Caldera Book 7: The End Is Here Page 13

  Wally broke into a toothy grin. “Sir, yes, sir.”

  “I have no idea what you’re even talking about, Dr. Broussard.” Captain Proctor studied the man as if he were daft. “Are you certain these things even exist?”

  Dr. Broussard nodded slowly. “Dr. Chaplain mentioned a general…I believe his name was Vickers?”

  “Colonel Vickers is on the command ship with the president.” Captain Proctor crossed his arms and eyed him cautiously. “What would he have to do with any of this?”

  “From what I was told, he is more than familiar with the generators. He used them to lull the Zeds into a…more docile state.”

  Captain Proctor sighed heavily. “You want me to contact the command ship and ask Colonel Vickers about a portable stereo that can be used to lull the Zeds?” He shook his head. “I’m still not following you.”

  Broussard sighed heavily. “I’ve read Vivian’s reports. I’ve seen the videos of the infected and they are attracted to the generators.” He lowered his voice and tried to remain calm while he explained. “Our resources here on the ocean are quite limited.”

  “You can say that again.”

  “So you can understand how if we could devise a method that would reduce the amount of ‘cure’ we have to produce…” he trailed off, letting his words sink in. “Imagine how quickly we could bring this to an end if we could attract the infected to one area in each town…dose them while they’re gathered in clusters then move on to the next town.”

  Captain Proctor nodded slowly. “Now that makes sense.” He inhaled deeply and gave the researcher a knowing look. “I’ll try to get in touch with Vickers. If there are any of those generators, we’ll see what we can do about setting them up beforehand.”

  “Captain, if they could be reproduced…we could strike numerous towns at once. Imagine treating all of New York City in a single day rather than over a period of months?”

  Captain Proctor nodded. “I’ll talk with Vickers and see if we can develop a way to reproduce the machines. If not the machines, perhaps just the sound they create. Any makeshift ideas that could actually make this go faster, I’m all for.”

  Broussard nodded, sighing with relief. “Thank you, Captain.”

  “Don’t thank me yet.” He turned to leave, “I’m not even sure I can get in touch with the colonel.”

  Simon rubbed at his temples as he drove through town. “They moved the damned equipment rental place.” He cursed under his breath as he drove by the same block for the third time. “I’m certain it was right here.”

  He doubled back and drove slower. “It was RIGHT HERE!” He slammed his fist on the steering wheel then came to a complete stop. He reached for the bottle of liquor that wasn’t there and muttered an epithet under his breath.

  “Fuck this. I need hooch to think straight.”

  He turned the SUV and goosed the pedal, shooting through intersections until a familiar sign appeared in the distance. He smiled to himself as he pulled the SUV to the front of the liquor store.

  Simon put the car in park and stepped out, his brows narrowing at the intact front doors and windows. “Something ain’t right.” He rubbed at his chin as he approached the front door.

  He pushed on the door and it refused to budge. He cupped his hands to either side of the glass and peered deep into the shadows. Although he couldn’t see movement, he did spot row after row of prime hooch just sitting in the desert heat. “Well, ain’t that just a waste.”

  He smiled to himself as he pulled his pistol out and flipped it around. He turned his face and slammed the butt of the gun into the glass storefront. He nearly yelped when the weapon bounced off of the acrylic without so much as a scratch.

  “What the…” He stepped back and kicked at the door with all of his might, landing himself flat on his ass on the sidewalk, a startled look on his face. “Oh, hell no!” He scrambled to his feet and pointed the pistol at the door.

  He was just about to pull the trigger when another thought came to him. “I wonder if they have a back door?” He lowered the pistol and marched around the corner of the building. He slowed his approach when he saw the alleyway shrouded in shadow. He glanced up at the midday sun and took a deep breath. Some things are worth dying for.

