Transformation: Zombie Crusade VI (29 page)

“Uh huh,” Luke interrupted, “and would you even remember any of this if the guy looked like Jabba the Hut?”

“Of course I would—that would be hard to forget. I’m not sure he would have even fit though the door.” She steered Luke to the edge of the bed. “Sit and listen—this really is important. I don’t remember the guy’s name, but he was studying to be a zoologist or some specialized biologist or something like that. Anyway, he talked about the ‘hundredth monkey effect’ – I looked it up and it’s a real thing. Basically, scientists were watching Japanese monkeys on some island, and the monkeys were ignoring fruit that washed ashore covered in sand, even when they were hungry. Then one smart girl monkey picked up some sand-covered fruit, washed it in a well, and ate it. Then other monkeys, starting with the younger ones, copied her behavior until one day all the monkeys just started washing the fruits. Here’s the main point—it wasn’t just the monkeys on this one island, but also the monkeys on the surrounding islands, even though the different monkey colonies didn’t have any contact with one another. It was like the monkeys had some sort of collective consciousness, and at some point, when enough individual monkeys had learned the behavior, some switch flipped and they all knew it.”

Luke was intrigued, but skeptical. “Don’t monkey’s swim? Couldn’t a monkey from the first island have visited another island? I just think it’s too convenient that researchers just happened to be watching when all that went down . . .”

“Are you purposely missing my point? Maybe the monkey story doesn’t prove anything about the monkeys, and maybe I remembered it wrong, but what you were describing with the hunters—what you called the hunter channel—could make sense if there’s some sort of group subconsciousnes for hunters.”

“Okay, I can see that. And now I also see that how it happens is less important than how we can use it.” Luke scooted back on the bed and propped himself up with a pillow. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about this sooner. I was wrong to try to handle it alone—if I need you to trust me, then I need to trust you too.”

Gracie crawled up next to Luke. “I do trust you, Luke, but I still want to hear every single detail about every dream, every encounter, and every conversation that you’ve ever had with—”

Luke kissed Gracie, stopping her mid-sentence. Finally, he leaned back and pulled her on top of him. “I promise I’ll tell you everything you want to know, but it will probably take the rest of the night. I think we should take a little talk-break—you up for that?”

Gracie nuzzled Luke’s neck. “I guess I am if you are . . .”

Twelve miles to the west there was no nuzzling going on between Earl and Brock Merrill. The two experienced fighters had passed the turn-around point of their mounted patrol, a route that had taken them through the southern edge of the Hagerman National Wildlife Refuge, a rugged scrub-woods along the southwestern shores of Lake Texoma. The plan was to push through to the small town of Whitesboro, a currently uninhabited hamlet that continued to show up in reports from long distance patrols detailing heavier than usual hunter-activity. Ranger Sanders had asked the veterans to conduct the mission for him, with explicit instructions to do nothing but observe and report. If hunters were building up in the town, the cavalry needed to deal with them before spring planting.

Darkness was settling over Whitesboro as the brothers urged their mounts to hurry through the cluttered streets so they could set up camp someplace that didn’t put off such a threatening vibe. A few packs of hunters had been spotted in the Wildlife Refuge earlier in the day, but the creatures either hadn’t seen the small patrol or had enough experience with horse-mounted humans to leave the pair alone. For their part, the brothers had no desire to chase down hunters in the brush; Sanders had indicated that Whitesboro was the place he was really interested in learning more about. Earl and Brock had seen little sign of the flesh-eaters’ presence beyond a few footprints in fields bordering the town.

Earl had seen enough. He nudged his horse closer to his brother and whispered, “Ain’t nothin’ here, man; Sanders musta got some bad intel.”

“We need to be sure,” Brock warned. “There’re farmsteads just four miles south of here; can’t have aggressive packs using this place as a home-base or nothin’ like that.”

Earl spat a stream of tobacco juice onto the road and slowly nodded his agreement. “Well, I don’t much like the feel of this place; maybe it’s all the bones or somethin’, but it feels like this town ain’t got nothin’ in it but the dead.”

