Six Feet From Hell: Crisis (2 page)

Dakota
stayed with Buffey and Ashleigh, who, last Joe had heard, were escorting him to what remained of the CDC. It was no longer in Atlanta, but was now located just offshore in Kings Bay, Georgia, aboard the USNS
Comfort
, which seems like an apt name for the ship. It had the ability to make its own fresh water from seawater and had the best medical equipment to try to synthesize the vaccine. The vaccine synthesis process was painfully slow and there was not yet an ample supply of extras.

The supply of diesel fuel that
had been accumulated from different missions and excursions kept the few vehicles running, for the time being. An ample stash of Sta-Bil was necessary to keep the fuel from clogging up filters and generally going to waste. The Sta-Bil became just as important as the fuel itself – no Sta-Bil meant no running engines. Joe’s chopper pilot, Ogre, kept the chopper in working order, unbeknownst to Joe.

There
was plenty of electricity at Camp Dawson, thanks in large part to solar panels that they had managed to get, but even those have a finite life to them and they were about a third done now. The average life of a good solar panel is supposed to be twenty-five to thirty years in optimal conditions, but these were
not
optimal conditions. There was enough power to take care of Joe and his crew, as they were the only residents on the base.

The early stages of winter were creeping up on the men at Camp Dawson.
The Farmers’ Almanac would really come in handy, as it would be helpful to know what kind of winter they were going to have this year. Last January, Joe had lost some good people and had had commo issues for the entire month. Joe and his crew did receive intermittent satellite images and warning of major weather from the NOAA, but were not sure who was actually taking care of those systems anymore. There was a dedicated Al Roker hiding out in the mountains somewhere, and Joe and everyone that got the updates were greatly appreciative of what his services – wherever and whoever he might be.

Joe
had stayed in relatively good shape, considering what he had to work with. He and his team had the small Army National Guard post all to themselves. They’d moved to their current barracks after hopping several helicopters and assisting numerous other units from the Gulf Coast. They’d spent an average of six months to a year at each one of the posts, until it was agreed upon to take a five-man team to Camp Dawson. It was an out-of-the-way area that wasn’t very accessible, even by air. That made it a prime candidate for a rescue outpost. You wouldn’t find it unless you were looking for it, and not many came looking. Joe, Balboa, Jamie, Curtis, and Chris were sent out there, along with Ogre, their pilot. Joe had plenty of prior knowledge of Camp Dawson and Kingwood, West Virginia, having visited several times for Army Reserve training. For the last three years, it had been their home.

It
had taken the group the better part of six months to get the base the way they wanted it. They scavenged all the guns, ammo, vehicles, radios, and food that was viable in the area. The little population of Kingwood, West Virginia had only been around 2,000 people at the time of the zombie outbreak. Most of those people had died or had left long ago. The stores were ransacked and mostly unusable or worthless items were left. The Cheat River that ran alongside the base always provided a steady fresh water supply, if it was boiled or treated with iodine tablets. There would be little sense in surviving the end of the world only to be taken down by a bad case of
E. coli
. The base already had a chain-link and barbed wire fence that ran the length of the post, minus the training areas. Those were closed off with connexes – large metal storage containers – and the entire base was secure.

The base had ample area for any activity that
the team wanted to do. When the weather was good, they occupied themselves with baseball and football, as well as the occasional target practice. The golf course just outside the gate was used on occasion, mostly for the odd game of putt-putt. The men needed to blow off steam, and had plenty of options with which to do it. The DFAC (dining facility) had an enormous supply of MREs and other useable foodstuffs, and they were not left to waste. The Post Exchange store also provided plenty of extra boots, uniforms, belts, and gear. The Special Forces units that had used Camp Dawson had left plenty of assault packs, Kevlar, and LBVs (load bearing vests) for their disposal as well. It was a survivalist’s dream come true.

Joe sat up many a night and contemplated what he really was doing trying to survive in a desolate, nearly uninhabitable world.
He idealized the notion of the world returning to normal, but if it was ever going to happen, then that time had long since passed. He simply lived every day one at a time, waiting for an opportunity to do something truly good in a strictly evil world.

He would get that chance sooner than later.

CHAPTER 1

DECEMBER 21, 2021

Joe’s pilot radioed him early in the morning. The cold greeted him about the same time that his pilot did. Joe kept his space heater on a considerably lower setting than his cohorts; the supply of electricity was divvied up amongst him and just five others, but he still felt it was wasteful to keep it running when he was asleep or gone.

