Zombie Fallout | Book 14 | The Trembling Path Page 16

  “I won’t be able to hear what she has to say if I go down there,” she mumbled as she left us.

  “It’s Springer,” Major Dylan stated. “I was able to sneak into the security office for a few minutes. He’s still alive; they have him next to your Dewey.”

  “Not my Dewey.”

  “It’s horrific; the couple of minutes I watched…you can see Springer warring with himself.”

  “Is there a way in? I’d put one out of his misery and the other out of everyone’s misery.”

  “Without storming the area, I don’t see how. It’s heavily guarded.”

  “How heavily guarded?”

  “There are four people in the hallway at all times. The doors to the area are locked, and once inside, there are another two guards.”

  “What are they so worried about?”

  “I would imagine you and your squad. Bennington is no fool; he has to realize that you will or have already caught wind of this and will try something.”

  “Well, considering I told him I know.”

  She gave me the “you are such a dolt” look.

  “I don’t like being constantly adversarial to the Old Man. Makes everything I’m doing feel dirty and clandestine. Then again, if he did everything above board, I wouldn’t feel the need to keep doing it.”

  Gary pulled up just then and blared his horn.

  “Um, brother? Everyone can hear you rumbling down the roadway; no need to blow the…”

  He blasted it again and rolled on past.

  “Fucker.” I watched as Stenzel hopped aboard. Kirby and Grimm raced out to grab the shuttle too. “Any suggestions about how I should deal with Springer?”

  “I’m working on it. I’ll let you know if I come up with something. Thank you for the beer.”

  “Did I have a choice with that?”

  “I do outrank you.”

  “Is that somehow supposed to make the loss of them easier?” Make no mistake, I was making light of the booze being drunk, but it was only a mask for the fear, outrage and anger I was feeling for Springer’s predicament. If Dylan didn’t give me a way in soon, I was going to blast a hole in the side of the facility and take care of it in the only way I knew how. I sat in my chair, finished the last of the beers and then headed up. I was busy taking a nap when everyone started coming back for the day.

  “You coming down?” Tracy asked, sitting on the bed next to me.

  “I’m up,” I told her.

  “Good day?” she asked, touching the side of my face.

  “No one actively tried to kill me.” It was meant to be funny, but when it rang with so much truth, it came up a little hollow.

  “We’ve set up a dining hall on the main floor; you should join us for dinner.”

  “I can’t wait to rip into an MRE bag,” I said as I swung my legs over. I was reaching for my boots when I grabbed my wife instead. “How about while everyone is eating you and I…you know.”

  BT pulled my tapestry to the side. “Go on. You were saying?”

  “This blows,” I said aloud.

  “Does it?” BT responded. “Because from here, I’d say that’s a hard no.” He was smiling.

  “Lawrence!” Tracy said.

  He high tailed it out of there.

  I got out of bed, put my boots on, and followed my wife downstairs. “That doesn’t smell like mystery meat in a bag. Is that garlic?”

  “Garlic bread.”

  “Wait, what?” We went downstairs to about as close to a Norman Rockwell painting as one can get in an apocalypse. There were two rows of five folding tables each; they were filled with people, laughing and talking. Rose, Kirby, and Winters were cooking off to the side with a propane stove attached to some five-gallon canisters. “Pasta?”

  “Spaghetti, meatballs, garlic bread and salad,” Tracy said.

  There were candles on the tables; someone had spent a great deal of time decorating the walls in prints of various exotic locales around the world. A radio was playing some music that perfectly accompanied the ambiance. The smells, the people, the general feeling of camaraderie amongst the group; it was uplifting. Not normally a wine drinker, but I downed the first cup I had and then another without so much as a grimace. For a few moments in time, I could almost forget what was going on right outside our door. The dogs were circling tables for tidbits, except for Henry, who knew he needed to do the least amount of work to gain the biggest rewards, as I constantly stuck a handful from my plate under the table for him. Even Patches, who liked to remain on the fringes, was feeling the therapeutic effects of the evening as she let herself be cooed at and petted.

