Dead: Siege & Survival Page 4

  “Because those guys you went after had managed to gain access to the store rooms. They were setting themselves up with a sweet little black market operation. They would have had all the food, which would have meant that they would have had all the power. When the folks went to their rooms during the investigation, some of the supplies were found. That guy you killed in you room was the ringleader.”

  “Still not following you…” Chad paused. “I’m sorry, but I don’t seem to know your name, and you have an awful lot of information.”

  “Clark,” the man said with a warm smile. “Michael Clark.”

  “Okay, Mike—”

  “My dad was Mike…I go by Michael.”

  Chad felt himself bristle a bit. He chalked it up to the events of the past few days. “Okay…Michael…how come you know so much?”

  “Because I was in on the deal.”

  All heads whipped around his direction at once. None of the expressions were all that friendly.

  “You want to run that by me again?” Scott stepped up next to Chad, his hand on the handle of the blade strapped to his leg.

  “Look, folks,” Michael held up his hands, “it ain’t like it sounds.”

  “Really?” Chad snapped. “Because right now it sounds pretty messed up.”

  “I didn’t sign up for what these guys were pulling.” Michael kept his voice calm despite the fact that the crowd had closed in around him. “They came to me and said that they were going to force a rationing plan…that food was being wasted, and that we wouldn’t make it through the winter at the rate we were going. They wanted me for security.”

  “Security?” a few voices said in unison.

  “I am a former Marine, and I was a cop when this whole thing went off. I am the only person to make it out of the Chico police department alive as far as I know. I wasn’t about to get this far and die of starvation. I honestly didn’t know that these guys were gonna flip.”

  “So when did you find out what they were up to, and why didn’t you let anybody know?” Scott asked with a sneer.

  “I was trying to figure out exactly who I could tell and get any support. With Sarge dead, there really isn’t any authority figure here, and I wasn’t ready to go heads up with these guys on my own. I was already starting to discover that they had all kinds of folks working for them in some capacity or another. That was also when I started eavesdropping on a few conversations and discovered that a whole bunch of these guys were on a prison transport bus that crashed. They were talking about a stockpile of weapons and all sorts of crap. Then…you went and killed most of the top guys in this little organization. You left a void in the power structure, and all the underlings made a grab. On the good side, they are just as set on taking each other down as they are you…the bad news…they don’t care what it takes for them to reach their objective.”

  “Objective?” Chad sputtered. “Why can’t we just work as a cohesive unit for a common cause…survival? Why does anybody have to be in charge?”

  “I don’t have any answers for you on that one, man.” Michael gave a shrug, and then swept his gaze across the group. “But what I do know is that we need to prepare for one of two scenarios.”

  “And what might those be?” Chad asked.

  “Battle…or siege.”

  ***

  Basingstoke, Hampshire, UK—Victoria Kirkpatrick, Vix to her mates, set the shovel down and stared out across the lightly snow-covered grounds. A few months ago, there had been thirty-seven of them hiding out in the Audleys Wood Hotel. Now there were seven, and she didn’t think any of them would make it through the next few weeks.

  She blamed Nigel Longstreet and that vile little rat-faced woman, Claudia Jones. Kneeling beside the mound of dirt she had been working at busily since just before dawn, Victoria fought back the tears that had been threatening to spill all night and into the morning.

  “You stupid, wonderful man,” she whispered.

  Her husband was underneath all of the cold earth she knelt beside now. And it was all Nigel’s fault. He had been the one to insist that they venture in to town for supplies. She had argued, saying that the city was thick with the walking dead and their best bet was to search the outlying areas. They would not find a concentrated amount of food and such going house to house, but nobody had listened.

  When volunteers were asked for, Ivor, her husband and the one thing she had known she could rely upon, had stepped forward. He and seven others set out with empty packs and three rolling carts that they pulled along using a shoulder harness. Ivor was the only one to return. He was empty handed…and covered in blood.

  Nigel had flown into a fury about how “careless and foolish” Ivor had been in returning to their sanctuary. “Those monsters could be following you! You may have brought death to us all!”

  Weak from blood loss and obviously in the final stages of the infection before he turned and became one of the undead, Ivor had enough energy and spirit left to land a punch with enough behind it to knock Nigel out cold.

  The handful of survivors that remained all stood in silence for a moment, and then erupted in a very un-British display of emotion. The cheers and yells were a sign that Nigel’s reign as the self-proclaimed leader of the group had come to an end.

  Claudia had stepped forward and looked as if she were going to strike Ivor from behind, but Victoria had moved in between the two. The women locked eyes for just a second. Obviously Claudia saw something that made her step back.

  “If you touch him…I will kill you.” That was all Victoria said.

  She had no idea that two more members of the group had stepped up behind her in support. Nobody could be sure if that had been what caused Claudia to backpedal and then flee the room, but the fact remained that she had, and Nigel had followed behind once he finally came to.

  By that time, Ivor had succumbed to the infection and closed his eyes as a living person for the last time. Victoria had been at his side in their room when a long exhale rattled his once sturdy frame.

  “Stupid lummox,” she said through the tears. Then, she drove a metal trowel through his forehead.

