Baxter’s War Page 4

  David removed his helmet and wiped sweat from his wide forehead. He smiled at the subdivision to his east. Friends and neighbors helped each other. A few brought his boys food, arriving with barbecued meat as their freezers thawed from power outages.

  David went to his command vehicle set up with old ham radios. Their digital equipment failed once the earthquake struck. His team kept in contact with other first responders searching for people. He leaned over a map covering a table when the screams punched at his ears.

  David’s chest no longer seized up when he heard the vocal alarm. His instincts kicked in with speed. He concentrated on the frightened voices, grabbed binoculars from the table.

  “What is that?” Paul, a fellow firefighter, stood by David.

  “Not sure.” David spied through the glasses. The town glowed from spotlights. He squinted.

  “What do you see?”

  David lowered the binoculars and reset them again. The shouts persisted. What he detected dried his mouth.

  “Paul, get the pickup.”

  Paul fled and returned driving a shiny red truck. David climbed aboard and they rode across the clearing. Dust roiled in their wake as the vehicle jounced over mole hills and prairie dog divots to reach the subdivision outer perimeter.

  “Wait, Paul.” David’s stomach churned in fear. His palm brushed against the revolver holstered at his side. “Stay in the truck.”

  David unloaded his bulky frame from the passenger seat and drew the six-shooter. Shrieks accompanied by throaty grumbles added an extra gloom to the fearsome event. From his approach the source of racket stayed hidden. Cries transformed into moans, an ache knotted his gut.

  “David, let me find the cops.” Paul called from the truck window.

  David shooed Paul’s worrisome words aside and continued to a fence bordering a house. A wet rip sounded as if something fleshy tore. Copper and iron graced his nostrils with its metal tang. Hungry smacking resembling a kennel during feeding filled the streets.

  “Sweet Jesus,” David said and paused.

  Dogs in the thousands loitered near prone bodies. Blood soaked everything as if a pipe burst and the runoff found nowhere else to go. The amber liquid shimmered from the sweltering generator powered lamps.

  David gazed dumbfounded as dogs devoured the dead in chunks and strips. A German shepherd trotted by with a foot clamped between its jaws. To his left a small lapdog with a pink sparkling bow nibbled at a body cratered with bite marks.

  The dogs ignored David dressed in a heavy bright yellow coat. They remained lost in the meal and for a second he considered yelling at them to scatter. But he canceled the idea, fearing he might end up eaten alive.

  He prepared to escape and call for more help when a whimper tugged him to a halt. His heart twinged upon spotting a cluster of children surrounded by a gang of German shepherds.

  The dogs encircled the bawling group, their slender backs against their comrades engaged in the grotesque banquet. No tails wagged as the youngsters sobbed. A shepherd snatched a child by the arm with an unexpected viciousness. A hollow pop rose from the boy’s appendage. The kid screamed enough to make David buckle.

  “Fuck, David.” Paul appeared next to the man’s side. “We need to stop this.”

  David lingered in shock, not comprehending what Paul intended to do until his partner ran for the dogs waving a shovel. He trailed Paul, trying to convince his brain the scene he beheld did not exist.

  David viewed Paul’s actions in slow motion. His buddy for twenty years plowed into the dogs akin to a Viking in battle. He batted his weapon. Dogs crumbled with bashed in heads.

  Paul waded into the busy mob, enraged, but the animals refused to leave their meals. Canines disregarded the rescuer armed with an anodized spade. In doing so, they died with steel lodged in their brains.

  Paul swung the shovel with the mien of a New York Yankees batter. Dog gore splattered the street, mingling with human blood.

  A chilling spike drove up David's throat, loosening his tongue. “Paul, no.”

  Committed to his task, Paul stormed for the barrier of fangs and claws hemming in the young captives. Paul yelled as he slammed the spade against a German shepherd’s spine. The dog flinched, spun from his duty, taking the shovel full in the snout.

  Fast movement jumped from David's peripheral. A pair of dogs dashed through the feasting pack aiming for Paul. Black and white, with hair cut neat and mined with sticky burrs. The duo focused on their target.

