Authors: Shawn Chesser
***
Pug looked at his watch.
Ten minutes
. He quickly laced up his boots and donned his pack. After his incarceration he just wanted to get out of the cell and slink away without a lot of fanfare.
***
Five minutes
. Heavy footfalls signaled someone’s approach, and before long, the soldier that had spouted the canned spiel in front of him twelve hours earlier was standing by the zippered door about to free him. “Jesus... about time. I’m so hungry I could eat a horse,” Pug said. “And Sarge, you better burn that freaking book. War and Peace my ass...what a bore.”
The grim-faced soldier ushered him out of the cubicle and ordered him to stand still while he powered up a hand-held thermal scanner. After a few seconds the device beeped and the soldier swept it from the tip of Pug’s boots to the top of his head, front, and back.
“Didn’t you do this earlier?” Pug asked.
Without warning, the soldier jammed an old style thermometer into Pug’s mouth. “Hold still.”
After a long minute Pug cracked, “What, the tricorder didn’t work?”
“Almost finished,” the soldier said, sounding irritated. He checked the mercury and noted something on a chart. “You’re good to go.”
“Whew! Since I’m not going to turn into a zombie... where can a hungry American get a bite to eat?” Pug said with a grin.
“Not funny,” said the soldier, shooting Pug a deadly look. “This is a map of the base. Clearly marked in red are the places civilians
cannot
go while visiting us.”
Visiting
, Pug thought.
Does he know something he’s not letting on? What the hell...
“What’s the talk I overheard about a cure?”
Recognition briefly flashed across the soldier’s stoic features. “Just hope-filled rumors.” Then he pointed to the map. “This is where you sleep. And this is the only mess hall. The base personnel are sharing it with you... be respectful.”
“Thanks Sarge,” Pug said as he folded the map and turned to leave.
“You’re not waiting for your red-haired friend?” the soldier asked.
“Wilson? I’m done with him.” Pug said as he shouldered his black bag and headed for the door.
Outbreak - Day 9
Schriever AFB, 50th Space Wing Briefing
Freda Nash stood front and center looking over the men that held the fate of Colorado Springs in their hands.
These last few days had definitely taken their toll on her and it was evidenced by the dark gray half-moons that had formed under her eyes. The petite Air Force officer looked like her head hadn’t hit the pillow in weeks. Also the usual piss and vinegar that caused some people to fear interacting with her had all but disappeared. The last thing Major Nash wanted to do was send a single operator into harm’s way without the information needed to run the op effectively. Solid intelligence, which was the foundation of any good operation, had been almost impossible
to gather since the dead started to walk. Desantos and his men had broken into the White House to retrieve the nuclear football without knowing if the President was still alive, and then Nash had immediately sent them off on the CDC mission to bring back Fuentes and the Alpha carrier without so much as a floor plan or entry codes to the building. Now she was sending the team downrange once again, with nuclear weapons, and no idea where they needed to be deployed in order to destroy the approaching carrion juggernaut.
Time to put on the game face
, Nash thought. She took a sip of water and cleared her throat. The mic was hot and the drawn out
harrumph
that reverberated about the Space Warfare room brought a smile from Desantos. “Good afternoon, gentlemen. I am going to keep this on point and move along quickly. After I finish, President Clay will address you all.” Nash thumbed the remote and started the vivid picture on the large flat panel moving. An uncomfortable silence ensued
--
rustling papers and the droning thrum of computer fans the only noise in the room.
Cade recognized the scene for what it was. The panoramic view of the Denver skyline was taken from a fairly low altitude and a long standoff distance. The cityscape disappeared into the background as the optics zoomed out and the camera panned down revealing the full scale of the undead horde. Unlike the gray, grainy feed from the UAV footage taken over Denver the day before, this new color footage was sharp and crystal clear. The biomass of living dead appeared to almo
st slither down the freeway. The front of the herd, which wasn’t as thick with lurching bodies, stretched nearly a quarter mile in front of the main body and appeared to change direction periodically, feinting left and then right and back again, apparently scouting the path ahead.
“This is real-time footage from an orbiting Global Hawk. As you all can see... the dead are still tracking straight for downtown Colorado Springs. I hate to admit that we do not have an accurate count... but our best guess is that we’re looking at no less than twenty percent of the Denver/Aurora area population on the screen in front of us. Roughly four hundred thousand is the latest estimate, and though we’re not in their direct line of travel, one incoming transport plane is all it would take to get their undivided attention and bring them here.”
The picture on the flat screen disappeared. Nash allowed the numbers to sink in before she started the next bit of footage. “This sequence was taken yesterday, hours after the herd left Denver in pursuit of a group of fleeing survivors.”
The image sprang to life. In one instant the herd was ambling along bracketed in the center of the UAV’s optics
. Abruptly the gimbal-mounted camera rotated away from the Denver skyline and zoomed in towards the south. The camera locked on to four fast moving stealth aircraft, tracking them as they passed thousands of feet below the Global Hawk’s orbit.
“B2 Liberty bombers and B1 Lancers out of Ellsworth, South Dakota... watch closely,” Nash said without emotion.