  Despite the fact that it was still dark, she wrapped her husband and love of her life in some sheets and stitched the ends shut. After that, she dragged him down the hallway and out into the open grounds of the hotel.

  A wave of nostalgia hit her as she stood under the glow of a full moon that was amplified by the light dusting of snow. This was the hotel he had taken her to the day he asked her to marry him. She knew something was up when they pulled into the main entrance of the luxurious hotel. Places like this were not usually to Ivor’s liking. He was more at home in a small pub with a few blokes, a full pint, and some chips. Even their dates up to this point had been out of the ordinary. She still remembered their first date. Ironically, it was to see the local American flag football team, the Zombie Horde, in action. She had the time of her life that evening being with a man who had encouraged her to just be herself and “the world be damned.”

  Now, here she was, committing his remains to the ground. All because of the bastard Nigel. Nobody had listened to her. Of course, she blamed herself. She knew better. One of her passions before this whole nightmare began all those months ago was reading. Her favorite guilty pleasure was zombie fiction. Truthfully, her interest in the zombie was due to a misplaced assumption centered on that first date. The team name had been Zombie Horde. She mistakenly assumed Ivor was a fan of zombies; when in truth, he was addicted to American football in any form.

  Still, she had read well over a hundred titles in that particular genre. One thing she felt qualified to give advice on was what to do and what not to do in this undead world. Sending a few of their people in to town was a monumentally bad idea.

  When the first cases appeared in Basingstoke, she had been the on duty nurse at Parklands Hospital. She had been at the central nurse’s desk sipping at her tea and reading when the woman had stumbled through the doors. The front of her
blouse was a crimson mess and she was clutching her neck with blood-slicked hands.

  Before Victoria made it out from behind the desk, the woman had collapsed to the floor. Grabbing the phone, she had paged the emergency doctor and security. By the time she had pulled on rubber gloves and returned her attention to the downed woman, she was back on her feet. Her head moving with jerky fits as she seemed to scan the room. When those eyes turned Victoria’s way, her body suffered a massive chill. They were covered in a milky film that was shot full of black tracers. When it opened its mouth and let loose with a low moan and began moving towards her with outstretched arms, she had no doubt what this was.

  “Oh bloody hell,” was all she managed to utter.

  She ran back behind her counter and looked for anything that might be used to defend herself. Finding nothing, she made a decision. Victoria ran out the fire exit. She saw a few dark shadows in the car park as she searched frantically for her own vehicle. That ride home had been terrifying. When she burst through the door, she found Ivor asleep in his favorite chair, television droning.

  He hadn’t even questioned her when she woke him and told him what she witnessed. The next several weeks were a blur. She had refused to seek shelter in one of the locations mentioned on the telly, telling her husband that those places never fared well in her books. It proved true as each of those locations fell in the first few days.

  With a few friends and neighbors, they had done okay for a while. Then they met up with Nigel’s bunch and joined forces. At first, things had been okay, but soon, it became clear that Nigel was set on being the leader. Since he had the only gun—a fact that he never was quite clear on how it had ended up in his possession since it was a Glock 17 in a harness that had police markings, but it was clear that this man had absolutely no ties to law enforcement.

  Eventually, the suggestion was made to check out the Audleys Wood Hotel. Practically empty, the place had been easily cleared out. It was fortified, and its secluded location was very helpful as they hastily erected a barricade around the central grounds. That was the first, last, and only suggestion of hers that had been heeded.

  Looking up into the gray sky, the first few flakes of a new snow were drifting on the morning breeze. Victoria rose to her feet, wiping what she vowed to be her last tears from her eyes, she returned inside. Things were going to change…she owed Ivor that much.

  ***

  “On your feet and outside!” Jody barked. On his flank, two of his fellow grunts had M4s leveled at the bleary eyed residents of the tiny home. The same scene was being played out this very moment in the four other homes in this cul-de-sac.

  The men of the 3 Battalion, 153 Infantry, had been given their orders. The citizens of Bald Knob, Arkansas were to be brought to the high school. Any resistance was to be dealt with accordingly. Bald Knob was now considered the official property of the United States Army.

  A little girl of six or seven clutched her mother’s side as the family was ushered out into the cold rainy night. Jody felt his heart tighten at the sight of the absolute fear on the girl’s face. Her fear was not due to the threat of being eaten by one of the walking dead. No…she was scared of the living monsters that had stormed into her home, jammed the stock of a rifle into her daddy’s gut, yanked her mother out of bed, and shoved her into the hall.

  “Y’all can’t be doin’ this,” the girl’s father coughed, still hunched over from the assault inflicted on him by one of Jody’s men. “We’re Americans…we gots our rights!”

  “Right now,” Jody leveled his gaze at the man and did his best to look threatening, “the only rights you have are the ones we allow you.”

  “This is America—”

  “Shut up!” one of the soldiers barked. He raised his weapon as if to slam it into the man’s ample belly once more.

  “Private!” Jody barked. “At ease.”

