Author's Note: Welcome back folks! It's only been... what, two or so years?
So, I finally got off my ass and decided to buckle down and start the second part of my Through The Valley of Death Trilogy.
If you haven't read Part One, you can easily go do so, if you please.
I'm sorry for taking so long to bring this out, everyone who enjoyed the original and wanted to read the sequel. I certainly hope that this doesn't let anybody down!
The UH-60 Blackhawk Helicopter swept over the large, city that was, or used to be, Milwaukee, Wisconsin. They'd been flying for the past hour and a half, searching for survivors of this apocalypse. Unfortunately, they hadn't seen anybody since their first day. It'd been four since then and things were looking hopeless. Was that all there was to this city?
One survivor? It was a disappointing conclusion to come to.
Staff Sergeant Jacob Prince kept peering out the door of the Blackhawk through a pair of binoculars, watching the people they had been told were "Infected" look up, then sprint after the helicopter as quickly as possible after it. Ultimately, the Infected were far too slow to catch up with the UH-60.
Sighing, Jacob shook his head. "Connor, Adams, let's make one last sweep over the lake and then get the hell out of here!"
"Roger that, Sergeant." The pilot said, changing course.
The man they'd picked up chuckled. He was a tall, thin man, almost a half foot taller than Jake. His dingy brown hair was long, a bit past his shoulders and a pair of rectangular glasses were perched upon his nose. He was clean shaven, oddly enough, and had on a brown jacket with an ugly blue shirt underneath as well as a pair of black slacks. He'd introduced himself as Joel Richards and he gave Jacob the creeps.
"The islands, hm?" He mused, twiddling his thumbs.
"Yeah." Jake answered. "We haven't checked there yet."
"I know." Joel answered, smiling calmly. "I've been here the entire time." He paused. "Well, most of the time. I have to say, it's very unlikely that there'll be anybody alive down there, but you're the boss."
Jake grunted and turned away. That man was just too creepy; he was always so calm and collected. Even when they'd found Joel, he was as calm as ever despite the fresh blood that had been staining his shirt and the half empty SIG-Sauer in his hand. When they picked him up, Joel claimed that he had been forced to execute the other two people who had been with him because they'd been infected and had reanimated. At the time, the fireteam had no reason to doubt the odd man, but now Jacob was having second thoughts.
There were a total of seven people on-board the Blackhawk. Besides Jacob and Joel, there was Corporal Matthew Goldsmith, the team's close quarter combat expert and one of Jake's personal friends; Chief Warrant Officer 4 Mark Adams, the pilot and his co-pilot, Warrant Officer 2 James Connor; bright young marksman - or markswoman as the case would be - Private First Class Kiara Ocampo, or as everyone else called her, "Red" and finally there was their medic and also a linguistics' expert, Specialist Holly Dawson.
Jacob had personally selected these five soldiers to be apart of his team, Firetime Epsilon, one of twenty-four teams that had been assembled to go back into what remained of the United States for search and rescue missions. They were all highly trained and well coordinated soldiers with outstanding performances.
Jacob and Matthew themselves had been apart of the Green Berets before everything went to hell, transferring to the 160th Operation Aviation Regiment when offered the position. Mark Adams had been a pilot in the 101st Airborn Divison and had an amazing track record; it was on his advice that James Connor had been picked up as a co-pilot. Jacob had heard many things about Kiara Ocampo's skill with a rifle at long range from other members of the 2nd Battalion 5th Marines and had desperately sought her out. Holly Dawson was the only member of the team who Jacob knew next to nothing about. When he he been going over files, searching for a medic, something about her leaped out at him and that was that.
For the last month or so, they - along with the other teams - had been training for these operations, becoming a more close-knit and functional group. They had bonded quite well and were more than ready to set out in the end.
