Caldera Book 6: New World Order Page 2

  “I’m sorry, Sinner. I ain’t got nothing else.”

  “Just hurry will ya? I got pills stashed in my bag.”

  Stinky shook his head. “Unless they’re antibiotics, they ain’t gonna help your shoulder not get infected.”

  “THEY’RE FOR THE PAIN, FUCKER!” Sinner screamed then wished he hadn’t. He slowly rolled his head to the side and passed out.

  Stinky slapped at Shooter, “Hustle it up. I think he’s bleeding out.”

  “Pfft!” Simon sat up. “It’s just a flesh wound. He’ll be fine when he stops being a pussy.”

  Stinky glared at his boss then reached behind his seat to try to press the rag to Sinner’s shoulder. “Holy crap, he’s bleeding like a stuck pig.”

  Simon rolled his eyes then dug into his pockets, wishing he had his emergency cigarette. He fished out an empty package and crushed it. “You assholes have any smokes?”

  Stinky stared at him open mouthed. “Seriously? Sinner’s shot and you want a cigarette?”

  Simon nodded. “Duh. I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t.”

  Stinky shook his head, trying to press the blood soaked rag tighter against Sinner’s shoulder. “I don’t smoke.”

  Simon reached over Stinky and slapped at Shooter. “Give me a cigarette.”

  Shooter rubbed the side of his head. “I quit.”

  “The hell you did. When did you quit?”

  Shooter glared into the rear view mirror. “When the world bit the dust and they stopped making them!”

  Simon huffed and sat back in his seat. “Press the skinny pedal down then, asshole. I got some smokes tucked away at the house.”

  Shooter downshifted and tried to increase his speed on the straightaway. He glanced back at Sinner and prayed the man survived. They were going to need him if they ever hoped to get rid of Simon.

  Chapter 2

  Hatcher stood at the gate, his rifle at the ready. “Any idea how many?”

  Hank shook his head. “There are dozens who could have crawled off, Hatch. But I’m guessing there’s at least fifty dead just here by the staging gates.”

  Roger sighed as he lifted the feet of another dead Zulu and swung him into the back of the truck. “I used to work crowds before I went undercover. If I had to estimate the size of the force that showed up, I’d put it at around two hundred, two-fifty.”

  “So, there’s potentially another two hundred Zulus out there, waiting for us.”

  Roger shrugged. “I’m sure there are more. That was just the force that struck last night.” He kicked at the body at his feet. “Now that they’re up close and personal, I see what you mean about them starving to death.” He pointed to the next one on the pile. “This guy is so emaciated, we probably did him a mercy by putting him down.”

  Hatcher hunkered low and studied the body in front of him. “I’m betting money they’ll be back.”

  Wally came trudging into the staging area with three other men. “They cut the fabric on the fence.” He dropped the roll of wire he had been carrying and stretched his lower back. “We patched it up as best as we could, but…if they hit us with any strength again, it won’t stop them.”

  Hatcher nodded as he came to his feet. “Let’s not worry about hauling the dead too far off. I want people to focus on packing and us getting the hell out of here.”

  Roger stiffened and eyed the other men before speaking. “You sure that’s such a swell idea, Hatch?” He stood up and stretched his back. “Don’t misunderstand, I love the retirement place, but…that wall? It’s only ten foot tall at best.”

  Hatcher nodded. “With sentries, it’ll be safe enough.”

  Roger slowly shook his head. “I dunno man. If they come at us with two hundred bodies?” He glanced at Wally. “How high did they stack the dead before they started climbing over?”

  Wally shrugged. “Three, maybe four feet.”

  “Hatch, this fence is a twelve footer.”

  Hatcher turned and raised his voice. “I know what you’re getting at, Rog. But let’s face it…the water tank is damned near empty…if it isn’t already. We may be surviving on the remnants of what’s in the line.”

  Roger blew his breath out hard and stepped away from the bodies. He lowered his head and practically whispered, “So we beef up things at the new place. Maybe we find a fence company here in town and raid them. We put up a primary fence…another chain link, like this one. That way they have two barriers to get through before they get to us.”

