Six Feet From Hell: Unity: 6FFH Book #5 (3 page)

Rick
smiled. “I suppose it’s better than sitting there with Jamie and cleaning guns all night long.”

“Hey,
he keeps all our guns in tip-top shape. Be grateful that he does. Everybody had a specialty around here; his is guns, ammo, and explosives.” Joe winked at his son. “Just remember that the next time we have to go out on a mission.”

Rick
chuckled. “So what is my specialty then?”

“Long-range
targets.”

“Yeah,
but that’s only useful for zombies.”

“Not
necessarily. You’ve bagged a couple nice deer from long range. Those deer feed the people here. You keep the people happy which makes my job a hell of a lot easier. I appreciate that more than anything, son,” Joe said, clapping Rick on the back.

“Thanks,
dad.” Rick and Joe were now in the parking lot of the old Food Lion. One of the larger buildings inside the wall, the Food Lion served as their chow hall, meeting place, and general social gathering spot. It, like most buildings in town, was a little worse for wear, but served its purpose well. The shelves were taken out and all the interior contents removed except for the kitchen utensils and cooking area. There was ample room in the old store for their “town hall” style meetings, held usually once a week.

Rick
and Joe strode into the big building. The early afternoon smell of potatoes and other vegetables was a daily affair. The kitchen prepared two meals a day most days. It was difficult enough to take care of just those two meals. Most days it was eggs and ham for breakfast, with the occasional addition of potatoes followed by deer or turkey for dinner. There was a garden maintained just outside the limits of the wall, guarded at all times. Corn, potatoes, green beans, and onions were grown nearly year-round. Any extras were canned and stored on-site. There were a few cases of MRE’s left. They were saved for the crews that would have to go out for extended periods. A single MRE had over 2,000 calories and could maintain a person’s energy for several days if necessary.

Joe
and Rick walked towards the smell of cooking vegetables. Even though it was only three in the afternoon, the cooking started early to make sure dinner was ready by six o’clock.

“Hello?
Anybody home? Angel, you back there?” Joe hollered as he approached the counter. The glass front of the deli had been taken out, as well as the coolers, leaving just a counter about chin-high. The food was served and handed over the counter – the soup kitchen of the apocalypse.

Joe
peered over the counter. “Guys?”

An
excited little girl ran out from behind the counter, her brown, waist length hair bouncing behind her. She spotted Joe and Rick. Joe recognized her as Victoria, one of the children that Angel took care of during the day. Angel wasn’t in charge of the kitchen, but instead took care of the children in town. It wasn’t exactly daycare, but the kids were taken care of nonetheless. The parents could drop their children off with Angel and Heather – Heather was the one in charge of the kitchen – and go about their day doing whatever needed to be done. The town was a microcosm of its former self, with everyone helping one another.

“Hey
Joe! Hey Rick!” Victoria greeted. Her southern accent was so deeply ingrained in her that “Rick” sounded more like “Wick” most of the time. She was only a little over four years old. Her vocabulary and grammar weren’t the best, but formal education took a back seat to survival education.

“Hey,
Victoria. Where’s Angel and Heather? We got us a big ‘ol bird for them to cook for dinner. You like turkey?”

“Yes
I do! It’s yummy!”

Joe
knelt down and ruffled the little girl’s hair. She playfully batted his hand away and laughed. “So where is the babysitter?”

“She’s
right here. Sorry fellas, just trying to corral some of the little ones,” Angel said, appearing from back in the kitchen. She smiled and motioned towards Joe and Rick. “I see you brought dinner.”

Joe
returned the smile, making eye contact with the blonde-haired woman. She was a full eight years younger than he was, but she had an intelligence that was well beyond her years. Joe had met her a few days after arriving in town. After taking out Captain White, Larry had taken the next few days to introduce Joe and his team to the rest of the town. While some were indifferent to their presence, most welcomed them in with open arms. Angel was one of the ones who had taken to Joe immediately. She was an unmarried, attractive, woman whose fiancé had died in the early days of the apocalypse.

