Last Stand (The Survivalist Book 7) (23 page)

“This must be the speed control.”

“A gas pedal would have been easier.”

“Maybe, but this one has a deadman built in.”

She shook her head. “I think you’ve been living around zombies too long.”

He grinned. “A deadman switch cuts the system off if something happens to the driver. Let’s say I had a heart attack.” He pretended to collapse onto the controls, and his arm flopped off the handle, popping it back up. “See? As soon as my arm comes off the handle, the train stops.”

“Given the way you eat, that’s probably a good thing. What’s the lever? Some kind of brake?”

“Must be.” He exercised the handle and the lever together, but nothing happened.

“Maybe you need to turn it on.” She stepped closer and examined the panel. In the upper right corner was a large green button with the word ‘Start’ printed on it. She pushed it, and a loud
click
sounded. Headlights immediately flashed to life, lighting the tunnel ahead. Seconds later, overhead lights turned on throughout the entire train. “That’s something, but I still don’t hear the engine.”

“That’s because this baby’s electric.” Tanner pressed the control lever down and pulled it back one position. The train immediately began to ease forward.

“We’re moving!” she exclaimed, clapping her hands.

He let up on the brake lever, and their speed increased to a few miles an hour.

“Is this as fast as it’ll go?”

“In low gear.” He pulled the controller down another notch, and the train sped up to ten miles an hour. He immediately downshifted back into the lower gear. “Better if we take it slow for now. There’s no guarantee that the tracks are clear ahead, and we’ll need time to stop.”

“Speaking of which, hit the brakes to see how long it takes.”

Tanner pushed the brake lever all the way forward, and the train slowed, finally squeaking to a noisy stop.

“What was that? Five seconds?”

“About,” he said, stifling a yawn.

“That means as long as we stay alert, we shouldn’t hit anything.”

Tanner released the brake, and the train started to move again.

“Sounds right.” His eyes began to droop, and he leaned forward as if suddenly too tired to support himself.

She shook her head. “It’s not going to work.”

“What’s not going to work?” he said, straightening back up.

“Your plan to have me drive while you take a nap.”

“I didn’t ask you to drive.”

“You didn’t have to. You’ve done the same trick half a dozen times. Cars, rowboats, school buses, and now this train. It’s always the same. You pretend to be sleepy, and I volunteer to drive. Then you curl up somewhere and snooze away.”

“I see. And do you know how to drive a car?”

“Better than you.”

“How about a rowboat?”

“Yeah, so?”

“What about a school bus?”

She began to see what he was getting at.

“Fine,” she said with a growl. “Move out of the way. I’ll drive.”

He smiled, sliding out of the way.

“Okay, but only since you insist. If you need anything, I’ll be right over there taking a nap.”

“Uh-huh,” she said, “same as always.”

After driving for nearly an hour at little more than walking speed, Samantha concluded that the main corridor routed along a lazy S shape, stretching many miles from tail to tip. She had seen a few intersections along their path where smaller tunnels branched off, but none had been equipped with tracks.

“Hey, sleepyhead,” she said, looking over at Tanner sprawled across a row of seats. “How will we even know which tunnel goes off to Mount Weather?”

He sat up and stretched. “Easy. We’ll read the sign.”

“And if there isn’t one?”

Tanner stood up and came over to stand beside her.

“Even if there isn’t a sign, we’ll know the turn when we see it.”

“And you know this because…?”

“Think about it. This train was built to evacuate bigwigs from the city, and the only place that makes sense for them to go is Mount Weather. That means that the tracks have to lead out there. All we have to do is find the intersection and switch over to the other track.”

“I see. And you know how to switch tracks, I suppose?”

He smiled.

“Right,” she said, rolling her eyes. “How hard could it be?”

“Exactly.”

They drove on, slow and steady, for the next twenty minutes. They passed several small bands of infected survivors clustered on various landings. At the speed they were moving, the infected could easily have leaped onto the train. But none did. Instead, they stared dumbfounded, as if the vessel were some kind of alien transport.

It wasn’t long, however, before Tanner and Samantha saw a collection of tents blocking the tracks ahead. Even though they appeared to be constructed from soldiers’ ponchos and boot strings, there was little doubt about the identity of their inhabitants.

“What do we do?” she asked, gripping the controls.

“What do you mean what do we do? We stop.”

“But they’re infected.”

“So are we, darlin’.”

“We
think
we’re infected—we don’t know for sure.”

“Well, we’re about to find out, one way or the other. Go ahead, bring us to a stop.”

“All right,” she said, not sounding convinced. She pressed the brake lever forward. By the time the train stopped, the front of the lead car was barely fifty feet from the squatters. Samantha killed the lights. “I hope you’re right about this.”

“You and me both.” Tanner stood up and grabbed his shotgun. “Come on, let’s go say hello.”

“No need,” she said, her voice trembling slightly as she looked out the windshield. “They’re coming to us.”

They watched as a group of infected shambled toward them. A big man led the way with a pipe in his hands. Tanner hopped down from the train and walked around to meet them. Samantha waited a few seconds and then reluctantly followed.

As the infected drew closer, they slowed, eyeing Tanner as if confused by what they were seeing. The man with the pipe grunted, and a middle-aged woman shuffled forward with a pained stiffness. She was short and husky, and her hair had been shaved off, leaving only a few ratty clumps hanging from her scalp.

“He wants to know what you are.” Her voice was crackly, like she came from a long line of witches.

“Other than good-looking, you mean?”

Her mouth turned up into a smile, and he saw that her two front teeth were missing. She stepped closer and leaned sideways to study his face.

“You’re not one of us. But you’re not like them neither.”

