported that one.”

“That didn’t go well. I hope that isn’t going on here.”

“Me, too,” I said. “But always assume the worst case scenario.”

“Yeah, this is gonna be real fun,” Amy said as she slung her Ruger and grabbed the Mossberg off the front of her bike’s handlebars. I cycled a round into the chamber of the M4 and started toward the entrance to the park itself. Just to the right inside the arched entryway was the bookstore. A guided audio tour booth sat on the opposite side, flanked by the restrooms.

“If you have to go, now’s the time to brave the possibly zombie infested bathrooms,” I said as we passed them.

“I’m never peeing again,” she said. “Thanks, Dave.” I looked back over my shoulder at her to flash a grin, and my eyes went to the lettering beneath the bookstore’s larger signage.
National Park Service, U.S. Department of the Interior.
Making a mental note to avoid hunting while on Park Service grounds, or at least to not get caught at it, I pressed on under the gaze of the four presidents above the end of the walkway. We made our way down the stone paved walkway, guns at the ready, eyes moving left and right.

“Hold up for a second,” Amy said after we passed under the second archway. I looked back at her and saw her snap a picture of the monument. “Might as well get one while things are calm, right?” she asked.

I shook my head. “Might as well, gift shop’s closed.” We followed the pathway through a series of columns bearing state flags, then found ourselves looking over the amphitheater. I stopped while Amy took another picture, and concentrated on the prickly feeling that was running down my spine. Again, I let my gaze follow that feeling, and found myself looking at the cliff face. Though my eyes naturally wanted to look at the massive faces looking down at me, somehow, I was sure that what I wanted to kill was below them and behind them. I went over to one of the maps posted near the edge of the amphitheater and looked at the route of the Presidential Trail.

“Are we on the wrong side of the mountain?” Amy asked.

“Maybe,” I said. “Let’s follow the trail here and see if we can get closer.” The first part of the trail felt like we were moving away from it, but when it curved around, it started getting stronger again. As we got to a curve that started to head back across the front of the sculpture, I heard something moving in the brush above us. I froze and pointed to one of the trees nearby, leading by example as I took cover behind another tree. Whoever it was, they were a good distance away, and their bushcraft was for crap. I could hear rocks tumbling down beneath them and small twigs snapping under their feet. Either they weren’t trying to be stealthy, or they were failing miserably at it.

I moved to Amy’s side and pointed to a boulder on her right, then held a finger to my lips before nodding toward where I wanted her to go. She nodded back to me and padded to the boulder. I followed once she got there, then headed past her to a nearby tree. Amy followed when I gestured for her to, and we leapfrogged like that another few yards up the trail. I motioned for her to take her helmet off and duck down behind a boulder, then we waited as the group of people got closer. Before long, they came into view.

For all that they weren’t stealthy, these men knew their business. They covered each other as they made their way down to our position, their eyes on their flanks and rear as much as on what was in front of them. Not a one of them looked like he was under two hundred pounds, and not a one of them was dressed for the woods. I counted eight men in slacks and bullet proof vests over long sleeved button down shirts. They carried FN P90s like they knew how to use them, and I pitied anyone they were serious about killing. I’d seen hard men before; Nate was a former Delta operator, and Captain Adams’ Special Forces team was concentrated badass, and these men had the same look about them. The only thing that was keeping me safe just now was the fact that I knew how to hide and move quietly in the woods better than they did. Most of that skill was in knowing where to step, how to stay still and how to break up your body’s silhouette. I let them get past us before I moved to a tree behind them and crouched down again.

“Gentlemen,” I said aloud. Anything else I planned to say was drowned out in a hail of gunfire.

“Contact rear!” someone called out.

“Ya think!” I yelled. “God damn it! I’m not trying to hurt you!”

“We know there’s two of you,” another man yelled. “Both of you step out where we can see you!”

“Who are you?” I asked.

“None of your business. Now step out or we’ll open fire again!”

“That isn’t very reassuring,” I said. There was a long silence, then I heard one of the men speaking softly.

“We’re with the government,” the guy who had been doing the talking said. “We’re not going to hurt you.” It was still a risk, but I had a hunch about these men. I stood and held the M4 by the barrel, then held it out where they could see it. I moved out from behind the tree behind it, and found myself facing eight gun barrels.

“Well, you didn’t shoot me on sight, so that’s a good start,” I said.

“Where’s your friend?” the lead man demanded.

“My daughter is nearby,” I said. The man closest to the talker looked over at him, and I could see doubt cross the faces of the others. The leader looked to the guy next to him and nodded toward me, then lowered his own gun.

“Stand down,” he said. The others lowered their weapons, except for the one beside him. His gun stayed on me.

“Amy, hold your shotgun by the barrel and hold it away from your body, then stand up where these men can see you,” I said. The leader started when Amy stood up less than ten feet from him.

“There’s someone who wants to see you,” the leader said. “We’re going to have to ask you to disarm first, though.” Beside him, Amy made a disgusted noise. “Sorry, miss, that’s not a request.”

“I wasn’t saying no,” she said. “It’s just that…disarming is kind of a long process.”  She handed one of them her shotgun and started drawing weapons slowly. I stepped forward and started the process myself, chuckling as the man who was taking my weapons started having to hand things off to make room. Four pistols, three knives, two rifles and a sword later, I was as disarmed as I was going to get barring a cavity search. Amy stepped up beside me looking decidedly unhappy about the current state of affairs.

“If you’ll please follow us,” the leader said. The path back up the hill turned into a set of wooden steps that led to a gap behind the sculptures, and then to an opening in the cliff wall. They led us to the back of a narrow cave where a thick door stood open. Through that was a hallway that led to a set of metal stairs. With every step we took, the prickling feeling got stronger. Finally, we came to an open room with a long table set in the middle. An old base relief map covered its surface, and framed versions of various documents adorned the walls. A woman with graying black hair in a rumpled pair of coveralls stood near the head of the table, flanked by another man and a woman, both looking like they’d been dressed by the same person who had dressed the men escorting us. The woman in the coveralls looked older then the others around her, and she was the only person in the room who wasn’t armed. She stepped forward and extended a hand to me.

“I’m Madeline Morris,” she said, her voice a strong but pleasant contralto. “I’m sorry for the rather hostile reception you got outside. I’m sure you have a lot of questions, starting with what this place is, and who we are.”