Assuming Room Temperature (Keep Your Crowbar Handy Book 3) (26 page)

Foster glowered at the lieutenant. “You sorry-ass punk. You, and your superiors, are a fuckin’ disgrace.”

“You don’t know anything about it old man!” Kirk managed to bluster. “We’re putting things right. The politicians and their lap-dog scientists destroyed everything. They’re the ones who created whatever super-bug created the goddamn
zombies!
We’re going to build civilization back up again, the right way this time!”

O’Connor took a firm grip on Kirk’s left ear and until his face came up. “Wow! You’re going to make a better world! That’s why Quinn came up with a breeding program, huh?”

“What?” Mooney’s face went white.

Jake shoved the Lieutenant against the table his hand was still spiked to, causing Kirk to cry out again. “In this utopia our friend here is helping bring about, women of child-bearing age—and just so there’s no mistake, I’m speaking of females from sixteen on up—are just property. They’re kept separate from the men in
pens.
Oh, they’re provided every comfort: food, water, even heated tents and barracks. But let one try to leave, or make a fuss when she’s on the roster that night in the “morale tent”? Yeah, I know
all
about your new civilization’s fringe benefits, Kirk. What I can’t figure out is how the hell Quinn managed to sell what amounts to rape to so many soldiers. Under normal circumstances, they’d be the first ones to stomp a guy that wouldn’t take
no
for an answer into paste. How did that happen?”

When Kirk didn’t answer, George pushed O’Connor away and knelt in front of the cringing man. “Lieutenant, I’m gonna give you one chance—just one—to tell me what I want to know. Then? I’m gonna get
creative
.”

The fixer stood and reached into the ever present mechanic’s bag riding his hip. He took out the following items, placing them carefully on the table near Kirk’s trapped hand: A hand-held propane torch, a pair of garden snips, a flat-head screwdriver, and—finally—a potato peeler.

Mooney looked ill. “A potato peeler? What could you possibly do…?”

“About what you’d think.” Foster’s eyes never left their prisoner. “Now. Weigh it.”

“You wouldn’t-” Kirk began.

“Oh, goody. A tough guy. Alright, let’s try it like this. The first thing I’ll do is have these two fellas hold yer’ sorry ass down and I’ll water-board you. ‘Course, I wouldn’t actually use
water.
I’d just take a leak on yer’ face through the handy tablecloth—currently pinned under your hand—after I wrap it around you head. That’ll just be to show you Who’s
in charge
, you understand. Then,” Foster went on with a smile, “I’ll use that handy screwdriver right here and start workin’ it under yer’ toenails. Then yer’ fingernails. Once we’re through the preliminaries, I’ll move onto the snips. Don’t worry, I’ll get ‘em nice and hot with my blowtorch there before I take the tips offa’ every one of yer’ fingers. That way the blades will cauterize the cuts and ya’ won’t bleed out. Then we’ll start the
real
fun.”

Kirk’s mouth hung open and his eyes were quite large as George picked up the potato peeler and glanced at it fondly.

“Do ya’ know how painful it is ta’ have yer skin peeled off? I’ve heard it compared ta’ havin’ yer’ body parts dipped into a vat of hot acid, one at a time. Slowly. At least, when the peel-ee is able to stop screamin’ long enough to engage in intelligent conversation, and not—”

“Whatdoyouwanttoknow?” Kirk’s words rushed out.

“Ah, see? Now we’re communicatin’.” Foster pointed to the writer.

“When are the first of your people supposed to arrive?” Jake asked pointedly.

Lieutenant Kirk licked his lips. “It will take at best nine days to—”

Foster picked up the screwdriver and blew at its tip.

“Uh. I mean they’ll be here day after tomorrow,” Kirk amended quickly.

Sweat broke out on Mooney’s brow. “What? You said you and your team had to return with word before anything would happen!”

“That was what I was ordered to say. In reality, our forces had to flee Leonard Wood three days ago.” Kirk’s gaze flicked from Mooney to George and back again. “The fort lost contact with its observation post at the edge of Saint Louis and sent another unit to check on its status. We received word about it just after we reported in about a large fire we caught the aftermath of up in Vanita and—”

Jake stiffened.

The gas station!
He thought.

“Everyone in the observation post was dead, and recon team almost got swept up by a massive horde working its way west. Their numbers were projected to be close to thirty thousand and Senator Quinn ordered immediate evacuation of the Fort. Virtually everything we’ve got is on its way here.”

That got the three men’s attention quickly.

“Eight hundred.” Mooney’s face paled again.

