“It’s over! Throw down your weapon and surrender, Brown.” Jack called out.
There was no response at first; all he could hear above the ringing in his ears was the ever encroaching growling and roaring from below. After thirty seconds however, the rifle Brown had been holding was flung out into the open space.
“Sidearm too!” Jack barked, taking a couple of steps closer. Tyrone and Cross came in on the either side.
“No line of sight.” Rodriguez announced, still alive and focused after the explosion that had decimated the part of the building he’d been in; news which lifted Jack’s spirits.
“Are you injured?” Jack asked him.
“No.” Rodriguez responded calmly.
Jack continued advancing towards the car, but Brown made no more movements.
“Jared, if you’ve got anything in your hands when we come face to face we’ll blow you the hell away.”
“It doesn’t matter.” Brown responded, his voice a little hard to hear.
Jack, weapon ready to fire as soon as he identified a threat, rounded the corner where Brown was in cover. He was sitting on his rear, legs splayed in front of him, with an obvious look of defeat on his face. In his right hand, he held his sidearm, the barrel pressed to his head.
“Lose the gun.” Jack instructed, coming to a stop with Tyrone and Cross flanking him.
“No, I don‘t think I will.”
“You’re coming with us. You’re going to tell us everything you know about Bolvinox and who’s behind this virus.” Jack declared. Brown shook his head.
“I’m a dead man. They’ll never let you talk with me.”
“I don’t see anyone left alive.”
“This is way bigger than you can imagine, Jack. This game is being played at a way higher level than our paygrade.”
“Game?” Cross questioned aggressively. “Millions of people died in this outbreak, all across the world and you think this is a game?”
“It’s all a game, Jack.” He told him, ignoring Cross. “You know that. Sometimes they sacrifice a piece or two in order to make another move later on. Like they did with you.”
Jack wondered what he meant by that, what move was it that was made after Jack had been taken prisoner, but it wasn’t relevant at that moment.
“Last warning; put the gun down or we’ll make you.” Tyrone growled.
“They’re going to take it as a given that the data has been uploaded by now. I guess that might change their plans somewhat, but not enough. I’d wish you luck, Jack, but I know what’s coming. You’d have been better off letting that drone take you out.” Brown warned ominously. Jack took a step towards him, but Brown reacted immediately, pulling the trigger. The other side of his head exploded outward in a shower of blood, bone and brain tissue; his body slumped to the side, taking with him the evidence they so badly wanted him to share.
“Damn it!” Jack snapped, lowering his weapon.
“Jack, what’s going on down there?” Hall wanted to know.
“Brown killed himself and the rest of his team is dead.” Jack reported.
“The Bolvinox helicopter just turned away.” Hall told him. “But your transport is ten minutes out. Can you hold that long?”
Screeches from below indicated that there were running infected on the way, the sound almost a challenge to Jack and other survivors in that moment.
“We’ll do our best.” Jack said. “But if you can get us any air support, we’d definitely be able to make use of it.”
“I’ll try, but I can’t promise anything.” Hall told him.
The screeching intensified; Jack looked back towards the ramp and saw a pair of running infected with shadows of more not far behind.
“We have to hold them here for as long as we can. We’ll retreat slowly up to the top floor and, if necessary, bottleneck them on the ramp.” Jack instructed.
“I’m not sure we’ve got that kind of ammo.” Cross stated glumly.
“Good thing we’ve got knives then.” Tyrone said.
The running infected turned in their direction, three more not far behind them.
“Rodriguez, fire at will. Once the chopper arrives, get up to the rooftop of the building you’re in and we’ll extract you.” Jack continued.
“Good luck.” Rodriguez told them. With final instructions to his team given, Jack glanced at Emma.
“Stay with me. We’ll get you out of here, I promise.”
“I appreciate that, Jack, but if you can’t... remember, I don’t want to turn into one of them.” She reminded him, stepping into the space between him and Tyrone, axe in one hand, pistol in the other. Jack nodded, then refocused back on the infected, joining the firing line that Tyrone and Cross had made a couple of paces ahead. Smith and Bridges moved up too, forming a defensive line against the incoming infected. Bridges, fabric now bound tightly around the flesh wound on his leg, glanced at Ramsay.
“I guess I should thank you for coming to get us.” He commented, bringing a weapon stolen from one of the fallen Bolvinox soldiers up to a ready position as he took his place on Cross’ left.
“You can thank him at the same time I thank you.” Smith told him dismissively, standing beside him with her own looted weapon at the ready.
“Bridges, Smith, take any that get just outside ten feet, Emma, save your shots for within that distance.” Jack said, giving final instructions. “Ty and I will take their legs, Cross will finish them off.”