The weapons they had been geared up with were unorthodox for a mission of this scale. Replacing the M4 Carbine was the H&K MP5A4 fitted with a flashlight and M68 Aimpoint red dot sight scope, while the M9 Beretta was being swapped out for the 3rd Generation Glock 17; all weapons were chambered with hollow-point rounds, to maximize damage. Any kind of non-lethal gear, such as flash bang or tasers was just being replaced with the MK3 concussion grenade or more ammunition. Additionally, they were being given less armor.
It was explained that the reason behind these choices was because they would be fighting an unusual enemy and wanted to improve effectiveness when dealing with this new enemy compared to before. Because the enemy were people who were sick and beyond help, and would not be wearing armor or firing back at them, they would have no need for standard weapons, armor or tactics. For this mission, mobility and ammunition count took presidence over just about everything else when it came to combat situations.
So far, though, this mission appeared to be a bust; there were no survivors. At least, not in the sections they'd swept over. Jake could only hope the other teams had had more luck.
Glancing back out the open door of the helicopter, the Sergeant could see one of the great lake's coming up. He raised his binoculars again and peered through them as they began to cross over the water.
"ETA to the islands is about ten minutes." Adams announced.
"You think we're gonna find anybody, Chief?" Kiara suddenly asked, crouching down as close as she dared to door.
For some God-awful reason, she had decided to give everyone on the team a nickname early on so they were like her and nobody (unfortunately) had objected. Jacob was "Chief" for obvious reasons, Mark and James were "Airman" and "Flyboy" respectively, Holly was "Doc", and finally Matt was "Goldie" because of his last name. About the only time she abandoned the nicknames was in heated situations.
"No idea." He replied, glancing over at the Private.
"I hope so." Red said, leveling her M40 Rifle so she too could get a better view through the rifle's scope. In a hushed tone, she quickly added. "And I hope they're a lot less creepy than that other guy."
Jacob laughed, nodding. "You and me both." He was about to add something when he noticed Red peering closely through her scope.
"Holy shit!" She said suddenly, eyes widening. "We've got a boat!"
Jacob quickly swung his binoculars up, gazing through them in the same direction as her. Sure enough, there was a large boat sitting in the water. He was sure he could make out a human shape or two on the deck as well.
"Swing us around, Adams!" Jake barked, not taking his eye off of the boat, even as the helicopter jerked around.
As the Blackhawk drew closer, the boat became more and more clear. On the deck, there were four people; two were standing and waving, looking up at the helicopter while two shapes were on the ground, one sitting - leaning against a wall - and one lying down.
"Goldsmith, Dawson, you two with me. Red, cover us from above." The Sergeant commanded, kicking out three of the drop lines from the chopper.
Slinging their weapons over their shoulders, Jacob, Matthew and Holly zipped down their lines and onto the deck of the boat.
Jake brought his SMG up, sweeping it around as he quickly scanned the boat to make sure there were no surprise guests. He sensed no threat and turned to the first person who was standing. He was a big man, wearing a denim jacket and a black cap that read 'Security.'
"Have any of you been bitten?" The Sergeant asked, keeping his weapon trained on the man.
"No." The Security man said quickly, holding his arms up. "He's the only one who got bit and he did himself in." He pointed over to the body that was lying on the ground.
Up close now, Jake could see a puddle of blood around his head. He was face down, arms and legs spread out, bite marks visible on his arms and even through the rips in his black shirt. Whatever had happened, he'd gone down fighting before shooting himself.
He turned his attention away from the dead body and to the other two figures. The second was a dark haired female - Latino, if Jake had to guess - and the third was an older man, likely in his late forties and also wearing a cap. His left arm was bandaged up, but despite that, he clutched a compact shotgun tightly.
Slowly, the soldier lowered his weapon and quickly ordered Holly to check the older man before turning back to the man with the Security hat. "What happened here?"
"Bad things." The man responded cryptically. "The name's C.J. That's Melissa, and that's Tucker." He introduced them, pointing to the others.
