A New World: Conspiracy (33 page)

The two groups continue to stare at each
other, neither making a move toward the other. In this world,
wariness and caution is the rule. Lives can end in an instant and
with each encounter. Everyone dies in the end but there’s no need
racing toward it.

“I’m going out. Keep an eye on them and also
around us. If anything unsavory happens, turn ‘em into hamburger
and get the hell out of here,” Greg says after a few more moments
of the staring contest.

He scrambles on top and hops down in front
of the Stryker. Another soldier takes his place at the .50 cal.
Feeling the warm metal of the vehicle as he leans back against it,
he glasses the other group again. He sees the distant driver put
his binoculars away and climb into the pickup. The vehicle turns
onto their road and slowly approaches. Greg holds out his hand for
the truck to halt and it does so with a squeal of brakes.

The driver and passenger look out at him
through a dirty windshield with the two men in the back looking
over the top of the cab. He doesn’t note any weapons aimed his way,
but Greg holds his M-4 at his side, ready to bring up in an
instant. The driver climbs out and halts behind the open door.

“I’m Captain Greg Petersen. Not to seem like
an ass, but I’d feel a tad more comfortable if you all climbed out
where I can see you.”

“Captain, perhaps you could have the people
I’m sure are inside that thing to come out as well,” the man
states.

“Point taken. What do you say we agree not
to shoot each other and chat amiably?” Greg says.

“I’m agreeable to that if you wouldn’t mind
aiming that big gun of yours somewhere else. The hole in the end
looks awfully large from this vantage point,” the man replies.

Greg looks behind at the barrel mounted on
its small turret and calls inside for the gunner to aim it
elsewhere. The gun spins away and Greg looks back to the man, who
nods his appreciation.

Coming out from behind the door, the man
approaches and reaches out his hand, “James…James Talkison. We’ve
had a few run-ins with some unsavory types, so we’re a little wary
around here.”

“We’ve had several ourselves, so it’s the
same for us,” Greg replies.

“We saw you circumventing the town. That
gave us reason to believe you weren’t interested in attacking us so
we decided to risk a signal. I will say that the sight of that
thing approaching,” James says, nodding toward the Stryker, “gave
us cause for alarm.”

Looking back at their tracks through the
field, Greg sees the deep ruts their heavy vehicle created in the
plowed fields and the torn fences.

“Assuming these fields are your work, I
apologize for tearing them up like that.”

“That’s not a problem. We can fix that up
quickly,” James states.

“Allow us to help,” Greg says.

“Are you really with the Army?” James asks,
bypassing Greg’s offer.

“I was,” Greg answers. “There really isn’t
such a thing anymore.”

“So, I guess we can’t expect any help from
that sector. Everything really is gone, huh?”

“I’m afraid so,” Greg responds, hesitant to
tell their story until they know this group better.

James hangs his head and sighs. “What are
you doing around these parts?”

“We’re searching for families of those with
us,” Greg states.

“Ah. I take it from the fact that you were
bypassing us that no one is from here. We’ve wondered about ours
that live elsewhere,” James says. “How many are with you?”

Greg just looks at James without
answering.

James chuckles, “Okay, I get it. Look, we’re
all curious how it is out there. From what we’ve encountered here,
it doesn’t look good, but we need to know what we’re up against…and
for how long. I reckon you folks are okay. We’re about to sit down
for something to eat. You’re welcome to stay with us for as long as
you’d like…and I won’t lie, I wouldn’t mind having that behemoth of
yours parked in sight to scare off any troublemakers. What do you
say we head into town and trade stories? Tell only what you feel
comfortable with, but it’d be nice hearing what it’s like. And it
would pick up some spirits knowing there are others out there who
aren’t just bandits.”

“We are on a timetable of sorts and don’t
really want to stop, but I think we could spare a few hours,” Greg
says. “Any information you have about the area would be
helpful.”

