The chain link gate around the motorpool had been closed since they pulled inside, and with the heavy double doors of the garage pulled shut and locked, they decided to call it a day, relaxing as they cooked dinner and ate, going from meal to jokes and then playful insults and finally war with balled napkins. Laughter rang out and during the laughter, the instigator of the playful war slipped away, disappearing in to the confines of the Fortress as he settled in to his bunk and stretched.
He froze. No matter how light on her feet she tried to be, he always heard her coming across the metal floor of the fortress. He flipped the switch and pulled the curtains plunging his bunk in to darkness. Cameron knew who it was, and what she wanted even as laughter reached him from the other three outside. Cameron cursed under his breath his boots askew were like a neon sign that gave him away. The wheels of his mind found no traction as he slid down in to his bunk. Why she came to him still had him confused.
Love was not something that really interested him in anyway – not to say that Jaira was unattractive - Out of the trio of women, he knew that Jaira was easily the most beautiful especially when she let her long hair down. But as he turned over to face the wall, her footsteps stopped and he closed his eyes and prayed that he would just get the darkness of sleep, without the dreams or the nightmares.
Jaira couldn’t decide whether or not he was actually asleep or just getting his daily dose of solitude. Solitude… he preferred it to human contact, even hers and that still hurt. Just a little bit but it still hurt. She spied the boots and took advantage of the situation. If he was asleep he wouldn’t care, and would just move over. If he was pretending to be asleep he would have to move over. He stirred uncomfortably in the darkness and that gave the game away as his stirring was not the kind of twitching that took place when he was in the throes of a nightmare.
He shifted again and she swooped down on him like a giant bat on its prey, sitting on the edge of the bunk, having kicked off her shoes. The problem was that Cameron himself didn't know if he was trying to keep her at arm’s length or to let her just a little bit closer.
The laughter outside had died away completely as they cleared the trash and leftovers from dinner and Jaira wondered why her feet seemed to have developed a mind of their own. It would be the fifteenth time she would do what she’d done. He never seemed to notice when she literally rolled him over like a giant log to make some space for herself, and she didn’t object when he had wrapped his arms around her as he pretended to be asleep – again.
She snuggled up against him and he wondered what he should do behind closed eyes. He’d been dealing with her direct intrusions in to his bunk for months now, but it is an intrusion that, he had to admit even if was just to himself that there was something, nice about having someone to hold again.
Outside, the trio waited and watched with bated breath… but why they watched he wasn’t sure. They would hear something long before saw anything. That was the generally accepted theory as they’d heard a lot and seen nothing at the Portland Junkyard months before. After several tense minutes of anticipation, the trio finished the cleaning and clambered aboard, locking the sliding door behind them as everyone collapsed in to their bunks and for the first time in a long time, the crew of the Fortress slept. The private betting pool between the three of them on that particular juicy topic got just a little bit larger as Jaira would never tell and their iceberg leader would not melt.
The proceeding weeks were filled with activity as they mounted the five machine guns in to place, making sure that they had decent ranges of motion laterally and vertically. After several instances of trial and error they had succeeded in mounting the guns, keeping the barrels outside to reduce the level of noise inside the Fortress. Laser sights were mounted to the guns, and they test fired a hundred rounds from each gun to make sure that they would shake and rattle to the machine gun beat without dislodging themselves.
The Spartans were well rested when they finally ventured out of the hanger, having lived on the base for almost three weeks with the only place of interest left being the base hospital, where as an afterthought, it occurred to them there would be an infestation of zombies.
Raiding from the ruins of civilization to fuel the rebirth of humanity seemed to be an acceptable way of life for Cameron, if not the rest of them. Truthfully after the destruction of Sparta, he was none too interested in being tied down to a single fixed location, fearful that history could repeat itself. The rapid fall of California meant that most of the human population was either dead, or had managed to get out of the state with the dead on their heels. But what it also meant was that pockets of human survivors would be scattered throughout the state. Already, whatever supplies that they had in excess were stacked and stored in buildings thorough the motor pool, and rigged with simple tripwire grenade traps. If they could not carry it, they were leaving it behind, but leaving them protected.
The base hospital was the best source of higher grade medical supplies that included antiseptics and antibiotics, and surgical equipment. Those things would be in demand for trade with any half way sensible community. Unfortunately, hospitals were also among the most dangerous locations to search for supplies and their preparations reflected this. Two were armed with their new assault rifles, and the rest with shotguns and submachine guns. All carried twin Berettas in thigh holsters and military body armor that protected everything except their joints, hands and head.
Within the confines of any medical facility, there were always undead, lots of undead as the patients and first victims of the “plague” or “disease” were taken to hospitals, where they died, rose up and slaughtered several of the medical staff, were captured and quarantined or restrained. Briefly studied before one test subject too many was strapped to a bed or a gurney and something somewhere broke or gave way, allowing all hell to break loose and spread like an epidemic. The walking dead often occupied every corridor and room.
But this hospital was eerily quiet as they moved down its corridors, sweeping from room to room, the flashlights of their new assault rifles and submachine guns throwing pools of light around each room they swept, even as the under slung laser sights sent red or green beams of light lancing through the shadows and darkness.
Other medical supplies were easy enough to locate as they didn’t look, simply spray painting the sides of trolleys, and carts that they would collect on their return trip through the building – assuming that they did not have to run from the dead. And that in itself was starting to worry Cameron like a Coyote gnawing at its own leg when stuck in a trap: Where in the hell where all the undead? He voiced his question and everyone else gave the only answer that they had as they moved up several floors and finally found the zombie mob.
They had yet to take any notice of the five, standing and milling about on the other side of a set of doors, the glass stained with blood and bodily fluids, cracked but intact. A chair and gurney had been hastily shoved in to place and it was that weak barricade that had kept the dead bottled up inside the ward. They sized up the number of undead contained and Jaira was the first one to say it, “Think we can take ‘em?”
Robert looked at her and suggested that they just go back the way they came and leave the undead alone. Cameron was inclined to agree with that particular idea as he reached in to his pack, pulling a role of silver duct tape and several lengths of nylon fishing line, “Hand me a couple of grenades.” Robert handed over a quartet of the deadly pineapples, and starting pulling and cutting strips of the heavy tape muttering to himself as he did so, “Zombies rise up, Armageddon comes and this stuff still holds the world together.”
They quickly taped grenades to both sides of the corridor and strung up the trip wire attached to the pins of both grenades before moving down several more feet and repeating their trap. Hopefully it would provide enough warning of an undead breakout for them to escape. Moving down the staircase, they paused and set the same trap again and then on to the tedious task of taking whatever medications and equipment that they could reasonably transport. Thankfully, the undead stayed blissfully ignorant of their presence and activities.
Done for the day, they retreated back to their hanger and settled in for the night, but not before posting a sentry on the roof of their building, now having reason to remain paranoid. The night stayed quiet and peaceful as Cameron was relieved by Jaira who had it quiet, if not quieter than Cameron had as Natalie clambered on to the roof of the building.
They talked for a few minutes until the faint sound of engine whispered on the wind towards them, “Did you hear that?” Grabbing their binoculars, they searched and found the Ford E-series van that stayed its course, coming directly towards them. Jaira cursed. They had to stay just one more night… if they’d left like she suggested, whatever was fast approaching would not have become their problem to deal with.
A series of sharp firework like retorts broke the night’s silence followed by another stream of return fire. The van swerved dangerously, going off the road for a minute, throwing up a cloud of dust before returning to the road, “Looks like we have angry guests,” Jaira raced down to the fortress, scrambling aboard a touch out of breath as she shouted, “Contact!”
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