“Yep,” his brother muttered just before they heard what sounded like a woman’s scream from some nearby house.

“Where the hell did that cry come from?” Brock demanded.

Earl had pulled his rifle and now used it to point down a side street to their right. “Somewhere over there.”

They heard another shriek. The two fighters hadn’t survived this long by being impulsive, but the thought of a woman in trouble somewhere in this spooky town spurred them into action. They moved toward the sound at a steady trot, finally narrowing the location down to a ranch-style home that appeared to be buttoned up tight. Brock leapt from his horse, clipped on a lead, and expertly tethered it to the porch with a quick release knot. He didn’t wait for his brother to finish the same maneuver before jogging to the side door beneath the carport. He almost kicked it open before Earl, who was two steps behind him, barked some common sense advice. “Try the handle, idiot!”

Brock reached up and turned the doorknob, his chagrined expression growing more pronounced when the handle easily turned. As the door slowly swung open they heard the woman again, this time from a bedroom at the end of a narrow hall. Earl nodded to his brother. “I got your six.”

Brock silently laid his rifle on the sidewalk and pulled his revolver; six shots were better than one inside a building. Earl followed his brother’s lead, drawing his own sidearm as they slowly entered the home and began scanning the rooms for signs of trouble. Another scream shattered the gloomy silence inside the musty house, but the experienced scouts carefully cleared each room as they closed the distance to the distressed woman.

They finally reached the bedroom from which the screams were emanating, and Brock looked at Earl one more time before trying the knob. His brother nodded his encouragement, and Brock entered the room with the barrel of his gun pointing toward the floor lest he accidentally shoot the woman inside. In the near darkness, they could see little but the silhouette of a person sitting on the edge of the bed, facing away from them. Her hair was long and ratty, and she had taken all her clothes off. Earl softly called, “Lady, you all right?”

The figure turned to face them, and even in the poor light the brothers instantly realized that this
lady
was a flesh-eater. As if to mock them, the scar-covered hunter screamed one last time. The sound seemed to reverberate in their ears as the men raised their weapons, but the creature on the bed was fast. She was flat on the floor before the first shots were fired well above her, and then all hell broke loose. Two powerful hunters leapt upon Earl from an open closet to his right; his throat was ripped open before he even hit the carpet.

Brock saw his brother fall from the corner of his eye as he tried to draw a bead on the creature scurrying around the edge of the bed. But the hunter stayed low, and his instincts warned him that his time was up. He jumped past his dying brother’s attackers and ran for the door leading outside. He was fast, but he wasn’t as fast as a fully evolved hunter. The female that had lured him into this trap was on him before he took five steps, hitting him with a flying tackle that sent both of them tumbling to the floor. As they rolled across the linoleum in the kitchen, Brock instinctively flung his left arm in front of his face to avoid the snarling flesh-eater as she lunged for his throat. Her teeth latched onto his arm with incredible strength, snapping his wrist and shaking him like a pit bull.

Brock didn’t panic, even though in the recesses of his consciousness he knew he was a dead man. His warlike nature pushed all thoughts but those of savage resistance from his mind as he lifted the revolver still firmly grasped in his right hand. He shoved the barrel into the temple of the hunter and blew a hole through her skull. Blood, bone, and gray brain matter flew from the exit wound across the dull but smooth kitchen floor. Brock still had to pry the dead monster’s teeth from his savaged wrist. His blood was everywhere, dripping from great strips of flesh torn loose by the creature’s frenzied assault.

He woozily climbed to his feet, keeping the barrel of the revolver pointed in the direction from which he’d run. He could hear the sounds of the big males devouring his brother, and for a brief moment toyed with the idea of trying to kill the bastards before leaving. But he was a soldier; he had a mission. Ranger Sanders needed to know how the hunters had lured them into this trap. Plus, Earl had left behind a wife and two-year-old son. They needed to know what had happened out here as well. He finally stumbled outside, thankful to find their horses skittish but unmolested. He kept an eye on the house as he pulled a first aid kit from his bag and wrapped pressure bandages on his most severe wounds. Throughout the process, he continued to hear the tearing and crunching as the hunters tore his brother to pieces. He needed three attempts, but he was finally able to mount his horse. He felt nauseous and weak, but with one hand on his own reins and the other leading his brother’s steed, he rode toward Denison at a canter.
God,
he prayed,
give me fifteen more miles and the strength to give my report . . .