“There’s no way we can fight that many.” Jake’s stomach headed for China by way of the center of the earth. “A force that size would roll right over the barricades like they weren’t even there.”

“They wouldn’t have to,” Foster told him, still giving Kirk a look that held barely-restrained mayhem. “They shelled Jefferson City, remember? Well, they could easily do the same to us.”

Mooney wiped his mouth with a nervous hand. “But they want Langley, don’t they? If they destroy the town, wreck the barriers, wouldn’t that just make more work for them?”

“With a group that big? It wouldn’t take long ta’ repair the defenses.” Foster growled out. “It’s not like they’d have ta’ breech both sides of town. Only one or the other. There aren’t enough people ta’ hold either of the fortifications against a large attacking force. That’s why Rae’s been so determined ta’ get the buses finished. A good sized horde would eventually bash its way in here with us. Now think about what eight hundred fear-motivated fighters are capable of.”

The lieutenant knelt, shuddering and gripping his own forearm, trying not to move his wounded hand. “You people need to understand, you don’t have a choice. We’re the only chance this country has left. The East Coast is dead, and the Mid-West is no better. The only refuge left east of the Rockies is down in Texas, and from everything we’ve heard they’re just out for themselves. The old government is squatting in California, strengthening their borders and sitting pretty behind the mountains. And they’re doing
nothing!
They
left
us here!
Abandoned us! Why should we stay loyal to people like that?”

“I don’t know, maybe because you took a fucking
oath?
” Foster bent and put his nose almost to Kirk’s. “You know the one. It went
I will support and defend the Constitution of the United States against all enemies, foreign and domestic? That I will bear true faith and allegiance to the same?”

Kirk sneered. “In case you didn’t notice, our country’s dead.
Eaten.
Senator Quinn and the General Hess are going to make a new one. A better one-”

“Hess?” George demanded. “General Winston Hess?”

Though he remained silent, Jake saw the pride in Kirk’s eyes.

Foster went still.

It was rather frightening, Jake had to admit. While there was no overt change in the older man’s appearance, the author felt a definite thrill of fear race up his back as he straightened and showed the lieutenant his back. At that moment, George Foster was the most dangerous thing in Langley and it showed.

“We need to vacate, soonest,” he told them with frightening calm. “Winston Alexander Hess was a dangerous, arrogant, back-biting piece a’ shit even before the zombies. I can’t see the world going ta’ shit improving his personality.”

Mooney took as step back at the expression on George’s face. “Are
you
afraid of him?”

Foster laughed. “Of Winston? Not likely. Of what he’ll order his troops ta’ do when they get here? You bet yer’ ass. He’s ruthless. He’ll sacrifice his men in a heartbeat if it means winning a fight, and it’ll be all about numbers when they get here. He has more. Way more. It’s a fight we can’t win.”

* * *

Sara pulled up her gasmask, yanked her Fasthawk free of the zombie’s skull, and then kicked its body off the bluff into the cacti below.

The nasty thing had found her in the wee hours of the morning, stinking and moaning, mucking up her perfectly acceptable campsite and making a nuisance of itself, so she’d taken steps. It wasn’t the zombie’s fault. It was only doing what it always had, which was looking for its next meal, but Sara didn’t feel like letting it have a taste of her. Necrophilia might appeal to some people, but she didn’t swing that way.

Though it was still quite early since the sun wasn’t even up yet, and Sara wasn’t a morning person by any means, she decided to make an early start of it. No going back to sleep after having that much adrenaline dumped into her system anyway. She pulled the container of Sanka Instant from her bag and set about making herself a mug of it with her Esbit camp stove. Okay, yes, it was shitty stuff, but in a pinch, even bad coffee was still coffee. While the heat tablet worked its magic on the water in her canteen cup, she retrieved a packet of dried apricots and another of Cheerios from her backpack and began munching handfuls of them while she waited. It would’ve been nice to have a little milk to go with the cereal, but at that point food was food. There were bigger things to worry about. Like how much farther it was to Pecos.

Mouth still full of whole grain hoops, Sara unfolded the map she kept in her back pocket and reacquainted herself with her location. She’d stopped for the night on the southern bank of the Red Bluff Reservoir east of Route 285, hoping to remain unnoticed by any of the creatures due to the lack of human habitation in the area. It had worked. Basically. With the exception of one unwanted guest she hadn’t seen a soul, living or dead. And he wasn’t likely to tell anyone. Not with his brains leaking out all over the prickly pears.

