Deadrise 2: Deadwar (8 page)

“It’s a deal.” Matt said.

“I will have to inform Dr. Norris. I refuse to withhold patient information from him.”

“Of course…” Matt nodded in understanding.

“I will have your medication sent over to you later this afternoon. Now if you will excuse me, I have other patients to attend.” Doc Reilly shook Matt’s hand, gathered up the manila folder with his medical chart and exited the examination room.

Matt collected himself and followed behind. The medical facilities were in the basement of the building, and Matt took the stairs up, leading him into the main hallway, a large room with stained glass windows, exquisite wood worked panels, polished wooden floors, and a large crystal chandelier. At one end were large oak double doors, the handled plated in gold. Matt exited the hospital, and entered a small blue, Honda Civic he had adopted as his personal transport. Gas was tightly rationed, and most people walked, bicycled, or used horseback to get around the lake, but Matt was a Council member so had been allowed a tank full for his personal vehicle.

As Matt drove down the long, wooded driveway toward the lake perimeter road, his mind chewed over his conversation with Doc Reilly. He was dying. Granted, they had all faced the prospects of being devoured by zombies every single day for the past couple of months, but that had been different; something external, that if careful, could be avoided. But what he faced now? Chronic heart failure the Doc had called it. Even if he followed Doc’s instructions to the letter, he could still have a heart attack and die while in bed with Susan…and then what? Would he would reanimate in the night and attack her? Possibly killing her?

His guts churned at even the thought of such a possibility. Perhaps he should tell her? Her life was in danger, so she did have a right to know. But it was only in the past few nights that she had been able to sleep the whole night through without snapping away, shivering and afraid. He didn’t want to do anything to cause her nightmares to return. He gritted his teeth with indecision.

He turned right once he reached the perimeter road. Even though it was turning into a hot summer day, the road was cast in cool shade by a canopy of trees that arched over from either side. As he drove north along the road, he passed a two-man patrol on horseback headed south.

The Doc had been right about going on no more raids. Jenkins had that under control. He may have been a hard-nosed, cynical asshole, but he had taken what scraps were available to him and assembled it into a decent Militia. Matt had held his doubts about their ability, but the Evanston raid two weeks ago had dispelled them. The raid had taken them the better part of twenty-four hours, and it had gone off without a hitch, the different units meshing together as a well-coordinated machine under Jenkins leadership. They had secured two large tanker trailers full of gasoline from the refinery. The hospital and grocery store had yielded little, but once they began house to house salvaging, they came upon a bounty of canned, preserved and dried foods and medicine cabinets full of over-the-counter and prescription medication. A large amount of weapons and ammunition was also found, mostly hunting and sport shooting stuff, but welcome non the less as they had depleted nearly one-tenth of their ammo reserves in the Evanston raid.

He came to the Main House driveway, signaled and turned. He found it amusing that he had activated the turn signals reflexively, without thought. He was still conditioned to life as it used to be.
Life as it used to be.
He rarely found himself thinking about his life before the world fell to shit. It had been fairly uneventful, working nine to five, going clubbing with Zack on the weekends, sometimes camping. Both his parent had been dead for years, and he had been an only child. He had occasional lovers, but nothing he would have called a girlfriend. It had taken the world falling apart for him to find true love in Susan. He often wondered if their love was genuine, or the result of extreme emotions brought upon by extreme circumstances? Pre-Plague, she would have barely given him the time of day. He was a regular, average boring guy, almost fifteen years her senior. She had been a wild party girl, a gang leaders girlfriend. Had the dead not risen, he most likely would have never landed a beautiful young woman like Susan as a girlfriend, let alone wife. But the dead
had
come to life, and the world
had
fallen to shit, and he loved Susan more than anything else on earth.

As he brought the car into the parking oval, he spotted Susan standing out by the fountain. She sat on the edge, gazing down into the rippling water. Seeing him, she rose to her feet, her body language tense and anxious. She had wanted to go with him to see Doc Reilly, but her official duties had kept her busy this morning. Matt parked the car and by the time he exited Susan had come upon him and embraced him tightly.