Back in the Stryker, Greg relates the
conversation as they follow the pickup toward the town of Lamar. He
tells them that he wants them to stay close to the Stryker until he
is able to get a handle on the situation. The gun is to be manned
at all times. If they find that everything is legitimate, then they
can mingle. However, he doesn’t plan to stay long. They still have
a mission to see to.

As they approach, Greg gets a better look at
the fence he observed earlier. It’s about ten feet tall and covered
with coils of razor wire along the top. From his vantage point, he
sees that it completely encloses the northern segment of town and
has the appearance of encompassing the entire section. Placed at
intervals on the inside are semi-trailers with armed men stationed
on top. As they drive through an opening in the fence, a bus is
driven across it, sealing it off. Greg isn’t overly worried about
being cut off as the Stryker can run through the chain link at any
time.

Once inside, they continue to follow the
truck as they pass through the center of the town. They intersect a
main road and turn north. Looking behind, Greg notices a section of
fence several blocks away sealing off the southern part of town. A
school bus blocks an entrance similar to the one they just
passed.

They travel through the central part of the
town. Fast food restaurants line both sides of the street along
with the usual local businesses. Hotels line the road at the
extreme northern end of town. The industrial area, which the team
was attempting to bypass, takes up the northeastern section just
beyond the inns. The pickup pulls into the last building on the
left. A sign signifying the Rodeway Inn and Cow Palace decorates
the front. Ahead, past another entrance, lies the bridge they were
seeking to cross. Pulling into the lot next to the truck, he sees
several other vehicles parked. Greg informs the others to stay put
and exits.

“This is where we gather for evening meals
and meetings,” James says, joining Greg. “We use the kitchen here
and discuss the day’s activities. Eating together helps to keep us
feeling like a community. I’ve called ahead and asked the town to
meet us.”

Other cars and trucks enter. Those who exit
stare at the Stryker and Greg as they walk into the restaurant
portion of the hotel. Greg doesn’t sense any malevolence in their
actions or the darting eyes that may foretell misfortune. They
carry the same wariness exhibited by James during their initial
meeting. Greg is shocked to see them casually enter into a
building.

“You just go into a building? What about
night runners?” Greg asks, watching several people swing the
entrance door open and go inside.

“Who?” James asks.

“You know, the night hunters…the infected
ones who come out at night and hide out in darkened buildings?”

“What do you say we get out of the sun and
talk about things,” James says, motioning with his arm for Greg to
head into the restaurant.

Greg looks sharply at James. The answer
James gave was an outright evasion of Greg’s question which makes
Greg feel uneasy.

“Not until I have an answer. I don’t mean to
seem inhospitable, but wherever there are survivors, there are also
night runners,” Greg says.

“Well, the answer to your question is that
we don’t have any of the sick ones here,” James says.

“How is that possible? Were you able to kill
them all?”

James hesitates just a fraction of a second
before replying, “Yes. We took care of all of the sick ones in
town.”

It still seems like an evasion of sorts, but
it satisfies Greg’s curiosity. He supposes in a small enough town
that it’s possible to eliminate the night runner population and set
up a community like this. Greg nods and he and James proceed into
the café.

Inside, Greg smells the aroma of food
cooking. Men, women, and children of all ages sit around scattered
tables. It looks like any other family-style restaurant, and seeing
people gathered as they are almost makes things feel normal. Others
enter behind and push past to find places to sit.

“We’d usually be in the fields or working on
other chores. We vacated the fields when we saw your approach,”
James says.

He introduces Greg to the gathering and
guides him to a table. Many people nod their greetings and there
are a few dispersed vocal greetings. The silence is complete except
for the occasional clang of a pot or pan from the kitchen in back.
As Greg sits with James, the hubbub of general conversation slowly
picks up.

Soon, plates of scrambled eggs and bacon
begin to be distributed.

“It’s all we could come up with on short
notice,” the man says, placing a plate in front of James and
Greg.