She
had narrowly avoided becoming a victim herself when the outbreak started, as she was trapped in her house alone for nearly three days before venturing out. The minute she had walked out, she was nearly shot by a tall, skinny kid who was raiding the neighbor’s houses near her. The kid was a horrible shot – mainly due to excessive hours of
Call of Duty
– and his shots sailed wide left. She darted back inside and waited until someone came knocking. Several days later, someone finally did. It was Larry and several others that took her from her residence and escorted her to the motel for safekeeping. In that time, Angel had become fast friends with Larry’s wife, Paige, and some of the other families. She had spent the last near-decade becoming a hardened zombie killer with a soft side and a fondness for babysitting. It was her idea to start the makeshift daycare and give the parents in town a break if need be. The parents always had a secondary person lined up to take care of their children if they did not return. The children were always taken care of.

“I
would say to take a picture ‘cause it’ll last longer, but I haven’t seen a camera in years,” Angel said, winking at Joe.

Joe
hadn’t realized that he was staring at her until she spoke. He wasn’t sure if he was in love, but there were stirrings in his heart that he hadn’t felt for a long time. It was a wonderful feeling, and one that he hoped would continue. He blushed and looked away coyly. “Sorry, just daydreaming.”

“Daydreaming
while staring at me, huh.” Angel again winked at Joe. “Must’ve been one hell of a dream.”

More
blushing. “Yes ma’am. I was wondering if you…”

“Curtis
to Joe.” The tinny speaker attached to the radio crackled. Joe growled inaudibly and keyed up the radio, not taking his eyes off Angel as she waited.

“Yeah,
Curtis. What is it?”

“Need
you over at the jail, buddy. Larry is on his way. We got something we need to talk to you about.”

Joe
frowned at the radio. “What does Captain White want now?”

“He
says he’s ready to talk, but he’ll only speak to you.”

“Roger
that. It’s about fuckin’ time. Send Larry over with the Dodge to pick Rick and I up. We’re over at the chow hall droppin’ off dinner.”

“Copy.
He’s on the way.”

Joe
clipped the radio back on his LBV and looked back up to Angel. “Duty calls. You and Heather take care of dinner. I’m gonna expect good things out of you if you keep up that sunny disposition much longer.”

Angel
smiled. “You can expect a lot more than that if you’d like.”

Joe
couldn’t help but blush just one more time.

CHAPTER
3

April 17, 2022 – 1513 Hours

“I don’t know why he’s all the sudden changed his mind, but I don’t like it. It doesn’t make any sense. I’d take whatever he has to say with a
big
grain of salt,” Larry said as he drove on through the center of town to the other end of the wall.

Larry
wheeled the truck alongside the building and threw it in park.

“Let’s
go see what he wants,” Larry said as he exited the truck.

The
Tazewell County Jail was a four-story steel and concrete structure. It sat on Main Street in town and represented the far edge of the wall. The building was only accessible from one side, the other being the exit for the wall. To the left and right of the exit were phone poles driven into the ground and pavement. Railroad ties and old four-by-four wood planks made up the wall itself. The wall was considerably higher, measuring at least twelve feet tall as far as Joe could tell. The jail itself made up a large chunk of it. To get in from the outside required someone to be at the sally port of the jail. Once inside, the myriad of locked doors ensured that if you were inside, then you were meant to be there. Six locked doors stood between the sally port and the inside of town. Plus, having somewhere to keep prisoners was never a bad thing

Two
guards were posted outside Captain White’s room. The first man was about fifty years old, but had a face that told the story of a rough life. He was one of the few men in town Joe had seen that did not sport a full beard, opting for a five-o’clock shadow look instead. He carried one of the M4’s that Joe had brought from Camp Dawson slung over his shoulder, the barrel pointed down.

Joe
extended a hand to the man. Being one of the few that he hadn’t met yet, he wanted to make a good impression. “Good afternoon, I’m Joe. I see you’ve got one of my M4’s there, partner. And judging by the way you’ve got it in chow sling, I’d say that you are prior military.”

The
old man cracked a dry smile and reached his hand out to meet Joe’s. A hearty handshake followed. “Jim Crowley. Retired Staff Sergeant, U.S. Army. Did a tour in the first Gulf War and Panama.”

“Nice
to have you on board, Jim. Mr. Crowley, you said?”

“Yeah,
and I’ve heard all the Ozzy Osbourne jokes a thousand times over. Just Jim will do.”

“Fair
enough, Jim. Now, what’s our prisoner talking about? He’s finally ready to talk?”

“Yeah,
said that he’s tired of not getting’ shit for food. I guess he’s used to the good life from stealin’ from other people so long. Sorry sack o’shit took more from people than death and taxes did,” Curtis interrupted. He stood with Jim Crowley as the other guard for Captain White.

