Deadrise 2: Deadwar (6 page)

Lt. Larsen climbed off his horse. “Law! Radio Home Base and tell them we have engaged hostiles and Potter is down!” As he barked orders he un-slung his M-16 and rushed to Potter. Meanwhile Cpl. Wilcox continued to hold his rifle at the ready, circling about, searching for more lions.

Another lion charged out of the foliage in a blinding rush, snatching one of Potter's feet in its jaws and began pulling him backward towards the trees. Wilcox had already taken aim and his first bullet creased the lion’s face. It roared in pain and dropped Potter's leg, fleeing back into the forest. Both Wilcox and Larsen fired at the fleeing beast and one of them did find their mark, the bullet smacking into the cats hindquarters, spinning it out of sight into the trees.

Larsen and Wilcox rushed to Potter. He was lying on his back, his eyes blinking rapidly. His right shoulder was torn from its socket, exposing meat, bone, gristle and fat awash in blood.

“Gha-Gh-k-k-Gha-“ He was trying to say something, trying to sit up.

Larsen knelt beside him and pressed his shoulder to the ground. “Stay down Potter!” Lt. Larsen’s head began to swim, and as he looked around, the forest had taken on a deserts appearance, his vision clouded with smoke and battle haze, his ears still ringing with gunfire. For a moment he lost track of where he was, one battlefield crossing with another…but only for a moment. He shook his head and took a deep breath, and he was back in the forest of northern Utah. A man under his command, Pvt. Brad Potter, had been attacked by lion’s, and was critically wounded.

“Law! Have you contacted base?”

“Yes sir! Bravo Two is on their way right now.”

“Wilcox! Any more hostiles?”

“I don’t see any sir! We winged that last bastard. We should confirm the kill.”

“Negative.” Larsen snapped. “You stand guard while Law and I try to stabilize Potter."

“Yes sir!” Wilcox snapped back.

“Law! Get your ass over here and help me! Bring your first aid kit!” Larsen turned his attention back to Potter.

“G-Ghk-K-K-K-Ghyk-“ He was still trying to speak.

“Stay quiet Potter! Stay quiet!” He continued to hold Potter down. Pvt. Law knelt beside him, a first aid kit in his hand. But there was little they could do for him except pack his wound until help arrived. After a few breaths he lapsed into unconsciousness, and for that Larsen was grateful.

And that was how they held him until Bravo Two arrived, all four of them on quad off-road vehicles. Doc Norris rode with Pvt. Stuart Corbett, and Pvt. Evans quad pulled a small trailer to transport Potter. Norris went to work on his patient, aided by Pvt. Evans. The rest of the men gathered around the dead lions corpse.

“A lion! Can you believe this shit?” Sgt. George Henry asked. He was the squad leader for Bravo Two. He was a short, muscular man with dark hair and missing one of his front teeth. The tone of his voice indicated the he could in fact
not
believe it, despite the dead carcass at his feet.

“It’s a female.” Wilcox said, prodding it with his combat boot.

“How the hell do you know?” demanded Pvt. Olaf Lake of Bravo Two.

“No mane. No balls.”

“What about the other one?” Sgt. Henry asked.

"Female." Wilcox answered. "We winged the cocksucker, but it made it into the trees over there.” he pointed.

“Let’s go take a look.” Sgt. Henry said, looking to Lt. Larsen for approval. Larsen nodded his head, and most of the men sauntered off to search for the wounded lion.

Larsen watched as Doc Norris and Pvt. Evans worked on Potter. Norris really wasn’t a Doctor, but they called him Doc because he had gained so much experience helping Dr. Reilly treat refugees as they arrived at Rainbow Lake, so much so that he could diagnose and treat injury and sickness, as well as prescribe medicine. They had packed the shoulder wound with coagulant powder and gauze then wrapped it tightly with pads of field bandages.

Doc Norris rose to his feet. “If he’s not back at the hospital and on the operating table in a few minutes he isn’t going to make it.” As they busied strapping him to the portable stretcher and securing him to the trailer the rest of the men returned from the woods.

