Authors: Shawn Chesser
The tired operator stopped in his tracks and panned his head, scanning the rows of tables and benches. He was amazed; there were more people in the mess than he had seen at one time since arriving at Schriever.
He resumed pacing through the maze of celery-green tables and chairs hoping to find a familiar face.
Cade noticed electricity in the air and the background noise seemed to have taken on a life of its own
--
rising and falling in crescendo
--
punctuated with bursts of laughter and guffaws. Gone was the usual demeanor-killing shroud brought on by mission creep. During the previous week the inhabitants of Schriever were stretched thinner than the only piece of Silly Putty in the
twenty
-kids-and-counting Duggar household. Everyone was running on fumes and so were the aircraft and vehicles.
Cade caught snippets of the different spirited conversations as he wound through the revelry trying to find a place to settle and decompress. It was obvious to him that the word was out, and the possibility that Doctor Fuentes had found a cure was on everyone’s mind. To Cade it seemed like a switch had been thrown and everyone in the room had instantly cast off the day-to-day fear of dying and had fully embraced the idea of living
--
and not just surviving.
Although Cade had been listening in on the comms in the Ghost Hawk he didn’t insert himself into the mix. If Mike wanted his opinion he would have asked. Up until now Cade had successfully survived the tightrope walk of dealing with higher ups unscathed and he could see no good reason to jump off of the cable now.
Cade was just happy to see that the people he was fighting shoulder to shoulder with had been inoculated with a shot of hope, because in desperate times like these, with a few hundred thousand dead heading for Schriever, a little bit could go a long way.
“Soldier... Grayson. Over here, grab yourself a piece of pine.” Dan waved a Schriever coffee mug to and fro trying to get the operator’s attention.
The voice, rising above the others, snapped Cade from his moment of thought. He changed course and headed for the bearded Vietnam vet.
Dan pushed a chair in Cade’s direction. It came at him with a nerve jangling squeal. Cade slapped his plate down, putting the sausages in danger of rolling off, and sat down heavily. “Thanks... I needed that.”
“Good to see you my boy. Saw you swivel headin’ around on auto pilot and thought I could use some company.”
Cade tried to laugh but only found the energy for a grunt and said, “That makes two of us.”
“Want some more coffee?” Dan reached out; his knuckles looked like they belonged on a street fighter’s hand. Had it not been for the grease and grime Cade would have said something smartass and asked about the other guy’s face.
“Sure.” Cade downed the tepid liquid and handed over the empty mug. “Have them add the caffeine this time please.”
“I think they’re running low on beans and just burning the water,” Dan added, cracking a half smile.
When Dan returned the first thing out of his mouth, even before he sat down, concerned the rumors of a cure. He looked over both shoulders before he said, “So I saw you carrying the top secret folder yesterday... what do you know about this purported cure? I know that you probably can’t say anything because I’m not
need to know
, but theoretically if there were an antidote or something...
that would be the best news ever
. ”
“Take a breath,” Cade interrupted. “If I knew anything that was one hundred percent iron clad the honest-to-God truth... I would not hesitate to include you.
But I do not
.”
“What do you know?” Dan asked.
“I know I’m beat, bone tired and I can’t go and sleep next to my wife because I’ll wake up the whole family. I didn’t have any contact with them for a week after Omega started burning and at times I feared the worst. What a fucking rollercoaster of emotions I stuffed while I was on the
outside
. And now... here I go leaving them on a daily basis with no guarantee I will return. How can I say that I am a good dad and husband when I’m subjecting my family to those same emotions? How can I expect to ever be forgiven for reupping?” Cade put his forehead in his hands for a few seconds and then fixed his eyes on Dan’s. “Part of me wants to stay here... and then go to the briefing
without
seeing them. To be honest it will hurt me to see them... because I have to turn around and leave on another op in a few hours.”
“You
have to
go and see them. If they can’t go back to sleep... it’s a few more precious minutes spent. Just chalk it up to what was supposed to be. You
know
you reupped for them. Whether you want to admit or not...
everything
you do...
every
decision you make is for them. Don’t forget it. Every second we are on the right side of the dirt oughta be spent living.”
Cade squeezed the grizzled vet’s shoulder. “Thanks for letting me bend your ear,” he said, stealing one of Dan’s sayings. “Now I’m going to sneak in and get a couple of hours of rack time.”
Outbreak - Day 9
The House
Jackson Hole, Wyoming
The aroma of maple syrup and bacon filled the cavernous dining room; grand splays of wildflowers were scattered amongst the heaping plates of breakfast meats, scrambled eggs and waffles.
Robert Christian sat at the head of the wide mahogany table seemingly in a trance, staring out the picture window at
his
granite mountains, and with a grand sweep of his arm said, “Gentlemen, look out the window. That is
the
Grand Teton. John D. Rockefeller Jr., Teddy Roosevelt and Grover Cleveland were all great conservationists in their time; they had a vision for this beautiful place. They wanted to keep it pristine and wild. If they knew how many coffee shops were in this valley and that a million overweight and over-consuming tourists rubbed elbows in Yellowstone every year they would be spinning in their graves.”
“What are we going to do to stop it from happening again?” Griffin Blackburn asked. He was the fifty-five-year-old heir to the Blackburn fortune, who until now had remained silent, finishing his brunch, wondering why only he, Cranston, Ross, and Buchannon had been asked to stay behind, while the other Guild members boarded their private planes in the early morning and presumably were safely home by now.
