Winchester: Over (Winchester Undead) (24 page)

Marfa, Texas

“PROSPECT UP!”

Two prospects, wearing smooth leather vests with a single “Prospect” rocker on the back, ran quickly to Russell, the sergeant-at-arms.

“You two get the crank pump and fill the bikes, then top off the gas cans and the support cages.”

“YES SIR!” One prospect ran to the van to get the hand-cranked pump they used to pump gas out of the underground gas station tanks, while the other started pushing the full members’ motorcycles towards the access hatch for the tanks.

Twardo
approached Russell. “How far out are we now?”

“Two hours or so.
We’ll be there by dinner time.”

“Good. I’m hungry, and I want to taste their food. There isn’t shit in this goat sneeze town; let’s get everything we can from our friendly Texans and get the fuck out back to Fort Bliss.”

The one-percenters’ break lasted just long enough for the prospects to fuel up all the motorcycles, the van, and the truck. The full members used the break to smoke, both tobacco and marijuana. Each full-patched member received at least a carton of cigarettes from every gas station and grocery store the club raided; the prospects had to scavenge the leftovers. Twardo was sure that everyone would have to quit smoking cigarettes cold turkey before too much longer; there were only so many cigarettes left in the world.

Emory Peak, Big Bend National Park, Texas

“How far away are they, Bexar?” Jessie asked.

“I don’t
know, probably a full day’s drive before the world ended. Nowadays it’ll take much longer, probably a solid week of travel. Depends on if there are any other legions of the undead, and where they are. Anyone would be seriously screwed if we got caught by one of those.”

“I say we make contact with Groom Lake one more time,
then head down the mountain to discuss it with Jack and Sandra, maybe start our escape plan,” she said.

“Okay, we can talk it over, but I really don’t think we should leave the Park unless it becomes absolutely necessary. We have a good thing here, Jess, and it could support our family for many years to come.”

Jessie nodded in agreement before turning the shortwave radio back on. Bexar turned on the ham radio and checked that it was tuned to the right frequency to contact Groom Lake. Between him and Jessie, they had figured out how to wire the solar panel to the battery in the radio box, and the battery to their two radios. Without consulting Jack or Sandra, they decided to leave the ham radio in the sealed, weatherproof metal box on the mountain. Since they couldn’t transmit any signals in the Basin, it would be easier to leave it on top of the peak than to carry it up and down the mountain with each crew rotation. At least with the shortwave, there was a chance of receiving a transmission while still in the Basin.

Groom Lake, Nevada

“Really? I didn’t expect the herds to move that quickly. Sorry, Arcuni, continue your brief,” Major Wright said. He and Technical Sergeant Arcuni, Cliff, and all of the remaining NORAD airmen had gathered in one of the larger rooms for a briefing. Lance and his assistants were still buried in their work in the laboratories.

Arcuni
continued, “The leading edge of the Dallas herd is now nearing where I-20 and I-10 meet in west Texas, with the bulk of the herd reaching the interchange in the next two days. Denver has given birth to another herd, which is moving south, roughly following I-25. Same with Houston except that herd is moving north roughly following I-45. Our working theory is that the herds begin to form when no new food sources are found. The reanimates travel in the direction with the least amount of obstacles—so smaller roads to larger roads and to even larger roads. That would explain why they’re ending up on the Interstates—no lakes, no trees, no buildings, nothing but cars and more undead to join their ranks.”

“That makes sense,” Cliff said. “Good thing I got here early or I might have had a harder trip than I did, since I basically followed the Interstate out of Denver. Any updates on the fires?”

Arcuni clicked to the next slide in the PowerPoint presentation, showing a large overhead photo of North America followed by red dots in many locations. It looked to Cliff like America had a bad case of chicken pox.

“Gentlemen, as you can see with our overlay, we have found a significant number of unchecked fires still burning. The list is long, but it includes much of Dallas, Denver, Tucson, San Antonio, Oklahoma City, Lincoln, Austin, Indianapolis, Columbus, Fort Worth, Chicago, Phoenix … to put it bluntly, if it’s a city name you’d recognize, it either is or was
on fire.”

Major Wright looked at his notes and back to
Arcuni. “Any theories as to why the substantial amount of fire?”

“Yes sir, but they range from utilities such as power plants and gas lines failing, car crashes, aircraft crashes, trains, buses, to even a cow kicking over a lantern. We have a bunch of ideas, most of them likely, but we just don’t have the hard
intel to figure that out yet.”

Cliff nodded. “It isn’t important yet,
Major?”