  He leveled his pistol and turned the corner. Other than trash cans and the distinct smell of decay and death, the alleyway was empty. He walked slowly until he found the rear door. Solid steel and old as shit. He saw the rust along the edges and knew that this old hunk of junk had seen its share of abuse over the years. No doubt any number of hoodlums, teenagers, and hobos had attempted to break in through the rear.

  He grabbed the handle and gave it a solid pull. As he expected, it was locked. And solidly. There was exactly ZERO give when he pulled on the handle.

  Simon considered possibly wrapping the handle in chain and using the SUV to rip it from the frame, but he knew that with his luck, he’d just rip the handle off and be left with nothing.

  He walked to the front of the building again and tapped on the “glass”. “The fuck is this? Plastic?”

  He stepped back and studied the door. Heavy aluminum frame, some kind of thick acrylic instead of glass, iron bars along the inside.

  He sighed as he walked back to the SUV. “I’d have better luck driving the damned car through the…” He paused and turned again to study the door. Gears turned and he tried to calculate the loss of hooch if he jumped an old truck and took out the front of the building.

  He shook his head and tilted his head back, staring at the clouds. His eyes wandered to the ceiling. He slowly brought his head back up straight and continued to stare. “How secure would the roof be?”

  He pressed his face to the front doors again and looked inside. A slow smile formed as he stared at the skylight in the middle of the ceiling.

  “Bingo.”

  And so it was that Simon found himself in the alley, pushing a dumpster toward the lower roof of the liquor store; he climbed atop and reached for the edge. He was still at least two feet short of the roof. He tried to jump and grab the edge, but he came up woefully short.

  “Son of a muthatfuckin’ bitch!” He stomped on the top of the dumpster and felt the cheap plastic lid begin to give. “No! Don’t you do it, you—”

  Simon fell into the dumpster and scrambled frantically for the edge. He had no idea what might be inside and he didn’t want to stick around to find out.

  He landed hard on the concrete beside the dumpster and stared out at the empty street. He sighed heavily and rested his head on the cool ground. “It shouldn’t be this damned hard to get a drink.”

  His alcohol soaked brain wandered back to the last time he had uttered those words. He closed his eyes and tried to push the image from his mind.

  He could see her…still smoldering, covered in blood. His best friend right beside her, dead. He’d suspected there was something going on between them but he couldn’t bring himself to confront either of them. He didn’t want to know the answer. Instead, he drank to push the thought from his mind.

  He drank so he wouldn’t have to face her infidelity and he drank so that he wouldn’t have to question his best friend’s loyalty. Then he saw them there, lying on the ground, their infected bodies scorched, soaked in their own blood and both in a state of undress. And he knew. There was no denying what they’d been doing when the world went to hell. There was no denying their betrayal. There was nothing to quell the pain…except booze. As much as he could find.

  People became an asset. Every bit as much as food or weapons or ammunition. People served a purpose. They were good to get shit done. They were good for protection. They were good for sex. They were good to have around, because you never knew when you might need to toss a body under a bus to save your own ass.

  He pushed himself up from the ground and tried to shake the wakefulness from his brain. He stared at the back door of the liquor store and knew that the only thing that would quiet the demons was inside that build
ing.

  If he had a rocket launcher, he’d flatten the place and sift the remains for the few remaining intact bottles. But he didn’t have a rocket launcher.

  Simon pulled himself to his feet and stumbled around to the front of the building. He stared at the front doors and leveled his pistol again. “Fuck it.” He no longer cared if the Ragers heard him. He fired at the glass closest to the lock.

  The plastic dimpled and formed a white circle. He stepped closer and fired again. And again. And again. Each round dimpled the plastic glass and left a white mark. He stepped closer and planted his booted foot to the damaged glass, praying that he’d weakened it enough to crack.

  “Screw this shit.” He slid back behind the wheel of the SUV and revved the engine. He pulled the 4X4 lever to four wheel low then put the SUV in drive. He felt the front wheels bump up onto the curb and he lined up the front of the car with the double glass doors.

  With a determined screech, he floored the accelerator and watched as the entire doorframe blew inward. He slammed on the brakes and shifted the car into reverse.

