Caldera Book 7: The End Is Here Page 2

  Hatcher squeezed his eyes shut and slowly shook his head. “Don’t you get it, Hank? I went back to ground zero with the military…watched good men die so they could develop a cure.” He held his hands out wide. “Do you see anybody cured? I sure as hell don’t.” He tossed back the last of the drink then poured another.

  “Hatch, that shit takes time…”

  “Time? That’s something we don’t have much of. We got assholes like Simon out there trying to steal the days we have left, destroy what we built; we got Zulus hovering around like buzzards to pick our bones and all we can do is seal ourselves inside…a prison of our own making.”

  Roger appeared in the doorway and shrugged. “All it took was a couple of well-placed shots and…” He glanced around the room. “What’s wrong? Did somebody get hurt?”

  Hank hooked a thumb toward Hatcher. “His pride.” He walked out of the office without looking back and Hatcher glared at him as he disappeared down the hallway.

  “What was that all about?”

  Hatcher tossed back the drink and fell into his chair. “Nothing.”

  “Oh, that was something. You both look butthurt.”

  Hatcher screwed the lid back on the cheap bourbon and dropped it into his file drawer. “We’re fighting an uphill battle, Rog.”

  Roger nodded. “Sometimes. Today, not so much.” He smiled at Hatcher as he clapped his shoulder. “We beat ‘em back.”

  Hatcher stared at him with bleary eyes. “This time. Now they’ll think of something else.” He leaned back in his chair and pinched the bridge of his nose. “It never ends. If it’s not the Marauders, it’s the Zulus. If it’s not the Zulus, it’s lack of resources.”

  Roger sat down across from him and gave him a concerned stare. “We won, Hatch. What part of that are you angry about?” He glanced out into the foyer as people returned to their normal routines. “Nobody is hurt or killed. We got a bulldozer sitting out there that we can do whatever we want with. How is any of this a bad thing?”

  Hatcher took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “You just don’t get it. It’s never ending.”

  “Yeah. So?”

  “So? How are we supposed to keep people safe when there are assholes like Simon out there trying to burn down the world?”

  Roger leaned forward and gave him his best angry stare. “The way people have always been kept safe. By not giving up.” He pushed up out of the chair and glared at him. “By not wussing out. By stepping up and facing whatever the assholes of the world throw at us.” Roger stepped back and shook his head at him. “I don’t know what’s gotten into you lately, man, but this ain’t the Daniel Hatcher I first met.”

  Hatcher snorted and rubbed a hand across his quickly numbing face. “Yeah? How’s that?”

  “The Daniel Hatcher I first met would welcome the challenge. He’d shake his fist in their face and challenge them to bring their worst.” Roger opened the door to the office and stepped into the hall. “He wouldn’t wallow in self-loathing ‘cause he didn’t expect the attack that he faced and still won.”

  Hatcher watched him turn and disappear into the hallway. He lowered his head to the desktop and closed his eyes. “They just don’t get it.”

  Broussard knocked lightly then opened the door. “How is he?”

  “Still sleeping.” She stood up slowly and stretched. “His fever comes and goes and he’s drunk just shy of one liter of water.”

  “I brought orange juice.” Broussard held up a pitcher then shrugged. “Well, orange-flavored drink. I can’t bring myself to call it bug juice.”

  Carol smiled and laid her notebook on the side table. “He can have more anti-inflammatories when we wakes.”

  “Will you be going to the lab or to sleep?”

  Carol yawned and shook her head. “Sorry about that. If you need me to do something…” she trailed off.

  “Non. I am replicating the streptococcus as we speak. By the time you relieve me next, it should be ready for—”

  “What?” Kevin sat up and stared around the room, his face a mask of concern. “Who’s that? What’s…” He collapsed back to the mattress and Carol gave Broussard a knowing look.

  “He does that every once in a while. I think it’s fever-induced delirium.”