  David unleashed his magnum three-fifty-seven. His index finger jerked the trigger. A crisp bang and flame exploded from the barrel. A pit bull caught the bullet and tumbled underneath the black dog. Howls followed the gunshot. The dogs pulled away from their feast, turning their bloody muzzles towards David.

  David squeezed off five more rounds, emptying his gun. Lead riddled pit bulls fell to their deaths, their legs doing frantic kicks. Paul pivoted, throwing a puzzled stare at his friend before Black and White piled on him, assisted by the German shepherds once guarding the kids.

  Fire Captain David Lawson turned to flee, the dogs bolted for the fresh victim. Once again his world slowed to a painful point where he wanted to scream. He scrambled for the truck, zigzagging through a short ally and between two wooden fences.

  He cleared the obstacles and arrived where his prize awaited him. The pickup door handle gleamed, urging him to sprint faster. His rugged boots dug into the dry earth. Barking lifted into the air, drawing nearer.

  To his front, the other crew saw the unfolding madness and sprinted for him. David shouted, ordering them to turn back and run. Dogs sped by him headed for the workers who handled the collapse. Pain ripped through his right calf, his balance faltered and he met the unforgiving ground.

  David pushed himself up onto his knees while screaming in a rage. So many dogs raced forward to meet his men in the open field. Several dogs gathered around him, their snouts matted in crimson. Their tongues lolling as hard blowing warmed his ears. His mind drifted to his wife. She would miss him.

  One midnight hued collie padded before him with a gourd looking object in his maw. He faced David and dropped the hairy ball before him. The head rolled over, Paul’s horror-stricken face frozen in death stared up at him.

  David locked gazes with the dog. The collie’s gray eyes speckled with green motes resembled nothing normal. They didn’t hold the vacant or willing to please look, nor did he appear feral. The dog took him in with a calculated study, sizing up the big man.

  “I don’t know who or what you are, but fuck you.”

  Black growled low and lunged. He sank his teeth deep into David’s thick neck.

  David gurgled a dismal response. He clutched Black, digging his strong fingers into tangled fur. The dog bit harder until purple and blue spots obscured his vision. Soon, the growls and pain faded into blackness.

  11

  Moraine awoke parched mouthed, famished, and propped in a corner of Casey’s room. Fresh sunlight poured hard rays through the window, spilling slanted gold bars on Casey’s small bed.

  Moraine stretched. Bones cracked along her spine and neck. She stared at her little girl lost in deep sleep. She approached the bed and brushed stray strands from the child’s forehead. Leaning over she planted a soft peck against her chubby cheek.

  Moraine ambled into the living room. A figure lay on her couch shrouded in covers. For a second her mind stumbled on the person occupying her favorite space. Then thoughts from yesterday seeped into her groggy brain. With reluctance she remembered why her blanket appeared lumpy. A man she disliked crashed on her sofa.

  She decided to visit the balcony and pushed the curtain wide. More sun glare, she knuckled her eyelids and refocused on the world spread out beneath her.

  An ambulance sat parked near the complex entrance. Paramedics stalked through a few dismembered bodies reminding Moraine of soldiers negotiating a minefield.

  Moraine stepped out into the balmy weather, the cool concrete flooring t
ingled her naked soles. A foul smell hit her nose, floating over the air sweet yet spiced with a dead chicken funk she loathed.

  “You guys made it.”

  A paramedic peered up from a detached foot. Neighbors eased out their condominiums in silence as workers wearing filtered masks collected body parts.

  “What happened,” the skinny paramedic said. “I called the police, but no answer.”

  Moraine rested her elbows on the railing. The paramedic stole a peek at her breasts with hardened nipples hidden underneath her blue t-shirt. “A dog attack.”

  The paramedic nodded as if he understood. “The subdivision not too far away from here, dogs tore them apart last night.”

  Moraine trembled despite the humid morning. “How many?”

  “Lots, the cops got there too late.”

  “Are you positive dogs did it?”

  “Dogs, lady. A survivor hid in a fire engine, watching the whole thing.”