“How did it go?” she asked nervously.

“It went ok. I have high cholesterol.” Matt said, hoping she would buy his bluff.

“That’s not too serious is it?” she asked, looking at him with concern.

“Not if I take care of it. I have to try and eat healthy and exercise. Doc Reilly is also prescribing me some medication.”

“You are going to follow his instructions, right.” It was not a question.

“Of course. And he explicitly told me to make love to you as often as possible. It’s the best exercise there is.” He looked at her longingly, his hands caressing her back.

“My schedule is free for the next couple of hours.” She returned his look and his caress. They both smiled and turned for the house, hand in hand…

CHAPTER 12

Sunday, August 5, 2001

I-80: 10 miles east of Evanston, WY

9:45 AM

As Smitty Tucker reflected on how well he and his crew had done lately, he couldn’t help but smile. They had raided Evanston three times in as many weeks, and it had proven a goldmine, even with the 90% tariff. Smitty and his crew had taken over a small estate on the southeastern side of the lake to begin storing all of their plunder.

They had set out from Evanston this morning, their destination Green River, leaving behind half the Rainbow Lake Militia, under the command of Captain Turner. They had eradicated all of the dead in Evanston over a week ago, using dump trucks from the quarry to transport the bodies to central bonfires where they were burned in the street. Surprisingly, there had been thirty people huddled in one of the larger houses at the far end of town, eating dried dog food. They had been relocated back to Rainbow Lake, and now The General and his troops were systematically stripping the town of anything that wasn’t secured to the ground, and transporting it back to Kittewa.

Smitty and his crew were done with Evanston. It was time to move on.

Two days ago Jenkins had taken Smitty on an aerial reconnaissance to see what lie ahead. The first thirty-five miles or so had been open highway, surrounded by forest on all sides. Along that stretch there had been a few hundred zombies strung along, rarely in groups larger than three or four. They would be easy to deal with. Besides, Smitty and his crew liked taking chances.

Smitty was behind the wheel of his truck, clad in his black leather. Beside him, Chico rode shotgun as usual, and Bear was up in the topside gun port that Chico had reinforced with armor. Augie, Angel and Wild Billy had insisted on taking their bikes this time.

Angel’s bike came up along the drivers side; a big, long forked chopper with an attached sidecar, in which Wild Billy rode. Angel wore his black combat leathers, his long black hair pulled back into a ponytail, and mirrored shades covered his eyes. Wild Billy also wore black leather, but atop his head he wore a WW2 fighter pilots cap, with a large pair of aviator goggles over his eyes. An unlit cigar was clamped in his teeth, and an AK-47 assault rifle was in his hands. He saluted Smitty with his free hand as the bike drew parallel with and passed the truck.

Augie’s chopper came roaring up on the right hand side. Like all the rest, Augie wore his black combat leather, but he had made some additions. He had sewn a row of heavy nails along the outer edge of each forearm, as well as spiked the knuckles of his gloves. His shaved head was covered with a black bandanna, and his eyes with mirrored sunglasses.

On the road ahead, Smitty could see a small band of zombies, maybe ten in all, strung out across the highway. Wild Billy seemed to bristle with glee in the sidecar, setting aside his sub-machinegun and pulling a large machete from a sheath on his back. Augie did the same, steering his bike with his left hand.

“Those crazy motherfucker’s…” Chico laughed.

“If we were out there we’d be doing the same.” Smitty retorted with a smile. Chico just shrugged and leaned back in his seat.

Angel and Augie both gunned their bikes, surging ahead toward the picket line of zombies. Angel swerved in close enough for Wild Billy to swing his machete, letting out a scream of victory as he decapitated a female with its arms outstretched. Its body took another step before collapsing to the ground.

Not to be outdone, Augie wove his bike near a trio of them, decapitating one and severing another's arm at the elbow before breaking into open highway.

