Hell Released (Hell Happened Book 3) (33 page)

Danielle smiled one of her rare smiles. For a woman who’d had the shit knocked out of her, first by an abusive father, then boyfriend, the smiles were few and far between. Chuck hadn’t been told the whole story, but he heard enough to empathize with her. His own past, of which she knew a little, seemed to give them a bond unlike the bond between him and Yvonne, the strong-willed and head-strong person in their triumvirate.

He put the truck in “neutral” and applied the emergency brake. CJ was already getting the chute ready for the pour. They had made it with three minutes to spare.

“Damn, Chuck, you like cutting it close,” CJ told him through the driver’s window as the older black man took off his seat belt. “Yvonne bet me $10 bucks you wouldn’t make this pour because of the mud. I didn’t take the bet because I didn’t think you would either.”

Talk like that in prison would have ended with someone getting a shiv stuck in their back in a dark hallway by a weasel named Vinnie. The trash talk was also pissing Chuck off.

CJ was the type of person Chuck had always disliked. CJ had everything handed to him and he could indulge in his whims where Chuck’s life was one bad decision after another until he ended up in prison with a life sentence.

Chuck got out of the truck followed by Danielle. The young woman could tell her man was mad at CJ for his comments and was going to stand beside him if he started a fight with the “forman.”

Chuck was slogging through the mud with Danielle behind him and CJ was hollering at three of the workers to do a better job of working the cement. CJ was two inches taller than Chuck, but the older man had 75 pounds and a lifetime of fighting behind him.

Just as Chuck reached out to spin CJ around and discuss with him the attitude he disliked, both of the men heard a call on their walkie-talkies. “Guys! Get over to the comm shack! We’ve finally made contact with other people!”

Both men heard the call and stopped their separate trains of thought. It was the Professor on the radio and he was repeating again that contact had been made with someone else. The lieutenant from the Travis Air Force Base had been trying for weeks to get some decent radio equipment and antennas into operation. Most of the people on the Council of Eight thought his time could be of better use in the fields or on salvaging missions, bringing food and water into the compound, but the Professor’s passionate intercession on the lieutenant’s behalf for reaching out to others who may have survived the end of the world allowed the lieutenant autonomy to try.

The report that there survivors outside of their compound was big news. It was probably the biggest news since Jo said she found a destroyed super mall that had 16 trailers at its loading docks filled with clothing, bottled water and dry foodstuffs. Four of the trailers had been destroyed beyond salvage, but 12 others had been washed onto an embankment and were able to be righted and brought to the compound.

CJ turned around and saw Chuck within three feet of him, having no idea how close he’d come to an altercation with the former prisoner. “Hey, Chuck, Danielle. Nice save with the truck.” CJ, still unaware how close to a heated argument he’d been seconds ago, slapped Chuck on the shoulder like they were old friends from way back, and directed him to a less muddy path away from the last wall that was being poured. Danielle took Chuck’s hand, knowing her man’s anger at the tennis player was fading quickly. It had been a stroke of luck the call came when it did and another argument had been avoided.

Yvonne, who was washing out the inside of her barrel had heard the call as well and turned the hose over to her co-driver, a kid about 16 who was learning how to drive. She waited for Chuck, CJ and Danielle and kicked off the mud boots she was wearing.

Chloe, who had been working with another group on sorting the salvage Jo and the others were bringing to the compound, met the four at the main gate. They were met by Garrick and Marissa who had been planting trees in the compound.

The seven walked down the wide gravel path that ran through the compound. The comm shack, a recycled travel trailer the lieutenant had found was at the far end of the compound. The lieutenant was originally going to live in the trailer until he heard about the mutants who had attacked the compound killing six. He decided to move into one of the concrete shelters until the wall was completed.

The Professor met them at the door. The old man was smiling like he’d won the lottery.  “Hey guys, you gotta hurry! This is great!”

The seven entered the mobile home the lieutenant had modified. It was filled with monitors, radios and electronic equipment from floor to ceiling. To Chuck it looked like a Radio Shack had exploded.

The former air force officer was seated at a large desk with a computer monitor in front of him and a large microphone head set on. He waved for everyone to be quiet.

“This is Joshua. I can hear you but just barely. Can you boost your power any?” the lieutenant said into the microphone. He then pressed the headset closer to his ear.

“Yes, I copied that. We’ll be here listening for you. Joshua out.” The man took off the headset and sat back in his chair. He wasn’t smiling.

“What’d they say?” Garrick asked the lieutenant. Technically, a lieutenant out-ranked a chief petty officer but the communications officer deferred to Garrick as one of the leaders of the compound. Garrick was the senior military man for all intents and purposes and was still called captain by most of the people living there.

“The call was from a group of survivors in West Wendover, Nevada. That’s about 600 miles from here,” he said pointing to a map he had on the wall. “There’re 22 of them in total, living off what they can find, but they’re quickly running out of resources.”

CJ, looking at the map, didn’t see how those 22 people could be in such a dire situation. West Wendover looked to be a spread out community right off the Salt Flats and had casinos, stores and gas stations, even if it was miles from anywhere.

“They should have enough for a few years if there are only 22 of them,” he said, voicing his concern. “They’ve survived four months so far, they must have found enough resources.”

“Well, I didn’t get the whole story, captain,” the lieutenant said using the honorific, “but from what I could make out, the earthquake we felt here flattened every building in West Wendover and killed most of the survivors who’d taken refuge there.”