  Moraine licked her dried lips and drifted into the condo, sliding the door close behind her. She raided the fridge, hoping her baloney kept after the power outage.

  No internal light flooded its innards. Food on the racks became half hidden in shadow. A green odor filled the tepid box, churning her belly.

  She grabbed a lukewarm beer instead, shut the refrigerator and popped the top on the Bud. Curious, she returned to the balcony. The paramedics continued plucking the gory pieces from the ground, placing them into plastic red biohazard containers.

  A woman neighbor hugged a paramedic.

  “Kind of early for drinking?”

  Moraine gulped a huge swallow from her warm can. She turned, facing Doctor Robert Carver. “Get one. You might want a drink later.”

  Robert swung his socked feet to the carpet, shoved the comforter aside. Sweat glistened his brow. “What do you mean?”

  “Your pets slaughtered more people, according to the guy outside picking up arms and legs.”

  Robert picked at his fingernails. “Shouldn’t we be heading out?”

  Moraine drained her beer and crushed the thin silver can between her palms. She tossed the useless item into the kitchen sink where it rattled before settling. “Yea, but if my daughter dies in this mess, I kill you on the spot. Understand?”

  “Yes.”

  Moraine left the scientist. Urgency worked its way into her veins. Fate presented her an opportunity at redemption from past sins. Afghanistan and the deaths she caused remained drowned in the medicine she consumed.

  “Erik, wake up, ready Casey.” She rummaged through the closet as Erik grumbled a few words while rising from amongst the sheets.

  Moraine ignored Erik's weak complaints. She rifled through her old Army gear, yanked out three backpacks, one for each adult. With haste she opened her thick rifle case, drew ammunition, stuffing the boxes into the bag she planned to carry.

  She packed in medical kits, a few odds and ends from maps, GPS, lensatic compass, and scarves. A cheap pistol.

  Done, she spent the next several minutes checking and rechecking her load. Then she lugged the bags out into the living room.

  “Erik and Robert grab a bag, fill it with food and water.”

  Moraine went to her room. She donned a black sports bra, and boy shorts. Staring in the mirror she swept her eyes over tattoos and scars from battle and medical operations. She dressed quick in ebony cargo pants and a form fitting military shirt.

  Next, she seized her M4 rifle from its rack, checked the battery for the scope. She locked the charging handle to the rear, spied inside for cleanliness. She slapped a full magazine into the well of her weapon. With a forefinger she pressed the bolt release. The sliding metal bar slammed forward, driving a round into the chamber.

  Moraine latched her rifle on a front hanging tactical sling. She hefted up a bag and lumbered out, seeing both men busy packing.

  Casey sat with toddler hands mashed into her scrunched Hello Kitty sleeping bag. “Mommy, I fold my sleepy bag.”

  Moraine grinned at her daughter. She dropped her items and helped Casey roll and tie her bag. “Good job, Casey.”

  “We go bye, bye, Mommy?”

  “We’re going on an adventure, honey.”

  “To the beach, Mommy?”

  Moraine fought the sigh in her chest. She plucked lint from Casey’s blond hair she inherited from Erik. “No, not today.”

  Erik arrived, his bag loaded. Robert drug his rucksack over to the couple.

  “I think I jammed your entire canned goods collection in here,” Robert announced.

  Moraine stood from the floor and adjusted her rifle. “Let’s go.”

  Erik shrugged. “Why are we leaving so soon, Moraine?”

  “We have to leave now.”

  Erik hauled his pack onto his back. “You're in a rush? Did something happen?”

  Moraine pointed at Robert. “Baby, go with Doctor Carver and wait outside.”

  Casey gave the stranger a wary look, her fingers tightened on her mother’s.

  “He’s our new family friend.”

  Casey walked to Robert who reached out and clasped Casey’s hand. They exited the condo and waited on the landing.

  Moraine took a breath. “The dogs attacked again, a place close to here.”

  Erik gazed up at the ceiling. “God. Are you certain?”

  “I’m sure.”

  “Why can’t the Army do this?”

  “It’s a secret, Erik.”

