Caldera Book 7: The End Is Here Read online

The two men opened the file and rifled through the contents. “This doesn’t look very complicated.” The first man handed the specs sheet to the other and he quickly ran through it. “It’s actually pretty simple.”

  The second man nodded. “The problem will be getting the potentiometers.”

  Broussard gave him a questioning look. “The what?”

  They set down the papers and glanced between themselves. “There are electronic components here that we just don’t have spares of onboard.” He closed the file and gave the researcher a confused look. “What is this for?”

  Broussard sighed and settled back in his seat. “The generator produces a sound, outside our hearing range, which acts like a sedative to the infected.”

  The two men glanced at each other. The second man asked, “What is the frequency range?”

  Broussard frowned and shook his head and looked to Carol. “Do you know?”

  Carol continued to rub at her temples. “I can tell you what they were set at for Charles. But his settings were entirely different than for the original Zeds.”

  “So what frequency would you set it at?”

  She shrugged. “The original generators pulsed between two different settings, but they were close to each other. Charles didn’t respond until…” she paused and looked to Broussard. “It’s safe to assume that the primary infection is the original one, yes?”

  Broussard shrugged. “I suppose. But to be honest, we can’t be certain if any of the mutations have reinfected the subjects.”

  “Why couldn’t we simply record the sound and replay it through a loud speaker system? We wouldn’t need a generator at all, just a recording device,” the technician asked.

  The two researchers looked at each other and a slow smile formed. “That sounds feasible.”

  The techs smiled. “That we can do. We have CD burners all over the place. Get me a set of frequencies to work with and we’ll get you a master burned.”

  Broussard nodded as he came to his feet. “American ingenuity. Remarkable.”

  Simon carried the final box of liquor to the SUV and slid it into the passenger seat. He stepped back and smiled. The entire vehicle was packed with every type of alcohol, even those he didn’t much like, and he barely had room to sit in the driver’s seat.

  He turned to the liquor store and bowed. “I shall see you again. Just not any time soon.” He practically danced a jig to the driver’s side and slid in behind the wheel. He started the car and put it into reverse.

  He winced at the slow grind as the vehicle backed from the front of the liquor store. He immediately assumed that ramming the storefront had broken something, then he noticed the flashing yellow light on the dash indicating that it was still in four wheel drive low.

  He cursed at himself, put it into park, and shifted the vehicle back to two wheel drive. When he put it in gear again he heard a series of clunks before the little car lurched forward. He smiled to himself as he made his way back across town with his treasure, his mission to find the traitorous defectors forgotten.

  When he approached the intersection where the Ragers had been congregated, he slowed again. He didn’t see any sign of the red-eyed monsters, but there were smears of blood scattered across the sidewalks. He could only guess who the unfortunate soul was that had been caught and munched on.

  “Serves you right, Shooter, ya little shit.” He goosed the accelerator again and pointed the SUV toward the house he now considered home.

  He pulled into the gated community and slowed the car, hoping he’d see a sign that Sinner and Shooter had returned from foraging. He turned into the cul-de-sac and felt the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. He slowly approached the house and looked for any sign of the pair of miscreants.

  Simon pulled the SUV up to the front of the garage and sat behind the wheel, staring into the shadows before him. Slowly, he backed the car out and made a two-point turn to face the house across the street. He put the car into reverse and backed slowly up his driveway. He shut down the engine and stepped out of the car; he hit the button on the keyfob and popped the rear hatch.

  He grabbed the first box of liquor and stacked it along the wall of the garage. He turned back for the next box when a voice from behind froze him in his tracks.

  “I wouldn’t move if I were you.”

  Chapter 17

  Hatcher held the pistol at Simon and fought the urge to pull the trigger and call it a day. “Just stop right there.” He watched the biker stiffen then slowly stand, lowering the box of booze back into the rear of the car. “Keep your hands where I can see them.”

