Deadlocked (Book 8): Sons of Reagan Read online

  DEADLOCKED 8

  Sons of Reagan

  By A. R. Wise

  Smashwords Edition

  Copyright 2014 Aaron Wise

  Smashwords Edition, License Notes

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  PART ONE – Setting Out

  PRELUDE

  “Which one is it that’s flying in today?” asked Nathan, one of the guards that Jerald had sent to the transfer facility to capture a member of The Electorate that was flying in for her final transfer procedure. She was unaware that the facility had been taken over by Jerald’s team.

  “Winchell,” said Jim. They were waiting outside, near the basketball court that was used as a landing pad for helicopters. “I think her first name’s Audrey.”

  The sky was overcast, and night seeped in lazily, like sludge rising through already murky water. Winter announced its arrival with delicate flakes of snow that drifted through the cool air and vanished upon touching down, like dying fairies that had no place in the real world. The incessant bugs that characterized the countryside in warmer months had vanished, and ‘V’ shaped flocks of geese were constantly passing above, headed south as the season changed. The ground was littered with dead leaves, some of which skittered across the court, adding to the soundtrack of waning fall.

  They listened for the telltale roar of an approaching helicopter, but the sky offered no sound other than the honks of migrating geese that had yet to find a pond or field to lounge in for the night.

  Nathan pulled at the tight collar of his ill-fitting, blue uniform that he’d been given to help complete the ruse. It was important that Audrey Winchell and the helicopter’s pilot not sense anything was amiss when they arrived. Jerald Scott had already managed to capture several members of The Electorate, and he wanted as many as he could get before the uprising was revealed. It was essential that The Noah Initiative was delayed, and if enough members of The Electorate were in custody, then there would be no choice but to comply with Jerald’s commands. This was how they’d planned on saving the lives of everyone stationed in the Rocky Mountain region, where The Electorate had planned to launch their final assault.

  Nathan was about to comment on how uncomfortable his uniform was when the early-winter solitude was interrupted by an animal’s pained howl from a distance too close for comfort. It carried on longer than it should, rising and falling, as if the creature was being tormented and had cried out in hope of rescue. The call died away slowly and gave Nathan the sense that the creature would have continued screeching all night had its lungs allowed it.

  “What in the hell was that?” asked Jim.

  Nathan stared wide-eyed out into the woods, fearing what might lurk there. He raised his rifle and clicked on the modular light. “No clue,” he said as he scanned the forest that cloistered the cabin. “Sounded like a dog, maybe.”

  “Or a wolf,” said Jim as he used his rifle to search the woods as well.

  Nathan continued to search, and he saw movement in the brush. He kept his light’s beam steady and peered into the distance, studying the spot where he thought he’d seen something. He was about to give up and look somewhere else when a small animal darted out of the light, kicking up leaves as it went, and revealing itself where Nathan had been nearly convinced nothing was hiding.

  “What was that?” asked Jim, his terror evident.

  “A fox or something,” said Nathan, his heart pounding as he searched for the creature. Whatever it was had escaped. “It wasn’t what made that howl.”

  “I hate nature,” said Jim and Nathan chuckled in agreement.

  “Never know what’s hiding in there.”

  “At least the zombies moan,” said Jim. “You know it when they’re coming after you. Animals are different. You don’t know they’re hunting you until they’re already pouncing.”

  They heard the screech of the animal again, this time from closer than before. It was weaker, but no less disturbing.

  “That’s close, man,” said Jim.

  “Maybe an Undying got its hands on a dog or something.”

  The creature wailed, pitiful as it fought to survive.

  “We need to go check it out,” said Nathan.

  “No we don’t,” said Jim with assuredness inspired by dread.

  “Yes we do. We can’t have that thing screaming like that when Winchell gets here.”

  Jim hated the idea of investigating, but knew that Nathan was right. “Fine,” he said and pointed his gun in the direction of the woods beside the basketball court. “You first.”

  Nathan felt the sting of a snowflake as it struck his cheek, and he wiped away the wetness. The way the flake had startled him revealed his tension. He walked cautiously across the court and to the line of woods beyond. A hill sloped down at a gradual decline from where the cabin was perched, and he stopped to inspect the area before moving on. Jim followed behind, quiet and cautious as he scanned the area for any sign of movement.

  The crunch of leaves beneath their feet was obnoxiously loud, and Nathan motioned for Jim to stop so they could listen for the creature that was dying out here. He heard something breathing fast and shallow like the final gasps of a victim before death finally claimed it.

  They moved further down and came to a clearing that appeared to be a pathway that had been carved through the woods wide enough for a vehicle. Nathan pointed down at what appeared to be indentations caused by tire treads and looked back at Jim with a questioning glance. Jim shrugged, apparently also unaware that there was a road down this way. Neither of them knew where it led.