  Broussard nodded then took the seat beside the bed. “I’ll continue to watch over him.” He sighed heavily and reached for her notebook. “I worry though…if this works and we deliver it to the outside world, how will the uninfected deal with the results if there are infected nearby?” He exhaled hard and gave her a concerned look. “We could be setting them up to be overrun.”

  She placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “We can’t concern ourselves with every possibility.” She paused, then added, “Vivian said that to me once.”

  Broussard nodded. “You both are correct. All we can do is our best and pray that it is enough.”

  She patted his arm then reached for the door handle. “I’ll see you in six hours.”

  He watched her leave then turned on the bedside lamp. He pulled a book out from under his lab coat and flipped to where the page was dogeared. He glanced at Kevin and gave him a soft smile. “I would read it to you, mon ami, but we both know you wouldn’t remember any of it.”

  He leaned back in the chair and slipped his reading glasses on. A little apocalyptic fiction to take his mind off of real-world problems was just what the doctor ordered.

  Simon slammed the door on the little hybrid car and glared out the open window. “That plan should have worked.”

  Sinner crawled into the back seat and winced when he had to prop his weight with his wounded shoulder. “I think it all goes back to the original question, Simon. What were we going to do after the wall went down?”

  Shooter slipped in behind the wheel and pressed the power button. He put the car into drive and made sure he kept the speed low as he directed the trio back to their house.

  After a few minutes of silence he muttered, “I thought I was dead when that window blew out.” He glanced into the rear view mirror at Sinner. “I’m telling ya, I felt that bullet go by my face.”

  Sinner nodded. “I don’t doubt it.” He stared out of the window while they traveled the city streets. “I think maybe if we had come at them from three different sides, it might have worked.”

  “It wouldn’t have.” Simon barked. He reached into his vest and pulled out the brown pint bottle. He unscrewed the cap and continued to glare out the window. “The place was too open. The blades couldn’t keep us covered.”

  “And the sniper, boss. Don’t forget that guy.”

  Simon tilted the bottle back and took a long pull. “Oh, I haven’t forgotten him.” He held a finger to a nostril and did a farmer’s blow out the window. “We need a better plan of attack.”

  “We need more people.” Sinner stated flatly. “There’s too many of them to go straight at with only us three.”

  “Fucking Stinky.” Simon took another swig then screwed the lid back. “Traitor bailed on us.” He turned in the seat and pointed at Sinner. “It was probably him in the trees.”

  Sinner just nodded.

  “But we went at them with the Crazies boss. They were our army and those assholes still managed to survive.” Shooter slammed his hand against the steering wheel. “We need our own army.”

  Simon nodded. “Too bad there aren’t any left.” He paused and turned in his seat. “Or is there?”

  Sinner snorted. “Even if they were holed up somewhere, they wouldn’t join our cause.”

  Simon smiled, his head shaking. “No…I don’t mean THE Army.” He turned back and began to look through the open window. “We need to find the last place they had a base set up.”

  “What for, boss?” Shooter asked.

  “We need weapons.” Simon nodded slowly. “We need BIG weapons.”

  Trevor finished screwing the last of the bars into place and stood back to look at his handiwork. “It ain’t pretty by any far stretch of the im
agination.” He smiled at Patricia and gave her a wink. “But I think it will keep out the Ragers.”

  He grabbed one of the bars and tugged. The whole RV seemed to rock slightly. “Yeah, these aren’t going anywhere.”

  He tossed the tools aside, his fear still causing him to check the corners of the shop for any stragglers that may have decided to stick around for a snack.

  He swallowed hard then opened the driver’s door. “There’s a gas pump around the corner. Hopefully we can siphon enough from their tanks to fill this thing up. I don’t know how much a third of a tank is on this, but I’d rather fill it up now.”

  He started the RV and pulled it slowly from the shop, made a wide right turn, and eased the machine to the small gas station across the street. He killed the engine and listened for any kind of movement outside. Even with the bars in place, he hated having his window down when he knew that they could still be out there.