  Simon slowly turned and raised a brow at him. “I figured Sinner or even Savage would be the one to do me in. Not some sniveling shit like you.” He slowly lowered his hands and reached behind him.

  “I said keep them where I can see them!” Hatcher took a step forward and froze when he watched the biker lift a bottle of booze from the box behind him.

  “If it’s all the same to you, I’d like one last drink before you make me a Rager Lunchable.” He gripped the top and twisted it off, tearing the paper band.

  Roger appeared in the opening of the garage and slowed his approach, his shotgun leveled on the biker from over the top of the car. “Looks like you got him.” He glanced to Hatcher with a questioning look. “Do him and let’s go home.”

  “I have questions.” He raised the pistol to center on Simon’s face while the man continued to chug the booze. “Like how do you drink that and keep your legs under you?”

  Simon lowered the bottle and belched loudly. “It’s a lifestyle, not a hobby.” He sat down heavily on the rear deck of the SUV and held the bottle in his hands. “So let’s get this shit over with.”

  Hatcher relaxed slightly and gave Roger a furtive glance, ensuring he still had the shotgun leveled on him through the rear side glass. “Why did you lure the Zulus to our place at the warehouse?”

  Simon belched again then looked at him with rummy eyes. “You took what was mine.”

  “And?”

  “And, nothing. Nobody steals from me.” He lifted the bottle and took another long pull.

  “We didn’t ‘steal’ anything. Your people came of their own volition.”

  Simon shrugged and held the bottle loosely in his grip. “Whatever, Cager. You stole my people, my guns…my women.” His eyes narrowed at the man. “If I can’t have ‘em, nobody does.”

  “You’d rather kill your own people than see them prosper?”

  Simon snorted and shook his head. “We were doing just fine ‘til you and yours came along.”

  “You tried to jump me and mine on the highway…remember?”

  Simon nodded. “I wanted the truck.” He turned an evil eye to Hatcher. “And whatever was in it.”

  “It was empty except for us.”

  Simon smiled and it didn’t reach his eyes. Hatcher felt a distinct cold chill as he watched the man. “Exactly.”

  “We’re not slaves to be taken or—”

  Simon hefted the bottle and cut him off with a whoop. “Right, right. Lincoln freed the slaves and all that shit.” He shook his head as he took another long pull. “None of them fuckers would have survived this long without me there.” He jabbed the bottle toward Hatcher, pointing at him with his finger. “They owe their lives to me.”

  “And I’m sure they appreciate it.” He glared at the man. “But now they’re safe and they’re free.”

  “Free?” Simon came to his feet and wobbled slightly, shaking the whiskey bottle as he steadied himself. “So, you’re telling me they’re all just lounging around sipping mimosas and having orgies and shit, right?” He narrowed his gaze at Hatcher. “You don’t have none of them working for you?”

  Hatcher inhaled deeply and let it out slowly. “They have their duties.”

  “Of course they do!” Simon bellowed. “Wake up and smell the fucking coffee, Cager. People are a commodity. The only difference between you and me is I kept order amongst the ra
nks. I kept them all in their fucking place!”

  “You are so wrong.” Hatcher shook his head at him. “They’re free to leave if they want.”

  “And do what? Get eaten by some red-eyed Rager? That’s a fuckin’ hoot!” He took another swig from the bottle and shook his head. “You are so full of shit, man. Just you’ve got used to the smell.”

  “Screw this, Hatch. Waste the asshole and let’s get gone.”

  Hatcher nodded and brought the pistol up again. Simon held a finger up, stopping him while he took one more long pull from the bottle. He swayed slightly as he stood at the rear of the car.

  Hatcher sighed as Simon held the bottle to his lips. He wasn’t expecting what came next.

  “How’s this?” The technician held up the device and pressed a button.

  Broussard stared at the device and shrugged. “Is it working?”

  The tech smiled and pointed to the oscilloscope, a strong wave form flashing on the small screen. “According to this, I’d say so.”

