SURVIVORS OF THE DEAD: FROM THE ASHES (11 page)

18

Harry took Frank to the SWAT ready room located just before the general locker rooms and told him to go in and find a jump that fit. Harry continued to walk the short distance to the main locker room and entered. Continuing to the rear of the room, then turning left, he came to the dozen or so lockers that were utilized by reserve officers. Nothing was locked here as the only things in the lockers were uniforms, and this was a police station after all.

Stopping in from of
Locker 27 and opening the door, Harry found the two very familiar jumpsuits just as he had left them. The standards he wore, which referred to the regular uniform most prevalently seen worn by police officers, he kept at home. Pulling out the one dark navy blue jump, he noted the name LANCASTER embroidered on a cloth patch attached just above the right hand pocket, with a silver cloth star sewn on just above the left with the words SAN FRANCISCO on the top rocker and POLICE on the lower rocker. In the center was his star number.

Unlike Derrick Washington’s
black SWAT jump with muted-color shoulder patches,

those on Harry Lancaster’s
had a bright blue background, trimmed in gold, with the image of the Phoenix in the center and the words SAN FRANCISCO POLICE in gold lettering above the bird. The words ‘ORO EN PAZ - FIERRO EN GUERRA’ were on a banner clutched by the bird’s talons, which translates “Gold in Peace, Iron in War”. This was the motto of both the City and the County of San Francisco, as well as the Police Department’s. Above each of the shoulder patches was a blue rocker with the word RESERVES. On each side of the jump’s collar, just above the collar points, was a silver three-chevron pin denoting the rank of sergeant.

The final
items not an original part of the jump were sewn on the lower left sleeve. Those items being the five blue “years of service” half-chevrons outlined in white, each chevron denoting five years of service. “Where did the time go?” Harry asked himself. Sighing, he laid the jumpsuit out on the floor bench that ran the length of the lockers and started to remove his equipment.

Happening to glance
down the end of the section of lockers he suddenly stumbled back a couple of steps, drawing the Glock and aiming at a zombie that had unexpectedly appeared at the end of the row!

What kept Harry from firing was that this zombie was also aiming a gun
at him. It took him a few seconds to process, but he finally realized who his new friend was. After his heart stopped trying to pound its way out of his chest, he walked the short distance to the end of the locker row and gazed at the image in the full length mirror that was attached to the wall. “Shit, no wonder the kid was going to blow my head off,” Harry said with an astonished look on his face, which was also reflected back in the mirror.

His clothes were covered in
dried blood and all manner of bits, pieces, and chunks of flesh and sinew and Lord only knew what else, with some of the stuff even in his hair. He looked exactly like one of those things outside, which did nothing to quell the rising bile in the back of his throat.

Grabbing the jump off the bench
, Harry walked straight to the shower area, stripped out of his civilian clothes and turned on the water to the hottest temperature he could tolerate without peeling skin. Soaping up and rinsing off, he was horrified to see the water going down the drain was a pinkish color, replete with the aforementioned bits, pieces, and chucks swirling down the drain with that rancid water.

He soaped and rinsed five or six more times until the water rema
ined a nice clear soapy mixture and his skin felt nearly raw. Then Harry just stood under the spray of water for a few minutes in an attempt at washing away some of the stress that had built up since he’d left the apartment building. That helped a little, but only by a varying degree. “Note to self,” Harry said aloud, “if I haven’t mentioned this before, I’m really,
really
getting too old for this shit.”

Finally turning the water off
, Harry grabbed a couple of towels from the stack just outside the shower stalls. Drying off, he quickly dressed, transferring the items he had been carrying into the various pockets of the jump, slipped into his TAC boots, pulling the side zippers up to close them, then snapped the nylon duty belt around his waist. Finally he placed the Glock in the high rise break front holster. With a slight twist of the belt to adjust how the weight of the gun was riding at his waist, Harry was ready.

