Payload (29 page)

“Reasonably,” Sophia rolled her eyes at the chair’s back. “I’m sure he plans some clumsy double-cross, but that is immaterial.”

“Do we have sufficient diamonds?”

“A handful of real ones, and enough paste counterfeits to make up the balance. The man is a thug, a petty criminal-he will accept them if we should be forced to make the actual transaction.”

“Do not let your overall operation cease-this could just be a ploy to trick us into a safe passage.”

“Yes, sir. Although he did confirm that the Ranger had deduced our method of tracking, and in fact they have ceased to use their satellite connection. At this point there is little to do save put our trust in road blocks.” She waited, but the chair remained silent. “If you will release the plane, I will depart immediately.”

The chair remained motionless, but finally a thin hand came into view and gave her a dismissive wave. A moment later the mouse clicked on the operational screen on the far right, moving the small private jet to her command.

There would definitely be a change in the leadership of the combined Districts of 12 and 13, Sophia told herself as she slipped out of the room. Once she had the payload a
lot
of things would change.

Gnomehome, trailed by the dually pickup, crossed into Oklahoma a few minutes before nine in the morning of a damp fall day. They stayed on back roads, seeing little traffic. The ranches they passed were buttoned up, often with signs warning strangers to stay away, or to only approach on foot, unarmed. The Gnomes made no attempts at contact, content to continue rolling west.

“Doesn’t look so bad out here,” JD observed. “At least people are getting the word. Remember Berlin?”

“Knowledge is power,” Marv agreed absently, studying the well-worn road atlas and jotting notes.

“She sent an e-mail,” Bear announced.  “We had Wi-Fi long enough from that ranch with the bulldozer in front to check. She’s on her way. It’s an hour old, so she ought to be in the air. If they have a decent plane she’ll be in play by noon. She gave us a new phone number and e-mail address.”

“The sooner, the better,” Marv nodded, closing the atlas. “We have a narrow window before they find out we’re bluffing.  Hey, did anyone check Doc’s gear?”

“I sorted through his personal stuff, threw out what we couldn’t use,” JD said. “We were really short on storage space before we got the dually.”

“What about his electronics gear?”

“That I stuffed under the master bed.”

“Check it in detail,” Marv advised Bear. “We got a sat phone off that FASA roadblock that got over-run with zeds. I told him to ditch it, but now I’m wondering if he followed orders.”

Bear was back in minutes. “He had the battery off and the antenna disconnected, but that’s it. He hung onto the charger, too.”

“Figures. Blasted little pack rat. OK, keep it that way unless you’re using it-we want to make sure we have reliable communications with our beloved Miss Travis. Of all the things that could queer this deal, loss of commo isn’t going to be one.”

Chip came forward to the driving area. “I think we found someone we can help.”

“Yeah? Who?”

“A little town-they’ve got people trapped inside a building in town, but most everyone else has gotten out.”

“Why can’t they get back in and get their own people?”

“They tried, but they lost too many. It’s complicated. Anyway, they’re about forty miles northwest of here, a little town called Sharpsburg.”

“The direction’s right,” Marv admitted, flipping through the road atlas. “Pretty far off the beaten track, and not too big. Bigger than Chatham, but maybe not so many zeds. OK, JD, we’ll take a right in about two miles.”

Watching the rolling hills sliding by through the booth’s window, Addison was impressed-he had always thought of Oklahoma as a featureless near-desert, flat and sunbaked, but this was pretty county, rolling and scenic. The ranches they passed were neat and well-built, and the holdings and cattle appeared to be prosperous.

There were a lot of changes occurring in his life these days, a lot of new experiences. His mother trying to kill him was nothing new-he had begun to suspect it when he was four, and knew it for a fact by age ten, and the zombies were just another method she was using.

What was new was operating as part of a group-he hadn’t done that since his mother had forced him to join the Boy Scouts in order to facilitate a wilderness ‘accident’. Despite the fact that the troop had been heavily infiltrated with paid assassins Addison had enjoyed the experience and became an Eagle Scout. But this group was different-these were good people, completely uninfluenced by his mother’s insane lust for his teeth. Addison had found himself hoping they might continue to operate together after the payload issue was resolved.

It had started in River Arms, he realized; the encounter groups, the comradery, such as it was, in the rec room and cafeteria, even the sort-of friendships he had established with Doc and Captain Sawyer. Then there were the three days they had laid up in the State Park getting the low-down on the developing crisis, followed by the steadily-growing ranks of the Yard Gnome Action Team. He was getting used to being part of a group.

And there were the other issues. Every woman he had slept with had been a member of the same cult, a group dedicated to building a super-race and who had sought him out for his superior genetic material. Addison hadn’t minded-there was nothing wrong with long-term planning, and it was not onerous duty. But after seeing Sylvia and Chip together, he was wondering if it might be possible in all this chaos to find a non-cultist who might not mind a man who was on the run from a murderous mother.