  He opened the door slowly and grabbed the gas can from between the seats. He found the tank covers imbedded in the concrete and lifted the brass plates. “Damn it.” He glanced back to Patricia. “They’re padlocked.”

  He leaned back and stared at the cars lying dormant. “Maybe some of these have gas.”

  He uncoiled the clear plastic tubing and slipped it down the filler neck of the first car. He blew into it; the tank sounded nearly empty.

  The second car gave up eight gallons that he split between two trips with the gas can. The third car must have been full because he siphoned out five cans’ worth. The last three gallons wouldn’t fit in the tank so he strapped the can to the rear bumper.

  When Trevor crawled back into the driver’s seat, Patricia wrinkled her nose at him. He grinned at her, lifting his brow. “Do I smell bad? I musta spilt some gas on me.”

  He pulled the baby wipes from his bag and wiped down his face and arms. “Better? No?” With a heavy sigh he tugged his shirt off and sniffed it. “Yeah. That’s not good.”

  He pulled on a cleaner t-shirt, then started the RV. “I’ll air out as we go.”

  He pulled the vehicle to the intersection and peered down either direction. “You ready to do some grocery shopping?” He gave her a soft smile then paused. “I don’t guess you smell…them, do ya?”

  She simply stared.

  “Okay then. Let’s hurry and do this. The sooner we load up, the sooner we leave.” He turned right and gently accelerated, maneuvering the RV around dead cars and trash in the street. “Better future, here we come.”

  Chapter 3

  Roger led Hank and Wally through the front gates. “So Hatcher is still stressing that we should do more.” He pointed to the dozer sitting idle in the vacant lot. “Any chance one of you can figure that machine out?”

  Hank nodded. “I’ve run tractors before. I’m sure it wouldn’t be much of a stretch.”

  “What do you want done?” Wally asked, his curiosity piqued.

  “You fellas think you could use that to drag some abandoned cars over and give us another line of defense?”

  Hank nodded. “Sure, but we got a fence and a wall. Do you really think a line of cars will do much more?”

  Roger shrugged. “If it slows somebody down enough for us to get the upper hand, I think it’s worth a shot, don’t you?”

  Hank shook his head slowly. “They came at us with bulldozers; a line of cars won’t stop them.”

  Wally stepped forward. “I think I see what he’s saying. It won’t stop them, but it could buy us a couple of minutes.”

  Hank squinted in the midday sun. “I’d rather fight fire with fire.”

  Roger gave him a curious look. “How’s that?”

  “There’s a shop just a couple blocks from here. We take that big yellow monster over there and we reinforce it. Maybe put expanded metal mesh over the windows. It might not stop a bullet, but it will deflect most shots.”

  Wally snapped his fingers. “Or plate steel. That will stop a bullet.”

  Hank appeared surprised. “We’d need to see where we’re going.”

  Wally nodded. “So we cut slots into it.” His eyes widened. “Or heavy duty louvers!”

  Roger shrugged. “If you two think you can turn that thing into a defensive weapon, I’m all for it.”

  Wally smiled and patted Hank’s shoulder. “We could mount guns on it.”

  “Or a flamethrower.” Hank grinned broadly.

  “Uh, guys? Let’s not get crazy here,” Roger said, stepping back. “Let’s stick with defensive for now, okay?”

  Hank seemed to deflate. “I really like the idea of a flamethrower though.”

  Wally shook his head. “We’d have to have a fuel tank for it. If it got shot…”

  Hank’s eyes widened as the realization struck. “Yeah…okay. No flamethrower.”

  Roger gave them a thumbs up. “Do your best, boys.”

  Hank slung his rifle and trudged across the lot to the dozer. “We can make a welder from car batteries if we have to. I seen that once on a movie.”

  “Right, ‘cuz movies never lie…”

  Roger chuckled at the pair as he turned back to the compound. “Are they on a mission?” Will asked, pushing his glasses back onto his nose.