  Nathan followed the path deeper into the woods. As it turned a corner, the gap in the trees revealed where it led. There was a cave here that looked manmade, and the creature that had alerted them was laying at its maw, as if the mountain itself was making a meal of it. The dog was still alive, and its glassy eyes stared out at them. Its mouth was agape, and bright blood leaked from it, forming a pool that the animal was too weak to crawl away from. The dog’s eyes shone green as Nathan’s flashlight found them, but then other, smaller eyes glimmered from atop the prey. Dark forms were writhing in the dog’s mangy fur, tearing at the creature’s skin, and ripping flesh from bone. The vision made little sense to Nathan, and he gazed in wonderment as the small creatures atop the dog paused their feast to stare out at the intruder.

  “Are those bats?” asked Jim, recognizing the creatures that were feasting on the dog. “What in the…”

  The bats screeched before Jim finished his curse. The creatures took flight, and then a deafening roar followed their ascent as a wave of black shot forth from the mouth of the cave. The colony of bats swarmed over Nathan, a storm cloud of fangs and claws that spun around him, like razors swirling in a tornado, tearing at his skin and clinging to him with needle sharp talons. Nathan batted at them, and shot into the air, but no matter what he did the creatures never relented. Their bloodlust was insatiable, and even as he crushed one or two that had fallen to the ground, ten more took their place, blotting out the world around him as he ran screaming in terror and pain.

  Nathan felt talons scrape across his eyes, and his cries of agony were equaled only by those the dog had made that first drew him to this cave. He succumbed, although he would rise again. Once the creatures were sated by his hot blood, he would come to understan
d their hunger as he searched the world for sustenance.

  The Tempest Strain was loose, and although the onset of winter would slow the spread of the disease, it was only a matter of time before the world was overcome with this new apocalypse.

  1 – Scouts

  Annie Conrad

  I was alone, just like I wanted, outside of the rehab center where the High Rollers had been hiding for the past couple months. The majority of the survivors chose to stay within the facility, away from the brutal winter that had buried the area in several feet of snow, but I prefer solitude, and the rehab center was too crowded for me.

  The High Rollers were in the process of splitting up, with some choosing to merge with the survivors of Vineyard to go and seek out a place that would be suitable for a new settlement, but the destruction of The Department had forced our group to stay together for the time being. We were wary to venture out in large groups because of the ever watchful eye of the military. As much as we wanted revenge against the man responsible for the deaths of so many of our friends, including my sister, the lives of the survivors of Vineyard were also in our hands. We needed to ensure their safety before setting out on our final crusade.

  My injuries still hadn’t healed entirely, although I did my best to ignore them. I don’t remember much of what happened after the helicopters showed up. However, the members of the High Rollers were more than happy to fill in the details. My exploits on that tower became something of a legend, and every time I heard it recounted it seemed to get a little more outlandish than the last. The Rollers were acting as if I had single-handedly fought off the horde and the helicopters. The adulation made me uncomfortable, but my mother convinced me to let them continue telling the story of that day, because they needed to feel like it had been a victory. It helped them forget just how defeated we’d become.

  The rehab center that we’d been hiding in since fleeing south was located near a Red world town called Castle Rock, which was between Denver and Colorado Springs. It felt like we were trapped there. The Greys had overrun the dead city streets of Denver, and the springs had been decimated by an air raid. Some of Billy’s scavengers still reported increased military presence in that area, as if Jerald and his men were desperate to ensure that they’d wiped out Jules’ group of fighters, The Department. And now that winter had swept in, it felt like we were a den of hibernating bears, just waiting for the break of spring.

  Something unexpected had happened shortly after the onset of winter that ignited a swell of rumors and speculation through the camp. During the first month that we hid at the rehab center, we would see planes occasionally, which was one of the reasons we tried to stay hunkered down. Then an explosion had drawn us outside, and we saw a plume of black smoke in the blue sky, with pieces of a destroyed jet falling in the distance. That was just the first of several similar events, and suddenly the sightings of planes became fewer and fewer until they disappeared completely.

  Many of the Rollers insisted that this was proof the military was fighting against itself. They wanted to set out immediately to take advantage of the internal struggle they guessed was occurring, but my mother insisted on waiting until after winter faded before taking action. While the flatlands of Colorado are usually not overwhelmed with bitterly cold winters, this year had proven much different. While the sun seemed to shine more days than not, the snow lingered, rarely melting away on sunny days like it normally would any other year. She was worried about the Rollers setting out and then getting caught in one of the season’s bitter storms.

  I stared up at the towering pines that hugged the entrance of the facility, their branches glistening with fresh snow that refracted sunlight, causing the needles to twinkle. It was oppressively cold, and the air stung my lungs. Still though, I felt more comfortable out there than inside with the swell of humanity that was packed into the lower level of the old, crumbling rehab center.

  Birds dotted the blue between the pines, darting across the scape and then back again, as if playing a game as the shape of their flock mutated. Their chatter filled the air as they finally settled on a direction. The majority of them headed north, while a smaller group fled in a different direction, disappearing behind the tree line.

  “What are you doing out here?” asked Ben. I hadn’t realized he was outside, and I was startled by his voice.

  I placed my hand over my thundering heart and said, “You scared the crap out of me.”

