A Pound of Flesh: Surviving the Zombie Apocalypse (14 page)

The cacophony, though hard on her pounding
head, was music to her ears.

Chapter 16

Outbreak - Day 11

Schriever AFB

Colorado Springs, Colorado

Motor Pool

Formalities out of the way, Brook climbed up
into the cab and took her ‘gunners’ seat on the passenger’s side.
She placed her M4 between her legs, barrel pointing downwards with
the butt stock fully collapsed.

Wilson emerged from behind the truck.

Brook watched him in the side mirror as he
checked the tires on his side.
Kid’s got a head on his
shoulders,
she reasoned.
I hope he can drive this
thing.

The door creaked open and the spry young man
hopped in. “So you’re my gunner... better you than me,” he
opined.

“What makes you say that?”

“My track record with firearms hasn’t been
stellar,” he said as he patted the handle of his prized Todd
Helton-autographed Louisville Slugger, which had obviously seen
better days and smacked more than just baseballs. “Let’s just say I
know how to wield this much better.”

“You mean to tell me you don’t have a
gun.”

Wilson nodded towards Brook’s black rifle,
his eyes tracking to the three magazines on the seat and the two
easily accessible extra magazines secured by Velcro in the front
pouches of her MOLLE rig and said, “No but it looks like you’ve got
us both covered... and then some.”

Without acknowledging the very astute
observation she asked, “Have you been outside of the wire yet?”

“Today will be the first time since I got
here from Denver.”

“When was that?”

“Two days ago. My sister and I... along with
two others were stranded on 25 north of here. This fella named Pug
saved all of us... we came here in his truck.”

Brook’s face turned ashen as she
absentmindedly fiddled with her carbine. “What was the guy’s
name—the one who saved you?” she asked.

“
Pug...
strange name. He’s a strange
guy—how he came upon us and where he disappeared to after
quarantine is still an effin’ mystery to me. I didn’t even get to
thank him.”

“Tell me all about your trip from Denver,”
Brook said through gritted teeth.

“It’s going to take a while. I’ll tell you
all about it as soon as we get underway. Right now... I’ve gotta go
to the bathroom. I’ll be right back,” he said as he jumped out of
the truck.

Five long minutes later Wilson returned.

Brook squirmed, barely able to contain her
rising angst.

“Better now than when we’re...
outside the
wire
... that sounds like something John Wayne probably said in
that one Vietnam war movie...”

“
The Green Berets
,” Brook muttered as
she rolled her window down and craned her head to see what was
happening. Up near the front of the convoy, which was made up of
ten large moving trucks and three military vehicles lined up bumper
to bumper, she noticed the lead Humvee start up with a puff of
black exhaust. Then she continued, “We’re going to be on the move
shortly... and the second you take your foot off of the brake you
had better start spilling your guts.”

Brook had the redhead’s full attention.
Wilson sat speechless, mind trying to reconcile why the lockjawed
lady was holding him in such contempt.

A sudden knock on the driver’s door caused
Wilson to jump, freeing him from Brook’s Medusalike glare.

Colonel Shrill, who had been walking down the
line of U-Hauls giving one-on-one briefings to the civilian
drivers, made a circular motion with his hand implying that he
wanted Wilson to roll down his window.

“Yes sir,” Wilson said nervously, his stomach
in knots. He had a feeling the looming soldier had somehow found
out his secret. Sasha’s scathing diatribe replayed in his
head—“What makes you think they will let you drive one of their
trucks? You
had better
evaluate your last statement
Wilson
,” the teen had said, spitting out his name, “you
are not
a good driver. You
totaled
Angela and Saul’s
Suburban in Castle Rock for eff’s sake. What makes you think you
can drive something bigger... with different results?”

Without responding to his sister’s venomous
attack he had left their tent in a huff with the recruitment flyer
he had torn from the mess hall corkboard in hand, and went straight
to the staging area. Two hours had elapsed since then and if he
knew his sister—who when scorned would do anything to ruin the
offending parties’ day, week, or month—he was certain she somehow
had a hand in this. Therefore he had no doubt in his mind that he
was about to be yanked from the truck and sent packing.

