Well Fed - 05 (53 page)

Daylight waned as they arrived at the base of a dense hillside, one that Collie intended to climb for the elevated vantage point. She stopped and waited for Wallace to draw up beside her, gasping at his pungent, decaying body odor.

“How you doing, chuggernuts?”

Wallace fixed her with an evil look.

Collie didn’t back down. “Think you can do this hill?”

“That’s a borderline
fuck you
question.”

“At one time, maybe, but I don’t think I need to point out the obvious, so just give me a goddamn answer.”

The dwindling light reflected off Wallace’s lowered visor, and his mouth twisted up like two fat worms. “Yeah. I can make it.”

All she needed to know. “Watch your step. Might be some of those mines lying around.”

Wallace didn’t comment on that, so Collie led the way up the hill, threading her way and passing through the foliage with barely a ripple, blending in and not once looking back. If he wanted to be an unprofessional dick, so be it. The German-made assault rifle felt light in her arms as she climbed, hearing distant engines and the odd shout. When she reached the top of the hill, she planted herself on a copper-colored blanket of leaves and sized up the situation at Whitecap.

“Honey, you got rats,” Collie said under her breath, seeing figures milling about in the valley below, black insects against the cement. The collection of office buildings dotting the gray-white concrete plate had been joined by transport trailers, motor homes, and pickups––all arranged in an overlapping semicircle a short ways below the main ramp leading into the bunker. The whole picture resembled a mythological monster about to feed. The Komatsu truck surprised her—no mistaking that tower of industrial might lording over the other pieces of machinery. She lifted the rifle and adjusted her scope to the 3.5x magnification, zooming in and inspecting the truck’s curious enhancements. What she saw surprised her even more. Whoever those bastards were, someone knew how to weld, and they had transformed the Kat into a rolling fortress. The only things missing were heavy-gun emplacements.

But the motor homes were theirs. Collie felt a second of satisfaction upon recognizing them. They’d located their property, their people, and their kidnappers.

“Anything?” Wallace asked from behind. He’d taken his time.

“Oh yeah,” she whispered back, still sizing up the compound. “All sorts of busy down there. Took you long enough.”

Wallace ignored that as he dropped down beside her, one body over, moving like a floundering iceberg. His joints crackled. Collie didn’t comment about the noise, but it made her heart just a little heavier. Wallace got his rifle into position, lifted his visor, and placed the sights to his right eye socket.

“They’re ours,” he said after a moment’s study, “and those chicken fuckers are armed. Some of them anyway.”

“See the ramp? They’re digging into Whitecap. Lord only knows what they might’ve dug out already.”

“They’d have to figure out how to use any of it.”

“After the shootout at the truck, I think they’re learning.”

“You call that spray-and-pray a shootout?” Wallace rumbled, mouth skewed as he panned left and right.

“My point is they know the basics.”

“There’s beaucoup bad guys down there, with automatic weaponry. Civvies turned road savages or not, them’s a lot of assholes and stinky trigger fingers. Lord only knows what else.”

“You think we should stay here and just wait?”

Wallace growled then, startling Collie enough that she glanced away from her scope and regarded her husband with an undisguised look of alarm.

“I think,” he continued, immediately relieving her, “you should take a walk down to the chicken ranch there and make like a native. Maybe try for the main gate. Or… some of those sections where the fence seems to have been taken down.”

“You want a daylight insertion?” Collie asked with ready-to-rebuke dismay.

“See what they’re wearing?”

Collie returned to the scope.

Balaclavas. Not all but at least twenty walked around with the facemasks, and half of those had pulled them down to ward against the chill in the air.

“Cool, aren’t they?” Collie asked.

“As polar bear drool. They almost qualify as a gaggle fuck.”

They shared a smile at that.

“See that over by the ramp,” Wallace said.

“Where?”

“Lower right.”

Collie shifted and spotted the flatbed. “Jesus.”

“I think even the Almighty might hang back from that one.”

Collie had to agree. The ready-to-roll minigun upped an already high ante. “Where’d they get the war pig? There wasn’t one of those topside when we were here last.”

“No. There wasn’t.”

“You think they’re inside?”