  Once it was back on the street he threw the machine into park and killed the engine. He only gave the front a cursory glance before pushing the double doors out of the way and stepping into the gloom. “If any of you sons of bitches are hiding in here, I’m telling ya now…I’m not in the mood for your shit!”

  He pulled his pistol then walked deeper into the store. He saw the row of cheap whiskeys, bourbons and scotches lining the shelf on the wall. Simon smiled to himself, tears forming as he grabbed the nearest bottle and twisted the cap off.

  Chapter 16

  Hatcher rode with Roger while Hank and Wally loaded magazines. He glanced to the rear and saw the minivan following, three more men within. “Remember, he may or may not be doped up. Either way, consider him armed and dangerous.”

  “Are we taking prisoners, Hatch?” Wally asked.

  Hatcher considered letting Simon live. He glanced to Roger who gave a slight shake of the head. “No.”

  “Good,” Hank stated flatly. “I’ll sleep better at night knowing that bastard is six feet under.” He paused and looked to Wally. “Not that I’d actually bury him.”

  Wally snorted. “Maybe we bring him back for that new guy’s little girl.”

  All three of the other men gave him a strained look. “You’re not serious,” Hank asked.

  “No. It was supposed to be a joke, not a dick. Don’t take it so hard.”

  Hatcher sighed and sat up in his seat. “Up there. That’s the cul-de-sac.”

  Roger slowed the truck and pulled into the dead end street. “Looks like the rest of the neighborhood.”

  Hatcher nodded. “Yeah…dead.”

  Roger pulled the truck to the side of the street and parked three houses down. He stepped from the truck and Wally handed him a rifle. “Round chambered, safety on.”

  Roger nodded and shouldered the weapon. “Form up on me. Standard two by two formation.”

  Hatcher slipped in next to him and Hank and Wally formed the rear. They waved to the three men behind them and pointed to the rear of the house. They broke away and slipped through the neighboring house’s yard.

  “Let’s do this.” Roger lead the way and Hatcher kept pace with him as they approached the front of the house. Hatcher waved Hank and Wally into the open garage and they waited until Hank gave them the signal. Both teams entered the house at the same moment, clearing rooms as they went.

  Hatcher stacked on the stairs and when Roger appeared next to him, the pair silently made their way up to the second level. With each room, one or the other would announce it clear.

  Hatcher felt his hands trembling from the adrenaline burst and wanted to scream when they realized that Simon wasn’t there. He went downstairs and checked on the crew covering the rear. “Anything?”

  “Negative. The only movements are from the wind.”

  Hatcher sighed and waved them inside. “He’s not here.” He cursed and kicked a chair out of his way. “We can’t even know if he ever was.”

  Roger held up a nearly empty bottle of rum. “This fits the guy’s story. He said they doped the booze.” He held it up to the window and nodded. “There’s something floating along the bottom.”

  Hatcher groaned and looked around the room. “It’s obvious that somebody was here. Once.” He pointed to the blood stains around the kitchen table. “He said the convict had been shot. Maybe this is his.”

  Roger sighed and leaned against the wall. “What do you want to do? We can wait here and see if he comes back.” He glanced out the window. “Or we can hole up in one of the other houses and ambush him when he pulls in.”

  Hatcher chewed at his lower lip. “I really want this bastard.”

  “Not more than I do,” Roger added. “Remember, I had to ride with him.”

  Hatcher nodded, his mind racing. He turned and pointed to Hank. “Take everybody back. Roger and I will hang tight here.”

  “You’re gonna wait here? In his house?”

  Hatcher glanced to Roger then back to Hank. “In the area, anyway. If he isn’t back by dark, we’ll head in.”

  Hank groaned. “Fine. But keep your radio on. If you run into trouble…”

  “We’ll call.” Hatcher winked at him and slapped his shoulder as he walked by. He turned to Roger. “Shall we hide the truck?”