It was perhaps forty more miles, and then she’d be able to take a good, long rest. Well, maybe for a day or two. There was surely lots for everyone to do in the South Texas sanctuary to keep it running and zombie-free. Perimeter security, salvage expeditions, most likely a good bit of horticultural responsibilities too. Steak and chicken was nice, but they needed to eat. So if survivors wanted to eat them, they’d have to figure out ways to not only keep those animals alive, but to increase their numbers in a steady manner.

But she’d think about what she’d want as a job after she got there.

Sara refolded the map and, after stuffing it into the back pocket of her jeans again, used an eight by eight inch square she’d cut from a discarded leather jacket she’d found to retrieve her canteen mug off her Esbit. Blowing on the dark liquid to cool it slightly, she took a cautious sip.

Gods below
, she thought with a smile,
is there anything better first thing in the morning than a hot mug of caffeine-bean infused goodness?

CHAPTER TWELVE

Work on the buses slated to carry Langley’s citizens through the zombie-laden countryside went into high gear.

While Rae and George attached the second generator to the roof of Bus Two, Jake and Sampson attached the plow. The rest of their party tore out the seats of Bus One with Mooney and a few of his more mechanical-minded people. They worked frantically, knowing full well the forty-eight hour deadline when forces from Fort Leonard Wood reached Langley, would arrive far too soon. Mooney’s people helped where they could by lugging away pieces of the buses’ interiors, prepping the few weapons George and the others had supplied them, and bringing him barrel after barrel from the nearby auto shop. Then the two fixers then prepped what George termed “party favors.” The smile on the older man’s face as he spoke was more than a little worrying, and Jake decided he didn’t really need to know what Foster had in mind just that very minute. He’d just lose sleep over it and there was still a lot to do.

The ladies were inside the bus, ripping away with hacksaws, while Jake and Sampson struggled to affix the last bolts of a snowplow blade to the steel cage Rae had welded for it prior on the front, when the Hulk-sized man brought up an uncomfortable subject.

“You know, I was in a relationship when all this started.”

Sampson idly hefted the enormous blade while O’Connor used a ratchet on one of the support bolts. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. Alec was a promotions agent for Colts. We’d met two years back at a charity event for the Make A Wish Foundation and hit it off. You wouldn’t
believe
how many times I wondered how we managed to stay together though…”

“Lots of fights?” Jake cranked away on the lag-bolt.

Henry chuckled. “Nah. I had self-image issues.”

Jake finished with the bolt and moved on to the next. “
You?
Have you ever looked in a mirror? Speaking as a straight guy here, you’re
built
man. You were a pro athlete for God’s sake. I’ve seen professional bodybuilders who aren’t as muscular.”

“That may be, but I was pretty insecure in those days.” Sampson’s bowling ball-sized shoulders rippled as he moved the blade higher. “I was still a second-stringer on defense, no family, and—let’s face it—I wasn’t a big for participating in the normal
I banged this hottie last night
conversations in the locker room like the rest of the team. After Alec and I caught a monster truck rally together, it—”

“I’m sorry. A what?” Jake shook his head and glanced at Henry.

Sampson’s teeth contrasted against his dark skin. “Hey, they’re fun. Have you ever seen what some of those trucks can do?”

“Uh. Okay?”

“I know. Gay guys should all hang out in coffee shops and art galleries, right?” Henry shrugged. “They’re okay I suppose, but come on. Bor-ring! Besides, we were both into physical activity—and no comments from the peanut gallery on that one—sports and things like that. He wasn’t as burly as I am—”

“That’s good,” Jake went back to work on the bolts, “Two guys your size on the same side of the globe would set the planet wobbling.”

“—but Alec had a big heart.” Sampson’s eyes were far away. “That’s why I was attracted to him in the first place. Because of his work with Make A Wish. Anyway. He was in Miami when everything went down.”

O’Connor realized he’d never spoken with the huge man about who he’d lost due to the outbreak. For the most part, the members of Jake’s party didn’t talk about it because few of them had any family still alive prior to the zombies rising. Or any nearby, anyway. Foster’s brother and sister in law—Beatrix’s mother and father—were in California, Rae, Elle, Gwen, and Penny had no living relatives, Leo’s father likely died on Day One and his mother had bailed on them both months prior, and Kat’s Grandparents lived in Japan. Jake himself had a brother somewhere named Edward, but hadn’t heard from him since their parents split when the boys were still quite young. He wondered often if Eddie had managed to survive, but had virtually no hope for ever finding him. There were likely thousands upon thousands of displaced people in the western-most area of the United States comprising the still-distant “Safe Zone,” and a near-infinitesimal chance of ever running into his brother amid so many refugees, even if he were still
alive.

