Dylan was in her element. It felt good to stretch her legs and get fresh air into her lungs.
She could feel the oxygen rushing through her veins and pumping into her muscles. She was more than ready for a fight. She ached for it.
Their prison, a nondescript brick square, faded from view as they ran toward another, equally bland-looking building ahead. Both featured barred windows set high up in the walls and a wash of beige paint. Two soldiers guarded both. That must mean there’s something to guard.
Dylan slowed to a walk as they neared the entrance. “What’s in there?”
To her surprise, the soldier in front, their leader, answered in mild tones. “It’s an armory. After the outbreak, we set up several small armories scattered throughout the base. That makes it easier for us to resupply in a hurry during an attack by the infected.”
“Who are you, if I may ask?” Dylan said.
“Sergeant Dean,” he replied before approaching the two soldiers at the door. “We’re here for a pick-up.”
“For the civilians?” one asked.
“That’s right.”
“Go ahead. Mac is expecting you.”
Inside, they encountered a small room cut in half by a wooden counter. On top of the bar lay an empty duffel bag and an array of weapons. Yet another soldier stood behind the counter sorting through the various guns, knives, and ammunition on display.
He looked up when they entered and nodded to Sergeant Dean. “Is this them?”
“Yup. Is everything ready, Mac?” Sergeant Dean asked.
“I think it’s all there. Everything they brought with them in the Humvee,” Mac said, waving his hands over the counter. “Help yourselves.”
“You heard him,” Sergeant Dean said. “Gear up. We’ve got zombies to kill.”
Dylan wasted no time at all. She rushed forward and grabbed her machete, waving it around with glee. “This is more like it.”
After sliding the sheath onto her belt, she added a combat knife as a spare blade. Next came the Glock, still tucked into its shoulder holster along with its four loaded magazines. She checked the load, grateful to be armed once more. Lastly, she picked up her spear, giving it an experimental whirl that sent several soldiers ducking out of the way with cries of alarm.
“Dylan!” Tara said with a frown of disapproval.
Dylan shrugged. “I wasn’t even near them.”
While Tara and Saul collected their things, Dylan smoothed her hair back and tied it into a tight knot. She left her jacket unzipped to allow access to the shoulder holster and made sure her skinny jeans were tucked into the top of her boots. She also removed her gloves and scarf, tossing it onto the counter. They’d only hamper her in a fight.
Satisfied, she announced, “I’m good to go. Just show me the way.”
Tara and Saul signaled their readiness, and Sergeant Dean took the lead at a swift jog. They ran into the night and toward the fence, sporadically hitting pools of yellow light along the path.
To Dylan, it felt surreal, like they were making their way through a giant disco, especially with the rising beat of gunfire in the background. That changed when they reached their destination. Suddenly, it all became real.
A cacophony of sound enfolded her mind. Shots blasted into her eardrums, officers shouted commands, and the infected howled with never-ending hunger.
Her stomach twisted into knots, and her adrenalin levels spiked as they neared the spot where the fighting was most concentrated. She stumbled to a halt and took a moment to assess the situation. It didn’t take much to see that the base was in serious trouble.
A line of soldiers fought along the security fences that flanked the Veterans gate. A barricade reinforced the gate, and rolls of barbed wire glinted in the surrounding spotlights. A horde of zombies clawed at the barrier with eager fingers, not caring when they shredded their flesh on the wicked razors.
On top of the barricade was a mounted fifty caliber machine gun operated by two men. A constant barrage of bullets streamed from its muzzle, cutting through the ranks of the undead. But even as she watched, it stuttered and died as it ran out of ammunition.
Soldiers scrambled to take up the slack, forming a line of rifle fire several feet wide. Despite the hail of lead, the undead appeared unstoppable. When one fell, two more took its place. Even worse, the growing mound of bodies gave them a foothold, and they crawled over each other’s corpses like ants.
The first zombie reached the top and tumbled over. A bullet to the head took it down, but another one followed. And another, and another. They swarmed across the barricade and fell onto the nearest soldiers with predatory instincts. Screams filled the night, and blood soaked into the dusty earth as men lost their lives to tooth and claw.