The black aircraft suddenly began spewing wobbly gravity bombs. After a brief free-fall the munitions began to strike earth. The fiery orange explosions walked down the center of the undead herd, destroying
thousands
of the shambling creatures. The concentric shockwaves and overpressure reduced
even greater numbers of the zombies on the periphery of the procession
to slower crawling versions of their former deadly selves. After the dust from the bomb runs had dissipated slightly, the UAV slowed and moved closer to the deck as the camera zoomed in for an intimate BDA or Bomb Damage Assessment of the target.
Although massive amounts of ordinance had been dropped on the undead army, to the viewers’ dismay the majority of the herd continued on its relentless death march towards Springs.
“As you can see, the hundreds of bombs dropped yesterday had very little effect on the dead.” The Major looked at the operators silently, wondering how many of them weren’t going to live to see another sunset, and then finished her speech. “There is nothing, short of abandoning Springs, that we can do to avoid contact with these unyielding monsters, and that, ladies and gentlemen is why, just like the anti Z operations that are currently being waged downtown, we are taking the fight to the enemy. Any questions?”
The room remained silent. Cade guessed that half of the people in the room were in a state of shock.
Major Freda Nash moved aside, making room for the President.
President Valerie Clay put her hand on the Major’s shoulder as a sign of solidarity, then she adjusted the microphone and said, “First off I want to thank you all for putting your lives on the line each and every day. I know that every one of you has lost family members and for most of you... your entire families have vanished.” President Clay scanned the room trying to project the empathy that she truly felt and then continued. “The virus that decimated our loved ones has been defeated...” Cheers went up around the room, momentarily drowning out the President’s voice. She put her hands in the air, gesturing for quiet, and then continued where she left off. “…thanks to Doctor Fuentes and Doctor Hanson, both formerly of the CDC in A
tlanta. The man that was rumored to be cured is named Archie Stockton and yes, he has recovered surprisingly well. Just hours ago he died... and then started to turn.” She paused to let the words sink in. “Thanks to Doctor Fuentes’ breakthrough Mr. Stockton miraculously recovered. I want to assure all of you that more of the antiserum is being produced.
But only in small quantities at first... so we are not out of the woods entirely. Our hope is... and Fuentes is very confident on this front… that eventually his work with the antiserum will pay off in the form of an antidote. One day we
all
will be inoculated against Omega. And lastly, General Desantos... the United States will forever be indebted to you for this mission that you and your men are about to undertake.”
Putting some steel in his spine, Desantos thanked President Clay and humbly deflected the praise onto his men.
“God speed General,” President Clay intoned, dabbing away tears. Then she motioned to her Secret Service detail and left the room in a hurry, flanked by the six serious looking armed men.
“Thank you Madam President,” Nash offered as the door closed behind the trailing agent. “Desantos, you have already
been briefed by Colonel Shrill... I will see you and your men for a debriefing
when
you return. And I want to personally say I am sorry that we don’t have as much intelligence for you to go on as you are used to, but I know how good you and your men are at
improvisation
. Isn’t that right Captain Grayson,” she said with a wink directed at Cade who just nodded silently.
Outbreak - Day 9
Downtown Jackson Hole
Chief Jenkins pulled into the police station which commanded prime real estate in the heart of downtown Jackson
.
Daymon nestled Lu Lu in beside the Tahoe.
“Am I under arrest?” Daymon joked, trying to break the tension after the somber drive.
Stone faced, Chief Jenkins stared him down and said, “I had nothing to do with those crucified people.”
“Who did?” Daymon pressed.
Jenkins checked over each shoulder before answering. “Spartan mercenaries... they all answer to a man named Ian Bishop. Stay away from him. As a matter of fact... give his men and anyone driving one of those black vehicles a wide berth. If you want to stay alive in Jackson you
have to
be useful
and most importantly you
have to fly under their radar
.”
“You never answered my question.”
“About what?” Jenkins asked, playing dumb.
“
Heidi
,” Daymon said, pronouncing her name slowly. He sensed that Jenkins was trying to keep something from him.
Fumbling for words Jenkins said, “She got caught up with the wrong people.”
“What the fuck do you mean the
wrong people
?” Daymon hissed.
“She was
invited
to a party hosted by Robert Christian at the
House
.”
Daymon cracked his knuckles and asked, “
The House
... the big ass mansion on the hill that the asshole action hero actor used to own?”
“Yes, that’s the one... but don’t get worked up about it.”
Shaking his head Daymon said, “It’s too late... I’m well past worked up... I’m fucking livid.”
“Listen to me,” Chief Jenkins said urgently, adjusting his sunglasses. “Don’t go near him or the house. Just stay the fuck away... or you will find yourself on one of those crosses feeding the bird
s.”
“Who died and made this Christian guy king?”
“A lot of people died... then he waltzed right in and appointed himself king and
that
is why Jac
kson Hole is supposedly the Capital of what used to be the United States of America. Robert Christian is calling it New America and he claims to be the President... if that’s the title that he’
s using. But I wouldn’t know because I wasn’t invited to the inaugural ball.” Jenkins removed his hat rev
ealing a deeply receding hairline. “They are fucking serious. Look over there... and there...” he said pointing at several olive drab missile launchers, each as big as an upended school bus and arranged in a ring around the valley.
“Those are Patriot anti-missile launchers and they’re protecting the entire city from any and all airborne threats.”