“I would tend to agree,” the major said. “
Arcuni, please continue.”

“Thank you. So far our radio operators have made contact with roughly two-dozen survivor groups spread out across
middle America. None of them are in any city of any size, although some fled larger cities into the countryside. We’re confident that we will continue to come into contact with more.”

Cliff nodded in agreement again. “That’s great news. Make sure that all of the survivors we contact have an open invitation to our location. With that in mind,
Major, would you put together a working group to develop a security plan for receiving survivors, including a quarantine period, and a way for a group to make contact with us once they arrive topside?”

“No problem. Are we expecting any arrivals in the next seventy-two hours?” Major Wright asked.

“No idea,” said Cliff. “Arcuni?”

“Not that we know of, but the topside lighting is still on, so if survivors pass near here they might be drawn to it.
Same with the reanimates. Our security patrol has been encountering a stark increase in the undead. We should consider extinguishing topside lighting.”

It was Wright’s turn to nod in agreement. “Good idea, get on that when we finish here.”

Cliff stood and walked to the lectern. “Guys, so far we’ve made incredible progress, and have confirmed that there are other survivors. Eventually we will form expeditionary groups to go outside the wire and search for survivors, or help them arrive safely here, but we’re much too short on manpower to do that now. Thank you for the good briefing, Arcuni, everyone is dismissed.”

Cliff looked at his watch and walked out the door towards the
commo-hut. A few minutes later he walked into the room that was humming with electronics. “Any contact from our group in Texas?”

One of the airmen raised his hand and waved Cliff to his station. “Here sir, they just came online.”

The radio operator handed Cliff the headphones and the mic. “Hello Texas survivors, how are you faring?”

“We’re doing well, Groom Lake. Do you have any updates for us?”

“We do. The Dallas herd is nearing the I-10 and I-20 split out west, and there’s a smaller herd traveling north from Houston on I-45. The good news is we’ve been able to make contact with other survivors in other states.”

“That’s great!” Bexar replied. “Make contact with anyone else in Texas?”

“No contact, but we did locate a group of people on motorcycles traveling easterly on highways south of I-10 nearing Big Bend National Park.”

Bexar shot a nervous look at his wife and keyed the
mic, “A motorcycle gang?”

“We don’t have any means to determine that; we only found the riders during a satellite pass of the region.”

“Groom Lake, are they riding spaced out or are they riding side-by-side, and do they have any other vehicles following them?”

Cliff looked over at an airman sitting at one of the computers in the room. “Can you pull up the overhead I flagged with the motorcycle riders?” He hit the
mic again. “Standby, Texas, we’re pulling the photo back up.”

After a moment, Cliff spoke again. “Okay, they’re riding side-by-side, and there’s a van and a truck following behind them.”

“Groom Lake, we ran into a motorcycle gang while en route here; they were herding the undead and using them to attack survivors and communities.”

“They don’t appear to have any reanimates following them. They’re moving fast like they have a destination. There are a few small towns in their path, as well as the National Park.”

“Okay, thank you, Groom Lake, I’m signing off, and it’ll be a few days before we can make contact again. If the motorcycles are headed to the Park, how much time would you estimate before they arrive there?”

Cliff looked at the airman at the computer again. “How much time until the motorcycles reach Big Bend National Park?”

“Uh, looks like about four hours, if they stay on course and speed.”

“Texas, we’re estimating four hours.”

Emory Peak

“Christ
, babe, we’ve got to get moving. I wish we could talk to Jack and Sandra and send them a warning.”

Jessie turned off the ham radio, unclipped it from the batteries, and stuffed it into the metal cabinet before picking up her pack. Bexar picked up his pack and his rifle and stopped.

“Hang on a second babe, going hot.”

He pointed his AR in the direction of the cabins and pulled the trigger three times.

Chisos
Basin Campground, Big Bend National Park, Texas

“Did you hear that, Jack?”

“Hear what?”

“I thought I heard a rifle.”

“Maybe Bexar bagged a deer or something up there,” he said.

“Why would he? We have enough here, and we just killed another javelina before they left. I don’t think he’d do that. What if something’s wrong?”

“If it is, Sandra, I’m sure he’ll come down the mountain and tell us.”

“What if they need us to come help them, should we go up the trail to see?”

“No, if something’s wrong they’ll beat us down before we can make it up there. Here, in a bit I’ll check the dumpsters and the gate just to make sure everything’s okay.”