Dylan gaped at the scene with horrified fascination, flanked by Saul and Tara. Sergeant Dean and his two fellows threw themselves into the fight, not caring about their charges. Swallowing the fear that threatened to undo her, she glanced at Saul. “Ready?”
He nodded. “We stick together, no matter what. Don’t get separated, got it?”
Dylan nodded. “Got it.”
With a piercing cry, she gripped her spear with both hands and ran at the nearest cluster of zombies, flanked by her friends. An infected turned toward her, a snarl fixed onto its lips. Two more joined it, while another crawled across the ground, its broken legs dragging in the sand.
Tara blasted the crawler with her shotgun while Saul picked off two more with his handgun. Dylan thrust the point of her spear through the crawler’s eye, popping the eyeball and skewering the brain. Putrid liquid sprayed from the ruptured socket, and the corpse sagged in death. With one foot planted on its shoulder, she yanked her weapon free.
Not pausing for a second, she whirled in a circle. The spear swept across the ground, taking the feet out from underneath another infected. She jammed the point through its throat, pinning it to the earth. The blade sliced through the neck vertebrae. Paralyzed from the neck down, the infected could do nothing but growl with insane fury.
Another zombie came howling toward her, closing the distance with frightful speed. Dylan tried to pull out her spear, but it was buried too deeply to remove in a hurry. Abandoning the weapon, she pulled her machete from its sheath. With both hands wrapped around the handle, she slammed the edge down onto her attacker’s skull. It cleaved through the bone and buried itself deep into the brain.
A cry caught her attention, and Dylan looked up in time to see Sergeant Dean go down beneath the writhing bodies of two zombies. Yanking the machete free, she launched herself at the fallen soldier. With a powerful blow, she hacked into the nearest infected’s neck. Its head flopped to the side, and she booted it in the ribs with a solid kick. It rolled away in a flurry of arms and legs, and she turned back to the sergeant.
The second zombie had both hands buried in the soldier’s jacket, its teeth clacking together as it sought to get a bite. Sergeant Dean was struggling to keep it at bay and failing. Just as she reached them, the infected lunged forward and bit into the man’s exposed wrist.
Dylan grabbed the zombie by the hair and tore it away from the wounded soldier. Rage flooded her mind, and red encroached on the edges of her vision. She could feel the effects of another episode nudging at her brain, seeking to take over. Gritting her teeth, she tried to control it. Think of Amy. Think of Alex. Think of anything but blood and death.
But its lure was like a siren’s song, and before she could stop it, a curtain of darkness fell across her thoughts. Tossing the infected to the ground, she rammed the machete into its open mouth.
With her other hand, she reached for the Glock and pumped several bullets into the zombie’s head. Its face disintegrated into a mass of blood and bone. Without stopping, she pulled the machete from its maw, breaking several teeth in the process.
With the blade in one hand and the gun in the other, she stormed the undead ranks. Like a whirling dervish, she cut through their bodies, spilling blood and gut
s onto the cold earth. The sand soaked it up like a sponge, hungry for its share of death.
Tara and Saul were forgotten in her frenzy to kill. All that mattered was the rage that had her in its grip, its hold on her mind relentless. Merciless.
When one magazine emptied, she replaced it with another and another until she ran out. Tossing the gun to the ground, she used the machete to chop through skulls and vertebrae. After a while, the edge grew dull with repeated use.
With a frustrated cry, Dylan yanked out her knife and threw herself at a zombie woman. They tumbled to the ground, and she pinned the infected down with her knees. Her arm rose and fell as she stabbed the woman in the face, over and over again. Without realizing it, she was screaming. Black blood splattered her face and soaked the front of her clothes, and still, she didn’t stop.
“Dylan!”
The voice came from a distance.
Far away.
Unreal.
“Dylan, please!”
It was closer now.
Familiar.
“Dylan, stop. It’s over. They’re all dead!”
Dylan paused her relentless attack and cocked her head. “Tara?”
Tara’s face appeared above her shoulder. “Yes, it’s me.”
“It’s over?”