Aiming at the first, screeching running infected, Jack fired, not aiming for the head but instead for the creature’s legs. It attempted to dodge, but he kept firing and eventually made contact. Tyrone aimed at the other and brought it down, then, while they used their hands to claw their way forward, dragging their ruined legs behind them, Cross finished them off with a clean head shot. The next trio was coming forward, running with indifference to the fact that they would soon trample their fellow infected. The head of the lead one was suddenly jolted violently to the side, an expulsion of blood and gore tearing out the left side of its skull. Another fell in similar fashion, gunned down with extreme precision by Rodriguez and his rifle.
“This isn’t so bad.” Tyrone commented as he lined up a series of shots at the next running infected. It dodged, but was still hit by the salvo, to collapse onto the back of another, now dead, infected.
No sooner had Jack comprehended his words than the true danger of their position made itself known. Though difficult to see, the heads of a dozen or more of the slower, shambling infected clambering up the ramp became visible. Almost immediately, more runners - five of them - pushed their way through them, knocking some down as they surged around the top of the ramp and screeched threateningly before they sped towards the defenders. So far, none had crossed half the distance from the ramp to where they were holding the line, but as the dozen slower infected began to reach the top of the ramp, he saw there were more moving up from behind. Jack knew they would soon be yielding ground to the infected; he only hoped they could buy enough time with each infected they felled. Aiming towards the leading infected, he fired; some shots went wide as the runner darted with an almost supernatural speed. The majority, however, found their mark, tearing through the muscles in the creature’s upper leg. It fell down, to be finished by Cross while Jack moved on to the next target. Rodriguez executed another pair in quick succession; Tyrone and Jack drilled into the remaining pair, cutting down their legs with quick, almost snap shots. These running infected flopped forward, going down after Cross’ headshots in almost the exact place the previous ones had; their bloodied, broken bodies making something of a small mound that Jack hoped would slow the advance of those in the rear.
The next threats came from the shambling infected; now two dozen strong, this throng shuffled and stamped forward. Some with outstretched arms in anticipation of a meal, others moving in a hunched over way; their backs and legs stiff while their arms flopped loosely at their sides. Jack leveled his weapon, aiming down the sigh
t, and began firing at their heads. Speed caused some to miss, hitting the upper chest, neck or going wide, others found their mark, dropping the infected to the ground. Tyrone and Cross joined the salvo, firing at the approaching infected mass as they continued their approach, crushing the fallen underfoot as they came closer and closer.
“Reloading!” Tyrone called out, forced to let up on the defense as his weapon ran dry of ammunition. The slowing of gunfire caused the right flank of the infected to gain ground, but as Jack made to fire on these targets, his assault rifle clicked empty.
“Damn! Me too!” He reported, ejecting the spent magazine and reaching for a replacement as Tyrone completed the action, beginning to fire once again.
Slamming the fresh magazine into the weapon, Jack chambered a round and resumed firing - just as Cross’ was also depleted. The growling, howling, roaring horde was drawing closer; no matter how many of them they gunned down it seemed there was another ready to take its place. Rodriguez supported them as best he could, gunning down targets intermittently, while the firing line continued to slaughter those in the front. Jack was certain that the two dozen that had initially surged up the ramp were now almost certainly dead, replaced by another two dozen, with another, larger group beyond that. The infected were continuing to come - an undead tide without end, a sea of snapping jaws, clawing hands and terrible, harrowing sounds. As they reached the point where the running infected had fallen, trampling their corpses just as they had trampled on others, a high pitched screech cut through the awful moans and runners pushed through the crowd, surging forward faster than Jack or Tyrone could take aim at them. Bridges and Smith opened fire, the first time they had done so, and cut down two of the three runners that had broken through; the third came even closer, so Emma lined up a quick shot and fired, missing the first, second and third time as she attempted to headshot it, then shifted to its leg and shot out its knees. Smith fired the final shot, executing the crawling creature that was almost within arm’s reach of the line.
“They’re still coming!” Cross called out.
“Hold your position!” Jack barked, lining up more shots, cutting down more of the seemingly endless horde. He knew it was inevitable that they would need to retreat, but he wanted to hold out a little longer - to make the infected bleed for the ground they were about to yield to them.
Beneath the growling was the constant stifled sounds of their assault rifles, punctuated by the much louder reports of the unsuppressed weapons used by Bridges and Smith. The infected were now just on the ten feet mark, so close the stench of their decaying flesh was stronger than ever.
“Pull back!” Jack called out. “To the bottom of the ramp!”
He turned, placing one hand on Emma’s back as she followed suit, turning to run the distance to the next place they would make a stand. He heard more shots behind, glancing to see that Bridges and Smith had held off a few seconds to kill a few outliers before they also turned to retreat. Bridges was moving with minimal support from Smith, the leg wound seemingly not inhibiting him; Jack felt momentarily impressed by the younger man and his ability to fight through the terrible pain he was obviously enduring. Once Jack had reached the next point of defense, he spun around, Tyrone and Cross doing the same, and they began to lay down covering fire for Bridges and Smith as they backed away.