  “May as well.” Roger walked back out into the bright midday sun. “We can tuck it into a garage or in a driveway somewhere.”

  “Hide it. If he’s been staying here a while he may have memorized the vehicles that are parked out in view.”

  “Garage it is.” Roger trotted across the street and tested the first garage door. When he found it locked he went to the next house. Eventually he found one unlocked and empty enough to hide the truck.

  Hatcher dug through the meager things scattered about the house and noted all of the empty liquor bottles. “This asshole has a real problem.”

  Roger appeared behind him. “I found a garage that’s unlocked but it’s up by the entrance to the cul-de-sac. If we hole up there we won’t have direct line of sight.”

  Hatcher kicked at another empty and eyed the front of the house. “We can wait here. From the looks of things, he’s definitely a creature of habit.”

  “And a drunk.” Roger pushed a whiskey bottle across the floor with his foot.

  “Yeah, that’s safe to assume.” Hatcher slapped at his shoulder. “Let’s find a cool, dark place to wait on him.”

  “Copy that.”

  “Dr. Broussard?”

  He turned to see the yeoman standing in the doorway of the lab. “Yes, come in.”

  “Captain said that he was able to reach Colonel Vickers.” He set a file down on the table. “These are the specs for the frequency generator you requested.”

  Broussard’s face fell. “They don’t have any available?”

  The yeoman shrugged. “The colonel sent these. If there are any units available for use, he didn’t say.”

  Broussard glanced at the file and shook his head. “I know nothing of electronics.”

  The yeoman smiled. “Thankfully, the Navy has trained electronics technicians. I bet they can assist.”

  Broussard looked up, his face hopeful. “Would you please ask them? I wouldn’t request their assistance if it weren’t imperative.”

  The door opened and Carol walked in, rubbing her head. “I’ve got a killer headache.” She paused and stared at the yeoman. “Hello.”

  “Dr. Chaplain.” The yeoman nodded then turned back to Broussard. “I’ll contact the best we have and see if we can’t get them up here to help.” He nodded to the pair then slipped out of the lab.

  “What was that about?” Carol asked.

  “The frequency generators? I asked if any were available.”

  “I doubt that’s why my head hurts, Andre, but thank you.” She gave him a goofy smile.

  “No, cheri, to attract the infected.” He gave he
r a knowing look. “Rather than pray that our treatment finds them, we attract them to one spot…” he trailed off, waiting for her to connect the dots.

  She turned wide eyes to him. “Oh my god. Why didn’t I think of that?” She sat down hard and shook her head. “That’s brilliant.”

  He gave her a sheepish smile and shrugged. “I thought of it while speaking with Dr. McAlester.” He lowered his voice and gave her a knowing look. “He was very concerned for your health, by the way.”

  She nodded briefly then turned and gave him a curious look. “Eww. No.” She grimaced as she came to her feet. “I need caffeine and aspirin.”

  Broussard reached into a drawer and pulled out a bottle of headache formula. “This will do it.” He held the bottle in his hand rather than dropping it in hers. “If your headache is simply a headache.”

  “Please.” She snatched the bottle and shook out a couple of tablets. “If this crap didn’t hurt Kevin, it won’t hurt me.”

  “We hope.” Broussard sat back and sighed. “And I hope that I’m not putting the cart before the horse.”

  “Meaning?”

  “Meaning I’m trying to develop ways to ensure the broadest coverage with the least amount of our solution and we’re still not certain if it will even work.”

  She reached out and patted his arm. “It will work.” She gave him a sad smile. “The science is sound.”

  “As you say.” He sat up when the door opened and two petty officers stepped inside.

  “Are you Dr. Broussard?” the first man asked.

  “I am.” He stood and extended a hand. “Is it safe to assume that you are the electronics experts I was told of?”

  The man flustered. “I don’t know if I’d say ‘expert’ but yes, sir. We’re the lead ETs on the boat.”

  “Very well.” Broussard smiled and slid the file toward the pair. “Will you please take a look at this?”