"Staff Sergeant Jacob Prince, 160th Special Operation Aviation Regiment, leader of Fireteam Epsilon." Jacob explained, giving a forced smile. "We've been scouting the area for the past few days and you're the only survivors we've encountered. We were heading toward the islands, and-"
"Yeah, well don't bother with those fucking island. They're full of those damn things. We just came from there two days ago." C.J. said, before tacking on. "Back when there was nine of us."
Jacob frowned deeply. "Nine of you?"
"Yeah. Bad things happened." C.J. repeated with a nod.
"Well, there's no need to worry anymore. We're here to get you to safety."
"Great. Where the fuck were you guys a week ago?" He snarled harshly.
Jake ignored it and waved up at the Black Hawk, signaling for it to be lowered.
"Gather up any and all supplies!" Jacob shouted as the noise from the engines grew louder. C.J. simply nodded in response, then turned away to collect whatever they had.
The chopper didn't touch the water or the boat, but stayed low enough for everyone to pile in. Altogether, the survivors from the boat had two duffel bags, a back pack and a fanny pack full of guns and ammunition along with some dwindling water supplies.
After everyone was safely inside, Jake slammed the door shut and Adams brought the helicopter up then turned away from the islands. The Black Hawk flew South, away from the lakes. Meanwhile, Holly and Jake passed out MREs and bottles of water to the three they'd picked up from the boat who gratefully began to chow down. Joel rejected the offer on the other hand.
Jake and the other soldiers sat down, setting their weapons aside, deciding to munch on their own MREs. After everyone had eaten, the older man - Tucker - looked over and adjusted his hat before speaking.
"You said we were headin' toward safety." He said, rubbing his chin. "Where exactly is safety?"
"Fort Recovery." Joel said before anybody else could answer. "It's a large military installation that was set-up in Costa Rica somewhere on the Southern peninsula. If I recall correctly, it's a little over a hundred miles from Panama. Isn't that right, soldiers?"
Jacob blinked, then slowly nodded. "Yeah, that's it. How did you...?"
Joel tapped his nose, smirking. "I have sharp senses."
"Costa Rica?" Tucker's eyes were wide. "How the hell did you guys get all the way up to Wisconsin?"
"Well, after the defense efforts were deemed a failure, what was left of the United States military then began to fall back toward Mexico. I dunno about the rest of the military, but me and the rest of the Green Berets that were left originally moved our operations to Fresnillo and that worked for a little bit. After things began getting hectic there, we moved to Oaxaca, then Guatemala and just kept falling back.
"Thankfully, we met up with more of the military in Costa Rica. We've managed to seal off and secure a small section of the Coata Rica's Southern peninsula, from Guerra down is safe. I'm one of the soldiers who volunteered for this mission so I could come back and save as many people as possible. Unfortunately..." Jacob frowned, looking around the helicopter. "we haven't been very successful."
"I can see that." C.J. remarked coldly.
"C.J..." The Hispanic woman glanced over to her friend, frowning.
"Don't mind him." Tucker said, shaking his head. "We've just had a rough time."
"I understand." The Sergeant said, nodding.
There was an awkward silence hanging in the air for the next few minutes. Joel was studying the new comers, twiddling his thumbs as usual while the others were sitting uncomfortably. Jake finally opened his mouth after several minutes.
"So... what happened to you guys?" He asked.
The three survivors exchanged glances then Tucker leaned forward. "You want the long version or the short version?"
The Sergeant chuckled. "We've got time."
Tucker nodded, removing his cap and wiping sweat from his forehead before starting. "Well..."
Author's Note: And there's chapter one folks.
Hope it wasn't too bad! I'm not good at starting stories!
Anyways, just a little trivia, if anybody cares, yes, that was Michael who was dead on the boat. As for the other survivors from the first story... well, you'll all just have to wait and see.
I'll try to have the next chapter out as soon as possible! Until then, see ya later!