  “Like a prison.”

  Roger nodded. “Yeah, like a prison.”

  Hatcher blew his breath out hard and pointed back into the warehouse. “We have families here. Kids. Would you want to raise a kid in a prison?”

  Roger shook his head. “But it’s not a prison. And until these things starve out or overtake us, I’d rather have my family safe than worry about how something ‘appears’ to the kids.”

  Hatcher nodded, knowing he made sense. “Yeah.” He stood up and squared his shoulders. “Yeah, I know you’re right.”

  “What’s gotten into you man? Security was your main focus for so long and now…”

  Hatcher sighed heavily and raised a brow at him. “I just…I was hoping that this new place would bring us one step closer.” He took a deep breath and blew it out slowly. “One step closer to the way things used to be.”

  Roger placed a hand on his shoulder and squeezed. “It will. Trust me, man. You aren’t the only one that wishes things were like they used to be.” He watched as the men continued to load the bodies that blocked the staging area. “But first we have to make sure there are people left to actually save before we worry about putting things right.”

  Hatcher nodded then clapped the man’s back. “I’m just tired. It’s been a long day and…” He turned slowly and pointed himself toward his office. “I just need some rest.”

  “You and me both, brother.” Roger gave him a mock salute. “I’ll let you know when we’re done.”

  Roger watched Hatcher saunter off then turned back to the men loading bodies. “Things will be better. You’ll see.”

  Carol nearly jumped when the lights went out and the battery-powered red lights came up. The alarm klaxon that echoed through the ship set her nerves on edge. “What the—?”

  The sailors called the voice that came over the speakers the “1MC.” It shook her to her core. “Response teams assemble aft of the mess decks. Infected personnel located in forward gear locker.”

  Carol heard sailors running through the hallways, banging and clanging as they prepared to engage Vivian. She nearly jumped again when Broussard sat up in his chair and stared at her, wide eyed.

  A short scream escaped her mouth as he jumped to his feet. He spun and stared at her. “What did they say?”

  Carol let out the breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding. “What?”

  “What did they say over the intercom?”

  “Oh, uh…that they spotted Vivian in a forward gear locker. I think.”

  Broussard pulled open the lab door. “Non! This is a trap!” He stepped into the hallway and was nearly run over by a three-man team with rifles and riot gear.

  Carol appeared at his side. “Why would you say that? She’s infected. Surely she isn’t cognizant enough to design a trap.”

  Broussard’s face was pale as he turned to her. “She would not allow herself to be captured in a room. She would find a…” He turned slowly and stared at the ventilation duct that opened high on the wall. “How big is that?”

  Carol shook her head as she tried to focus on what he was talking about. “How big is what?”

  “This!” Broussard stepped forward and tapped at the screen covered rectangle. “This duct.”

  Carol shook her head. “I don’t know. A foot by a foot and a half?”

  “Twelve by eighteen inches. Thirty by fifty centimeters…”

  “What’s your point, doctor?” Carol took a step behind him, putting him between her and the vent co
ver.

  “Plenty of room for somebody as small as she, non?”

  Carol shook her head again. “Possibly. I don’t… I’m not sure. Why?”

  Broussard stepped into the hallway and ran the same direction the men had gone. Carol followed him to the door and leaned out. “Where are you going?”

  “To warn them!”

  She stepped back into the lab and turned to stare at the vent. She no longer felt safe in the lab and she definitely didn’t feel safe in the hallway. “This is the first time I actually wish I was on land.”

  Stinky and Shooter dragged Sinner through the living room and set him as gently as they could on the dining table. “I need light,” Stinky said calmly.

  Shooter ran down the hallway and rifled through a closet. He came back with a battery powered lantern. “Not the best, but it’s LED. Should last a while.” He hung the lantern on the low hanging dining room fixture and flipped it on.

  Stinky peeled the blood soaked leather from his shoulder then lifted his torso. “Pull it off.” He grunted.

  Shooter tugged at the leather and dropped it to the floor. “What can I do?”

  “Find me something…gauze, towels, old t-shirts, something. I need to stop this bleeding if I can.”