Tara nodded. “The zombies are dead. All of them.”
“Really?”
“I promise.”
As suddenly as it came, the rage receded from her mind, leaving Dylan drained and empty. She crawled to her feet and stared at her crimson hands with shock. The metallic taste of blood coated her tongue, and her muscles trembled with fatigue.
“We did it? We beat them?” she asked, still unable to gather her shattered thoughts.
“Yes, we did,” Tara replied with a broad smile. “We won.”
Dylan returned her smile as a wave of triumph crashed over her. Yes!
Tara tugged at her arm. “Come on. Let’s get you cleaned up. You’re covered in gore.”
Dylan looked at her stained clothes and wrinkled her nose. “You’ve got that right, but what about Saul?”
“I’m staying here to help with the clean-up,” Saul replied, appearing from the side. He handed her the Glock she’d tossed earlier, and she accepted it with a smile. “Thanks.”
“No problem.” He threw her a cryptic look before turning to Tara. “You’d better get her out of here.”
“I will,” Tara replied, her expression somber. “Come on, Dylan. Let’s go.”
“Um, okay,” Dylan replied with a frown. Why are they acting so weird?
“Is something wrong?” she asked.
“Of course not. I just think we should get you washed up in case Major Reed wants to speak to you,” Tara replied.
“Makes sense,” Dylan replied, shrugging off her concerns.
With Tara taking the lead, she walked past the surviving soldiers. The path was littered with corpses, and she had to pick their way through with care. As Dylan stepped over one body, she spotted her spear sticking up into the air. The infected was still alive, its teeth snapping at the air despite being paralyzed from the neck down. With one boot planted on the zombie’s head, she jerked the spear free from its throat. A quick stab through the eye ended its struggles, and the infected grew still.
“Die zombie scum,” Dylan muttered, staring at the corpse.
Suddenly, she became aware of several pairs of eyes trained on her. Soldiers. They stared at her with shock, their lips twisted with repugnance. The hair on the back of her neck rose as she looked around, sensing a growing wave of hostility directed straight at her. She couldn’t fathom the reason. Surely, they didn’t feel sorry for the infected? Deciding it was a matter best left for later, she hurried onward. “Um, Tara?”
“Yeah?”
“Wait for me.”
Scrambling to catch up, Dylan jogged after the doctor’s petite form. As they walked past a parked truck, she caught sight of her reflection in the window. A spotlight shone above her head, illuminating every detail with horrifying clarity.
Dylan froze, staring at her face. Her skin was a mask of black blood from which her eyes shone like emerald stones, cold and hard. It was the image of a monster. A freak. Then, it hit her. When the soldiers looked at her, they didn’t see a fighter. They didn’t see a woman. Or even a human being. They saw a crazed killer. A zombie.
Chapter 3 - Saul
After Tara and Dylan left, Saul turned his attention toward the aftermath of the battle. The spotlights above their heads illuminated the grizzly scene with a stark glow, and the deep shadows beyond their reach throbbed with menace. I wonder how many more are out there. Hungry. Searching.
He picked his way through the debris, a loaded pistol in his right hand. Bodies littered the ground, and the earth was soaked with blood. A couple of the zombies were still alive, wriggling around with broken limbs and shattered spines. Even worse were the screams and moans of the injured.
A pair of army boots stuck out from underneath a mound of infected bodies, and Saul hurried over to clear them away. As the corpses rolled to the side, they revealed a man, and he quickly leaned down to look for a pulse. But the soldiers’ eyes were wide and staring, his throat torn to shreds.
“Damn,” Saul muttered. He reached for his knife and pressed the point to the soft spot behind the ear. A quick thrust ensured that the soldier wouldn’t rise again — a necessary evil.
He continued onward in this manner, checking for wounded and destroying the brains of the dead before they could reanimate. Any living zombies met with a quick end. It was a grim job and a smelly one. The scent of blood, guts, and decay mingled into a thick haze that clung to the roof of his mouth. At least, he wasn’t alone.
A tall officer called Lieutenant King shouted out instructions while a soldier relayed his orders over the radio. Within seconds, the clean-up began in earnest. Others joined Saul on the field, and the work progressed fast.
