standing in the room. The Air Force major waved Cliff over to the console and removed his headphones.
“Cliff, we’re contacting more and more survivors daily. It’s very strange. I don’t think the EMP affected every area the same. There seem to be pockets where some of the electronics survived. Or at least there are a good number of individuals finding access to radio equipment that was shielded enough to survive.”
“Major if that’s the case, there’s a good chance that there are many more who survived with no way to contact us. We’re going to need to formulate a plan on reaching out to those we can’t contact.” The airman at the radio snapped his fingers, interrupting their conversation, and waved them to his console before pushing a button to activate the external speaker.
A women’s frantic voice filled the room. “He’s back and he’s trying to get inside. We ran out of ammo a week ago. I don’t know what to do!”
The airman tried to sound calm and hopeful for the woman. “Can you get into the attic to hide? Take water with you if you can, but the important thing is to be out of sight and be as quiet as possible. They usually lose interest and leave.”
Wright pointed to a house on his computer screen. “That’s the house she’s in. This image is thirty-seven hours old and it is the latest pass we have. Her name is Jamie. She’s thirty years old and in a town just south of Houston, Texas. Her neighbor was apparently a bit of a prepper and took Jamie and her husband into his home to shelter about a week after the attack. The neighbor was bitten about a week ago while repairing the radio antenna on his roof. He brought the radio online, hence their being able to contact us, but he died shortly after. She and her husband made contact with us about three days ago. They are nearly out of food and are completely out of ammo, so her husband left yesterday to scavenge for supplies. He has since returned as a walking corpse and has brought some new friends with him.”
Cliff and Wright turned their attention back to the radio when the speaker crackled to life again. Loud banging and the moans of the undead came through the open mic clearly, followed by a loud crash.
“Oh my God, oh my God, they’re inside now … Mark, no, please don’t. Mark, it’s me, it’s Jamie, please don’t, don’t …”
The radio hut filled with sorrowful screams of pain before the radio went silent, the microphone’s push to talk apparently released. The airman sitting at the radio console looked pale. Sweat dripped down his forehead.
“Will, why don’t you take ten minutes. I’ll take care of things here until you get back.”
“Thanks, Major.”
The airman shakily rose to his feet and walked out of the room, looking slightly ill.
Wright walked to the paper map on the wall and replaced the white pin just south of Houston with a black one. “That’s the fourth person we’ve heard die on the radio like that.”
Cliff shook his head. “We’ve got to figure out a way to help these people. We need to come up with a plan, a way to get survivors here where they’ll be safe. Or at the very least we need to figure out a way to get them the supplies they need, be it food, water, ammo or whatever.”
Wright nodded. “To do that we need a helicopter, but even then without any refueling assets we couldn’t get one all the way to Houston and back. Besides, all we have for pilots is Arcuni, and he could barely fly what we came here in, much less a helicopter. What we need is another plane, something we can land on rough roads and short strips.”
“Like another C-130?”
“Yes, but the one sitting on the lake bed above us won’t fly again without a serious amount of parts and skilled work, neither of which we have.”
“OK Major, since you volunteered, why don’t you start looking for something we can take? Something that a small team could drive from here to get and bring back. Something
“Cliff, we’re contacting more and more survivors daily. It’s very strange. I don’t think the EMP affected every area the same. There seem to be pockets where some of the electronics survived. Or at least there are a good number of individuals finding access to radio equipment that was shielded enough to survive.”
“Major if that’s the case, there’s a good chance that there are many more who survived with no way to contact us. We’re going to need to formulate a plan on reaching out to those we can’t contact.” The airman at the radio snapped his fingers, interrupting their conversation, and waved them to his console before pushing a button to activate the external speaker.
A women’s frantic voice filled the room. “He’s back and he’s trying to get inside. We ran out of ammo a week ago. I don’t know what to do!”
The airman tried to sound calm and hopeful for the woman. “Can you get into the attic to hide? Take water with you if you can, but the important thing is to be out of sight and be as quiet as possible. They usually lose interest and leave.”
Wright pointed to a house on his computer screen. “That’s the house she’s in. This image is thirty-seven hours old and it is the latest pass we have. Her name is Jamie. She’s thirty years old and in a town just south of Houston, Texas. Her neighbor was apparently a bit of a prepper and took Jamie and her husband into his home to shelter about a week after the attack. The neighbor was bitten about a week ago while repairing the radio antenna on his roof. He brought the radio online, hence their being able to contact us, but he died shortly after. She and her husband made contact with us about three days ago. They are nearly out of food and are completely out of ammo, so her husband left yesterday to scavenge for supplies. He has since returned as a walking corpse and has brought some new friends with him.”
Cliff and Wright turned their attention back to the radio when the speaker crackled to life again. Loud banging and the moans of the undead came through the open mic clearly, followed by a loud crash.
“Oh my God, oh my God, they’re inside now … Mark, no, please don’t. Mark, it’s me, it’s Jamie, please don’t, don’t …”
The radio hut filled with sorrowful screams of pain before the radio went silent, the microphone’s push to talk apparently released. The airman sitting at the radio console looked pale. Sweat dripped down his forehead.
“Will, why don’t you take ten minutes. I’ll take care of things here until you get back.”
“Thanks, Major.”
The airman shakily rose to his feet and walked out of the room, looking slightly ill.
Wright walked to the paper map on the wall and replaced the white pin just south of Houston with a black one. “That’s the fourth person we’ve heard die on the radio like that.”
Cliff shook his head. “We’ve got to figure out a way to help these people. We need to come up with a plan, a way to get survivors here where they’ll be safe. Or at the very least we need to figure out a way to get them the supplies they need, be it food, water, ammo or whatever.”
Wright nodded. “To do that we need a helicopter, but even then without any refueling assets we couldn’t get one all the way to Houston and back. Besides, all we have for pilots is Arcuni, and he could barely fly what we came here in, much less a helicopter. What we need is another plane, something we can land on rough roads and short strips.”
“Like another C-130?”
“Yes, but the one sitting on the lake bed above us won’t fly again without a serious amount of parts and skilled work, neither of which we have.”
“OK Major, since you volunteered, why don’t you start looking for something we can take? Something that a small team could drive from here to get and bring back. Something
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