  Ben was standing off to the left of the building’s entrance, his faithful pug cradled in his arms. He smiled my way as he scratched at the pup’s chin. “Stubs and I took a walk.”

  “Looks like you’re the one doing the walking,” I said as I regarded the lazy, portly dog in his arms.

  Ben smirked down Stubs and said, “Yeah, I think he’d sleep all day if I let him.” He set the dog down, but Stubs began to shiver before looking back up at his owner and barking. Ben laughed and said, “I don’t think he likes the cold. It hurts his paws.” He scooped the pup back up again.

  I expected Ben to go back inside, because Stubs clearly wanted out of the cold, but he stayed where he was and sighed with contentment as he relaxed against the wall. I moved to stand beside him and said, “I take it you prefer it out here, away from everyone else.” Ben and I had become close over the past few months. He was a loner, just like me, which made us a good fit.

  “Yep,” he said as he stared up at the sky. He seemed serene, but then he became concerned that admitting to preferring solitude might be offensive. “Not that I don’t like everyone in there. Heck, I owe you guys my life. I’ve just spent the majority of my life on my own. I’ve never been comfortable in big groups.”

  “No need to explain,” I said. “I’m the same way.”

  “How’s your shoulder?” asked Ben, aware of the injury that was still giving me trouble. The two of us had spent a good amount of time together in rehabilitation. Jill was our nurse, and she’d tirelessly worked to get us both back into fighting shape. Ben had an easier time than me, and despite still being fitted with one of Billy’s old back braces, he seemed to be nearly healed from the injuries he’d sustained in Vineyard months earlier. My injuries, which came from tumbling off the roof and colliding with a wrought iron fence, had been severe. I still wasn’t able to rotate my right arm all the way around. Jill insisted it would only be a matter of time before I was back to normal. She said I had the luxury of youth, and that in a few months the injuries would be a distant memory. I wanted to believe her, but every time I tried to lift my right arm I was reminded that she might be wrong.

  My role in our group had always been as a sniper and a scout, and the loss of mobility in my right shoulder meant that laying prone with a rifle was something I couldn’t achieve without incredible pain. Each day that passed without any sign that my shoulder was healing left me more and more concerned. I lifted my right arm so that it was perpendicular to my shoulder, but couldn’t move it any higher without a sting of pain. “Not much better,” I said before relaxing again.

  “I wouldn’t worry,” said Ben. “Give it time.”

  “I don’t think we’ve got much time left,” I said as I gazed back up at the flock of birds that had returned to the trees outside of the rehab center. “The Vineyard folks have already picked out a few potential spots for a new settlement. As soon as winter breaks, they’re going to want to get going on that. Once that’s taken care of, we’ll be headed back out to find Jerald.”

  “Setting up a new settlement will take a while,” said Ben. “You’ve still got time to heal.”

  “The Rollers aren’t going to wait around for the settlement to be finished. The ones that want war want it now. They’re sick of waiting.”

  “What are they planning?”

  “They’ve all got different opinions.” The bitter cold was beginning to bite, and I crossed my arms to stave the chill. My cheeks were burning as the blustering wind whipped through the pines, carrying a dusting of snow off the hills and into my
face. I squinted to protect my eyes and waited for the gust to end before continuing. Still, despite the harsh weather, I preferred being outside with Ben than inside with everyone else. “Billy wants to drop bombs down the vents, but not everyone’s on board with that.”

  “Why not?” asked Ben. He wasn’t privy to the meetings that my mother was having with the higher ranked Rollers. After the events at the church, my mother had done away with the former hierarchy of our group, and only Zack and Billy were officially lieutenants anymore, but she still consulted those of us that had formerly enjoyed a higher status.

  “They’re worried that all dropping bombs down there will do is let Jerald know that we’re still alive. If we’re going to go after them, then we have to do it all at once, without any warning. Otherwise they’ll just lock themselves in down there and wait it out.”

  “We don’t even know if they’re still down there,” said Ben. “For all we know, they might’ve packed up and took off.”

  “We’ll send scouts out before we make a move,” I said as I pressed the tip of my boot against the hard, icy top of the snow near me. The slightest pressure caused the crust to crack in a satisfying manner, inexplicably soothing my desire to wreck things.

  “Who will they send?” asked Ben.

  I shrugged. “No clue. All of the people that used to go on the scouting missions are either dead or hurt. One of the teams used to be Arthur and Dustin, but Dustin’s dead and Arthur’s leg is still in a cast. Then there was Stitch and Kim, but they’re both dead. And the other team was Hero and me, and well…” I hesitated, unwilling to admit what we all had come to accept: Hero was dead.

  The last we’d heard of him, he and Kim were taking the victims of the Vineyard attack out to one of the burn sites. After that, Kim had shown up at the town where Jerald was trying to corral the Rollers, and every Grey within a hundred yards of her couldn’t help but run in her direction – the reason for which was still hotly debated amongst the Rollers. No one was certain what to make of the event, but after a couple months passed without any sign of Hero, most of us assumed he was dead.