“Brooklyn Grayson...” Shrill intoned,
completely ignoring Wilson. “Your wish is apparently my command.
You keep an eye on this kid,” he said with a wink and tapped a
thick finger on top of Wilson’s boonie hat. “He says he’s a pretty
good driver.”

“Will do Sir... and thanks for this
opportunity,” blurted Brook.

“Ear muffs, kid.”

Wilson made a face but complied by cupping
his hands over his ears.

Shrill smiled at the sight and said, “Believe
me Brook, I know how you feel. I’ve been imprisoned on this base
since Z day minus a week, give or take. Sure I’ve been busy... Lord
knows that. But I’m going stir crazy. Get some, will you? The
sooner we mop up these walking biohazards the sooner the rest of us
can start searching for our loved ones.”

Sensing movement reflected in the passenger
mirror, Brook momentarily broke eye contact with the Colonel. A
burly gun truck bristling with weapons had formed up on the
Dakota’s
bumper.

Shrill handed a laminated map and a pair of
radios across to Brook. He went over their basic functions and went
on, “The freqs are set. Your call sign is Dakota”—Brook rolled her
eyes—“don’t stop unless the lead vehicle stops. Anyone else
stops... breaks down, etcetera, keep moving. The soldiers on your
six will check on ‘em. Red... if you break down, or get a flat, hit
a walker and can’t continue...
anything
—
do not exit the
vehicle.
The same holds for you Brook. Wait for the guys in the
MRAP to come to your aid... any questions?”

Continuing to sit stock still with his eyes
boring into the roll down door of the truck in front, Wilson
inquired, “What exactly is an MRAP?”

“Stands for, Mine Resistant, Ambush Protected
vehicle. That’s the truck Staff Sergeant Lawson and the boys are
riding in behind you. I don’t think mines will come into play
today, but the ambush part—it’s a noisy rig so the Zs are going to
come a running... or staggering at least. There are still a lot of
them in and around Springs and the farther out you go the worse it
gets. Gaines and his boys are good... but they aren’t God. By the
way... you all are honored to roll with the general today. Gaines
is riding point in the lead gun truck,” Shrill said, arching his
eyebrows an inch.

Oh great
, Brook thought to herself,
wondering if the man who had recently been promoted to replace Mike
Desantos still held a grudge against her. Although she wasn’t proud
of the sneaky stowaway move she had pulled in order to go along on
the hospital foraging mission, she didn’t regret her actions. The
byproduct of the mission alone made her act of subterfuge
worthwhile—because the antibiotics she brought back had saved her
ailing brother’s life. Then she winced in pain as she remembered,
one more time, that Carl was gone forever.

“Carry on,” Shrill said stone-faced.

Wilson watched the tall Colonel scrutinize
the dead Presidents of Mount Rushmore as he strode by the U-Haul
heading towards the hulking MRAP. “Intense,” he exclaimed wide
eyed.

Brook remained silent, her thoughts focused
inward.

Chapter 17

Outbreak - Day 11

Logan Winter’s Compound

Eden, Utah

Strident banging, like a jackhammer on a
construction site, nudged Duncan from his stupor. He came to
feeling like a dump truck had driven over his brain, and then,
making matters worse, promptly reversed, depositing a full load of
sand in his mouth. Just to make sure it wasn’t actually swelling to
beanbag size and then imploding in on itself— black hole-like, he
gripped his throbbing head with both hands. Every action, word, and
memory after the last beer from the six pack was a blur—choppy like
some artsy Tarantino flick.

“
Arrgghh
,” was all he could muster.
I sounds kinda like a zombie
, he mused. His mission:
to
do a little forgettin’,
as he had stated so eloquently the
night before, and the night before that, had been accomplished in
spades. If he wasn’t careful, he told himself between crushing
throbs, he might have to answer the dreaded Twenty Questions.
Hello, my name is Duncan...

