Sam froze. “I. . . I thought you were going to help me?”
“I am helping you. We’re helping everyone. We must purge a forest of its deadwood before new saplings can take root. A better, stronger forest under our control.”
“These aren’t trees you’re talking about. They’re people.”
Peterson stood up and moved around his desk. “That’s what I don’t get about you people. The Architect gives you a golden opportunity to make a real difference in the world, and you fight and you cry because you don’t agree with how it needs to be done. You’re the ones responsible for the way the world is. For the rot and decay. You made it this way.”
“What rot? What decay?”
“The rot of human society. I look at what we became and I weep for what might have been.”
Argument was pointless. Sam could see the madness in the man’s eyes now. Total faith in his mission. Nothing could dissuade him from his chosen path. Least of all her.
Sam checked over her shoulders, looking for a way out of this. The shadow at the door was gone. If she shouted, could the others hear her? Would that make a difference?
“I’m not here because I have family under armed guard somewhere,” he said. “I’m here because I believe the Architect proposes a real solution to the world’s woes. The others need motivation to do what’s right. In time, they will see the truth, what we’re trying to build, and they will join us. Don’t move or I swear I’ll put a bullet in your brain. Get down on your knees, cross your ankles, and put your hands on your head.”
Sam, heart thudding in her ears at her failure, did as he said. She had to wait for an opening, for him to make a mistake. Then she would pounce. No. He was a big man. She couldn’t overpower him. She would run for the door. . . And get shot in the back for her trouble? He could say she tried to run, maybe even that she attacked him. And even if she got outside, would the others try to help her? “Please, don’t do this.”
“He wanted you back dead or alive. I imagine the rewards will be even greater if I return you alive.” He tossed a pair of handcuffs at her.
“Please,” Sam said. “You don’t need to do this.”
Peterson pressed the barrel to the middle of her forehead. “Wrists. Now.”
I’m sorry, Hawk, she thought as she tightened the cuffs around her wrists. I’m sorry for everything.
She had failed.
* * *
Sam choked on the dirty rag jammed deep in her throat. Peterson shoved her through the doorway so hard she sailed into Torres’s desk, sending papers fluttering to the floor. Her hand caught the mouse and knocked the cute kitten screensaver off, revealing a news webpage. A headline read: ZOMBIE VIRUS HITS NEW YORK, and a bunch of images of zombies attacking New Yorkers and diving into yellow cabs, and a woman screaming into camera, her face fuzzy and warped as she turned to run.
“Get the men ready,” Peterson said to Torres. “We’re taking her back to the base.”
“Yes, sir.” Torres turned to his men and issued the relevant orders.
The men burst into action, picking up weapons and preparing to cut through any resistance they came to.
Sam was lost. Worse, these men didn’t even know their families were in danger. Their actions would lead to their demise. Sam would return to her cell, and that was only if the Architect was feeling uncharacteristically kind. She would return to her usual job and go back to her research. She would not be treated well. She would not have the same freedoms she had enjoyed before. And this time, there would be no escape. Her heart ached at the thought her friends and recent acquaintances had given up their lives for nothing.
A muscular man on either side hooked their large hands around her bony elbows and lifted her onto her feet.
“Give me the radio,” Peterson said to Torres. “Come in all teams, come in all teams. This is Team Seven, over.”
The other teams responded.
“We have Dr. DeCoveney. I repeat, we have Dr. Samantha DeCoveney. All units meet at the rendezvous point.”
Peterson smiled triumphantly and handed the radio back.
Torres tucked the radio away. “What about the other prisoner, sir?”
“He has yet to be ascertained, however, we know where he is.”
“Where, sir?”
Peterson pulled up short, on the cusp of revealing too much information. “That’s not our mission. Our mission is to return this woman to the base for processing.”
“She mentioned our families, sir.”
Peterson squared up to his second in command. “And how would you know about that, Corporal?”
“The doors are not thick, sir. No eavesdropping required.”
“Do your duty. Nothing else is of your concern.”
Torres eyed the men—his men—standing on either side of Sam and nodded his head. The men stepped forward and blocked Peterson’s path.
Peterson eyeballed the men, taller and broader than him by half. “Out of my way, ingrates.”
The men grabbed Peterson roughly and held him at bay.
Peterson turned on his heel and addressed Torres. “Order the men to stand down. Now.”
The other men in the unit drew closer. No one had a better view than Sam.
“Think very carefully about what you’re going to do next, Corporal,” Peterson warned. “Mutiny is a very serious offense.”
“So is coercion. Your dear leader took our families and held them hostage at the point of a gun. We did your bidding because otherwise, our families would pay the price.”
“You’ll get court-martialed for this. All of you will.”
That perturbed a couple of the men, who shared a look of concern.
“Better than spending the rest of my natural life behind bars, asshole.” Torres turned to address the others. “If anyone disagrees with what we’re doing here, let him speak now. You will be tied up and left in these offices. If there’s any blame to come our way, you will not be on the receiving end. Anyone?”
The men shuffled their feet and kicked their heels, but no one stepped forward.