Probably wouldn’t do to lead with his mother, he reflected. Best to leave that sort of data for later in the relationship.

Sharpsburg was nestled between tall ridges coated with trees, a pretty place with a large, well-maintained sign that welcomed travelers to the ‘
Home of the Tigers and birthplace of the Sharpsburg brick!
’, with the obligatory cluster of civic group seals.

Instead of entering the town they turned off down the paved road indicated by a functional green highway sign which pointed the way to the Sharpsburg Consolidated Independent School District.

The Sharpsburg CISD was a flat-roofed complex of buildings made of light crème-colored brick (which they quickly learned was the famed Sharpsburg brick) with shaded walkways and its own water tower, sufficient to serve grades K-12 in comfort and efficiency.

The overall appearance of a place of education was radically changing because the school was being fortified at a rapid pace. Waist-high pallets of the pale Sharpsburg bricks lined the edges of the three parking lots (visitor, student, and faculty), chain link fencing was being stretched from pole to pole across the surrounding lawns, and a couple front loaders were dragging dirt-filled dumpsters into place to plug gaps. Deer stands reared over the improvised defenses at regular intervals, and spotlight racks from the football stadium were being repositioned to illuminate the defensive line.

“These guys seem to know what they’re doing,” Dyson observed, leaning against the passenger’s seat.

“Makes you wonder why they need our help,” Marv agreed, hitching his M-4 to a more comfortable ride. “Let’s stop by that sign, and I’ll go ahead on foot, there’s no point in dangling our gear in front of them. Drop off a couple guys for flank security, and get both vehicles turned around.”

“I’ll come with you,” Dyson grabbed his Min-14.

“OK.”

“The school is on the high ground,” Marv observed as they walked up the road. “Not real high, but as high as it gets around here. The defensive line should stop zombies. Or at least slow them down real bad. With some decent leadership and enough ammo this place could do well.”

“They’ve got a cafeteria, showers, and lots of bathrooms,” Dyson agreed. “The school is likely to have metal, wood, and maybe even motor shop programs, so you’ve got a lot of tools. Somebody has had some good ideas and decent organizational skills.”

The front gate was a made of two cattle gates fastened together, one above the other, and was bolted to a flatbed trailer; as the two Gnomes approached a fork-lift pulled the gate to the side, opening a four-foot gap. The lean, ramrod-straight man that came through the gap radiated authority from the tips of his ostrich-skin boots to the crown of the grey Stetson cocked slightly to the side. He wore creased khaki pants and a crisp white shirt with neatly-buttoned cuffs and the collar fastened, with a discrete Western buckle on his belt. His wire-rimmed bifocals magnified hard blue eyes, and the gold frames stood out sharply from a face weathered by decades of outdoor activity. Marv put his age at a very active seventy.

“I’m Sid Rich,” he announced, offering a callused hand that felt like shaking hands with a strong leather glove. “I ranch around here, been the Sheriff, been the Mayor, am Mayor
pro tem
again for the moment. My father and his father were Sheriff in their time, my grandfather died in the post, and not from natural causes.”

“Lieutenant Marvin Burleson,” the new rank felt uncomfortable, even just saying it. “From the
Office of Strategic Response
, with eight volunteers. This is Dyson Winters out of Atlanta. We’re just passing through, but you indicated you had a short-term problem.”

“We do,” Sid jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “You want to come in and sit?”

“No, thanks,” Marv jerked his head back at the RV. “We’ll stay where our friends can see us. Zombies haven’t been our only problem this week.”

The rancher looked surprised. “We heard there was some sort of terror angle to this.”

“It’s no rumor: there are dozens of cells attacking the infrastructure, kidnapping and infecting people, and releasing truckloads of infected subjects into urban areas. We’re at war.”

Sid took off his hat and rubbed his bald scalp. “That explains a few things. More’n a few. I get why you’re skittish.” He settled his hat, reflexively cocking it a touch. “So, what do you want to know?”

“Start with your status,” Marv pointed to the defenses under construction. “It looks like you’re doing well.”

The Mayor pro tem glanced over his shoulder and lowered his voice. “Yeah, well, we’re OK. Lotta guns in this neck of the woods, and Wesley Tompkins, he was the Mayor, he reacted fast and sure to the news, getting equipment and supplies up here. We beat the outbreak, I guess you could say. But Wesley made a command decision as they used to say when I was in the Marines, to evacuate the rest home last thing, after we had some organization here. Wasn’t a bad idea, especially since we only had a car’s worth of those things show up, and they didn’t last long. There was no way he could know that we would get a sudden surge-thirty or so showed up out of nowhere. I expect it was one of your terror cells doing that.”

“That’s their tactics-we’ve seen it twice in person,” Dyson said. “Neither time went well.”