Smitty simply chose the path of least resistance, smashing a pair of zombies beneath the wheels of the truck…

They came upon the burnt out ruins of Fort Bridger a little after 10:00 AM. As to what had destroyed the national monument and the small community around they had no clue, but it had done a thorough job. Not a single building stood. Large impact craters were scattered about, a few even scarred the road. At the far end of the destruction zone they came upon the blasted, mangled remains of a pair of Abrams tanks.

“Do you think Commander King can salvage anything for the Tincan?” Chico asked.

“Possibly… Radio home. Give a report.” Smitty replied.

As they left Ft. Bridger, they came upon a trio of small communities: Mountain View, Urie and Lyman. While Green River was the target, Smitty didn’t want to pass up easy salvage. There were bound to be drugs, candy, cigarettes, alcohol and other valuable commodities there.

Almost reading his mind, Angel and Augie looked to Smitty, and he gave them the signal to lead the way…

The first township they came upon was Urie, a small cattle community and little more than a main street along the highway, with a few private driveways leading to cattle ranches. It was populated by a couple dozen zombies, which the boys on the bikes quickly dispatched.

They passed through Urie, and a couple of miles later they came to a crossing in the highway. Mountain View was to the right, south, while Lyman was straight ahead. Smitty gave the signal to turn right to Mountain View.

“Radio home. Give a report.” Smitty rolled through his memory, trying to recall what he knew of this area. It was mostly sheep and cattle ranchers in these townships, taking advantage of the large, fertile meadows found abundantly at the base of the mountains. But now that he was thinking about it, he seemed to recall staying at Mountain View several years ago. An old farmhouse and grounds had been converted into a ski lodge, and some lifts were built to access the mountain slopes. He wracked his memory; it had been in the late eighties, maybe the early nineties; there was a ten-year period there that seemed to blur together into one drug fogged haze. The lodge had been a modest place, able to house maybe two hundred people. Come springtime the population had withered down to a handful of year round residents who comprised a skeleton crew for the lodge. He hadn’t been a skier himself, but skiers liked cocaine, weed, acid, mushrooms and pain pills and Smitty had been there one winter to supply them all.

There were no zombies visible as they approached the lodge. The road wound south through the lush forest, until a road sign announced the turn off for the Mountain View Lodge. Both bikes fell behind the truck, letting it take the lead down the narrow, two-lane road. The drive widened into a large, open parking lot able to house several dozen vehicles. Set back perhaps one hundred yards from the lot, accessible by another single lane road, was the Mountain View Lodge; a sprawling, three-story structure that still had the look of a simple farmhouse. The parking lot was completely empty, and there was a steady column of smoke coming out of the lodge’s two chimneys. Smitty brought his truck to a halt.

“Chico, put out the white flag.” Smitty said. Chico reached behind the seat and grabbed a wooden pole, about a meter long, with a white flag tightly coiled around one end. Chico rolled down his window and held the flag out with one arm, unfurling it. Once it was fully free, he set the base of the pole into a notch mounted on the roof above the passenger door. A couple of minutes later, a white flag arose from the rooftop of the lodge. Smitty eased the truck ahead slowly. Looking out his window, he motioned Angel to bring his bike parallel to the driver’s window.

“You stay cool.” Smitty said harshly, pointing at Wild Billy.

“I’m gentle as a pussy cat.” Wild Billy said, pantomiming innocence.

“I mean it Billy.” Smitty cast him a cold, hard look. “Chico, pass the word to Augie, then call home, give a report…”

It turned out there were one hundred people holed up inside the Mountain View lodge, which could comfortably sleep twice that. They had several head of cattle corralled in the back, plenty of canned food and dried goods, weapons and ammunition. They were led by a man named Hughes, a rugged outdoorsman in his early forties, with short dark hair, a stout build and a hyperactive nervousness about him. He was wary of them, and his people never took their hands off their weapons.