  Carol smiled and nudged Broussard. “We need to test it.”

  The tech stiffened. “For that we’ll need to plug it into the amplifier and some kind of loudspeaker. You’ll want the tone to carry, right?”

  “As far and wide as possible.” Broussard stared at the small plastic device. “This has the CD inside?”

  The tech shook his head. “Nope. We have plenty of burnable discs but not enough players, so we switched to a USB drive.” He blew his breath out hard and slid the device closer. “It’s sealed so it should be weatherproof. We just need to rig up a longer lasting battery and figure out where we can scrounge the loudspeakers.”

  Carol picked it up and inspected it. “If this thing works, then whoever is close to the broadcast should be safe from the Zeds. They’ll be docile.”

  “That’s a lot of ‘ifs.’” The tech crossed his arms and gave her a knowing look. “Not that I don’t trust your data, I’d just rather not be the guy testing it.”

  “Understood.” Broussard nodded to the yeoman. “Can you contact whomever and see if there is a team available that could…perhaps locate a loudspeaker system and test this unit? If it works, we can create many more.”

  The yeoman shrugged. “We have special ops guys that live for danger, but…it will really be up to the skipper.”

  “Let them know that we are prepared for field testing. If there’s anything that can be done, it should be.”

  “Got it.”

  The yeoman slipped out of the lab and Carol turned to the tech. “How many of these can you build?”

  He shrugged. “At least a dozen more. Maybe if they go ashore and test it we can get the materials to create as many as you want.”

  She turned to Broussard and smiled broadly. “This is going to work. I can feel it.”

  He raised a brow at her. “You can?”

  Her expression soured. “You know what I mean. It’s a figure of speech.” She huffed then stripped the latex gloves from her hands. “I need some fresh air.”

  He watched her leave the lab and felt a desire to follow and try to placate her. Instead he saw the tech giving him a questioning look. “Is there something I should know?”

  Broussard shook his head. “She caught a bug recently.” He sat down hard and ran a hand through his hair. “I fear that she was exposed to the solution we created.”

  The tech gave him a concerned look. “If it’s a cure, then wouldn’t that be a good thing?”

  Broussard nodded. “It is still untested. We can’t be certain that it works.”

  The tech nodded knowingly. “And there’s no way to test if she was exposed to the cure or just caught something here on the ship?”

  Broussard nodded. “I am waiting for the culture to grow large enough to test.”

  The tech nodded knowingly. “Okay then…if you need me, you know how to reach me.” He handed Broussard the device and turned for the door. “Let me know how everything turns out.”

  Broussard watched him leave and chewed at his inner cheek. If it was the cure, perhaps there was enough growth to test the DNA; he did engineer it to be very aggressive.

  He walked to the incubator and pulled the door open. His eyes settled on the culture he had started and he felt his stomach drop

  Simon staggered then swung the plastic whiskey bottle. He spat the mouthful of liquor at Hatcher as he reached for the pistol and spun into his body, pulling the weapon away and towards Roger.

  With all of his strength he brought his elbow back and into Hatcher’s midsection, shoving the man off his feet. Simon continued his movement with a body roll and spun Hatcher around to act as a human shield.

  He felt the man’s free arm try to grab him by the neck but a quick duck broke his grip and flung him up and over his shoulder then broke for the car.

  Simon didn’t wait to see where the other man ended up as he jerked open the driver’s door and mashed the starter button. He threw the car into gear and floored the accelerator, screeching tires as he pulled away from the garage.

  He distinctly heard the rear most box of booze fall out and hit the concrete, glass bottles shattering as he spun the car wide out of the driveway. The rear passenger window exploded inward as a shotgun blast struck the retreating vehicle. He cursed when he smelled the strong odor of alcohol.

  “Fuckers! I broke a sweat collecting this shit!” He ignored the alarms screaming out inside the cabin and pressed the dashboard mounted button to close the rear hatch before he lost any more of his precious cargo.