“Well, let’s see what he has to say, then. I’m interested to see what he’s willing to give up,” Joe shifted the Mossberg on his back and drew his .45. He wasn’t going to take any chances with Captain White. He’d had plenty of time to heal up from the last incident that he’d had with Joe, and he did not want a repeat. “Open it up.”

Curtis stepped forward with the large chain of keys and pulled the one for Captain White’s cell. He slid the large, odd shaped key into the lock and turned. There was a soft metallic clink as the lock released. He swung the door open and immediately covered his face.

“Goddamnit White! What the fuck?” Curtis exclaimed.

Captain White sat on a small aluminum bed on the right side of the cell, his hands clasped together and elbows resting on his knees. He seemed unaffected by the horrible smell emanating from the room. He turned his head slowly towards Curtis and let out an evil grin. “I told you I was tired of asking permission to take a shit, so I used the facilities.”

Curtis stepped into the room and roughly grabbed White by the elbow, pulling him out of the cell offhandedly. Jim closed the door behind him as Joe pointed his .45 at Captain White. “What do you want to talk about, Captain?”

White made a mocking pout face. “Aww. Ain’t it nice that you still call me Captain?”

Joe narrowed his eyes. “Well, calling you ‘shithead’ was just getting old.”

Curtis pulled a set of handcuffs from his belt and cuffed Captain White’s hands behind him. He shoved White down on his knees and told him to cross his legs. The fake leg that he wore just below his right knee turned at an odd angle and pinged against the hard, concrete floor. If he decided to make a move, then that would be the end of him, as Joe kept the .45 pointed dead center in his chest. A one-legged man wasn’t a prime candidate for escaping, but they weren’t taking any chances.

“You said you wanted to talk, so start talking.” Joe stood in front of him, not blinking.

“No. You give me what I want first. I want some goddamned food and better living conditions. You give me that and I will tell you what I know.”

“You tell me what I want to know or I’ll just shove you out the door and let the dead have their way with you instead. I’m tired of fucking around with you, White. You’ve been nothing but a pain in the ass since we brought you here. As far as I’m concerned, you’ve overstayed your welcome. So either tell me something useful or join the ranks of the undead.”

White clamped his jaw. “At least give me some food,” he said through clenched teeth.

“What promise do I have from you that you’ll tell me anything if I do?”

“General Wyatt is the one you want. I can tell you how to get hold of him.”

“Yeah, the sat-phone. Trust me; we’ve tried to get hold of whoever will answer. No dice, cowboy. Tell me something worthwhile.”

“The number isn’t in the phone. I have it in my head. General Wyatt told us to maintain OPSEC on the numbers to reach him. I’ll give it to you, with some conditions, of course.”

Joe folded his arms, the .45 peeking out from under them, still aimed at White. “I’m listening.”

“No. Food first. Then information. I’m not telling you shit until I get something from
you
. You keep your word and I promise as a solider to keep mine.”

Joe thought for a moment, then glanced over to Rick and nodded. “Go get him an MRE from the chow hall.”

“But, dad he…” Rick protested.

“Just go get it.” Joe squatted own in front of Captain White. “If I give you food and you don’t give up the number, I will shoot you – again – and leave you outside the wall. I’ll bleed you – real quiet – and let the fucking zombies eat you alive. Understood?”

Captain White’s face softened a bit. He knew Joe wasn’t fucking around. “Deal.”

Rick came back a few minutes later with an MRE. Against his protests, Joe opened it and sat it down in front of Captain White.

“Take his cuffs off, Curtis.”

“Joe, I don’t think that is such a good idea,” Curtis objected.

Joe raised his chin towards Captain White. “It’s alright. Captain White here isn’t gonna give us any trouble. If he does, there are plenty of guns here to take care of him. I don’t think he’s in any position to take on all five of us.”

Curtis raised an eyebrow towards Larry. “You okay with this, too?”

Larry nodded. “I’m with Joe. He won’t give us any trouble. If he does, I’ll kill him myself.”

Curtis sighed in protest, but uncuffed Captain White nonetheless. White rubbed his wrists and then went to tear into the MRE. He removed the MRE heater, a water-activated combination of finely powdered iron and magnesium metals, and salt. When water is added to the heater, it creates an oxidation-reduction reaction, heating the water to near boiling.

Joe
grabbed the heater away from Captain White before he could open it. “I don’t think so, buddy.” He wasn’t prepared to give him any volatile chemicals just yet.