CHAPTER 24

Luke met up with Wyatt for an early breakfast.

“You certainly have a healthy appetite, son,” Wyatt observed. “Where’s your wife this morning?”

“She decided to try to catch up on her sleep—your beds are a lot more comfortable than the accommodations we’re used to.” Luke gulped down half a glass of chocolate milk. “And your food is a lot better too.”

Wyatt nodded and patted his rounded stomach. “Yeah, the world may have gone to hell, but I haven’t been able to lose more than ten pounds.” He leaned forward. “Was Gracie serious when she said that your army could use some good cavalry?”

Luke was momentarily surprised, but answered honestly. “Well, yeah, cavalry could help us a lot if done correctly. Jack was working on cavalry training back home, but we kept getting interrupted by the war.”

“What does ‘correctly’ mean in this context?”

“First of all,” Luke explained, “I can’t mess with any independent commands right now. Any unit travelling with this army has to be under my control. Otherwise, I can give them directions to the UP rail line and they can catch a ride to Utah or Indiana; they could be attached as an independent regiment or battalion there.”

“I understand that.”

“Secondly, they’d have to be armed and armored in the same manner as the rest of the troops in the army. I envision cavalry as mounted infantry pulling double duty as scouts.”

“Makes sense.”

“They’d have to participate in all the training everyone else does, including physical training.”

“Agreed.”

Luke managed to keep a neutral expression. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Go ahead.”

“How many troopers are we talking about here?”

“Can you incorporate two hundred if we can outfit them?”

Luke raised an eyebrow. “Seriously?” His mind was spinning with new possibilities. “Can we stick around here for a month or so to train?”

“You can stay for two months if you’d like.”

“One should be fine—we can’t get too far off schedule.”

“Are you interested in more regular soldiers if we can equip them?”

“Absolutely.”

“Good, I have no doubt that you’ll find at least two hundred outstanding recruits here, especially since thousands will volunteer and you can afford to be picky.”

Luke’s shock over the numbers being offered finally interrupted the banter. “Thousands?”

“We have a lot of young people here, Luke, young men who need a purpose. I’m not sure about their long-term employment prospects in this agrarian economy we’ll all be livin’ with for a while. Well, at least as long as we have fuel for the tractors. Sendin’ a levy off to war will relieve some of the pressure on law enforcement and the council.”

“I’ll gladly accept new recruits, but I’d like to suggest that you have a home guard train with us; we’ve done that at every other community we’ve recruited from. Once you get your irrigation in order, send scouts all along the river to organize; that’ll keep them out of your hair and establish alliances for the future.”

One of Wyatt’s men approached the table and handed the Ranger a note. Wyatt read it and frowned. “Looks like a couple of my men didn’t make it back from a patrol last night—their horses made it home, though. Eaters, hunters, or whatever you call ‘em, won’t pass up tasty horseflesh if they can help it. I’ll go check this out, and I’ll pull together some folks to help organize transfers and recruitment to your forces. We’ll aim to get started tomorrow.”

Luke stood up as Wyatt prepared to leave. “I just want you to know how grateful I am for everything you’re doing for us. I think fate brought us together. You’re cut from the same mold as Stephen Carlson, Jack Smith, and a number of other folks at their sides.”

“That’s a hell of a compliment based on what you’ve told me of these people.”

“It’s the truth,” Luke insisted. “Will you come with us? I want you to command the cavalry and pick company and platoon leaders for the infantry from this area.”

Wyatt didn’t respond right away. Luke waited for ten seconds before asking, “Will you please think about it, maybe talk about it with your wife and the council?”

“I already did,” he replied. “Maria was a champion barrel racer, and she’s bossier than all get out. She’s gonna take my spot here while I’m gone. Now’s the time to go out and win back the country. Now is my time to go to war.”