Ogre got tired of waiting for Joe to answer and hollered through the door instead.
He informed Joe that they were going to be making an armory run. Joe hated doing armory runs, but on the up side, he would get to resupply his own personal stash of guns and ammo, and so would the other members of his team. Ogre notified Joe that they would have to stop for fuel at another ZBRA unit that was close to the area. They had called a few hours ago and wanted Joe’s team to assist in making a run to the Radford Army Ammunition Plant. The ammo would be split up amongst the different units involved in repayment for their assistance.

Joe grabbed his heavily modified M4 and started to clean it.
He used the same AR-15 that he’d had when he and the rest of the group left Virginia, but with a few more bells and whistles. It had been worked on by Jamie to convert it to full-auto, just in case. It was usually left on semi to save ammo, but when the shit hit the fan (and in their line of work, it did on a weekly basis) then the option to flip it and go crazy came in handy. Aside from the full-auto upgrade, Joe had recently threaded and installed a suppressor for a little less noise. A much quieter zombie hunter was a longer living zombie hunter. The previous suppressor that Joe had installed was much the worse for wear. Bashing zombie brains in with the business end of your rifle will do that. The new suppressor was stronger and kept the noise down as well. The Beta magazines that held one hundred rounds each completed the full options package. Altogether, Joe could carry nearly four hundred rounds on his person.

The Radford armory was
a major run, not only because it had remained untouched for years, but because it was near a heavy populated area. Joe wasn’t sure that he liked their chances. They would be outnumbered heavily – backup or not. Ogre said they were going to refuel in Beckley, West Virginia, not too far from Tazewell. Joe thought they might be able to take a detour if he could convince Ogre to do a flyby.

Joe
acknowledged Ogre and gathered his gear.

* * *

Joe walked the nearly quarter mile to the helipad just outside of their communications building. The sky was gray, as were most winter days in West Virginia. It seemed that the mountains were destined to be snow covered from October until nearly April. Very few areas of the world had the luxury of seeing all four seasons, but it always seemed like winter in the backwoods of West Virginia. Joe breathed in the fresh country air as he approached the helipad. He threw his gear at the foot of the chopper and studied the exterior. It was a UH-1Y Venom, or “Yankee” as it was nicknamed. The chopper had served them well so far, and Joe had a certain fondness for the gray helicopter. They had been through quite a bit together. Joe patted the Yankee and turned his attention to the other love in his life – his rifle.

Joe loaded up a
magazine and slammed the bolt forward as Chris and Jamie came towards him. They looked a little too happy considering the circumstances of their call out.               “What are you two assholes grinning about?”

“Well
, Jamie informs me that he has officially broken his first gun. I just thought that was kinda funny,” Chris said as he patted Jamie on the back.

“And
how exactly did he do that?” Joe replied, curious as to how their gun master had finally pushed one to the breaking point.

“Well that last run
– the one over on the Ohio River – he managed to actually misfire and kill a Glock. Evidently once it misfires, that’s all she wrote,” Chris said, keeping up his grin.

Joe
laughed at Jamie; only he could make the indestructible fall apart. He was as rough on gear as Joe was. The only reason his M4 still worked was due to a healthy diet of replacement parts every six months or so. Joe pulled out his own sidearm – a 1911 .45 that he had procured from a gun store outside of Morgantown, West Virginia a few years back. It had been through hell and still managed to fire when needed to. “I told you – ya shoulda gone with the .45 instead, brother,” Joe said, holding up his gunmetal-colored .45 and letting a grin out.

“Hey, they said those things were indestructible
– I was just testing its durability,” Jamie said, laughing as well. “I guess you can only shoot it so much before it finally craps out on you.”

“Well, it’
ll be shopping time here in a couple hours, dude. We are making a run back a little closer to home. Ogre said that we are making a run to the old Radford Arsenal after we make a stop near Beckley to refuel. The ZBRA post outside Beckley is gonna ride in with us as well. After that, we are going to Blacksburg and picking up a few more guys and then we’ll make the run on the arsenal,” Joe replied, waving both of them on towards the communications building.

Jamie stopped in his tracks.
“Damn, why the hell do we need all the firepower? Are they looking for something specific or we just expecting that much resistance?”

Joe shrugged.
He had no idea what kind of resistance they would run up against, and now that Jamie mentioned it, he also began to wonder why they needed so much firepower. “I’ll be right back,” he said as he strode into the commo building.