“Did you find it?” Larsen asked.

“No sir.” Cpl. Wilcox answered. “We spotted a blood trail, but there was no sign of the lion.”

“Ok he’s ready to travel.” Doc Norris said. “Try and take it easy Evans. Quick, but easy.”

“I got you Doc.” Pvt. Evans started his ATV while the Doc hopped aboard, and they headed home for the Hospital. Sgt. Henry followed on his quad. The other two members of Bravo Two helped Larsen and his men round up their horses, and once they saddled up, they all headed back for home. As they did Larsen bowed his head and said a silent prayer for Pvt. Potter…

CHAPTER 9

Saturday, July 14, 2001

Rainbow Lake, UT

6:03 PM

It was a tense group that stood in the lobby of the Hospitals surgical wing when Patty Marshall first entered… General Jenkins, Captain Clint Turner and Lt. Larsen. All Military, all worried about a fellow soldier who had gone down in the line of duty.

“I heard about the attack.” She said.

“I’m sure you did.” Jenkins said off handedly. Patty may have taken offense had his comment not rang of truth. News, and rumor and gossip spread around the Rainbow Lake community like a communicable disease. Patty, Matt and Susan all spent a considerable portion of their time quelling false rumors about massing hordes of zombies, or the return of Mordecai’s white cloaked murderers.

“How is he?” she asked, determined not to be deterred by his masculine arrogance.

“Doc Reilly and Doc Norris are still in surgery with him.” Lt. Larsen said. The big man stroked his fingers through his beard, a troubled look on his face. “I’m going back into the observation room.” Lt. Larsen passed through a large steel door, out of sight.

“I’m going to join him.” Captain Turner said. He had heard the scuttlebutt among the troops that the General and the Councilwoman had a thing for one another. There was no evidence of them fucking, but Turner wasn’t going to be there to interfere in any chemistry that might develop between them. Without another word he followed Lt. Larsen into the observation room.

Jenkins took a seat in one of the chairs against the wall, and he motioned for Patty to do the same.

“What is the injured soldiers name?” Patty asked.

“Potter. Private Brad Potter. He’s only twenty six years old.”

“Does he have family?”

“None. He arrived here at the Lake alone.” They were both silent for several long moments. “All the better I guess. That way there won’t be a screaming widow or orphaned children when he dies.”

Jenkins callous acceptance of Pvt. Potter's assured death angered her. “Don’t you mean if he dies?” Patty asked hotly.

“Whatever...” Jenkins leaned back and closed his eyes. Patty could feel the pain in him. Despite his macho blustering, he still cared. A man under his command was down, possibly dying. Patty suddenly felt ashamed at her anger.

“I’m sorry, General.” she spoke softly, gently taking one of his hands in her own. He opened his eyes, hazel, flecked with red, and met her own.

“Please, call me Blake.” The hard, cynical edge had disappeared from his voice, replaced with warmth that she had never heard from him before. She felt something pass between them just then, and in an instant she was sexually aroused. She was shocked at such uncontrolled behavior. But should she be? She had been divorced for five years, and in that time she had taken one lover. They had shared one encounter, and it had been awkward and uncomfortable.

“Blake…I…” She began, her stomach a knot a fluttering emotions. She felt open and vulnerable, yet she knew they had started down a path that both of them wanted to continue. But at that moment the door to the observation room opened and out came Lt. Larsen and Captain Turner. Jenkins rose to his feet, giving her hand on final squeeze before letting it go.

“What’s his condition?” Jenkins voice had hardened. Any sign of the weakness he had shown her was gone.

“They just finished up surgery. Doc Reilly says he’s lost a lot of blood and not out of the woods yet, but he should survive.” Lt. Larsen spoke with obvious relief.

“
Should
survive?”

“That’s a lot better than won’t survive.” Patty said, rising to her feet beside him.

“General? With your permission I’d like to go spread the good news."