“I don’t care what Daniels’ report says, we’ve delivered on all the supply orders and I’ve got the paperwork to prove it!” Major Pruitt was red-faced and clearly frustrated.

“Keep your voice down, Major. I don’t appreciate your tone.” Barnes was well-aware of the rivalry between his top California leadership, and while Pruitt could be incredibly annoying, he was organized and meticulous when it came to paperwork and recordkeeping.

Pruitt bowed his head. “I apologize, Mr. President. I let my temper get the best of me, but I assure you that Major Daniels is mistaken—orders for containment facilities get top priority . . .”

Barnes leaned back in his chair and silenced Pruitt with an icy stare. “Clearly there was a breakdown somewhere, Major Pruitt. We had a significant breach that could have turned out much worse if not for the quick and decisive action of Major Daniels. His base commander claims cattle deliveries were short, and they’d been waiting on barbed wire fencing and other building materials for weeks.”

“Sir, I can personally guarantee that all field requests were processed and all deliveries were made. Of course, theft after-the-fact is a possibility, or perhaps the base wasn’t getting its own work done in a timely manner and somebody is just trying to pass the buck.”

“I suppose those are each possibilities,” Barnes replied coolly. “In any event, I am less than pleased with the lack of coordination between you and Major Daniels. If there was a problem on either end, both of you should have been aware of it. I’m expecting a shipment from the Gulf with aircraft fuel to be stored in the tanks at the San Francisco airport within the next two weeks. Can you also guarantee the integrity of that facility?”

“Yes, sir.” Pruitt looked miserable. “If you’d like to tour the—”

“I am a busy man, Major Pruitt. I shouldn’t have to check up on every airport or field base operation—that’s what I have people like you for.”

“Yes, sir. I understand, sir. The airport is ready to accept your delivery whenever it arrives.” Pruitt cleared his throat nervously. “And with your permission, Mr. President, I would like to personally follow up on the missing materials and ensure that the base in question gets everything it needs immediately.”

“See that you do.” When the major didn’t move, Barnes snapped, “Dismissed!” Pruitt nearly jumped out of his skin before bolting for the door.

Luke’s wife and friends were very supportive and excited when they heard the news about the additions the army would soon be enjoying. They all thought that rank wouldn’t be an issue, but Luke believed that sooner or later, it could become a problem in some way. He decided that Gracie, Maddy, and Zach should be captains and promoted them on the spot, promising to draw up official written orders that evening. Gracie would receive the first captain’s commission so that she would technically outrank the others and could command the battalion whenever Luke was absenct. Wyatt would receive his captaincy the following morning. Sooner rather than later, lieutenants would need to be selected from the ranks and assigned duties as executive company commanders and platoon leaders, but for now they could rely on their sergeants to run things at the squad level.

Recruiting, equipping, and training the Texan forces began the next day. As Wyatt had predicted, thousands of young people volunteered to literally get out of town. Gracie believed that many of the volunteers were simply patriotic and adventurous, which was also certainly true. With time, and a safe location to do so, the potential recruits were subjected to physical examinations and tests, interviews with the company commanders, and questionnaires explaining what they had been doing before and since the world collapsed. Luke was pleased to see that there would be no trouble filling the ranks of the new units with physically fit, and relatively experienced young fighters. By mid-afternoon, he felt confident in leaving his subordinates in charge of the process so he could drive over to Lake Texoma with his newest officer, Captain Wyatt Sanders of the Allied Resistance Army.

When questioned about the nature of their destination, Wyatt’s cryptic reply was simply, “It’ll be easier for you to see this than for me to try to explain it all.”

“What ever happened with that patrol that came up missing?” Luke buckled his seat belt as Wyatt’s old Jeep lurched into gear.

“Nothin’ good—we haven’t seen a trace of either of ‘em. They were brothers, Brock and Earl Merrill—Earl has a wife and a toddler. We found some blood on one of the saddles. Maria sent an extra search party this morning.”