  Stinky focused his attention on Sinner as Shooter ran back down the hallway. Simon swayed through the garage door, whisky in hand. “Lookie lookie what I found.”

  Stinky reached for it. “That will work.”

  “Like hell it will!” Simon pulled the bottle away from him. “If you want to waste good alcohol on the likes of him, use that clear shit.”

  Stinky gave him an evil glare. “I need something to sanitize with.”

  Simon nodded toward the garage. “Second box over on the right. There’s gin and I think vodka.”

  Stinky stared at him. “Would you get it for me? Please.”

  Simon huffed then turned and threw the garage door open. “The things I do for you ungrateful fucks…”

  Stinky clenched his jaw tight and barely looked up when Shooter ran back down the hallway. “This is all I could find. Unless you want bed sheets.” He shrugged. “They don’t look very absorbent.”

  “This’ll do for now.” He motioned Shooter over while he held a washrag to Sinner’s shoulder. “I need you to find something metal and pointy. Like a fireplace poker or…”

  Shooter shook his head. “What for?”

  “I have to cauterize this wound. He’s losing too much blood. I don’t have the equipment to go digging around in there so it’s our only hope of saving him.”

  Shooter swallowed hard and shook his head. “I-I don’t know…”

  “Just LOOK.” Stinky barked. “Maybe in the garage…anything!” Shooter turned and headed for the garage just as Simon pushed his way back in.

  “Look out!” Simon held the Vodka bottle high as Shooter darted into the garage. “What the hell’s wrong with him?” He smiled at Stinky. “He afraid of a little blood?”

  “Actually, this is a lot of blood.” He reached for the vodka bottle then unscrewed the cap with his teeth. “Too much blood. Blood that should be inside him right now.”

  He took a small drink from the bottle to calm his nerves and cringed at the taste. “Oh my god. It’s like rubbing alcohol.” He turned the bottle upside down and flooded the wound. He tried to pull the skin back to pour it inside but it only cased Sinner to bleed more profusely.

  “I found this!” Shooter slid to a stop beside the table and held up a piece of rebar. “It was sitting on the workbench and…” He shrugged. “It’s the only pointy metal thing I could find.”

  Simon pulled his knife from his belt and held it up. “I got a pointy metal thing!”

  Stinky pulled Shooter close and lowered his voice. “I need flame. Something that will burn long enough to get that metal red hot.”

  Shooter’s eyes widened then he slowly smiled. “Propane torch out there. Like you use on metal pipes.”

  “Get it! Now!” Stinky pushed him toward the door then pressed hard on Sinner’s wound.

  Shooter bounced off the wall when he came back in. “Feels full.” He handed it to Stinky who hefted it then nodded. “Light it up, and get that metal hot.”

  He watched as Shooter wrapped a towel around the base of the rod then pulled the trigger on the propane torch. The short flame shot out a brilliant blue.

  “Wait a second.” Stinky held the vodka bottle over the end of the rebar and poured some over the end. He nodded to Shooter. “Now. Red hot.”

  Shooter tried to hold the rebar up and only heat the end. He could feel the heat transferring throughout the length but he continued to apply the propane flame until the end glowed orange. “Is this good?”

  “I wish it were hotter, but yeah.” He pulled the rag away from Sinner’s shoulder and poured more vodka over the wound then nodded to Shooter. Shooter shook his head and backed away, offering the hot rod to Stinky.

  “Of for shit’s sake.” Stinky grabbed the metal and jammed the heated end into Sinner’s flesh. In an instant the man sat up, eyes wide and mouth open in the shape of a scream before his eyes rolled back in his head and he collapsed onto the table again.

  Stinky was knocked to the floor. He stared wide eyed at Sinner. “I didn’t think he’d do that.” He collected himself and used the towel to pick up the metal rod again. The smell of burnt flesh permeated the air.

  “Heat that up again. We have to do the exit wound as well.” Stinky held Sinner down and poured a small amount of vodka over the seared wound. Very little blood rose from the wound and Stinky sighed. “One more to go.”