When Joe walked in,
Curtis was sitting at his desk. He had made himself invaluable since they came to Camp Dawson, but he wanted to give up his seat on the team to make room for Rick, who was also in the tent getting his gear ready. Curtis knew that Joe had reservations about letting Rick be on the team, but an armory run was the perfect time to test how he would do. It was not going to be a normal armory trip, but at least Rick would have plenty of backup if things got sideways.

Joe
immediately noticed Rick’s nervous demeanor. He was nervously jiggling his knee up and down, going over his gear and fiddling with his radio to make sure it was in working order. He hadn’t had time to move his stuff into the barracks just yet, and it was sitting in a pile behind the commo desk. Curtis smiled at Joe and gave a nod.

“How’s it goin
’, ZBRA 1? Or am I allowed to still call you Joe?” Curtis smiled as he offered his hand up. Joe shook it and gave a chuckle back.

“Dude, you should
know me by now. Joe will work just fine as long as you're not on the radio. I don’t think that anybody is going to care if you use my real name. You gonna be okay with not going out on this one? I know you still wanna shoot some zombies, dude.” Joe winked at Curtis as he spoke to him. Joe knew that he was going to miss all of the action. Well, maybe not
all
of it, but Joe knew he still had it in him to help if necessary.

“I’ll stay here and hold down the fort as best I can. Anyhow, was there something that you needed? When you walked in you looked like you were gonna ask me something.”

Joe
had totally forgotten in all the joshing why exactly he had come in. “Yeah, is there some reason that we have to pick up so much extra firepower for the run to Radford? Is there something going on over there that we need to know about?”

“I only caught the tail end of the transmission from
Beckley, and it wasn’t through the normal channel, but near as I can tell there are a couple of groups that they have been tracking on satellite that they think might give y’all a hard time. The station in Blacksburg thinks they might need some more firepower so you guys are actually going to be tagging along on
their
run. This is not your mission per se, but they are gonna need you guys for backup.” Curtis pointed to the makeshift patch on Joe’s shoulder. They had taken some old CBRN patches and make them into their ZBRA patches by taking off the ‘C’ and making the ‘N’ into an ‘A.’

“The ‘B’ on that patch means ‘backup
,’ remember?”

Joe looked down to his
dirty, faded patch and back to Curtis. “Yeah, well as long as the boys in Blacksburg don’t mind us whoopin’ more ass than they do, we shouldn’t have a problem. How many men do they have left over there anyways?”

“Not many.
They’re sending a regular five-man team with the pilot and crew chief included, and I don’t think they have much more than that. The satellite stuff that I’ve seen on Blacksburg doesn’t look good. They don’t have much of a chance without you guys and some of the guys from Beckley. I’d say that they have maybe fifteen guys left. The Beckley boys have less than that. I think they are pretty much on their last few people.” Curtis’ smile faded. The radio squelched and Ogre came on.

“Let’s rock and roll
, boys. Mission launch code three, leaving in five mikes.” The big guy called out their ETA for leaving.

Joe
looked down at Rick, who was still tapping his foot and fumbling with his radio. Joe reached down, held his knee, and kept it from beating. He looked up at Joe quickly and stood up. “Are we ready to go yet?”

“Yeah, Ogre said he’s good to go
. You talked to him yet? He’s one hell of a pilot.”

“No
, not much yet. I haven’t really had much time to talk to any of you guys since I got here. Curtis has been helpin’ me out with getting my gear straight, so I been busy doin’ that so far. Breakfast was the first time I really relaxed much, ‘cause I didn't sleep for shit last night. I really would like to get moved in as soon as I can, Dad.”

Joe smiled and felt a warming in his heart that had been missing for some time.
He really missed Rick calling him ‘Dad.’ Joe’s pleasured demeanor was immediately noticeable. Rick smiled wider than Joe had seen in quite some time, mainly because he hadn’t. Joe clapped him on the shoulder, and inwardly hoped that Rick was looking forward to their trip as much as he was. Joe did not want to disappoint him on his inaugural run, either. Joe hugged his son, and it rather took Rick back for a second. Then he hugged Joe back, and Joe could tell it was going to be a good day.

“You ready to be the most
badassed father/son zombie killing team in history?”

Rick grinned slyly.
“Hell yes I am!” he exclaimed.

“Then let’s rock and roll, the dead aren’t gonna kill themselves any time soon!”

It was time to go and show the boy how things were done in the mountains.