He
glanced at the pile of bloody street clothes he had changed out of and quickly stepped over them on his way to the main door to exit. As he turned the corner of the final row of lockers, he saw Frank sitting on one of the floor benches. Frank immediately stood up when he saw Harry approach.

“Hey Frank, sorry it took a little longer than I thought.
Needed to clean up a bit,” Harry said with a look of repugnance on his face. He saw that Frank had also changed, but into what appeared to be a brand new jump. It had the muted shoulder patches of SWAT, but bore no name or star patches and it had several package creases. Frank had simply placed his metal star and nameplate in the appropriate positions on the front of it. Harry also noticed he had swapped out his leather duty belt for a nylon one.

“No problem
, Mr. Lancaster. I sort of figured you might want to do that,” Frank replied with that crooked smile.

“Listen kid, I really appreciate the fact you didn’
t shoot first and ask questions later when we first met. I didn’t realize how bad I looked or what you must have thought when you saw me,” Harry said with all sincerity. “And please, call me Harry, okay?”

“
Okay, Harry
,
but only if you stop calling me kid,” Frank said as he looked down toward the service chevrons on Harry’s jump sleeve. “Wow, I just realized you’ve been a cop longer than I’ve been alive. What a trip!”

Harry took a deep breath, shook his head slightly, and said
exasperatedly while walking past Frank, “I really am getting too old for this shit. Let’s go,
kid,
we need to get this circus on the road.”

“
Sure thing, Mr. Lancaster …” Frank began, but Harry, walking away, immediately cut him off with a hand raised and a finger pointing up. “I mean
Harry
, let’s go,” Frank finished.

They
headed down the hallway toward the main lobby area of the station, which would lead them to the garage entrances, when Derrick called out.

“Hey guys, up here
.”

Looking up
, Harry saw Derrick on the small balcony that slightly overhung the lobby. It really served no other purpose than some sort of architectural design as it did not go anywhere. But it did offer a view of the front of the building and the street. Harry immediately changed direction, with Frank right behind him, and ascended the small sweeping staircase that led up to where Derrick stood.

“Well, you both look much better
,” Derrick said as Harry approached and mumbled an acknowledgment. Leaning against the four-foot-high frosted glass wall, trimmed with heavy stainless steel on the balcony’s top edge, Harry noticed two AR15s with multi-point black nylon tactical slings already attached. These particular weapon slings were one of the best made; they wore comfortably due to the nylon shoulder pad and adjusted easily to anyone’s height. Derrick nodded toward the ARs and said, “Thought you might want one of those.”

“Hell yes!
” Frank replied, picking up one of the weapons.

Harry picked up the other weapon and with practiced ease quickly brought
his left arm through the sling, slipped it over his head, and adjusted the shoulder pad to a comfortable position on the right side of his neck, allowing the AR to dangle in from of his chest. He made a minor adjustment to the strap that connected the weapon to the upper part of the sling to allow for his size and height, and to enable him to easily bring the weapon up into a firing position.

Harry
then used the AR’s sliding butt stock to extend it to its full position, again to allow for his size and arm reach, then briefly brought the weapon up to a firing position, pointing it over the balcony, to ensure a good fit. Satisfied with that, he used his right hand to release the 30-round magazine, allowing it to drop down and catching it with the same hand. He used his right thumb to push down on the top of the rounds in the mag a couple of times to ensure they were seated properly, then replaced the mag back into the weapon.

He then positioned his left hand under the area just forward of the clip and used his thumb to depress the bolt catch.
With his right hand he pulled the charging handle back and released the bolt catch, which freed the charging handle in a back unlocked position. This would allow him to inspect the magazine feed. Glancing inside the feed area through the ejection port, which was located on the right hand side of the AR and just above the mag, he was satisfied the feed was good. Turning the weapon with his right hand on the grip, he used the heel of his left hand to slap the upper part of the bolt catch. This sent the firing bolt back into battery and ready to fire. Harry pushed the safety and once again allowed the AR to dangle on his chest. The whole procedure took less than sixty seconds.