Smith and Bridges were staying just ahead of the encroaching undead, but only just. Jack fired on the ones closest to their rear, firing as precisely as he could, though not every shot was a clean kill.
“Bridges, Smith, Emma, up the ramp!” Jack ordered, knowing they wouldn’t be able to hold the lower section for long. Bridges and Smith reached the ramp and started to advance up it slowly. Emma hesitated, seemingly not sure whether she should follow instructions or stay and offer any help she could. Finally, the decision was made and she started to move, grabbing Bridges around the waist to help him in case the elevated ground made him unsteady.
On their own, Jack, Tyrone and Cross continued to fire, their rounds killing or debilitating each target they found, even though it seemed as though there was no end to the incoming threats. The undead were closing, spreading out and widening rather than staying in a simple column. They spilled out from the right flank, forming a ragged, misshapen line that came at them quickly. Meanwhile, screeching indicated more runners pushing through from the rear of the group. One burst out from the centre of the undead mass and Jack quickly responded, gunning it down with a headshot that it failed to dodge. Nonetheless, they pressed and pressed, closing to within ten feet once again.
“Up the ramp!” Jack ordered, not turning and running this time. Instead he moved cautiously and quickly, retreating while continuing to fire. Cross did the same while Tyrone spun around and surged up the ramp.
“Bridges, Smith, covering fire!” Jack called out. Jack fired until his magazine ran empty, only then did he turn to run. He reloaded as he went, ejecting and finding his next replacement magazine. He drove the replacement home as he was nearing the halfway point of the ramp, then he heard the screeching of the runners behind him. He turned, leveling his freshly reloaded weapon while backing up. Cross, he discovered, had only just reached the bottom of the ramp, the infected mere feet from him. Bridges and Smith were firing around him, taking out infected left and right, when a runner pushed through the group, its unnatural speed allowing it to snare Cross in its grip.
“Cross!” Jack called out, firing at the runner, hoping to dislodge its hand from the back of his armor.
“Rams—” Cross started, but the runner dragged him back into the group and they descended on him. Cross screamed - a horrible, agonized sound as the infected horde slowed and fell upon him.
“Frag out!” Tyrone called; his voice loud and booming above the pained screams of their dying comrade. Knowing there was nothing that could be done, Jack started up the ramp, hoping the grenade would finish Cross and put an end to his suffering. Jack saw Tyrone rear back and launch the explosive. Moments later, there was a loud detonation. The screams ceased, as did a number of howls and moans, but the sudden, violent loss of a comrade was a severe blow to them all. They had been forced to watch helplessly while he was dragged down and ripped apart - so swiftly and so easily. It was an unnecessary - but terrible - reminder of what fate lay in store for them if they weren’t able to hold out.
“Hall, how long on extraction?” Jack demanded as he reached the top of the ramp.
“Seven minutes.” Hall responded. “They’re going as fast as they can.”
“We don’t have seven minutes!” Jack told her coldly, while looking down ramp at the horde before him. The grenade had devastated their front line, but there were still many of them... too many, and more were on the way.
Reforming the firing line, Jack was the first to take aim and fire, squeezing off shot after shot, dropping an infected with a headshot with most, winging and slowing others when they failed to hit their mark. It was a constant, unending barrage, each bullet creating a gory, bloody wound in a creature at the bottom of the ramp. The infected were slowed by the elevation, some falling over and beginning to claw their way up hand over hand as they desperately brought themselves closer and closer to their prey. Bridges and Smith focused on executing these, while Tyrone and Jack gunned down those still standing. To Jack, it seemed as though it was merely the forward impetus of the wave of infected behind that was pushing them up the ramp. And they were slowed further by the bodies of the dead, which proved to be a barricade made ever higher the more they killed, causing some to lose footing and collapse backwards, knocking down the infected behind as they fell.
The survivors continued to battle against their undead foe from the top of the ramp, and for a moment Jack began to think they might be able to hold out; that if they could keep gunning down the infected then perhaps they would make a wall of corpses that might slow them down even further. Jack’s weapon clicked empty; he ejected the empty magazine and drove home the fresh one. It was then he rea
lized his ammunition was running desperately low. Screeching indicated the next wave of runners were on the way. Jack attempted to identify the targets in advance, hoping to nail the runners before they broke through the lines of the shuffling horde, but the huge number they were facing shielded them - and then a trio of runners burst through. They had no difficulty charging up the ramp, and they were nearly halfway up by the time Jack was able to shred the legs under two of them, Tyrone dropping the third. Emma fired a series of shots, most of which missed, but she was able to finish off two; Tyrone executing the final one with the last round of his magazine.
The Z Directive (Book 1): Extraction Point Page 16