  “How’d you pull this off?” I asked Tracy.

  “Not me. This is all your squad.”

  “Probably looking for some time off. So, you think it will be too soon if I have them start digging latrines tomorrow?”

  “You might want to be careful who you assign to that job and who is responsible for food prep.”

  “You always were the thinker.”

  “Must have had a lapse when I married you.”

  “Funny. Just for that, I’m holding out.”

  “Doesn’t work that way.”

  “Shit. I don’t think I’ve seen Kirby smile that much since ever,” I said, watching him laugh. Half hour later I got a tap on my shoulder, it was Stenzel.

  “You have a minute, sir?”

  “What’s going on?” I asked her.

  “Sergeant Winters wanted me to come and get you.”

  “I was wondering where he was,” I said as I followed her upstairs.

  Winters was on the roof in what could only be described as a duck blind.

  “Hey, lieutenant.”

  Hey, Winters. Why aren’t you downstairs enjoying the meal?” I may have stumbled, three beers had followed the two glasses of wine.

  “Someone has to stay on patrol.”

  “We know we’re being watched, but we’re still in friendly territory. I think it’ll be all right.”

  “You’d think that.”

  “Okay, so you didn’t interrupt my meatball eating for nothing. What’s going on?”

  “I’ve got two vans strategically parked around us and the building closest to us has at least a half dozen personnel.”

  The euphoria I’d been enjoying quickly fizzled. I don’t think I’d ever had a buzz killed so immediately, like someone had taken a knife to the throat of it, sliced quickly and let it drop to the ground with a solid crashing thud.

  “You sure about this?”

  He handed me a strange pair of binoculars.

  “Power button is on top, infrared.”

  “Nice,” I said as I powered them on and waited a few seconds for the calibration.

  “The van is down there.”

  “You mean the only vehicle inconspicuously parked on the entire street? Stenzel, do I appear that inept?”

  “I’d rather not get involved, sir.”

  The smile I had, quickly hid as I raised the electronic device and peered at the van. It was packed with people; it was so warm in there from their accumulated body heat it almost looked like an oven from the binoculars’ point of view anyway. Even through the blotches of white and red, I could see the relatively cool black of steel rifle barrels. I moved to the building; it was much the same, though the group was spread out.

  “Stenzel, tell the others.”

  “Tell them what?”

  “Get ready for an invasion. I’ve been involved in enough raids by cops to know that those people in the vans are getting ready to spring—no one stays cooped up like that for long.”

  “Level of force?”

  “Shit.” I gave Winters back his binoculars and grabbed the headset he was handing me. I didn’t want to have a firefight in Etna; this was not what I was trying to do when I moved us out here. I walked down the stairs and out an exit without saying a word. To any watching, it would have just looked like I was getting some air and maybe hiding a smoke, thinking that nob
ody knew about it, though everyone did.

  I walked down the street, hands empty, wishing I had a rifle or maybe even just a beer, something to give me a boost of courage. I rapped on the driver's window, scaring the bejeesus out of the driver. He did what most anyone would do—rolled it down.

  “Corporal, can I help you?” I asked.

  “I, uh, sir?” He turned to the back.

  A lieutenant colonel stepped out of the rear doors, not just any light-colonel, but the camp XO. I hadn’t had much interaction with Gadsen; he mostly stayed in his office, and, as someone that was generally involved in the discipline doled out on base, gotta say I was happy we hadn’t had much opportunity to chat. I can’t say I was thrilled to see the black ops uniform he was wearing or the mp4 leveled on my chest.

  “Before you go getting ideas with that, there’s a shaped charge underneath your chassis right now, and my trigger person has her finger on the detonator. Also, she’s keen to blow something up, so let’s all be cool about what the next few seconds entail.”

  “This true?” Gadsen looked past me and was talking to the corporal in the driver’s seat. I moved slightly so we could both see the shocked and surprised face of the driver.