“I want us to be better stewards and further their work across New America; every city that we clean out will be preserved as a warning against unbridled procreation and the subsequent wants and needs associated with an out-of-control population. No more grid lock. No more pollution. If any of you doubt my resolve
--
have Tran take you on a drive down the Teton Pass Highway. There are about a hundred reasons for the population of Jackson to stay in line and give back for the cause. Soon the people will want to stay here... many more will want to come here. They will flock here... in moderation. Gentlemen, Mother Nature just gave mankind a piece of her mind and it was a long time coming. I
will
make sure that we never forget how bad we let things get here on Mother Earth.”
Texas oilman Hank Ross drained his Bloody Mary and said in his thick syrupy drawl, “R.C. I gotta hand it to you... this place you picked for the Capital is magnificent. It’s like Mother Nature made you a castle with granite ramparts all around. The entrances to the valley are easily defensible. And I see that the air defenses were delivered overnight.”
“You don’t miss much Hank. Have you seen the airport since you arrived?” Christian asked.
Dabbing at the corners of his mouth, Hank cleaned his white mustache and placed the napkin onto the half-finished plate of food. Tran instantly materialized from behind a hewn oak pillar and silently spirited it away. “Why... did some U.S. military hardware fall off of the truck?” Hank inquired.
“Bishop’s boys are paying off in spades. They have liberated a number of fighter jets as well as a dozen attack helicopters,” Christian said proudly. “But that’s only a start... Bishop cleared the elk refuge of living dead and his men are quickly filling it up with National Guard armor and Humvees. We are very close to fielding a capable army of our very own,” Christian said with a flourish.
You are covering your ass nicely, how do we cover ours?
Mark Buchannon thought. “So when do we get
our
bombs?” the Dot Com billionaire from California asked. He was the youngest of the group and the most outspoken
--
always ready with a question even if he thought he knew the answer.
Christian had been waiting patiently for one of the men to bring this up. “That, young man, is a point of contention with me. Somebody bugged this very room... actually my personal assistant Jarvis found that the whole mansion was full of listening devices and I know for a fact that they weren’t here before the outbreak. Besides, who would want to spy on a blowhard, narcissist actor anyway?” Christian’s cobalt eyes lingered on each man for a moment before he continued. “Until I know you can be trusted... the bombs will be tucked away for a rainy day
--
the gold, however, will be distributed as soon as it arrives.”
Carrot and the stick
, Christian thought to himself.
Buchannon shook his head. He hadn’t expected the offhanded accusation and furthermore it really pissed him off. “With all due respect
Mr. Christian...
how do we protect our sovereignty as part of New America if we don’t have the capability to counter anything Valerie Clay can throw at us? I see how well you are protected here: anti-missile batteries, the Spartan army, jets, and helicopters not to mention Jackson’s strategic location. I will be in Napa tomorrow nervously awaiting the black helicopters or better yet a hundred and fifty kiloton warhead to turn my valley to glass. What am I supposed to do, throw gold bars at them?”
“You must exercise patience, Mr. Buchannon,” Christian countered.
The heavy chair screeched backwards as the brash young man rocketed from his seat and threw his hands
in the air. “How would you feel if you were in my shoes?” he asked, his voice a mix of desperation and exasperation.
“
Insubordinate!
” Christian hissed, the veins in his neck bulging.
Strategically changing the subject, former President John Cranston said, “Fine way to send us off Robert, last night’s entertainment was fabulous.” With a mischievous grin, he hoisted his mimosa in the air and bowed his head. “I especially liked Heidi... blonde hair, splendid... ”
“
Enough
,” Christian barked. “For my dystopian vision of New America to come to fruition we all must have patience. The people of Colorado Springs are about to receive a warning that they will not soon forget.”
Outbreak - Day 9
Driggs, Idaho
The fire glowed, a winking orange ribbon over the ridge line separating the gray horizon from the crackling treetops. Colorful exploding embers, like a fourth of July fireworks display, rocketed into the sky.
Daymon risked a glance uphill. The dead tumbled down the steep incline, cartwheeling and bouncing off of the snags and deadfalls, gravity helping them quickly close the distance to where he was kneeling. As the next shambling wave reached the crest of the hill the flames licking at their backs created the illusion that their heads were ablaze. The first waves of monsters were only yards away and they were bursting before his eyes like overcooked bratwurst, their outer dermis and the flesh underneath cooking from the extreme heat.
Still he kept hacking
away
. The bramble shafts were thick as a toddler’s wrist. Every effective swipe of the machete was countered by two that bounced off of the thorny runners.
“Hurry... they’re coming,” the woman prodded. She was caught deep in the thicket, the shark tooth barbs piercing her alabaster flesh. She was the reason Daymon decided to return home and not go to Eden.
Daymon renewed his efforts. His wrist ached and his right shoulder burned from the constant exertion as he chopped away. He was making little progress
--
he might as well have been cutting down a sequoia with a butter knife.
Daymon sensed the zombie approaching from his blind side. In one motion he spun on his knee and snatched up the bow, and without sighting shot from the hip. The arrow stopped, buried to the feathers in the walker’s cheek with the barbs and shaft protruding from the opposite side. It looked like an extreme piercing gone wrong. Undeterred, the blistered zombie trudged ahead, its taut burnt skin crackling with each step.
Lacking the time to reload, Daymon discarded the bow and fumbled for the machete. With a no look sweeping backhand
he
decapitated the crispy creature. The blackened body folded in on itself like a well-worn road map while the head, eyes darting, bounced out of sight down the hill.
“Be quiet,” Daymon whispered, “or all of them will be on top of us.” He reloaded the bow and continued slashing at the robust bonds, trying to
free the one he loved
.
“Leave me and save yourself,” Heidi implored.
“I’m not leaving you again... I’ll die first,” Daymon promised. He raised the blade but froze on the downswing when a large man-shaped shadow darkened the ground in front of him. He turned his head slowly towards the looming threat.