“Do you know what…?”

Henry nodded. “Alec managed to call me on the second day. I have no idea how he got through. I’m pretty sure everybody with a cellphone was doing the same thing at that point. Trying to call their loved ones? He was trapped up in the Espirito Santo Plaza tower with hundreds of other survivors and everyone was freaking out, watching half the city burn. He’d been there to meet with some money-man, from Sony I think, about the company making a charitable donation. They needed good press back then, after that goofy-looking fuck in Korea ordered his web-masterminds to hack their database.”

“I remember. What a douche-bag.” Jake chuckled. “Wasn’t he eaten on live TV?”

“Yep. He tried to take credit for the zombies too, you know, but everyone knew it was bullshit. That guy had head-in-the-ass syndrome if anyone ever did and no brains to speak of. Ol’ Kimmy got chomped ten seconds into his ‘victory’ speech.” Sampson looked decidedly amused at the memory. “Anyway. Someone in Espirito Santo had more than two brain cells because they’d managed to block the stairwells with desks a filing cabinets. The things were breaking through from the lower levels though, working—or stumbling I should say—up the tower. Alec knew he couldn’t escape, but instead of panicking he called to tell me goodbye.”

“That’s... Uh. Really tragic, actually. But thanks for sharing it with me.” Jake finished cranking the last bolt into the support frame and Sampson put his ample strength to work trying to shake the blade. It didn’t so much as quiver. “Look, no offense? I’m really not up for any hashing out any ‘feels’ just now Henry.”

“Hey, I understand. I know you’re all messed up. Show me someone who isn’t after everything that’s happened lately, right? But just between us guys? You’re blowing it.” Sampson released the plow and gave O’Connor t
he Look.
The one that said,
You are being a monumental dipshit.

“Huh?”

Henry leaned against the blade. “With Kat. It’s pretty clear the two of you have some unresolved issues. And there’s a damn, good chance we’re all going to end up dead
real
soon now, so what are you waiting for?”

Since their waterlogged session of heavy petting Jake had been distant with virtually everyone, including Cho, and it was obvious the blue-haired woman didn’t appreciate his new, caviler attitude. While Sampson was the most recent addition to their little party—with the exception of Doc Barker—he was quite observant. He’d never have made it out through the zombie-glutted Indianapolis streets alive if that weren’t the case.

Jake didn’t want to discuss the subject and glared at the larger man. “I’m getting pretty fucking tired of everyone in this group giving me their two cents about my love life.”

“Comes with the whole ‘leader’ moniker. I’d get used to it if I were you.”

“We’ve got more important things to deal with.” Jake lobbed his ratchet onto a nearby worktable someone had rolled out from Mooney’s shop. “Go help George and Rae with whatever the hell it is they’re doing with those barrels if... Dammit... Sorry Henry. It’s just that bad shit seems to happen every time I get close to someone.
Every
time. It’s like the Powers That Be put a cosmic target on my back and I don’t want anyone else to get hurt.”

Henry scratched the side of one ebony cheek. “Do you think this way because of Laurel?”

“Yeah. Well, partially. Also a girl I knew while I was bumming around with the SAS. Her name was Molly.” Jake seemed to pull into himself, deflating as irrational anger drained away to be replaced with near-tangible fear. “Even Nichole in part. Oh, don’t get me wrong: She deserved everything Kat gave her in the end, and more. Hell, the intellectual level of the entire human species jumped twenty points with her gone. Smells better too. I just can’t go through it again. Watching somebody I care that much for die...”

As the pair spoke two of Mooney’s people manhandled a set of seats out of the bus, and Henry thought about that. “You know pulling away from everyone is a stupid solution, right? That’ll go over with Kat about as well as a fart in a spacesuit.”

“What
choice
do I have?” Jake demanded. “The western barricade are reporting increased numbers of those things shambling around over the last twenty-four hours, an overwhelmingly large
hostile
force—lead by some impressively dangerous and crazy assholes, I might add—will be knocking on our eastern barricade by tomorrow afternoon sometime, we’ve got no real way to hold them off, and we may not be able to run. Now add in the fact that I haven’t been able to sleep more than an hour or so for, oh, the last three months or so. I get the shakes so much... I’m barely holding it together.”

Henry gave him a steady gaze. “You’re doing fine. Trust me.”