  “I don’t know, sir,” the corporal responded.

  “You don’t know if a lone person walked up to the van and placed an explosive on it?”

  “I was checking my gear, sir, same as everyone else,” the corporal responded.

  The colonel looked into the rear of the van; my guess was getting ready to order everyone out.

  “Hold on, Colonel,” I began, “before you go and start something that is going to get a lot of your men killed. Just so we’re clear, there is an RPG pointed at the other van, and the building you’ve set up as a launch point has been rigged to explode. Whatever you’ve got planned will be over before it starts. And stop pointing that at me; I find it offensive.”

  “I don’t give a good goddamned what you find offensive,” he growled. I would imagine he was pretty pissed off I’d gotten the drop on them, even if everything I’d said was a fabrication. He lowered the muzzle; my lungs weren’t going to be aerated, still, though, my marathon running days could be coming to a close if he fired now.

  “Right? Do you want to know how many times I wanted to tell people that same line? But in this situation, people’s lives hang in the balance, so maybe you should give a good goddamned. Now put the fucking gun down, Colonel. I’m not going to repeat it.” I said this in the evenest tone I could manage, which wasn’t easy because, well, you know, something about having a weapon pointed at you tends to raise your adrenaline levels and induce anxiety. He mumbled something into his throat pickup before doing as I requested, or, ordered, I guess, something colonels weren’t all that familiar with hearing.

  “Now that the pleasantries are done, maybe we should get down to the nitty-gritty,” I told him as I picked up his discarded weapon. I did a once over, pulling the charging handle back. “Safety is off and one is in the chamber?” I asked incredulously. “You prick! You had this pointed at me.”

  “As opposed to the bomb you have on my vehicle?”

  “Who rolled up on whose home? Or who’s. Whose? Is it whose with a se or an apostrophe s? Forget it.” I waved my free hand. “Who are you working for?”

  “I’m a Marine.”

  “Great. Me too; look at my uniform. I like pizza…it would be weird if you liked pizza too! I noticed you didn’t answer my question. Corporal Stenzel, could you please light up the Colonel? Let him know I mean business. I get the feeling he’s getting ready to do something stupid.” Gadsen looked like he was going to burst a blood vessel, a big meaty vein had formed under his cap and was traveling down the right-hand side of his rather broad forehead.

  “Umm, sorry, sir…my battery is dead,” Stenzel replied.

  “Really? Making me look bad here.”

  “You can let him know I have him in my crosshairs, if that makes you feel any better,” she said.

  “The laser really accentuates the point, Corporal,” I sighed. “Never mind.”

  “Problem?” he asked.

  “I was going to have you realize just how serious I was with a visual aid, but it appears the government issue battery died. Rest assured, right now, your intimidating uniform is taking up most of my best marksmen’s reticle. As a lieutenant colonel, I find it strange, you out in the field—not something that generally happens. So, this is my thought process.”

  “I don’t have time for this,” he said gruffly.

  “Oh, but you do, sir, because you’re not going anywhere until we have this figured out.”

  “I don’t have to…”

  He stopped short when we both noticed the unwavering laser on his chest.

  “New battery, sir,” Stenzel said.

  “Much appreciated,” I told her. “As I was saying before you rudely interrupted me.”

  “You are a lieutenant!”

  “No need to shout; I realize that. I was going to ask for a promotion, but the Old Man and I have been at loggerheads recently. Okay, back to what I was saying. Can’t imagine Bennington would send you out on this ill-advised jaunt. Sure, you have those scary black-ops uniforms, but last I checked, you moved up the ranks from a supply officer. Nothing wrong with that, not at all. Without a proper chain of supply, there’s not a unit in the world that could launch a successful campaign. Now with that being said, not many supply personnel running around doing clandestine raids.”

  “There a point to this?” Gadsen was a little more acquiescent, that tended to happen when you had a rifle trained on you.

