Station instead of driving.” Murphy put an arm around my shoulder and jostled me. "Because I've heard that driving can be dangerous these days."
“Yeah. That’s exactly what I’m thinking.”
Chapter 12
Among other things, Fort Hood had been a stockpile of the Army’s tried and true tools for killing folks on an industrial scale, a temple to our culture’s conceit as to how effectively we figured we could slaughter all comers. Unfortunately, the enemy that showed up, a virus and the people it twisted to its purpose, wasn’t on the list of foes the army had prepared for. Still, it was hard not to fall under the infatuating spell of all that firepower, even with the evidence of its failure spread nearly everywhere I looked, the bodies of the dead. Now Fort Hood was an Easter egg hunt and the prizes hidden in the carnage were weapons and ammunition.
Aside from being crusted in the blood of the last person to pull the trigger, most of the M4s we found looked damn near worn out. Murphy assured me that wasn’t uncommon. The taxpaying public liked the Army to get their money’s worth out of the weapons they bought. I found a set of night vision goggles, military boots, camouflage pants, and a shirt that fit. All were gory, but cleanliness wasn’t the showstopper while shopping for a new wardrobe. Finding garments that hadn’t been ripped off the previous owner’s body was the trick.
I found a serviceable pistol with enough magazines to make me feel well-armed. Well, that along with my knife and indispensible machete. Better yet, I discovered that rummaging through the remnants of the dead, I came across hand grenades, one here, a couple there. They totaled several dozen by the time I stopped searching. Not all for just me, of course, they were good additions to our arsenal.
We spent two days loading a Black Hawk helicopter Martin selected for our trip. We topped off the fuel, scrounged what little food could be found, loaded up our weapons, and gathered ammunition for the door guns on the helicopter. Murphy was loaded up with everything he needed, and Martin, who we were building a trust for by then, was armed as well.
Martin told us that the Black Hawk had a payload of a couple thousand pounds so we had plenty of weight to spare if we wanted to continue loading. Neither Murphy or me wanted to. We’d been in Fort Hood long enough. It was time to move on. We had enough extra that our new employers in College Station would be grateful. When we needed more, we could come back.
All we had to do after that was to wait for morning to leave. The flight to College Station would take maybe an hour. I wanted a full day just in case we needed it. I’d been around the block enough times to know that every plan, no matter how simple, goes to shit when Whites get involved.
The next day, the early morning air was chilly but tolerable as Martin piloted the helicopter into the air. I sat in the gunner seat behind the pilot’s seat, looking through an open window. Murphy was behind me at the machine gun on the other side. We all wore helmets and were able to communicate over the Black Hawk’s intercom.
We were a hundred feet off the tarmac with Whites coming out of their nighttime hiding places to gawk or run toward us. Murphy said, “Okay, now I believe Martin.”
“What?” Martin asked over the intercom.
“That you can really fly this thing.”
Martin laughed.
I didn’t say anything. I still had my doubts but was willing to make the bet. Few things were certain anymore.
Martin announced, “The air seems stable this morning.” As we passed over the hangar we’d spent the previous few nights in, he added, “We should have a smooth ride.” We started west, climbing as we went.
We flew over the field where the Whites and the Survivor Army clashed. Below, along the streets, naked ones came out to watch us fly over. Some made the choice to
“Yeah. That’s exactly what I’m thinking.”
Chapter 12
Among other things, Fort Hood had been a stockpile of the Army’s tried and true tools for killing folks on an industrial scale, a temple to our culture’s conceit as to how effectively we figured we could slaughter all comers. Unfortunately, the enemy that showed up, a virus and the people it twisted to its purpose, wasn’t on the list of foes the army had prepared for. Still, it was hard not to fall under the infatuating spell of all that firepower, even with the evidence of its failure spread nearly everywhere I looked, the bodies of the dead. Now Fort Hood was an Easter egg hunt and the prizes hidden in the carnage were weapons and ammunition.
Aside from being crusted in the blood of the last person to pull the trigger, most of the M4s we found looked damn near worn out. Murphy assured me that wasn’t uncommon. The taxpaying public liked the Army to get their money’s worth out of the weapons they bought. I found a set of night vision goggles, military boots, camouflage pants, and a shirt that fit. All were gory, but cleanliness wasn’t the showstopper while shopping for a new wardrobe. Finding garments that hadn’t been ripped off the previous owner’s body was the trick.
I found a serviceable pistol with enough magazines to make me feel well-armed. Well, that along with my knife and indispensible machete. Better yet, I discovered that rummaging through the remnants of the dead, I came across hand grenades, one here, a couple there. They totaled several dozen by the time I stopped searching. Not all for just me, of course, they were good additions to our arsenal.
We spent two days loading a Black Hawk helicopter Martin selected for our trip. We topped off the fuel, scrounged what little food could be found, loaded up our weapons, and gathered ammunition for the door guns on the helicopter. Murphy was loaded up with everything he needed, and Martin, who we were building a trust for by then, was armed as well.
Martin told us that the Black Hawk had a payload of a couple thousand pounds so we had plenty of weight to spare if we wanted to continue loading. Neither Murphy or me wanted to. We’d been in Fort Hood long enough. It was time to move on. We had enough extra that our new employers in College Station would be grateful. When we needed more, we could come back.
All we had to do after that was to wait for morning to leave. The flight to College Station would take maybe an hour. I wanted a full day just in case we needed it. I’d been around the block enough times to know that every plan, no matter how simple, goes to shit when Whites get involved.
The next day, the early morning air was chilly but tolerable as Martin piloted the helicopter into the air. I sat in the gunner seat behind the pilot’s seat, looking through an open window. Murphy was behind me at the machine gun on the other side. We all wore helmets and were able to communicate over the Black Hawk’s intercom.
We were a hundred feet off the tarmac with Whites coming out of their nighttime hiding places to gawk or run toward us. Murphy said, “Okay, now I believe Martin.”
“What?” Martin asked over the intercom.
“That you can really fly this thing.”
Martin laughed.
I didn’t say anything. I still had my doubts but was willing to make the bet. Few things were certain anymore.
Martin announced, “The air seems stable this morning.” As we passed over the hangar we’d spent the previous few nights in, he added, “We should have a smooth ride.” We started west, climbing as we went.
We flew over the field where the Whites and the Survivor Army clashed. Below, along the streets, naked ones came out to watch us fly over. Some made the choice to
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