Jack went back to tending the afternoon fire, burning down his small pile of wood to make good cooking coals for the Dutch oven. The javelina stew was already in the cast iron pot. An hour later the Dutch oven was sitting on a hot bed of coals, with more hot coals piled on top of the lid. Jack looked at the sun in the western sky and estimated that the sun would have dipped just behind The Window by about the time the stew was done.

Jack left dinner cooking on the hot coals, grabbed his rifle, and drove the Scout towards the dumpsters and gates in the road to the Basin. Arriving at their defensive dumpsters, Jack disconnected the shotgun popper alarms and used the Scout to push the dumpsters together. Tomorrow he and Bexar could drag the dumpsters apart again, but it would probably be good to have the road closed, just in case.

After about thirty minutes of work and observing the road out on the desert floor, Jack strung the shotgun popper alarms across the road about ten feet in front of the dumpsters, so if something came near the roadblock, they would at least have some warning. Just before he climbed into the Scout to drive back to the cabins, he heard a low rumble bouncing off the mountains.

Jack looked at the sky, but could see no storm clouds. Grabbing the binoculars from the passenger seat of the Scout and climbing on top of the dumpsters to get a better look, he could nearly see Panther Junction, although the angle was wrong. The sound grew louder and more distinct in the distance, but still nothing entered Jack’s narrow field-of-view. Eyes widening, Jack finally recognized the sound as it became clearer—motorcycles.

“Damnit, the bikers! So probably the undead too. Damnit!”

Jack jumped off the dumpsters and drove up the mountain towards the cabin as fast as he could negotiate the turns in the Scout.

Chisos
Basin Campground, Big Bend National Park, Texas

Jack skidded the Scout to a screeching halt in front of their cabin.

“Sandra get out here, we’ve got to get ready!”

“Shush Jack, Keeley’s still down for her nap in Bexar’s cabin, and Will’s still napping in ours; if you wake them it’s your ass.”

“No, we’ve got problems, there are bikers in the Park,
we’ve got to get ready!”

“That’s probably what the rifle shots were about. What now?”

“Hopefully Bexar and Jessie are headed down the mountain, so let’s hope they make it fast. I pushed the dumpsters together and set up the shotgun alarms. We need to put our go-bags in the Scout and load anything else we might need to bug out. Then I want to head back down the road and set up at the dumpsters to watch for any of them coming into the Basin. Maybe I can start picking them off before they can make it to the gate.”

“What about the kids?”

“Let them nap for now, but if you hear any more shooting, get them in the Scout and be ready to roll.”

“If they come up the only road in and out, how do I drive out?”

“I don’t know. We’ll have to play it by ear. We might have to drive fast, run them down, and hope for the best.”

Jack gathered some supplies in a backpack and threw it over his shoulders, then grabbed the go-bags and tossed them into the Scout before getting in the FJ and leaving for the dumpsters. Sandra continued to load the Scout with two cases of .223, some pistol ammo, and some of their preserved venison jerky. She knew that they had the new cache site by Cattail Falls, but any extra supplies she brought could only help. The kids were still asleep, and the Scout was loaded as much as she dared. She looked at the cabins and began thinking about finding a good place to set. If she could get the kids safe in one of the back cabins, she could snipe the bikers or undead if they got past Jack. She wasn’t going to leave without him.

Jack stopped the FJ at the dumpsters and turned it around so he could drive back towards the cabins quickly. He took off the backpack and placed it on top of the dumpsters, along with his rifle, and climbed up with his gear. In the backpack he had ten loaded 30-round Pmags, two bottles of water, and the binoculars. Jack sat up, the rifle in his lap, binoculars to his eyes scanning the roads ahead, and waited.

Panther Junction, Big Bend National Park

Twardo stopped his group of bikers where the road came to a three-way stop in front of the Ranger’s station at Panther Junction. He knew from the radio conversations that his prize lay somewhere referred to as “The Basin,” but he didn’t know where that was in the Park. Twardo had never been to this part of Texas, since there weren’t any motorcycle rallies or club chapters down here. The large brown sign at the intersection had an arrow pointing right that read “Chisos Basin,” with the distance shown in miles. Bingo.

“Russell, send a scout to follow that sign.”

Russell looked around and pointed to one of the least senior club members. Without a word, the man started his motorcycle and sped off in a cloud of dust in the direction the sign pointed.