“Dismissed, Lieutenant.” Jenkins said with a nod. Lt. Larsen exited the lobby, headed for the main door. “Captain Turner?”

“Yes sir?”

“I want you to wait here and get a full report from Doc Reilly. Then report back to me. Understood?”

“Yes sir.”

Jenkins looked to Patty. “Ms. Marshall, if you will excuse me. I have a raid to plan.”

“Of course, General.” She held his eyes for a long moment, the hint of a smile playing on her lips. Just before their gaze broke, the Generals demeanor softened, and a hint of a smile touched his own face. Then he turned and strode out of the lobby.

Patty watched him go, her mind wrestling with this new complication. Jenkins was an asshole. He was arrogant, cynical and believed most problems in life could be solved by pointing a gun at someone. He was exactly the sort of crude, chauvinistic, testosterone fueled bastard that she had married, and subsequently come to despise in her former life. But now that the world had changed, fallen into barbarity, it was as if some natural survival instinct had kicked in, overriding her logical compulsion to find him unattractive. She was embarrassed by the raw, instinctual nature of her attraction to him, but it wasn’t without reason as well. He was a strong, healthy, intelligent, alpha male. He had the resources of the entire communities Militia at his disposal. He was without a doubt the most powerful man in the Rainbow Lake community. Who better to provide her safety and security if not him?

In addition, he was a member of the Council, the only member who could not be removed from power by a vote of no confidence. When the Council had first been formed, Patty knew from the onset that the General would not see eye to eye with her on a great many things. He was a military man. Pre-plague, Patty believed that the United States Government and by extension its armed forces were responsible for much of the hatred and bloodshed that had existed around the world. If they became intimate with one another, would that interfere with her ability to do what was right for the community as a whole? Or perhaps she could guide, even manipulate him into doing things her way?

But those were thoughts for a later day. Right now she had to get busy. While the General was planning the military logistics of the Evanston run, Patty had her own work to do. She had been working with David, Matt and Susan, going over the community resources in the computer database vs. the actual physical inventory and projected drains from current use. Those numbers would then be used to compile and prioritize the “shopping list” for the Evanston Run. Matt and Susan had stayed at the Main House to continue working while she had come to the Hospital to check on the wounded soldier. Now it was time to get back. She was a Councilwoman of the community. The people here had put their trust and faith in her to lead them, to provide for their safety. She did not have time to stand around and ponder her own loneliness…

CHAPTER 10

Sunday, July 15, 2001

I-80, near the Utah-Wyoming border

8:36 AM

The convoy moved at a steady 35 MPH with the big rig at the core, like the alpha member of a pack of predators, surrounded by the smaller vehicles. On point was the fully armed US army Humvee manned by Captain Turner and Alpha One, to the right flank was a black civilian Humvee, modified with a gun port in the roof, manned by Lt. Larsen and Alpha Two, while on the left flank a mid-sized moving truck was occupied by Smitty Tucker’s crew. Bringing up the rear was another large moving truck, With Sgt. Henry and Bravo Three. Above it all, several hundred feet in the air, the helicopter buzzed about, probing ahead, scouting any potential threats.

Smitty Tucker loved the open road. Ever since he was a child, it had called to him, and by his sixteenth birthday he had dropped out of school and started moving drugs for the Kings, a biker gang with its roots spread across Utah, Colorado, Nevada and Wyoming. By eighteen, he had cobbled together his first chopper, an old Harley Davidson, and was officially inducted into the Kings. From then on, his life had been a steady stream of women, drugs, alcohol, crime and the open road.

Smitty’s wild lifestyle had chiseled him into a hard, lean man, whipcord strong and dangerous as a cornered alley cat. He wore his dishwater blond hair long and pulled back into a ponytail, and his rugged, weathered face was covered by a long beard and mustache. He wore a black leather jacket over a black T-shirt, black leather pants and black riding boots. His bloodshot eyes were flecked with chips of ice blue and gleamed sharp as hawks, surveying the road ahead for any sign of trouble as he steered the truck up the canyon.