“Good chance. Firepower’s definitely suggesting it. But… no. If they were, they wouldn’t be running around out front.”

Collie thought it over. “Okay. How’s this sound? I go down there and find out where Gus is; get him out then try and liberate the rest of our people; make a beeline to that mini and duke it out if necessary; then drive out of there, with you popping some weasels from up here.”

“I can do that,” Wallace said slowly. “But I think you’d best reconsider our people.”

“Why’s that?”

“Been thinking. Been tracking them for more than a few days now. Haven’t seen many try and make a break for it.”

“They left Jimbo on the side of the road.”

“One. But not the rest.”

“One example’s enough to keep the rest in line.”

“Just sayin’…” Wallace stressed, “I’m not so sure they’re all
our
people anymore.”

“You think they’ve gone over?”

“I’m thinking. There were a few disgruntled among Pine Cove, despite our best intentions. Ray knew it. And only the loud ones were heard.”

“Yeah, but
half
the town? There’s
kids
down there.”

“Just sayin’. Be careful. Work that ninja.”

“All right, just Gus then. We can talk about the others later.”

Wallace grunted. “Understood. Get on the dog. Find him. Get him out if you can manage it. If not, beat it back here.”

Collie nodded, crouched, and adjusted her mask over her face. She hefted the rifle to her chest. She checked the weapon’s magazine, swapped it out for a fresh one, and placed two others in her tactical webbing.

“You’ll need these,” she said, handing over the extra magazines.

Wallace grunted.

“Watch over me,” she said.

He met her eyes. “Always, baby girl.”

That solemn, raspy whisper drew Collie up short, and for a moment, she was deathly afraid she would never see Wallace ever again. But then she firmed up, nodded, and departed, descending and blending into the forest, headed toward the base.

Always
, Wallace mouthed as he watched his wife’s back disappear from sight.

Then he started preparations of his own.

“What’s that now?” Gus asked, his mellow forever ruined by the Captain’s revelation.

“Concentrate, my lad.”

Gus did. He thought hard, burning wood as though it was no one’s business, smelling his own pleasantly tanning skin.

Then he remembered. Maggie, surprised at seeing him, was standing tall on a nearby, orbiting asteroid. The kids weren’t anywhere in sight, but Maggie was a star, a very good sign—regarding
what
, however, he had no idea.

“They were kidnapped,” the Captain supplied.

“Oh, riiiight.” Gus nodded as the memory dawned on him. “That’s right. Some assholes took them. Slaughtered Adam and the others on the farm. All coming back to me now.”

As it did, the sky darkened. The temperature chilled. No longer did he smell tanning skin but dampness and mold, as if the air needed to be refreshed somehow.

Gus sat up with a jolt.

“Where the sweet fuck am I?”

The Captain tugged on one end of his extravagant moustache. “You’re still here. In your mind.”

Gus blinked at him. “This is in my
mind
?”

The Captain nodded.

“I’m fuckin’ high?”

“You are.”

“Jesus
Christ
! And here I was wondering when the luau was gonna be,” Gus barked in contempt. He looked down at himself and saw his scars returning, his skin aging. “Well, fuck me gently. I’m
stoned
here. No wonder I was feelin’ so good.” Then he regarded the old sailor with a look of frightened urgency. “Oh shit, you’re not real.”

“Oh, I’m here,” the Captain reassured him. “For a little while.”

Water foamed about their knees, higher and a tad cooler than before.

“Thanks, buddy,” Gus said after a moment.

“’Sall right.” The Captain looked to the water, watching it with longing. “My history lies with the sea, you know—a rich story as vast and deep as Caribbean blue—sailing the waters in huge merchants laden with spirits and gold and women. I’ll tell you about it sometime—when you’re far and away from here and on another beach.”

“That’ll have to be some beach to beat this one.”

The Captain smiled gently. “Well, as nice as you make it.”

“All right, you got me. I’m hallucinating here… in a good way, I guess. I’m glad you’re here. And I know Maggie’s around, so the kids are probably around too. So what’s next?”

“You have to wake up.”

“All right. Ah… how do I do that?”

“Will it.”

“Will it.”

“Force yourself. As if escaping a dream.”