Luke could tell that Wyatt had a personal connection to the missing men, but he didn’t want to pry. “I’m sorry—let me know if there’s anything I can do.”

They drove in silence for a few minutes, then Wyatt glanced over at Luke. “I’ll give you some idea of what I know about the people we’re goin’ to see. You know where Fort Sill is?”

“Nope, but I’ve heard of it.”

Wyatt rubbed his short beard. “I guess that’s somethin’. It’s in Southern Oklahoma—was the Army’s trainin’ base for all sorts of artillery specialties, and they had plenty of other things goin’ on there too. It wasn’t Fort Hood, but it was an important base.”

“Are you trying to tell me that we’re on our way to Oklahoma?”

Wyatt snorted. “I told you we’re goin’ to Lake Texoma. Here’s some more history: A few weeks after the outbreak began, a group of soldiers from Sill showed up near Lake Texoma and made a deal with the people of Preston, which is a little town situated at the tip of a narrow peninsula. Simple arrangement, really, the troops provided security for food and shelter. The deal’s worked out pretty well, but the soldiers have been a bit pissed since some of the citizens of Preston are holdin’ one of their men on a rape charge.”

Luke lifted his eyebrows in question, awaiting the Ranger’s explanation. “It’s not an open and shut case . . . the two had been datin’ for several months before their alcohol-fueled incident.”

“What’s the woman saying these days?”

“Just a misunderstandin’, she was no stranger to the police up there before the outbreak, and she’s worried they might charge her with false informin’ if she completely recants now.”

“So what’s this got to do with you?”

“Stinkin’ politics,” Wyatt confirmed. “The Denison council is sort of the final say for legal type questions around here. Some of these smaller communities have official spots on the council, including Preston. Now it just so happens that the young and obviously not-to-bright suspect threatened to kill one of the officers who arrested him—”

Luke interrupted, “Let me guess, that officer has family on the Denison council?”

“Bingo! The soldier was drunk, and I mean completely wasted, when he was arrested. He swears he doesn’t even remember threatenin’ the cop. I’ve talked to him, and he’s not a bad kid.”

“So . . . you want to bundle this soldier up when we leave town, without telling the good councilman what we’re up too, and add him to our recruits?”

“In my professional opinion, we wouldn’t be committin’ an injustice if we did just that. Plus, I think that letting his commander here know what we’re up to will open some doors today.” He peered over at Luke. “When you see what these troops have done since the outbreak, you’ll understand why I’d kinda like a few of ‘em to join us before we head west.”

“Is that the favor your after—getting some soldiers from here to join us?”

Wyatt snickered. “That’s no favor; the boys here will line up to join just like back in Denison. Are you lookin’ around at all?”

“Yeah . . .” Luke had been paying attention to the scenery, but he doubled his observational efforts. 

“So, you see this nice road we’re on, and I assume you’ve gotten some glimpses of the lake on both sides of us?”

“What’s your point, officer?”

“See those fields pocked with short stumps up ahead? Do you know why they did that?”

Luke thought for half a second, then nodded. “The soldiers created their own kill zone. But head shots over most of the ground they cleared are nearly impossible.”

“For muzzleloaders, yeah, but take a closer look at their works.”

The Ranger pointed to a line of SUV’s parked across the road nearly three hundred meters away. Even from this distance, Luke could see that the vehicles cut directly across the peninsula, stretching from the eastern shore of the lake to the west. The SUV’s were chained together, covered with sharpened, cast-iron obstacles, and heavily entwined with rolls of concertina wire.

As they passed through the kill-zone, Luke was struck by how much work must have gone into clearing the land. The ground seemed naturally clear north of the road, but on the eastern side the earth had been covered with hundreds of trees. He was sure there must have been acres of thick brush to deal with as well. Nothing remained but short stumps and mud. The soldiers had parked one of the vehicles directly across the road so they could use it as a gate of sorts. Two armed guards in a tower anchored by an old power-line pole watched silently as the Jeep slowed to a stop in front of the barrier. Before Luke opened his door, Wyatt whispered a warning. “Those guys still have a few rounds for their M-4s up in that observation post.”