“I expect no backstabbing or second-guessing,” Torres said. “We’re here for one reason, and one reason alone: to rescue our families, friends, and loved ones. That’s why we’re here carrying out this shitshow. I wouldn’t be here otherwise, and neither would you. We’d be fighting the scum in our midst. I’m willing to take a risk on what this woman says. Are you?”
The men nodded, thrusting their weapons in the air. It was the most beautiful sight Sam had ever seen.
“You’re going to regret this!” Peterson barked as the two large guards dragged him back in his office. “You’re going to regret this! Mark my words!”
Torres approached Sam and removed the rag in her mouth, then her restraints. “You’re going to take us to this house to rescue our friends and families.”
“A friend of mine has already started. We’ll meet at a nearby intersection.”
“The friend you escaped with?”
Sam massaged her wrists. “With any luck, they’ll be somewhere safe and sound already.”
19.
HAWK
“This way!” Hawk bellowed.
Cheryl stabbed a zombie in the eye with a handy shard of glass. “But the others on the roof—”
“Are gone.” Hawk gripped her by the shoulders. “This is everyone.”
Cheryl scanned the hostages, dwindling with each obstacle they came to. “Leaving the house was a mistake.”
Her words weren’t aimed at Hawk, but they cut him to the bone. He spoke softer, his tone whisper-thin. “We have to go.”
Cheryl stared Hawk down, but the heat in her eyes faded. Hawk was a soldier. This was his area of expertise. She shook her head, disgusted with herself. “We’re leaving!”
The zombies fell from either rooftop, twin waterfalls of death threatening to wipe them out, and Hawk was taken back to that fateful day in Austin when his unit had been murdered before him. He shook his head
of the associated memories of pain and despair. Now wasn’t the time.
They raced up the next hilly incline that would provide them with a better view of the area. Some, injured and unable to keep up with the punishing pace, screamed as they fell, a wail of hideous pain, each a dagger to Hawk’s unbeating heart.
They reached the top of the hill. Hawk was afraid to look back, but he did and found the group had been shaved further still, reduced to half its original size, no more than twenty souls remaining. A sour victory.
As Hawk turned to face the road they next had to traverse, the challenge stared him baldly in the face. With the spilled blood of their number now decorating the tarmac of downtown Austin, the rope about their necks drew even tighter. Three hordes, each as large as the one at their backs, descended upon them, all ravenously hungry.
Hawk’s shoulders slumped. Not one of them was getting out of this alive.
* * *
Cheryl realized the futility of their mission as much as Hawk did. The hostages were doomed. She turned to Hawk, opened her mouth, and turned her face away, not wanting him to see the tears blossoming in her eyes. “We’re finished, aren’t we?”
She already knew the answer to that, but she needed to hear the words. “Yes.”
“After everything we’ve been through. It doesn’t seem fair.”
“It’s not fair. Life never is.”
Cheryl turned her head to the side and glanced at those behind her. The people who looked to her for leadership. For hope. “What am I supposed to tell them?”
“Nothing. Let them hope. Let them fight.”
Cheryl snorted. “Hope. It’s nothing more than a dirty word at this point.”
“I’m sorry.” And boy, was that an understatement.
“There must be a way out of this.” Cheryl tapped a finger to her lip and paced. “There’s always a solution if you approach the problem the right way.”
The undead drew closer, hopping, limping, dragging themselves along the road. The hostages were the pot at the end of the rainbow.
“You can’t distract them?” Cheryl said.
“There’s too many.”
“We could go inside another building.”
“They’ll be on us before we reach one.”
“We could. . . We could. . .” Cheryl growled and stamped her foot. “It’s over.”
It crushed Hawk’s heart to see Cheryl accept the inevitability of their situation. She was a fighter. She’d likely never given up on a problem before. But then, she’d never come across an opponent like the undead before either.
“You should go,” Cheryl said. “You could survive if you get far enough away from us. I wouldn’t ask you to lay down your life for no reason. You did your best.”
Hawk’s instinct was to blow her off, to tell her to shut up and find a weapon and take out as many of these bastards as she could. But the truth was, he didn’t know if Sam had reached the guards or not, didn’t know if she managed to convince them to help her. Shit, he didn’t even know if she was still alive. With a city crawling with the undead like this one, it was unlikely. What had they been thinking? They never should have attempted this dumb plan in the first place.
Someone needed to survive to tell Tommy and the military—what remained of it—what was happening beneath the city of Austin. Die now and he might take a few dozen undead with him. Survive till tomorrow and he might take a million with him.
And still, his instincts and his code of honor screamed at him to listen to his heart and do the illogical.
“Cheryl?” the mother she’d previously wrestled with over her son Les said. “What’s the plan?”
Hope was painted on the faces of every man, woman, and child who yet survived. They would give up and cry if they knew they were doomed, that they would never get out of this city, that their new purpose would either be to line the stomachs of the approaching undead or become one themselves.
There wasn’t much between those two outcomes.
Lie to them. Tell them they’re going to be okay.