“What do they want us to do?” Chuck asked. “It’d take days for us to drive around the mountains to get at them. Can’t they find a car or truck and drive out of there? Christ on a crutch, we have them lying around by the hundreds and we had a damn mile-high wall of water wipe out most of the state.”

The lieutenant shrugged. “I’ll ask them the next time I hear from them, but from the sounds of it, they aren’t doing very well and the ham radio they’re using was their last chance effort at trying to find someone else.”

It was Garrick who realized the real enormity of the communications.

“What this means is there is probably more people out there, in compounds and conclaves just like us who are struggling to survive. If we can get in contact with the people in West Wendover, maybe we can get in touch with others.

“Maybe the other communities are larger and can help us with our mutant problems or maybe we can bring more people here to help us. The more people we have the better our chances of surviving as a community.”

CJ, Garrick and Chuck agreed the lieutenant should be allowed more people to erect bigger and better antennas for his equipment and exclusive use of one of the larger generators Jo had found and transported back to the compound.

Everyone left the lieutenant to write up a list of what he’d need and headed outside into the warm early autumn sun. It had warmed up to the mid 80s this late in the afternoon and it felt good to have one of the cool breezes from the ocean blowing in gently from the west. Earlier in the year, the rot of death came with the wind, but either everyone had gotten used to the stench to where they didn’t notice it, or the rotting bodies had returned to the dust from whence they came.

Most of the foliage around the compound had died from the salt water flooding, but enough had been saved to be able to plant trees around the compound grounds to provide shade and a little color to the gray concrete shelters and walls that surrounded them. An entire crew was detailed to bringing in soil that hadn’t been contaminated by the salt water to foster more greenery growth, including the beautiful lawn they were walking on and gardens that were being tended.

Some of the people had even taken to painting their shelters bright colors to relieve the dull look the compound had taken on.

In the four months of hard work, the compound didn’t look that bad to anyone. The wall surrounding the compound was being finished and people were starting to feel safe again. The Council of Eight were very popular in their management of the compound’s interests and on most nights, muted music could be heard echoing around the area, laughter came from games being played by the children and adults were once again arguing politics and the future.

Now with the word that others may have survived the end of the world, there was a ripple of excitement through the community.

Marissa suggested a town meeting to let everyone know contact had been made with others and CJ agreed that they should let everyone know there were more people alive, but not the specifics of the contact.

Chuck, Yvonne and Danielle gave non-committal agreement and went back to work on the wall. While officially a part of the Council of Eight, the community relations and political aspects were foreign to the three and they allowed those with more experience to work that side. They’d show up for the meeting, which would probably be more of a cook out than a town meeting, but CJ, Garrick, Marissa, Chloe (who replaced Jo when the trucker said she’d rather be driving than leading) and the Professor were more adept at running the compound.

It was a good balance for everyone.

The town meeting was scheduled for two days hence, a Saturday afternoon when everyone would be relaxing and enjoying free time. This gave Marissa and her team time to arrange food and drink for nearly 170 people and a public address system so everyone could hear the speakers.

The lieutenant was able to make contact with West Wendover two more times before the meeting and he shared what he learned with the council.

The meeting was held on the main “street” which led through the compound. The council was seated on the hull of the submarine which was permanently berthed 20 feet from shore. It had settled into the silt and cables still ran from the engine room to provide power for a few of the support building.

Lawn chairs and blankets were laid out for people and a dozen barbecues had been started. It was a pleasantly warm afternoon without being stifling humid for the first time in weeks.

CJ opened the meeting at noon by clearing his throat into the microphone. He wasn’t the leader of the council, just one of the eight, but he was selected as the most articulate of the eight.

“I’d like to welcome everyone to this meeting,” he began as people started to settle down, stopped throwing Frisbees, baseballs and footballs.

“As most of you know, Joshua, our communications expert, has made contact with other survivors.” He was interrupted as people started clapping and cheering.

“Yes,” he said after the applause had died down and the lieutenant had stood to wave at everyone. “We were all happy to hear there are more people out there like us.

“As for some background, West Wendover is where the survivors are located. There are 22 of them and they are not doing as well as we are here. The quake we lived through nearly destroyed the town on the Utah – Nevada border, just west of where the Salt Flats use to be.” There was a murmur through the crowd at his last statement.

“That’s right. According to Earl, the man Joshua made contact with, the quake cause the Great Salt Lake to flood most of the Salt Flats and destroyed Interstate 80. The mountain range to the north of the town collapsed the highway that used to lead across the state to Reno, as well as all the other roads through the mountains.

“The people who had taken refuge there lost 10 people to two mutants before the beasts were killed, others when a casino they’d been living in collapsed during the quake, and a few others to disease or food poisoning.”

CJ let that sink in. The people who had complained about how bad the situation was here at the compound heard how bad things were elsewhere.

“There are 22 people out there who are asking for help and we believe we have to find a way to help them. If we don’t, there is no doubt they will die.” He let the crowd process this. He gave them a few minutes to talk with their neighbor.

After a few minutes, he tapped on the microphone to get everyone’s attention. “Here’s what we are planning. We thinking of outfitting a school bus with food and water, enough for a week’s journey, and escorted by a 4 by 4 truck and accompanied by Jo and a trailer filled with the supplies we can spare.

“Since we already know every passage through the mountain south of us is blocked, they’ll head north to Oregon, work their way east into Idaho and hopefully find a way to get to the survivors. With the Salt Flats flooded, they might have to circle south of Salt Lake City and try to get in that way.”

Marissa had set up a 60” flat screen to one side of the Council of Eight and was using her laptop to highlight the crude map she’d found. The directions CJ had described made a large curl on the map.