Begging God to ease the pressure pounding in
his head, he focused on the ceiling which was cut up by evenly
spaced steel cross members that ran the length of the
rectangular-shaped subterranean dwelling. His first impression of
the room was that it had the feel of an old Fleetwood single wide:
thin pile carpet covered the cold floor, and pale wood paneling
mostly hid the rust colored steel walls. Institutional plastic
chairs and tables, sturdy and functional, furnished each working
and living space. The two dozen people sharing the good sized
bunker slept on bunk beds yet still had enough elbow room to keep
them from wanting to strangle each other. Duncan had to admit—Logan
did a stellar job of acquiring the steel shipping containers for
the right price, and with the help of friends and a rented
Caterpillar excavator, had arranged and buried all ten in a semi H
shape. The rigid boxes measuring twenty feet long, eight feet wide,
and eight feet tall were outfitted as a bug out shelter where Logan
and his closest friends could retreat in the event of a societal
collapse.

Duncan was certain of the fact that
never
in his baby bro’s wildest dreams did the kid envision
the fall of civilized society caused by the worldwide spread of a
deadly virus capable of making the newly dead reanimate.

Baby bro spent his inheritance wisely
,
Duncan thought to himself between nauseating pulses of pain and
cold sweats.
If only I had done the same.

A succession of clangs echoed somewhere in
the distance followed by another series of sharp raps on the
door.

“Duncan... you up?” a muffled voice inquired
from the other side.

“Am now... come on in, I’m decent,” Duncan
drawled. “Just
do not
slam that door.”

The Vietnam-era aviator recognized the tall,
rail thin fellow the moment the door cracked.

“To what do I owe the
pleasure
Mr.
Seth?”

“Get dressed, take this, and follow me.”

Pushy runt
, Duncan thought. Then he
took the offered weapon, checked the safety, removed then checked
the magazine and gently laid the AR style rifle next to him on the
bunk. As he laced his boots he quipped in his southern drawl,
“What... I don’t deserve a good morning?”

“Morning happened hours ago,” Seth said with
a wan smile.

Grabbing his head with one hand and the
weapon with the other, Duncan rushed out the door close on Seth’s
heels.

When they arrived at the security room it was
jam packed with people focusing their attention on the
monitors.

“Hey brother... hell of a wakeup call. Most
of our security cameras have been tripped. I need you to take these
three men with you and go secure the aircraft and keep eyes on the
western edge of the compound,” Logan said as he tossed a Motorola
to his older brother. “Freq is already set—just push to talk.”

“Copy that... got any aspirins?”

“Can it wait?” Logan asked.

“In for a dime, in for a dollar,” Duncan
replied sardonically then mumbled a few expletives; turning around
he smiled and greeted the men, all three of whom were armed with
AR-15 style rifles and in their late forties or early fifties he
guessed. “We’re all equals here... why don’t ya show me the way
boys,” he said.

“Be careful old man,” Logan said to Duncan as
he exited the room.

Suddenly the Motorola base station crackled
to life. “Sampson here, be advised you have thirty plus rotters
coming your way... and I can’t be sure but looks like they are
hunting two men.”

“Copy that. Stay put—Lev, Chief, and Seth are
headed your way... Logan out,” he said.

“Roger that,” Sampson answered.

“You still OK out there Gus?” Logan
queried.

“Gus here... I spotted only one rotter moving
from the northeast to the east.”

“Did it have only one arm?”

“Yes sir.”

“Hold tight for now, you’ve got four men
coming your way, Ed, Carter, Phillip and my brother Duncan. They’re
securing the aircraft.”

“Roger that,” Gus replied.

***

Lev, Chief and Seth struck out on a course
that would have them flanking Sampson’s hide.

Duncan watched Ed and Phillip exit ahead of
him. Ed, who was heavyset and balding, took ten steps to the left
and went to one knee. Phillip, rail thin and with a swarthy
complexion, took a knee on the right. Both men looked alert,
keeping their heads on a swivel with rifles at the ready.

Good job, Logan
, Duncan thought to
himself.
Someone’s taking security seriously
. He sniffed the
air—no carrion—
yet
. The door closed behind him with a soft
thud. Carter secured the locks then replaced the camouflage
netting.

“This way,” Carter said as he trotted towards
the green meadow which was barely visible through the trees.

The sun’s rays infiltrating the branches
overhead were like miniature branding irons to Duncan’s optic
nerves. At that moment, sorely missing his sunglasses, he cursed
the God of hangovers—if there even was such a being.