“We were lucky-we already had a lot of people either up here or ready to move. Still, luck is a relative thing-I expect we lost two hundred or so.” For a moment Sid looked a lot older than his age, but he shook it off. “But that left us in an awkward position-the rest home didn’t get evacuated. Wesley took that very hard, very personal, and before a cooler head could prevail he rounded up some hands and went in to get those folks out. Didn’t work-we lost all but two of the group in the attempt. These folks called me back out of pasture, and at dawn I sent a couple good boys who know how to move to eyeball the situation, and they did a damn fine job, but what they found was that it is beyond us. We need help.”

“Why is it beyond you?” Marv gestured towards the school. “It looks like you are pretty squared away.”

Sid glanced over his shoulder again. “Look, most of what we’re doing here is basic stuff. Sharpsburg isn’t real big, I expect you noticed. Lotta young people move away looking for jobs, and a lot join the military for school money or to see the world. Plus they called up the National Guard. I’ve got a lot of women and kids, but what I’ve got for fighting strength isn’t worth spit in a high wind. High school kids, old farts who got the know-how but not the ability, clerks and bankers, ranch hands who are good in a bar parking lot on a Saturday night, that sort of thing. Gimme another three hours and I can hold this perimeter, but I’m real short on men who can get stuck in amongst ‘em. Wesley took the best we had to offer, and like I said, they didn’t come back. I can provide some support, but you’ll have to bring the soldiering yourself.”

“Tell me about the rest home.”

“Its five stories, Sharpsburg brick, right in the center of town, which is also right where most of the infected are. The residents are on the upper four floors. The building has been breached so there are intruders on every floor, but the apartment doors are solid and everyone is staying quiet. There are thirty-two units all told, with a total of fifty-one inhabitants. We’ve got landline phone contact with them.”

Marv turned to the side, rubbing his jaw and thinking hard. Turning back, he nodded once. “We’ll try. How did you plan to extract the people?”

“We have a school bus, got security screens over the windows all around, looks like those you use for prisons. Got a RN and a couple EMTs to go on board.”

“You’ll need a driver and a shooter for security, both steady hands who will follow orders, and it needs to have a CB. Cut a hole in the roof big enough to bring people through, and put a hatch on it. A ladder will be carried on the roof, and install a way from the bus interior to the roof, a ladder or something. We’ll need a floor plan and photos of the building.”

“We can do all that,” Sid had produced a notepad and pen and was writing. “I have a file on the place already worked up.”

“Good. Next thing, and it’s not the news you want to hear, but there’s a price for this op. Call it a fee, call it a tax, but we need some things for the troubles we’re expecting later today.”

Sid fixed the Ranger with steely gaze. “Go on.”

Marv pulled out his own notebook. “We need someone to hook up our Internet, GPS, and TV connections on our RV with clean accounts-if someone here has a mobile account that will suffice. A hundred gallons of diesel, some feminine supplies, a bow and assorted archery supplies, and a rifle and associated supplies.”

The Mayor’s surprise was evident. “That ain’t much of a shopping list, son.”

“Our needs are simple, but the time we would spend scrounging for that stuff is the time we’re spending helping you. This isn’t going to be our only fight today.”

“Helluva line of work you’re in,” Sid shook his head. “How do you want to sort this stuff out? We should be able to pay up, no problem. Harry brought his entire inventory with him, Harry’s Sportsman’s Heaven.”

“The fuel and satellite codes can wait until we deliver.”

Sid turned and beckoned towards the gate, and a teen-aged boy in hunter camouflage trotted out to hand the Mayor a red binder. “Here’s the file. You got a list of those feminine things?”

“Yeah, here. Here’s the specs on the rifle, and Dyson will advise you on the bow. I’m going to head back and study the situation. Get your people working on the bus, and we’ll go as soon as everything is ready.”

“What did you trade Dyson for?” JD asked as Marv climbed into the RV.

“He’s going to pick out his bow.” Marv sat down in the booth and opened the binder. “We’re gonna invade Sharpsburg and rescue fifty-one old people. Get your hero on, boys, this is going to be a tough one.”

“Tougher than Chatham?” Chip asked. Marv noticed that Sylvia was seated with the husky Gnome on the settee.

“About the same, but the zeds won’t have air support.”

“Well, that’s something, anyway. How are we moving fifty-one people?”

“We don’t. The locals have a bus all zombie-proofed and ready for the job-our role is to connect people and transport.”

“Well, hell, I didn’t have any plans except finding some way to get killed today,” Bear drawled. “Looks like you saved me the trouble.”

“That’s the spirit,” Marv agreed without looking up. “Anyone want to opt out of this operation?”

No one spoke up.

“Good. Addison, we may need explosives. The rest of you guys look at these pictures and tell me how we close off those doors for zombies getting in or out.”

Chip ran a cleaning rod down the bore of his already-clean carbine while Marv, JD, and Bear sorted out the details of the attack. The last zombie fight had damn near got them all killed-he already had had one nightmare about trying to get out of that gravel truck’s cab, and he doubted that his subconscious would let him get away with just one. Bad dreams would probably have to wait in line for a shot at him before all this was over.