  The soldier gave the man a cold sneer, but he stepped back and lowered the stock of his weapon. The family stepped outside and quickly huddled together to try and fend off the cold. From one of the other houses there was a sudden outcry and a short burst of weapon’s fire. Thankfully, this was the last street. If this had happened earlier in the evolution, it is likely that many, or at least some, of the residents of Bald Knob would have been alerted and gone on the defensive.

  The 153 was a skeleton of its former self. Even with the few locals who had volunteered, they only had forty-one men in the outfit. Compared to the thousand or so residents of Bald Knob, they were grossly outnumbered. The only thing they had on their side was the element of surprise and the lack of hesitation when it came to pulling the trigger when the target in the sights was a living, breathing human being instead of a walking stiff.

  One by one, the call rang out. “Residence secure!” Every living soul was to be kept in the gymnasium of the local high school. Once they were secure inside, the next phase of the evolution was to commence. Every home would be tossed. Anything that could be considered a weapon would be confiscated.

  “Slider wants to see you, Sarge,” one of the men announced as he arrived on the double-time.

  That was the other part of the problem for Jody. Chuck “Slider” Monterro was a bit of a legend to the men of the 153. He had been a covert op “hiding in plain sight” as the old saying goes. As far as anybody knew, he was just a soldier…a member of a stateside unit. Since training was an integral part of military life, it was always just assumed that he was attending any number of the available specialty schools. In reality, he had been performing “behind the lines” operations.

  “Where is he?” Jody asked.

  He had to do his best not to show any emotion. So far, everything he had done was strictly a manner of self-preservation. Slider had come to him and asked him to lead the men in this operation. He had no doubts that any sort of refusal would have resulted in his elimination. He would be replaced by the first man who would be willing to carry out orders. At least this way, he had a say in the operations.

  “Ops tent,” the soldier reported.

  “Benny?” Jody removed his goggles, no longer needing their night vision capabilities.

  “Hey, man,” Benny Brazil slung his M4 over his shoulder and reached out to shake Jody’s hand.

  “Haven’t seen you since the last patrol.”

  Jody’s first opportunity to lead the men on an actual mission had not gone well. Benny had been on that run, but Jody realized with a slight feeling of concern that he’d not seen the man since their return. Having only spoken with Slider on a couple of occasions, he was now dosed with a healthy amount of paranoia. He had little doubt that there were individuals already being groomed to replace him should he stumble or fail.

  “Got sent out on a RECON patrol.”

  Alarm bells began to ring.

  “Funny…never heard of any outbound missions.” Jody slung his own weapon and did his best to appear nonchalant.

  “The captain got rumor of another small community holding out just to the south…turned out to be a bust.”

  More bells…and a bit more volume. Shouldn’t he be made aware of such things if he were now the leading NCO of the Gunslingers of Arkansas?

  “Too bad…it would be nice if we could bring in some folks who weren’t set against us,” Jody said. Benny just stared back silently.

  Clang! Clang! Clang!

  Jody headed across the wide open field and steered himself towards the glow of the operations tent. As he walked, he tried to figure out just exactly what Slider would want from him. When he reached the tent, he fought the urge to ask for permission to enter. That was what subordinates were required to do. He was not a subordinate…at least not to Slider. Supposedly, they were co-commanders of the remnants of this unit.

  Stepping in, a rush of warmth hit him in the face. A large barrel in the center of the tent had a nice fire going in it. Standing beside the barrel was Slider…and Captain Timothy Gould, the commanding officer of the 153.

  “Serg
eant Rafe,” the captain stepped forward with an outstretched hand. “I understand congratulations are in order.”

  Jody remained silent for a moment and cast a quick glance at Slider. The man seemed to be more concerned with warming himself over the fire than what was happening in this tent.

  “All the citizens have been accounted for, sir,” Jody finally responded, returning his focus to the man standing before him.

  “And the second phase of the operation?”

  “In progress as we speak, sir.”

  “Excellent.”

  Jody considered his situation and decided that if he was going to be eliminated, then he had nothing to lose. That prompted his next question.

  “I understand a mission was sent outside the wire recently.”

  “Just chasing a rumor, sergeant,” the captain said with a shrug.

  Jody’s eyes darted over to Slider for any hint of reaction, but there was nothing. He studied the captain. He seriously doubted this young, green ROTC boy had the same ability to mask his feelings or motives that Slider possessed. He was met with a blank stare.

  “Perhaps it was not the right decision to send out one of your men without informing you.” The captain made a slight nod of the head. “It won’t happen again. You should be aware of any operations involving your men.”

  Jody wasn’t sure what to think. The captain sounded sincere. Yet there was still a great deal about all of this that he held reservations about.

  “So what will be our next course of action?” Jody asked.

  “That is what we called you here for,” Slider spoke, causing Jody to jump just a bit. “We will be separating the women and children from the men. It is our belief that by keeping them separated, the men will perform as requested.”

  “Don’t you mean as hostages?” Jody couldn’t help himself. He had been raised by a Pentecostal preacher who had instilled in him the core value of truth and honesty. His father had wept the day Jody rebuffed an offer to continue the evangelical family tradition in lieu of a military commitment.