“I’m sure it’s good and thanks for coming
in,” James returns.

Turning to Greg, James says, “Your people
are welcome to join us for a hot meal.”

Greg looks around. It seems normal enough
and, while most of the people have weapons either on or near them,
there isn’t an ounce of hostility that he can detect. He calls on
the radio and has the team come in two at a time to eat. The .50
cal remains manned with a small three-person reaction team. He
tells the others they can open up the rear and head outside, but
they are to remain near the protective armor.

The conversation between James and Greg turn
to their stories. As they talk, Greg begins to feel more
comfortable and shares as well. There was still that fraction of a
second hesitation James had in answering, but that could be from
the discomfort of two groups coming together and trying to find
where the trust line falls.

Greg learns the group, totaling eighty-three
men, women, and children, built the fence early on after things
fell apart. They pulled the materials from Pueblo and carted them
back on semis. They also brought solar panels, inverters, and
equipment to set up a solar farm which they are presently working
on.

“We know the batteries won’t last forever,
but we’ll have something else figured out by then,” James says.

For now, they have several greenhouses and
animal pens set up within the fenced portion of the city. A ready
water supply is provided by the river and they bring it in with the
town’s two fire trucks and a water tanker. They started working the
nearby fields in the hopes of getting a small crop in before the
cold hits. They’ll use those fields extensively in the coming year.
An irrigation project is underway to supply the fields from the
river.

When asked about arms, James mentions that
everyone carries and they mostly have hunting rifles with a
scattering of semi-auto carbines. “Everyone around here knows how
to shoot, but we still practice.”

James mentions that not everyone is from
Lamar but from the surrounding towns all the way to Wichita,
Kansas. The ones who survived in the town started gathering others
up and down the highway while on scavenging runs.

“So you were able to take care of the…sick
ones early on? There aren’t any who bother you here?” Greg
asks.

Again that split second of hesitation, “Yes.
We took care of the sick ones right off. There weren’t many of
these night runners, as you call them. I’ll tell you, though, the
ones that were here were damn hard to kill. We lost a few good
people taking care of them.”

With a fork full of eggs halfway to his
mouth, Greg looks at James. He gets the distinct impression that
James’ definition of sick ones is different from his and feels that
James had almost said ‘There weren’t many of these night runners
afterwards’. He thinks back and remembers Jack mentioning that the
Lajes AFB commander in the Azores had all of the ill ones shot when
he figured out what was going on. They would have survived too,
except they couldn’t be resupplied and crashed into the Atlantic
trying to fly out of there. Frank is one of the only survivors from
that place.

Greg gives an internal shrug and stuffs the
scrambled eggs into his mouth. Who is he to judge the survivors? If
they didn’t do what they did, they might not be here to talk about
it. Or at least the night runner threat would have been more of an
undertaking to rid themselves of.

Perhaps if everyone had taken this
stance
…

Greg gives his story and the tale of the
others to the northwest. Without being overly detailed, he tells of
their heading to Manitou Springs. Upon hearing that they intend to
head in that direction, James informs them that they have blown the
bridges across the river just north of town.

“We kept getting trouble from marauders in
that direction. Perhaps they saw us gathering materials in Pueblo
and followed us, I’m not sure. We just know that they showed up and
we were barely able to keep them at bay. That was a while ago, but
we’ve heard engine noises a few times in the past week. That’s why
we were cautious with you. The fact is that you’re the first we’ve
seen coming from the east. That and the fact that you tried to pass
around us instead of trying to going through is the only reason
we’re having this conversation,” James says. “We keep that road
open because we use it to scavenge when we can. We blew the bridge
to the south and created a large ditch across the road to the west.
Overland, it’s more difficult to get to us, and we can see anyone
coming from miles away. So, I’d be cautious heading in that
direction, even with that monster you have outside.”

“Great. I guess we’ll have to cross the
river bed itself seeing that’s really our only viable way west,”
Greg says.