Chisos Basin

Jack could hear the sound of the motorcycles in the desert getting closer until they stopped. It sounded like they were in the direction of Panther Junction, even though it was out of his view. He then heard a single motorcycle start and take off in a hurry. The sound increased in volume, and Jack’s suspicion was confirmed a few minutes later when he saw the motorcycle approach the turnoff for the Basin. The bike slowed and then turned left, traveling towards Jack and his roadblock. Jack stashed the binoculars in his backpack and lay prone on the dumpster with his rifle, flicking the lever on the lower receiver from “Safe” to “Fire.”

To Jack it felt like an hour had passed before the motorcycle finally came into view, but in reality it only took a couple of minutes. Coming suddenly upon the closed gate, the biker slammed on his brakes and came to a skidding stop. He switched off the motorcycle’s ignition, drew a pistol from under his vest, and began walking towards the closed gate and the dumpsters.

Jack held his breath, waiting for the biker to see him, and waiting to see if the biker was from the same gang the group had encountered before. A deer broke out of the woods, running across the road behind the biker, causing him to spin in place, pistol raised. The three-piece patch on his vest was now clearly visible to Jack. That was the confirmation he’d been waiting for; slowly letting out his breath, he squeezed the trigger to the rear. But he was nervous and jerked the trigger slightly, so the round went low and struck the biker in the middle of the back. The biker cried out in pain and fell to the pavement. A few moments later he appeared to die.

“Shit, now we’re in trouble,” Jack said out loud to himself, climbing into the FJ to return to the cabins.

Panther Junction

Twardo
turned to Russell. “That was a rifle. John only had a pistol. Looks like we’ve found our new friends. Saddle up!” he said, making a circling motion in the air with his right hand. The bikers mounted their motorcycles and the group sped off, the angry sound splintering the quiet desert air.

Chisos Basin

Sandra heard the rifle report and saw the FJ driving up the road into the Basin. Will had just woken up from his nap and was playing in Sandra’s cabin, but Keeley was still sleeping in Bexar’s cabin. Sandra ran out and met Jack at the FJ as he pulled to a stop. “What happened?”

“It’s them Sandra, the same bikers from Comanche. One of them rode up to the dumpsters and I killed him. I didn’t see any undead and I couldn’t see the rest of their group, but after I fired my shot I heard a bunch of motorcycle start near Panther Junction—I don’t know how many of them.”

“Damn. Okay, I prepped two shooting positions, one on the roof of our cabin and the other on the roof of the motel out front.”

“Perfect. Hide the Scout behind the
cabins, I’ll take the spot on the motel. You’re the last line of defense. Keep our little boy safe!”

Sandra nodded, and Jack jogged towards the single-story motel across from the Ranger’s station in the Basin. Once on the roof, he had a clear view of the road as it came up from the tent camp area. Counting his magazines, Jack had a total of twenty loaded 30-round
Pmags, minus the single shot he had just fired at the dumpsters.

Twardo
signaled the group to a stop when they came in view of John’s parked motorcycle.

“Give me two prospects up front!”

Two prospects obediently climbed out of the van and jogged up to the club president.

“You two go up the road on foot, find John and figure out what happened, then report back.”

The prospects nodded and, pistols in hand, began walking towards the motorcycle, disappearing out of sight around the bend in the road.

Shortly after losing sight of the prospects, the valley echoed with a shotgun blast, followed by both prospects running back down the road towards the rest of the club.

“What the fuck was that?”

“Sir, we didn’t see John but there was a bunch of blood on the road, which is blocked by two dumpsters. When we got close someone shot at us from nowhere, so we ran back down here.”

“You fucking pussies, go back up there and figure it out!”

The prospects were visibly shaken, but they started back up the road, pistols raised but moving slower than last time. About ten minutes passed before they reappeared.

“We couldn’t find John, but the dumpsters are full of rocks and dirt, and there’s no one around. We’ll need the truck to pull them out of the way.”

Twardo
nodded. One prospect retrieved John’s motorcycle, the other drove the truck past the group to the dumpsters before pulling out some heavy chain from the bed. Less than five minutes later, one of the dumpsters had been pulled out of the way.

Before riding past the roadblock, Russell walked around the dumpsters and stopped.

“Hey Prez, check this out.”

Twardo
joined Russell, who continued, “Someone set up a trip wire, see? It’s attached to this thing over here with a shotgun shell. I bet the prospects set another one off earlier.”

Twardo
circled his right hand above his head and the bikers mounted their motorcycles once again.

Emory Peak

Bexar and Jessie were out of breath and sweating in the cool winter air, but they were getting close to where the trail came out behind the cabins. The echoing shotgun blast stopped them both in their tracks. They instantly knew it was the trip alarms at the dumpsters, and without a word they continued down the trail at a jog.