White
gave a look of contempt and grabbed the main entrée of the MRE. Another look of loathing passed over him as he read the contents of the packet. “Omelet? Cold? Really?”

“Beggars
can’t be choosers, Captain. Take what we give, or go without,” Joe fired back.

White
tore open the packet and began to eat the nearly decade-old conglomeration of scrambled eggs and vegetables. The shelf life on the MRE’s were around fifteen years, but on the other hand, they had more preservatives than embalming fluid. White greedily ate the main course and grabbed another portion of the meal – an aged Pop-Tart. White continued to stuff his face for a few more minutes. He chowed down on everything from hash browns with bacon to grape jam and crackers. Joe sat back and watched as his captive ate feverishly, almost feeling bad that he’d nearly starved the former Marine to the point that he was eating a decade-old Army ration with such enthusiasm. Curtis gave him a small bottle of water to wash down the foodstuffs, which White drank greedily.

“So,”
Joe said, interrupting the prisoner’s eating. “We’ve lived up to our end, time for you to take care of yours, or else become an overstuffed treat for the undead.”

Captain
White wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, bits of uneaten Pop-Tart falling into the floor. “Fair enough. What do you want to know?”

Joe
leaned forward. “I want to know what Wyatt has planned. I want to know why he sent you and your cronies after my people. I want to know what he has, where he’s at, and what the fuck he’s been doing for the last nine years.”

Captain
White stared at the floor. He didn’t want to give up any information that might put his comrades in danger, but they had not come for him, sent no rescue party, or even tried to help him. He was hopelessly stuck in his current predicament, of his own doing. “He wants to take back Washington D.C. and take back the country as well.”

“Yeah,
we’ve heard that one before. We heard it from one of your men when he defected to our side. He said that you were conscripting people into service and killing them if they tried to leave,” Rick replied, crossing his arms.

White
looked up at Rick, then to Joe. “You think I
liked
doing that shit? I was under orders from him to take back Tennessee, Virginia, and West Virginia. He wanted all the surrounding states to Virginia taken care of before he would come through from down south.”

“So
he’s still in Alabama?” Joe asked.

“As
far as I know, yeah. The last two years he sent me on runs from Fort McClellan and the Anniston Army Depot. Fort McClellan has a shitload of tracked vehicles – tanks and shit – and the depot used to destroy chemical warfare shit; VX gas, sarin gas, nasty stuff.”

“God
only knows what that psycho would do with chemical weapons,” Curtis said.

“Is
there any way to track the sat-phone?” Joe asked.

“He
would have to answer it first. After that, it would take some sophisticated commo setup to get anything useful out of it. I doubt you have the necessary equipment.”

Curtis
snickered. “You’d be surprised what we have to work with, Captain. You get that asshole to answer the phone, and I will take it from there.”

White
shifted uncomfortably. “Fair enough.”

“So
why does he want D.C. so bad?” Joe continued his questioning.

“It’s
symbolic. He figures if he takes back D.C. that people will bow down to him and have someone to fight for. He just wants to be some goddamned dictator. I have to admit, he got me hooked on his philosophy quick. He’s tired of the bleeding heart liberals and the rich-boy conservatives that put this country to shame before the fuckin’ zombies did. He wanted to take back the country for the people; problem is that he wants to do it by force. If you don’t go along with him, you are shot. If you disobey orders, you are shot. If he questions your loyalty...”

“Yeah,
you get shot. We get it. Why all the sudden have you had a change of heart, Captain?” Joe asked.

White’s
face toughened. “Because you assholes have kept me locked up for a couple fuckin’ months now. I’m not doing myself any favors by sitting here and slowly rotting to death while you get to live free. I had you people pegged for insurgents to our cause. I was just following orders when I came to this town. All I wanted to do was get those trucks and get the fuck out of here in one piece.” White looked away, his face still compressed with anger. “Those sorry-assed motherfuckers left me here to rot. I just asked myself ‘Why am I still helping
them
?’ and honestly, I can’t come up with anything viable.”

Joe
titled his head as a thought came to mind. “So, let me get this straight. You want to help
us
now?”

Captain
White turned his full attention back to Joe, wincing. “Something like that.”

“Captain,
have you ever heard the old saying ‘if she’ll cheat
for
you, she’ll cheat
on
you’?”

“Look
I understand. If you don’t feel comfortable with me joining with you, then just shoot me now because I’ll be damned if I spend another minute in this goddamned jail.”