  “They’re going to try to turn that dozer into a tank in case they try that move again.”

  Will nodded, his careful gaze studying the machine. “If you want to stop a bulldozer, you need to take out its tracks.”

  Roger turned and stared at him. “What are you saying?”

  “In World War II, they used package explosives and bazookas to destroy the tracks on tanks. Without the tracks, it’s just a really big paperweight.”

  Roger snorted. “A paperweight with a huge gun.”

  “Granted.” Will nodded then pushed his glasses back up his nose. “However, the premise is the same. Whether you are talking about tanks or bulldozers, the tracks are the weakest point.”

  Roger patted his pockets. “Sorry, Doc. Fresh out of bazookas.”

  Will cringed again at the unearned title. “Fair enough, but perhaps we could come up with something as effective.”

  “Like what?”

  He scratched his chin as he thought. “I know that there are ways to create plastic and putty explosives. I’m sure that with some creative thinking and a few household chemicals we could invent something a bit more…suitable.”

  Roger raised a brow at him. “You know how to do that kind of stuff?”

  Will shrugged. “It’s simple chemistry, actually.” He gave Roger a smile that chilled him. “But to answer your question, yes. I do.”

  Roger nodded slowly. “Give it some thought then. If you figure out a way that we can use a spud gun or something to shoot it—”

  “Oh, no. No, no, no.” Will shook his head. “Homemade explosives are extremely unstable. There will be no ‘spud gun’ delivery systems.”

  Roger chewed at his inner cheek. “Then what do you propose?”

  “Land mines? Fire bombs. Satchel explosives…there are quite a few different ways to deliver the payload.”

  Roger nodded slowly. “You’re really starting to scare me, Doc.” He stepped back and eyed him cautiously. “Take a look at what we have in stock and if you need something else, let me know. We can make a run for parts.”

  Will gave him a curt nod. “I’ll have it to you shortly.”

  Kevin sat up and turned to face Broussard. “What happened?”

  Broussard closed his book and pulled his reading glasses off. “Are you coherent or is this another outburst?”

  Kevin slung his legs off the edge of the mattress and propped himself with shaky arms. “I feel like I was hit by a truck.”

  Broussard noted the time in the notebook then stood to take Kevin’s vitals. He reached for his hand and Kevin slapped him away. “What the hell?”

  “You’re sick. I need to log your heart rate and—”

  “No you don’t.” Kevin quickly came to his feet and swooned. “Whoa…not so fast.”
He slowly sat back down and Broussard grabbed his arm, guiding him to the bed.

  “Your sour attitude has returned. I’m assuming you must be feeling better.” He pressed a hand to his forehead and Kevin ducked away.

  “I feel fine.” He leaned back and blew out a hard breath. “Other than being pooped.” He swallowed hard and shook his head. “And my throat is still a bit sore.”

  Broussard jotted down notes then reached for his stethoscope. “I need to listen.”

  Kevin huffed then leaned forward. “Fine. Just be quick, will ya? I’m starving.”

  Broussard listened to his breathing and to his heart, quickly took his pulse then his temperature. He pulled his penlight out and directed Kevin to open and say “ahh.”

  “Is this really necessary?” Kevin opened his mouth and Broussard took a quick look.

  “It’s still a bit red, but I imagine you’re over your bout of strep.” He glanced at his watch then raised a brow at him. “That was extremely quick.”

  “Good to know.” He pushed away from the wall and slowly came to his feet. “I’m so thirsty.”

  Broussard poured the orange drink and handed it to him. “I can get you more if you like.”

  He quickly emptied the glass then peered around his room. “Why are you here again?”

  Broussard raised a brow at him then pulled his mask down. “You don’t remember?”

  Kevin shook his head slowly. “I remember getting a sore throat and then…” He looked to Broussard. “What happened?”

  “We brought you here and made you comfortable.”

  “We?” He stepped back and eyed him cautiously. “You mean you and Dr. Chaplain?”