  “The raider units. Not a chance any of them would pull a stunt like this; the SEAL units are loyal to the Old Man, although I’m sure I’d get a heads up if he ordered them to do something stupid like this. Even the Old Man…I have a hard time thinking he’d do this. More likely would bring me into his office for a berating. What’s that leave? Smell that?”

  “I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Anger was digging a deeper foothold in Gadsen’s demeanor, the more I rambled on.

  “Cigarette smoke, that’s what I’m getting whiffs of. Thick, lung-choking, air-stifling droughts of the stuff. What did Deneaux promise you? I mean the bitch already blew up my home. Did you have something to do with that?”

  It was the first time I’d seen something along the lines of surprise on his face.

  “The base, am I right? She promised you the base. You do the wet work, get Bennington deposed, and you get to play figurehead to Deneaux’s rule.”

  “I expected more of an idiot,” he had a sneer, “from what I’ve heard.”

  “True, she thinks little of me, damn near complex inducing. But me, the idiot? I’m not the one doing Deneaux’s bidding. Not anymore, anyway. You realize you’re just a means to an end; truly, any of us that have had dealings with her are only that. I can’t fault you for listening though. She’s a gold medalist liar; she’s medaled in every Olympics since 1922.”

  “You have no proof. I’m out here with some of my men practicing maneuvers. Can’t blame me for that. With all the zombies assembling outside, it just makes sense to be prepared. I’m going back to what I was doing; I’ll find another way to deal with you.”

  “I’m assuming by dealing with me, you mean…” I prodded.

  “Elimination.”

  “I was hoping you were going to say something like ‘demote.’ Let’s see where this leaves us now that you’ve pledged your revenge or is it retribution? I have a bomb under your van and you are lit up like a Christmas tree; why would I let you leave now and lose this advantage I find myself in?”

  “You can’t murder a senior officer.”

  “No such thing as murder in a war. I agree it’s a fine line of distinction, but better people than me have determined that very fact. I don’t know why I’m always left having to state the obvious. On a fundamental level, I get people wanting to kill me; some might construe me as a
giant pain in the ass, and, you know, whatever. That’s something I’ll have to come to terms with on my own. But when you start involving and endangering my family, my friends, my squad, who, coincidentally, fall into both of those previous categories, by the way, I lose it. Where rational thought should be, there’s only red. Can’t think straight. My first and only reaction is to eliminate the threat. So, going to be serious with you, Colonel. What makes you think I’m going to let you go?”

  “I’m a lieutenant colonel in the United States Marines Corps!” he yelled.

  “That carries a lot of weight with me, but you could be an admiral in the Rebel Alliance and if you put me in the same situation, we’re dealing with the same outcome. In either of those instances, I wouldn’t be dealing with the organization, but rather the man. Stenzel,” I called, “the colonel moves, you put him down like a rabid dog, that’s an order.” I smiled at Gadsen. “See, this is where it gets tricky, sir,” I said as I went to the back of the van. The people with you, have they been ordered? Do they think I’m the leader of a rogue unit that needs to be stopped? Or are they in on the madness? I’d hate to think we killed them when they thought they were doing something admirable, working for the greater good. Know what I mean?”

  I opened the doors, had no less than five rifle muzzles pointing at me.

  “Easy, people, I die, you die, then some poor bastards have to come and clean the mess up. I’d prefer to keep the sanitation department out of this. There’d be jurisdiction issues between the street cleaners and the runoff drain people where parts of us would invariably end up.” I was making light, or reasonably attempting to, but it was possible that the Marines in here weren’t seeing any other options. “Going to make this simple. Did Gadsen order you or did Deneaux promise you something?”

  There were confused looks around the van. It was a corporal that spoke up.

  “Deneaux, as in the Civilian Board lady? What’s she got to do with any of this?”

  “Glad to see her infection hasn’t spread. Okay, if you could put your rifles down, we can get this sorted out before anyone gets hurt.”

  “We don’t take orders from you,” it was a private—not that rank mattered when he had a finger on a trigger—just pointing out the fact of it.