Tanner glanced back at Samantha. “My daughter and I are… different.”

The woman gestured back toward the big man.

“He don’t like different.”

“That’s his problem now, isn’t it?”

She studied him a moment longer, and then nodded.

“I suppose it is. I’m Marlo, by the way.”

“Tanner. And this here’s Sam.”

Marlo nodded to her.

Samantha stepped closer, still eyeing the big man holding the pipe.

“Perhaps you could tell your friend that we don’t mean him any harm?”

“I could, but there’s nothing saying he’d believe me.”

“Even so, it couldn’t hurt to try.” She smiled and offered a little shrug. “Could it?”

Marlo snorted and then walked back to the big man. They argued for a short time, both becoming animated with their hands. The man finally quieted, but the group made no effort to return to their camp.

Apparently satisfied with the outcome, Marlo returned to Tanner and Samantha.

“He says you and the little one need to go see Mother.”

“Who’s Mother?” asked Samantha.

The woman struggled to answer.

“Is she your leader?”

“No,” she said simply. “She’s Mother.”

Tanner looked at the group of men up ahead. It was clear they weren’t prepared to take no for an answer.

“Is she in one of the tents?” he asked, imagining an old medicine woman rocking back and forth as she squinted at dice made from dried animal bones.

“No, Mother’s at home.”

“Which is where exactly?”

She pointed behind her. “That way.”

Tanner considered their options. Even with he and Samantha both armed, there were far too many infected to fight. Their choices were either to comply and see what came next, or to run like hell. Neither alternative was great, but he had always believed that when faced with two crappy choices, it was best to pick the one that didn’t involve turning your back.

“All right,” he said. “I guess we’re going to see Mother.”

Chapter 15  

The Black Dogs waited at the top of the driveway in a tight defensive position, soldiers situated behind cover with their weapons pointing out. Morant and Hood crouched next to a white pickup that had a Greenbrier grounds maintenance logo painted on the side.

“What’s taking him so long?” asked Hood.

“Buckey’s being careful, which is exactly how we want him to be.”

Hood didn’t argue the point. Morant was right, of course. Buckey’s success, or lack thereof, would decide whether they got in or went home with nothing more than a sad story. And that meant that not doing something stupid was paramount to his mission.

An explosion shook the air, and a cloud of black smoke billowed up from behind the trees.

“What the hell was that?” cried Hood.

Morant grabbed his radio, but before he could key the mic, a voice sounded.

“We’re under attack! Carrier 1 is on fire. Carrier 2 spinning up.”

Morant stepped out from behind the truck and grabbed a pair of binoculars from one of the men. He hopped up onto the hood and strained to see the golf course below, barely making out bright orange flames dancing between the trees.

He brought the radio to his mouth and said, “Blackbird 1, get eyes on the Chinooks.”

A moment later, one of the SpeedHawks raced overhead. When the pilot spoke, his voice had a mechanical nasally sound to it.

“A vehicle crashed into Carrier 1. The fuel tank ruptured and caught fire, over.”

Hood looked up. “That marshal wasn’t alone.”

“We’ll deal with it.” Morant pressed the button. “Sweep the area using infrared.”

“Roger. What are the rules of engagement, over?”

“If you see something you don’t like, kill it.”

“Roger, wilco. Blackbird 1 out.”

The second Chinook rose over the tree line, the huge tandem rotors whipping the air with a heavy
whoop
,
whoop
,
whoop
.

“Carrier 2 requesting permission to reposition north a few clicks, over.”

“Granted,” said Morant. “Blackbird 2, go with them.”

“Roger.”

Within seconds, the second SpeedHawk and Chinook could be seen moving away to the north.

Morant called together a team of five of his men. All seemed more than ready for whatever task lay before them.

“I believe we have a small number of hostiles in the area. Find them and kill them. Go!”

The men immediately took off in the direction of the burning helicopter.

“That’s going to leave us one team short,” Hood said, moving closer.

“No other choice. We’re sure as hell not leaving hostiles knocking at our backdoor.”

“Understood.” Hood thought for a moment. “Perhaps you and I can remove the final filter.”

Morant stared at him, and there was something in the man’s eyes that made Hood nervous.

“That’s a good idea, General. We’ll do it together.”

Several of the soldiers sounded off with a loud
hoorah
, and Morant and Hood both turned to see the huge West Tunnel door slowly swing open. Buckey peeked around from behind the blast door, smiled, and offered a slight bow. As other soldiers pulled the door the rest of the way open, Buckey stepped clear and slowly sank to the ground with his legs splayed out in front of him. One side of his pants was soaked in blood.

Morant immediately motioned for a man with a medic bag to tend to his wound.

As Buckey was being patched up, the Black Dogs quickly sorted into six teams of five, Alpha, Bravo, Charlie, Delta, Echo, and Foxtrot. The first five teams each carried a detailed map showing the locations of all of the bunker’s NBC filters. That way, if one team proved unable to complete their mission, another team could step in as a replacement. Three of the teams would make their way down to the lower level, removing filters from the Senate Leadership Room, the record vault, and a large dormitory. The other two teams would stay on the upper level, targeting filters in the power plant and medical facility. Hood and Morant were now on the hook to remove the filter in the cafeteria, which was also on the first floor.

The Foxtrot team had a very different mission. They carried with them three sealed metal canisters containing the sarin gas. Their job was to navigate to the bunker’s power plant, open the ventilation system, and await further instructions. Once they received the okay, they would don full protective gear, deploy the gas, and exit through the West Tunnel Entrance.

“Remember,” warned Morant, “radio communications may have been compromised. Assume the enemy is listening, and make contact only when absolutely necessary.”