Not long after that, Ethan arrived with a team of medics carrying stretchers and first-aid kits. He spotted Saul and hurried over. “What are you doing here? Are you fighting with the soldiers?”
“It’s a long story,” Saul replied as weariness settled into his bones.
“Are you injured?”
“No, I’m fine.”
“What about Dylan and Tara?” Ethan asked with an anxious frown.
“They’re okay,” Saul said.
“Thank God,” Ethan exclaimed, running one hand through his hair as he surveyed the battlefield. “I’ve been worried sick all this time.”
“No need. They’re alive and kicking.” Saul looked around. “Which is more than I can say for a lot of these soldiers.”
“Yes, I’d better see what I can do for them. Hopefully, we can save a few,” Ethan said, turning away. He took a few steps then paused. “But we need to talk. Soon.”
“We’ll arrange something, Doctor. I promise.”
After Ethan left, Saul noticed Sergeant Dean cradling his hand to his chest and walked over. “Are you okay?”
“Not really,” Sergeant Dean said, revealing the bite mark on his wrist.
“Shit,” Saul cursed as he eyes the crescent-shaped wound. It wasn’t deep, but the skin was broken in places, and the flesh badly bruised.
“Yeah, it’ll be the death of me,” Sergeant Dean said, his face pale and drawn. “Unless all that talk about a cure was true?”
“It’s true. Tara brought three vials with her, but it was confiscated upon our arrival,” Saul said. “We’re having a hard time convincing the major that we’re legit.”
“I can vouch for your fighting skills. If nothing else, you know how to kill zombies,” Sergeant Dean replied. “Plus, Dylan saved my life.”
“She did?”
“Oh, yeah. I’d be zombie chow if it weren’t for her. I’ll make sure the major knows that.”
“Thanks. Any help at this stage is more than welcome,” Saul said.
“I’ll see what I can do
, but first we need to clean up this mess,” the Sergeant said. “We have to be ready in case more hostiles show up.”
“Shouldn’t you get that looked at first?” Saul asked, indicating Sergeant Dean’s injured hand.
“What for? It’s not like they can stop the virus. My only hope lies with that cure you keep talking about, and for that, I need to see the major,” Sergeant Dean replied. “And he won’t be happy if I abandon my post and leave things like this.”
“Yeah, but at least get it disinfected and wrapped up. There’s a lot of other things that can kill you. Septicemia, gangrene, the list goes on.”
“Fine. I’ll ask one of the medics to do it quickly.”
As the Sergeant walked away, Saul checked his watch. It was after twelve already. The fight had lasted longer than he thought. He just hoped more zombies didn’t show up. The last thing they needed now was a swarm. The base was not equipped for that, and he was surprised they’d lasted this long. I’ll have to speak to the major about that.
The cold breeze ruffled his collar, and he shivered, grateful for his warm jacket. Winter had arrived, and the nights were getting longer and colder by the day. He looked around him at the battle-weary soldiers, the paltry security fences, and the empty fifty caliber gun. Fort Detrick was running on fumes, and they’d have to pull out all the stops if they hoped to see spring. This time, I can’t run away. Not like Fort Knox. This time, I’ll live or die right here, defending the lab. It’s the only chance any of us have.
Trucks arrived not long after that to collect the corpses of the undead. They’d be taken to a dump some distance away from the base and burned. The bodies of fallen soldiers were carted to the mortuary for ceremonial cremation later that day.
Not wasting any time, Saul busied himself clearing the field. Working next to him was Sergeant Dean and a couple of other soldiers. Together, they removed all the dead and loaded them onto the waiting trucks. A second team did the same on the other side of the fence while a third reloaded the fifty caliber and repositioned the barricades.
It was a big operation and took several hours to complete. By the time they were finished, dawn was breaking, and streaks of orange and purple lit the sky. A group of engineers and construction workers arrived from the civilian quarters to assist with the repairs, and a fresh unit replaced the battle-weary soldiers on guard duty.
Rise of the Undead Box Set | Books 1-3 | Apocalypse Z Page 32