  “If a town got wiped out, I’m figuring the word is spreading.”

  “We need to stop them, everyone else is trying to survive the quake.”

  Erik rolled his hazel eyes.

  Moraine moved closer to Erik. She slid her nails against his slender stomach and poked a finger in his navel. She kissed him on his dry mouth. “I love you, and you are a candidate for lip balm.”

  “Whatever.”

  Moraine glanced at the doorway. “Robert, your ruck is waiting.”

  Moraine touched Erik's stubbled chin. “Let’s do this, Erik. Why end up victims of this guy's experiment.”

  “Agreed.” Erik retrieved a heavy stroller from the balcony storage.

  Robert entered with Casey. He looked at the pack and seized it by both straps. He pulled, white teeth shown. Erik hustled in and assisted him with setting the straps over his shoulders.

  “Okay,” Moraine winked at the trio. “A walking we will go.”

  12

  Doctor Jenny Chow spent the night till early morning cleaning and organizing the Livermore Labs. Several scientists left for home, afraid a few of their experiments might explode and kill them all. So she operated with a skeleton crew to help secure the Labs and its few dangerous projects.

  Jenny went to her sunny office and stared at the floor covered in scattered papers. She secured her most delicate jobs on hard drives or storage clouds. She sat in her leather chair and perched her throbbing feet on her desktop.

  The news media focused on the quake and devastation throughout the state. Something she considered a perfect diversion from the real threat everyone faced.

  She opened her drawer, retrieving a thumb sized silver case. With thin fingers she slid the box open, removing a fingernail sized paper stamped with the halved image of a cartoon mouse. She placed the patch underneath her tongue and waited for the rush to hit her.

  Anger played through her. Robert failed to prevent Black and White’s escape. The dumb security guard lacked the common sense to chase the dogs and capture them. Both didn't perform their assigned tasks.

  Jenny picked up a remote, pointed the device towards her flat-screen hanging on the wall. She pressed a button. White noise greeted her. She changed channels before a station caught. Glitches danced on the channel, but the reporter’s words arrived strong.

  Jenny leaned forward. Bright clarity bloomed, resembling spotlights thrown on her frontal lobe. The micro dose of LSD worked fast. Through the electronic haze she understood the reporter. She knew Black and White did this. A to
wn wiped out, children missing.

  She stood, refreshed as grogginess hung in a cubby in her mind. The drug performed wonders on her brain, better than coffee. Her ideas clicked in rapid beats.

  A fist wrapped against her closed door. The knob jiggled and a short man dressed in a blue class A uniform eased into her personal zone, crushing her high.

  Jenny swept her eyes over the soldier adorned with glistening medals pinned to his chest. “General.”

  General Grisby remained emotionless. “Doctor Chow, have a seat please. We must talk.”

  “I was going out, General.”

  General Grisby exhaled. “Not yet.”

  Jenny dropped her slim butt into the comfortable chair and glared at the general who invaded her private space. “What?”

  The general propped himself on the corner of her desk. “We wish for the Damascus Chips return.”

  Jenny gazed into the man’s hazel eyes glazed in red. She smelled peppermint mouthwash and an undertone of rum. “That’s the plan.”

  “Today.” He paused long enough to stare at the awards on her walls. “The government wants them intact. Make this happen.”

  Jenny’s eyes felt big, and her senses extra alert. She noticed the black mole below his bottom lip, dancing with each word he spoke. “Why don’t you deploy a retrieval team, hunt them yourselves?”

  “Because we are not here. Besides, this lab is for experimental happy shit. Curing cancer, feeding starving, potbellied Africans.”

  Jenny kept her face stoic, not even a blink. “The guards here are former military. But, they’re washed up. You have fresh young men to track those Combat Canines, General.”

  “We fund half this stuff. Am I right?”

  Jenny’s heart thumped. Name-calling didn’t bother her, but when people talked money she used at the Labs, her skin warmed.

  General Grisby smiled. “I don’t care if they deployed as combat cooks in Kosovo. Send them.”

  Jenny shifted, crossing her legs. “I will.”