Gus took in the sweeping emptiness of the glorious beach. “Yeah. Okay. That might be hard to do.”

“It will be,” the Captain agreed.

“Yeah?”

“Yes, because they’ve thoroughly polluted you with their chemical foulness.”

Gus frowned. “Well, it’s not all
that
bad. Really. Compared to some of the monster drunks I’ve been on, this is pretty good. I mean, hell, look at my tan…”

The Captain clearly wasn’t impressed by this avenue of discussion.

“Okay, maybe there’s something off about it, I’ll grant you that.”

“Wake yourself. Before he comes back.”

“Who?”

“The man with the executioner’s mask.”

Gus remembered, the memory sending another shiver through him just as a fresh wave crashed into his legs. The cold from that surge set his teeth chattering long after the waterline had receded. Sweat suddenly popped out on his forehead, and a twinge of nausea fouled his belly. He nodded, emphatically, and screwed up his features in a mighty attempt to wake himself…

And failed.

“Try again,” the Captain ordered.

Gus did, forcing his consciousness to surface with all of his newfound willpower, forcing himself to open his eyes—his
real
eyes—and escape to whatever reality waited beyond the beach… and fell back with a pained gasp.

“Jesus
Christ
, it’s like drowning in cement!”

“Try again.”

“I just
did
, you fuckin’ imaginary figment! If I try any harder, I’ll blow my asshole out. Sweet Jesus, for all I know, I’m stewin’ in my own ass sauce right now!”

“Listen to me,” the Captain said forcefully, cutting through the protest. “You must surface. You
must
. There are other lives at stake here besides your own.
Younger
lives. So
awake
, Augustus Berry.
Awake
.”

Gus shut his eyes and pushed…

And the heavens crackled with lighting.

“Morning, princess.”

Shovel stopped in the doorway of his bedroom, scowled, and swung a thunderous look at Giovanni, who smiled it off. “How’d you get in here?”

Giovanni shrugged. “Picked the lock.”

“You picked my fucking lock.”

“Uh-huh.”

“You hairy bastard. I deserved that, then. Christ Almighty, I didn’t hear a fucking thing.”

Giovanni stood next to the door and inspected the aged leather of his cowboy boots.

“Jetlag?” he asked.

“Yeah, fucking jetlag,” Shovel grumped and deposited himself behind his desk, where a streaming cup of coffee rested. His face lightened considerably upon seeing and smelling the brew.

“We can’t have too much more of this left.”

“No, we don’t,” Giovanni said. “Last of the instant, I do believe.”

Shovel saluted him with the mug and slurped noisily. “What’s happening this morning?”

“Roused the newbies,” Giovanni reported. “Got them fed and outfitted for the morning dig. Around forty or so. Slick Pick’s with them, showing them how things are done. Gonna be tight in that tunnel this morning, but once Pick’s showed them what to do, he’ll send half back out.”

“You got people on them?”

“Oh yeah,” Giovanni replied. “Course. And the mini’s ready, just in case. But I gotta say, looking over them new folks this morning, they looked ready to work.”

“Excellent,” Shovel said with approval and took another harsh sip of coffee. “You know a few of these Pine Cove people were actually talking it up with our people on the way here? Seems we came along just in time. A revolt was just about to happen in that town.”

“Heard about that myself from some of the boys. Slick Pick’s already getting friendly with one of the womenfolk. Some folks are quick to see the light.”

“Quicker the better. Think they’ll punch through today?”

“We’ll know if they do.”

Giovanni didn’t elaborate, and Shovel didn’t press. They’d both discussed what would happen if and when their diggers broke through to the bunker. Practice drills had been conducted around that very event. Half the reason armed soldiers accompanied every shift was to protect them from the resulting zombies emerging from the hole. Whitecap was probably full of them—infested, some even suspected. There were two plausible reasons for destroying the entry tunnel: to keep something from escaping and to deter folks like themselves from getting in.

Based on that, they’d taken precautions and remained confident in their countermeasures for dealing with the undead. Once their diggers broke through, everyone would fall back while being covered by armed guards, and they’d exit the tunnel, double-timing it down the ramp. They’d lead any pursing zombies into daylight and the minigun situated on the flatbed just below the ramp.