“Compared to what?” Jake pulled an American Spirit from his dwindling pack and lit up. “Sitting in the corner, drooling like a vegetable? Already did that one. Flipping out and killing everything in reach? Yeah, did that too. Right after Laurel... Well, you know. I’m telling you, Henry, I can’t deal with much more. I’m not a soldier. I’m not a warrior. I edited cookbooks and novels about space pirates for God’s sake, man—”

That was when Penny—who’d been on guard duty at the western wall—came running into the construction yard with a heavily panting good Dr. Barker in tow.

“Jake! Henry! Come quick!” she yelled. “Zombies at the wall!”

The two men retrieved their weapons from the nearby workbench and began to follow as she took off for the far side of town again, leaving Barker to ride herd on the continuing work. Jake was no slouch when it came to hauling ass at a high rate of speed, and was surprised when Sampson nearly outdistanced him as they began their sprint. In the long haul however, Henry was simply too large to keep pace and O’Connor pulled ahead. By the time the wall came into view Jake was nearly abreast with Penny, and she’d had a good-sized head start, leaving the ex-NFL player to chug along determinedly in their wake.

“How many?” O’Connor demanded as they closed the distance to Langley’s border.

“A hundred maybe, I think?” Penny’s shorter legs churned on steadily, determined not to show weakness in front of him. “There are only five other guards there now, what with most people packing up what little they’ve got to leave tomorrow. I didn’t think trying to raise everyone in mass would be a good idea with so little time to get back, so I came for you two!”

The barricade was right there. “Good choice. If things get interesting we’ll call the Mimi for them to send more help up. Bee’s playing babysitter inside the cab today, so she’ll be near the radio anyway.”

The three huffing survivors mounted Mooney’s plate steel barrier, scrambling up the back of its twelve-foot surface and into the dump truck bed to take in the road beyond. It wasn’t pretty.

Or rather, what stumbled woodenly upon it wasn’t.

Nearly an even hundred zombies, all in varying degrees of rotted degeneration, were within fifty yards of the wall. Yet again, Jake was amazed at how the creatures were able to function in such an awful state. Each had been chewed on in random ways by their killers, some more-so than others. While a few merely had missing bits where a single bite had tuned them into walking maggot-feasts, many displayed catastrophic wounds that would’ve been impossible to survive. Gaping throats torn out by grey teeth, or faces chewed off leaving nothing but bulging, lidless eyes staring from an unrecognizable mass of damage. More had entire limbs missing or gnawed away that ended in ragged stumps coated in a long-dried, crust of blood. Yet others showed jagged ends of broken ribs hovering over empty abdominal cavities where they’d been scooped out like horrible piñatas before reanimation. Jake realized if he lived to be a hundred, he still wouldn’t be numb to the sight of human beings reduced to nothing but meaty husks. Lower than animals. Nothing but slowly decomposing, mindless murder-machines.

Yep. The gods have a really shitty sense of humor.
He thought, attempting to shake the chill from his spine when the first creatures began moaning as they drew near the wall.
What in the hell could humanity in general have done to deserve this? I wonder what finally pushed the sky-beasts too far. Death camps? Mass graves? Genocide? The Disney Channel?

The Langley defenders were looking understandably nervous when Jake, Penny and Sampson joined them on the barricade. While small by way of comparison to some the crew of the Screamin’ Mimi had encountered, it was the largest concentration Mooney’s people had faced since the day of the outbreak.

“God almighty.” That dropped from the lips of a burly, bearded guy in Carhartt overalls who Jake recognized as one of Mooney’s kitchen staff by the name of Oliver Keen.

“We should call for more help.” One of the other four guards—all female—looked near-panicked.

The remaining three were handling it better, but still wore leery expressions. Both women held AR-15s in steady hands, ready to dish out lead-based solutions to the oncoming dead problems.

They’d done so before. There’d been no choice. Not unlike Jake’s group, there was a real and pronounced difference when it came to the male/female ratio in Langley. This was unfortunately easy to explain. When the dead rose months back, many—not all, but many—men found something long-lost inside themselves. When their families, their children, their
mates,
were threatened, when everything they loved was in danger of vanishing down the moaning throats of hungry ghouls; even the most unlikely desk jockeys, overlooked cubicle dwellers, and lowly fast food workers had stepped up. They’d put their shoulders against those of the unprepared armed forces and local law enforcement, then proceeded to fight—mostly to their deaths—against the horrors, if only to buy a few more minutes of life for the people they cared about. Even though most would never know of these unlikely heroes—because despite their sacrifice, none had lived to morn them—it was their finest hour. For a few moments, they’d become the men they’d always dreamed of being. They’d stood unflinching against hopeless odds, knowing they weren’t going to see another sunrise, and gone down fighting.