Caldera 11All Good Things
Heath Stallcup
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
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Caldera 11 All Good Things
©2019 Devil Dog Publishing
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons living, dead, or otherwise, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
This book is protected under the copyright laws of the United States of America. Any reproduction or unauthorized use of the material or artwork contained herein is prohibited without the express written permission of the author.
Printed in the U.S.A.
ISBN—
Created with Vellum
To my twin girls.
You both love zombie stories and this is a different twist on the genre for you.
It may not be what you’re used to, but if the ‘zombie apocalypse’ ever really does come, it most likely will be some kind of rage virus versus the slow, shambling, walking dead.
Rule #1: Cardio…
1
“Son of a bitch!” Hatcher darted for his ATV and grabbed the 30.30, slipping it from the leather scabbard and quickly chambering a round. He brought the rifle to his shoulder and sighted down its length.
He forced his body to calm down and tried to lead the charging wild man. Shot after shot missed the advancing form before the trees blocked the attacker from his sight.
He didn’t realize he was holding his breath until he heard three rapid shots and a blood curdling scream.
He dropped the rifle and ran for the tip of the treeline for all he was worth as time slowed to a crawl.
Don’t be dead, don’t be dead, don’t be dead! He thought as he forced his aging body up the hill and around the trees. He slid to a stop and bent over, doing his best to catch his breath.
“He caught me off guard,” Missy muttered as she swiped at the blood on her arms and face. “I’d give your left nut for a packet of wet wipes right about now.”
Hatcher chuckled as he sucked in air, his hands still shaking. “You’re just a younger, whiter, and…femaler version of Mitch all right.” He stood up and pressed a hand to his side. “I thought he’d got you.”
She lifted her shirt and wiped at her face. “He nearly did.” She pulled the shirt back and grimaced at the blood. “I guess I need to work on my quick draw.” Missy froze, her eyes locked to the blood smeared on her uniform top. “Tell me this isn’t catchy through bodily fluids.”
Hatcher shrugged. “I guess we’ll find out.” He gave her a cockeyed grin. “Meet your new and improved snapper.”
She spat at some imaginary thing in her mouth and stared at the creature. “How can you tell?”
Hatcher used the toe of his boot to push the creature fully to its back. “The eyes are white,” he looked up into the sky, “and it’s out in daylight.”
“Joy.” She stepped over the body and sauntered towards the ATVs. “I need to clean up.”
“A shower wouldn’t kill you,” Hatcher joked as he walked back down the hill.
“Did you find whatever it was you were looking for?” Her voice didn’t betray her annoyance.
He walked past her ATV and back towards the bones. “Whoever did this had to have a hundred or more people.” He paused and pointed to the land. “The grass was all but destroyed in this area where they struggled with the buffalo.”
“Bison,” she corrected, still wiping blood from her neck.
He gave her a questioning look. “What?”
“These are bison.” She spat again then tucked her shirt into her pants. “They were misnomered when first seen by European settlers.”
He shook his head slightly. “People have called these buffalo for centuries.”
“Doesn’t make them correct.” She straddled her ATV and sighed. “Can we go now?”
He turned and gave her a stoic stare. “My point is, there could be another group of survivors around here easily as large as the dead in that ravine.”
She slowly began to sober as the realization sank in. “And how long does it take for that cure to work its magic?”
Hatcher shrugged. “Anywhere from days to weeks. I think it depends on the person.”
Missy groaned. “Great.” She stared into the gloom of the woods and sighed. “How are we supposed to find them?”
Hatcher climbed up onto his own ATV and sat down. “I say we make our presence known. Those who are cured and want help will find us.”
The click of heels across the concrete floor drew Randy Carlson’s attention from the shaky, disoriented man he’d just released from an acrylic cell. He spun to see Senator Winegard marching toward him. Before anybody realized what she was doing, she had raised her hand and pointed a pistol at them, firing as she approached.
Randy ducked to the side, using the cells as cover. The filth covered man buckled where he stood as red blossoms appeared across his chest and midsection. The crazed senator continued firing until she stood directly over him, clicking the pistol on spent cartridges.
She seemed genuinely surprised as the soldier tackled her to the concrete floor.
“Get off of me!” she screamed. “Do you have any idea who I am?”
The soldier planted a knee firmly on her arm, crushing it beneath his weight as he swiped the now empty pistol from her hand. “Clear!” he shouted.
She screamed from the pain and struggled under his weight until he moved his knee and flipped her to her chest, pulling her arms tight behind her.
“What the hell just happened here?” Captain Hilliard bellowed as he burst into the room. “I thought they were cured?” He stood over the still screaming senator and pointing at her shackled form.
Dr. Broussard appeared beside them, his face