  As he roared through the gates of the housing community he turned quickly and shot through the intersections in an attempt to put as much distance as he could between himself and the Cagers. He could only guess at how they found him, but he wanted to be certain they didn’t catch him.

  Simon twisted the steering wheel hard and the SUV screeched around a corner, pointing him in a direction he wasn’t certain he’d been before. Dilapidated houses lined both sides of the street and he cursed as he pushed the SUV harder. He prayed that he’d find a landmark soon that would tell him where he was. He knew he wasn’t very far from the housing addition, but it felt like he was in a different world with the condition of the homes in this area. Yards were scattered with waist high weeds and abandoned cars lined most driveways as he shot through the residential area.

  He finally slowed the car and shook his head as his vision began to blur. He had made such a point of guzzling booze to kill time and give him the chance to formulate a plan of escape, but now the effects were starting to hit him.

  Hard.

  He slowed the car and sat idle at the intersection. More worn down houses lined the streets and he had no earthly idea where he was. He reached into the rear seat and pulled another bottle of booze forward, more from habit than the desire to add to his buzz. He cracked the cap and took a sip rather than a long pull, taking a moment to enjoy the burn as it went down and leaning back in his seat. “Which way, Mr. Walker?” He sat the bottle of Black Label scotch in the passenger seat and stared down the lonely roads.

  “We damned sure ain’t leaving town without my horse.” He belched again and felt the acid climb his throat. He turned in the seat and stared at the cargo area. “Hmm. Maybe I should have broken into a sandwich shop first and got some food.”

  He turned back to face the front and grinned at his stupidity. “Who needs food when you got memory repellent?”

  He pushed the car forward, easing through the “bad side” of town. He glanced at the numerous houses and shook his head. He’d definitely stayed in worse in his life. He stopped in front of a house that looked less run down. “Maybe there’s a bed that ain’t been shit on.” He pulled the car into the driveway and stepped out. A quick peek through the windows had him stepping back.

  The place reminded him of a flop house. He could imagine the layer of used syringes scattered about and he cringed. “I think I’d rather sleep this off in the gutter than risk the Hepatitis Hotel.”

&n
bsp; He staggered back to the car and pulled back onto the street. He cruised slowly and methodically through the housing addition, the car swaying between the lanes until he spotted a mini mall in the distance.

  He mashed the pedal and hopped the curb, cutting through a vacant lot and bouncing back onto the paved parking area. He parked the car at an angle and shut off the engine. “This here’s as good a place as any.”

  He leaned the seat back and closed his eyes for just a moment…he just needed to rest his head for a moment…and sleep took him quickly.

  Chapter 18

  Hatcher rolled to all fours and sucked hard, trying to pull air into his lungs. He coughed violently and fell back onto his ass, his arms flailing.

  “You okay, Hatch?” Roger tried to pull him to his feet and Daniel waved him off. “Come on, man. Just breathe.”

  Hatcher nodded as he continued to forcefully try to pull air into his lungs. “I’m…trying,” he croaked.

  “The asshole got away, man. I’m sorry.”

  Hatcher shook his head as he continued to pull air into his lungs. He slowly came to his feet and bent over, spitting onto the garage floor. “It’s okay man; my fault.” He forced himself to stand up straight and inhaled deeply. “I thought he was too sauced to make a move like that.” He glanced to Roger and shook his head. “Suckered me.”

  Roger nodded and helped him to the driveway. Hatcher grimaced as he tried to walk. “May have broken a few ribs…really hurts to breathe.”

  “If he didn’t crack them, he probably bruised a few.” Roger helped to steady him. “I don’t think we could catch him if I had wheels right here.”

  Hatcher waved him off. “Just get the truck. We can go home.” He stared off toward the gates. “I’m sure we haven’t seen the last of him.”

  Roger groaned. “If he knows what’s good for him, he’ll never show his ugly mug again.”

  “That’s just it,” Hatcher sighed. “He’s too stupid to know what’s good for him.”