Hawk’s lips moved of their own volition as if a great giant man in the sky controlled them. An empty puppet with no words of comfort of his own. “You’re going to be okay. You’re all going to be fine.”
The hostages’ expressions of concern melted, revealing calm smiles underneath.
Cheryl looked at him with an expression he couldn’t read. Anger? Disgust? Or was he only projecting his feelings onto her?
“There! Look! It’s them! It’s the military!”
A burp of gunfire behind the horde to their north. The undead at the back turned to face this new foe—and potential meal. Those in front continued limping toward them, as did the hordes coming from the other directions.
“Get down!” Hawk said. “Crouch into a ball, as small as you can.”
The hostages did as he commanded and didn’t utter so much as a word of protest. The undead ambled forward but began to lose momentum. They peered from the small morsels perched upon the hill, silent and lacking energy, and back to the banging noises behind. It wasn’t even a contest as they turned and marched toward the gunfire. Every inch they eased back down the hill, the hostages followed suit.
The undead on either side did the same, straying close—too close for Hawk’s comfort.
The hostages bunched closer together in ever-shrinking circles until they were pressed together like penguins at the bottom of the world. Hawk marveled at the hostages’ guts, capable of maintaining their cool despite their recent terrifying encounters with the creatures.
Ahead, sprays of claret rose above the staggering horde, spraying the undead with their fallen comrades’ blood.
“Cover your mouth,” Hawk whispered to Cheryl. “Pass it along.”
Cheryl did, and they raised sweaters and held sleeves over their faces.
“And shut your eyes,” Hawk said.
This order received a little more trepidation. Still, Cheryl passed it along, and the hostages used their free hands to feel their way, continuing at the same agonizingly slow pace. If just one of them turned, they would break formation and those on either side would fall. They had to be careful.
Hawk checked over his shoulder. The undead horde approached fast. But go any faster themselves and they risked tripping on the undead’s heels in front. It was a careful balancing act.
The spray turned crimson red, flecked with black as the final line of zombies fell beneath the constant gunfire. Blood cascaded in a thick spray, dousing the hostages. One crack in their hoods, one opening, and a single drop of blood could infect them, and their fragile line would be destroyed.
“Stop!” Cheryl shouted through the cloth over her mouth. “It’s us! We’re here! We’re here!”
The others shouted too, but their warning cries were punctuated by gunfire. One in ten words got through.
Worse, the undead ranks behind them took a great deal more notice of them than their military comrades did. They turned their heads and edged closer, unaware they were so close to a meal.
Hawk had to do something or they were doomed.
He tore what remained of his ragged shirt off and stood up.
Cheryl grabbed his arm and pulled him back down. “Keep down! You look like them! They’ll shoot you!”
“They’ll shoot anyone who stands up. At least I can take the bullets.”
Cheryl didn’t much like the argument but she released her grip on Hawk’s arm and let him do what was required. “Be careful.”
Hawk wrapped the ragged cloth around his arm, stood, and waved it over his head. He had no Kevlar vest this time. He jumped, whooped, and hollered, performing every noisy movement and shout he could. A pair of fresh bullets struck him in the chest and he spun and fell to the tarmac.
The undead sniffed him but were not much interested in his soiled blood.
Hawk got back on his feet and moved ahead, bursting through the dwindling zombie ranks and waved his arms over his head. Another bullet sl
ammed him in the chest, but he was moving too fast this time to fall back, and stumbled forward.
More bullets strafed his legs. One bounced off his shiny new metal hydraulic arm. Another bit dead center and perforated the cylinder. Gas hissed from it, but his waving arm was still good and he rushed toward the line of armed soldiers and crawled over the fallen undead corpses forming piles six bodies thick.
“Stop! Don’t shoot! He’s one of us!”
The bullets rained slower after that. Riddled with metal shrapnel, Hawk pushed himself onto his feet and limped forward, stopping two yards before guards who maintained tight grips on their weapons. They kept a wary eye on him and turned to deal with what remained of the first zombie horde.
Sam sprinted forward and wrapped her arms around him, almost knocking him off his feet.
“You did it!” Sam said. “You did it!”
“You did it. We were goners without the military. The hostages are sandwiched behind this final line of undead and a second horde behind them.”
Sam turned to the man standing behind her. He nodded his head and issued a new order.
The moment the last dregs of the horde were wiped out, the hostages opened their eyes and stood up, caked in red and black. They might have just climbed from the fiery furnaces of hell.
It wasn’t far off.
20.
SAM
Halfway back to base, and the undead hordes slipped over the hilly horizon. The guards put down the handful of zombies that’d entered their territory while they’d been away. The men filtered into the old press offices carrying the rescued hostages between them.
The guards squared off against the hostages, and one by one, they folded in on one another, claiming their loved ones. It was a beautiful sight to see, two halves of a whole reunited after their ordeal. But it wasn’t all happiness and smiles, as some noticed loved ones who weren’t there.
“Where’s Damian?” a young guard said. “He’s this tall with blond hair and buck teeth.”
Death Squad (Book 4): Zombie World Page 17