The
department did not normally use iron sights on their AR-15A3 tactical carbines. Instead, each was equipped with EOTech holographic optical sights attached to the upper mid rail of the weapon, which was much better suited for urban use. These electronic sights were extremely accurate once sighted in and utilized a red dot to line up targets. Harry reached down to the lower portion of the sight, pressing the power button and activating it. Bringing the weapon into firing position, he sighted the red dot on a computer terminal sitting upon a desk just below the balcony. He glanced over to Derrick who had been watching him go through the weapons ready procedure and raised an eyebrow.

“They’re sighted in, and the batteries are fully charged.
If you can believe the sales hype, the charge should be good for up to eleven hundred hours, but of course we’ve never had to use them that long,” Derrick said, anticipating Harry’s upcoming questions.

“Great, was just going to ask.
Are all the ARs you located ready to go?” Harry asked with a slight smile, knowing his friend knew him pretty well.

“Includi
ng the three we have there are five more I can guarantee. Frank and I secured the eight of these from the SWAT backups. The rest I can’t be sure of. There’s a mix with EOTechs but also several with the old style-iron sights which probably means they just haven’t been converted yet.”

Harry nodded in reply
, then glanced over to Frank who was just finishing up his weapon check. He stared with amazement as Frank fairly flew through the procedure.

“Damn kid, looks like you’ve done that one or twice
,” Harry said, a bit surprised thinking he had always been fairly fast.

Finishing up
with his own left-handed slap to lock in the firing bolt and then letting his AR dangle on the sling, Frank looked up and said, “Many times actually. My Dad was a prepper before prepping was cool, I guess. I’ve been around and fired ARs, in several different variations, since I was eleven.” He glanced between Harry and Derrick, continuing, “He wasn’t a fanatic or anything, but after twenty years with the Florida State Highway Patrol, and then another ten years in our County Sheriff’s Department, he’d concluded that humanity was headed down a path of self-destruction. Guess he just wanted us to be prepared for that eventuality. Mom was never completely on board with the whole ‘end of the world thing’ but she loved my dad so she went along. Dad had my brother and me shooting several types of weapons by our teenage years and we were pretty good at using them, too. Not sure if Daddy thought the end of civilization would be from a zombie outbreak though.” Frank had lowered his voice, trailing off almost to a whisper, looking at the floor and obviously thinking about something aside from the current topic.

“Listen
, Frank,” Derrick began, “I’m really sorry about your family. I wish there was some way we could get you in touch with them.”

Frank looked back up to Derrick and said, “Oh,
it’s cool, Officer Washington. My parents were killed in an auto accident when I was seventeen, and my brother and I drifted apart; we really didn’t have any other relatives. My brother, unlike my dad, became a nutcase fanatic about prepping and spent a ton of money on it. His wife finally left him and the last I heard he’d tried to set up a bunker system in the swamps somewhere. He was even featured on that National Geographic prepper show I think.”

“I
saw that episode! The guy who bought those semi-trailers and buried them in the middle of the Everglades, right! Too bad he was arrested for trespassing on federal property. I think he was charged with something like destruction of federal lands. I thought the idea was really good though!” Harry excitedly responded. Both Derrick and Frank gave him a sideways look. “What! NatGeo just happens to have some very intelligent and interesting programing, I’ll have you both know!” he said defensively. “You should hear my idea on a new reality show I have in mind for them on this zombie thing!”

“Okay Harry, take it easy there, we understand.
It’s kind of like a Wheel of Fortune or Jeopardy thing again, right? I realize one has to have reached a certain age to appreciate such fine programing. See Frank, what’d I say earlier about senior citizens?” Derrick laughed, with Frank trying, rather unsuccessfully, to maintain a professional demeanor but quickly losing that battle.