  Simon sat his whisky down a little too hard and gave Stinky a mirthful look. “You know he’s gonna kick your ass when he comes to, right?” Simon chuckled and shook his head. “I’m going to enjoy the show.”

  “If he does, he does.” Stinky pulled at the man’s shoulder and rolled him to his side. He washed the exit wound clean and reached for the metal rod from Shooter. “If he lives, that’s all the thanks I’ll need.” He shoved the tip into the larger exit wound and braced himself to be knocked to the floor again.

  Sinner lay dormant as Stinky seared the wound; the sweet, sickly smell of burning human flesh rose into the air. He poured another quick wash of vodka over the wound then had Shooter pay out a towel. Stinky laid Sinner back down gently and fell back with a heavy sigh. “I think that’s about all we can do for now.”

  Shooter dropped the propane torch, let the rebar roll off the table. “Should we bandage the wounds? Maybe make him a sling?”

  Stinky shrugged. “I think it’s better to let the wound breathe. I think it will heal faster. At least until he’s up and mobile again.”

  “You mean if he’s up and mobile again.”

  Stinky nodded solemnly. “Right. If.” He exhaled hard and stared at his blood covered hands shaking. He reached out slowly and took the vodka bottle. He poured a small amount into his hands then scrubbed them together, doing his best to remove the lion’s share of blood from them.

  Stinky offered the bottle to Shooter who did the same. “You think he’ll make it?”

  Stinky shrugged. “He lost a lot of blood.”

  Shooter glanced at Simon who appeared passed out on the couch. “So how’d you know to do that? You a medic in the army or something?”

  Stinky shook his head. “I was going to be an EMT. You know, the assholes that get to ride in ambulances and run red lights and shit.” He gave him a sad smile. “Two weeks left to graduation and I’m busted on a piss test.”

  “No shit?”

  Stinky shrugged. “My ex-old lady wanted to get high after I’d aced a test.” He sighed heavily and leaned his head back against the wall. “I knew I shouldn’t, but I also knew that if I didn’t get lit with her, I wouldn’t get no pussy.” He gave him a broad smile.

  Shooter chuckled. “Was it worth it?”

  “The pussy?” Stinky shook his head. “It’s all the same. But that was some good
weed.” He laughed and Shooter laughed with him.

  “I do regret not finishing school, though.” He shrugged again. “Who knows. Maybe I could have been a good EMT.”

  Shooter nodded. “I think you woulda.” He nodded to Sinner. “I bet he thinks so, too.”

  Stinky leaned forward and tried to see over the table. Simon appeared passed out. “I truly hope he makes it. For both our sakes.”

  Shooter glanced at Simon and knew exactly what he meant.

  Chapter 3

  Hatcher groaned as he rolled off of the couch in his office. He pushed himself up and into a sitting position. “I’m too old for this crap.”

  “You and me both.” Vicky sat across from him, hot coffee in her hand.

  Hatcher rubbed at his eyes and blinked at her. “When did you come in?”

  She shrugged. “Just a moment ago.” She handed him a cup of coffee and leaned back in his chair. “The people out there are still pretty shaken up by what happened last night.”

  Hatcher accepted the cup and took a sip. He nodded at her comment. “I’m sure they are, but how often can somebody say they fended off a couple hundred of the Zulus and nobody was hurt or lost?”

  Vicky raised a brow. “Honestly, I don’t know.” She set her coffee down and gave him a lopsided smile. “I’m not even sure if there are other survivors out there.”

  Hatcher grunted. “There has to be.” He took a drink from the coffee and regretted it as his tongue scalded. He set the coffee down and forced his eyes open wider. “You can’t convince me that we’re all that’s left.”

  She shrugged. “It’s possible.”

  “There are more Jasons and Brendas out there. I can feel it.” He reached for his boots and began lacing them. “There’s no way that we’re it.”

  “I checked on Mike this morning. I’m not sure that we should move him.”

  Hatcher gave her a questioning look. “Who’s Mike?”

  “The biker that was sliced through the guts? Savage.”

  “Ah.” Hatcher nodded as he continued tying his boots. “I’m sure if we take it easy with him, he’ll be just fine. He’s a big boy.”