Fall of Man | Book 4 | The Tide

by Sisavath, Sam

  “Hell no,” Cole said, getting up. “We’re going back.”

  The ex-soldier stood up, too, but glanced at Cole with a confused expression. “Back where?”

  “The warehouse.”

  “Job’s still not done.”

  “The job won’t be done with that car out there bringing crazies to us. This place will be swarming with them pretty soon.”

  Cameron’s eyes widened. “Yeah, that’s a good point. We should go.”

  The ex-soldier took the first step forward to do just that when the door—the same door they were headed toward—behind him burst open, its metal frame slamming into the wall with such a loud BANG that Cole thought it might have been a gunshot.

  And it was loud.

  Too loud.

  It wasn’t the crazies, plural, that he was expecting, but a crazy. Bloodshot eyes zeroed in on them as the man made a beeline for Cameron. The infected’s hair was slicked black as if he’d used too much grease on it. Cole had no idea why the man would continue to do that now, days after the world went to hell.

  “Hey, some of us care about our appearances,” the Voice said.

  Shut up, I’m focusing.

  “I’m just saying. You could stand a little maintenance yourself, what with the bandages and wounds and whatnot.”

  I said, shut up!

  The crazy wore sandals, which looked absurd for such a big man. Not to mention the rest of his getup, including a white, blood-splattered apron with World’s Greatest Chef stenciled in cartoony letters. He was clearly looking at a man who made his living butchering animals for housewives.

  “And now he wants to butcher you.”

  …with a meat cleaver gripped in one bloody hand.

  Cameron whirled back around and lifted his rifle at the speeding crazy. The man only had bloody eyes for Cameron (“Better him than us!”) as he charged, streaks of sunlight blinking rapidly off the heavily dented cleaver in his hand.

  “Wait!” Cole said, lunging for Cameron to keep him from firing, the thoughts, Don’t bring more crazies here, don’t bring more crazies here! running through his mind as he did so.

  Too late. The loud pop! of the soldier’s rifle echoed in the alleyway even as the crazy’s head snapped back.

  But he didn’t go down.

  Cameron had gone for a headshot and missed, though not entirely. The 5.56 round had glanced off the butcher’s right temple, jerking his head in that direction. But it wasn’t a killing shot.

  The young man knew it, too, because he began shooting. Again and again and again.

  Pop-pop-pop!

  Three shots, all of them going into the crazy’s chest as the man was halfway to him. Cameron’s would-be killer collapsed to the filthy alley floor, where he lay awkwardly on his side gasping for breath like a fish out of water. The meat cleaver had clanged away from his outstretched hand as he struck the hard pavement.

  “Goddammit,” Cole said.

  Cameron whirled around. “I probably shouldn’t have done that.”

  “No, you shouldn’t have. You just told them exactly where we are.”

  “I know. Shit.”

  Cameron didn’t say anything more, but he didn’t have to. Cole could read it in his eyes: He was suddenly very unsure. Of himself, of the mission.

  There was no way around it now. The mission was a scrub, and they hadn’t even ventured more than 100 yards from the warehouse. The whole thing was a fuckup before they could really get started. In a split second, everything had gone from bad to worse.

  Bad because that stupid car—it was still getting closer, that voice asking if “is anyone out there” continuing to broadcast loudly—was still coming, obliviously drawing more crazies to them. Matters had been made worse now by Cameron’s gunfire.

  Cole remembered asking the soldier if his group had brought suppressors with them before they started off this morning, but they hadn’t. Not that it would have made any shots they took completely silent, unlike in the movies. At the very least, it was a modest reduction in decibels, which was all-important when it came to what was supposed to be a stealth mission.

  “Stealth?” the Voice asked. “You call this stealth?”

  I said it was supposed to be a stealth mission.

  The Voice laughed. “Time to boogie, chum. I bet those boys are coming right now as we speak.”

  And that stupid car, still approaching, getting closer…

  “Hello. Is anyone out there?”

  Getting louder…

  “Hello. Is anyone out there?”

  “Let’s go,” Cole said.

  “The mission—” Cameron started.

  “It’s fucked. Let’s go.”

  The soldier sighed, and they both turned to go—

  Two dogs, brown and white fur matted with thick red blood—and they looked fresh, too—appeared in the alleyway between them and the safety of Johnson Steel. Red eyes burned as they crossed the pools of shadows, drool flitting from their mouths. The animals opened their mouths to show off their fangs as they galloped forward, cutting the distance between them and Cole with amazing speed.

  For a second—just a second—he was hypnotized by the way they moved. So fast, and almost in sync. They didn’t bark, but he thought they might have growled. A low rumbling, menacing growl.

  Cole would have either resorted to the butt of the rifle or slung it and drew the knife at his left hip to defend himself. But he didn’t because Cameron had already fired and alerted every nearby crazy to their position. Everyone and every thing, like these two rabid creatures.

  So Cole pulled the trigger.

  He hit the first dog, and it let out an almost startled yelp as it skidded on the floor before crashing on its side.

  The second one kept coming.

  Movement out of the corner of Cole’s right eye as Cameron stepped up next to him and took aim. Cole beat him to it, firing a second shot.

  The incoming dog’s snout exploded in a shower of blood and bone and fur as it, too, dropped 15 feet from Cole.

  From behind them: “Hello. Is anyone out there?”

  And getting closer…

  “Time to hump it, soldier boy,” Cole said.

  Cameron took off, running forward and jumping over the dead dog. Cole was right behind him, but not before glancing back toward the street—

  A shadowy black figure appeared around the corner about 50 yards ahead. Still too far for Cole to make out details, but whoever it was, they were moving fast.

  “Maybe you should wait around to introduce yourself,” the Voice said.

  No, I don’t think I will.

  “So rude.”

  Cole turned and continued running back toward Johnson Steel, but instead of hopping over the dead dog like Cameron had, he went around the animal. It wasn’t like there wasn’t room. The alleyway had plenty of space to maneuver—

  Clang-clang! from in front of them.

  Cameron slid to a stop even before he reached the first dog that Cole had shot. The soldier lifted his rifle to aim, and Cole was going to ask him what he was about to shoot at when he saw it.

  Another crazy had appeared on the other side of the fence they’d scaled earlier. The loud banging was the man jumping up onto the Dumpster to get over the fence that separated the two alleys.

  Pop-pop! as Cameron fired.

  The crazy was in the process of leaping over the fence when Cameron’s bullets struck him. The man somersaulted through the air and landed with an echoing and painful-sounding crunch!

  If they’d made a lot of noise before, it was worse now. There was absolutely nothing in the area that would have been able to ignore their gunshots. Even though Cameron hadn’t seen any crazies in the area before their mission, the presence of these two, along with the dogs, was proof that they were around and were hiding, biding their time. They were smart that way.

  …presence of these two…

  No. Not two. Three.

  Cole glanced back as the third crazy co
ntinued its pursuit. It was a woman, long skinny legs wrapped in black joggers. Her tennis shoes squeaked loudly against the alley floor as she ran, and the woman—if she could even still be called that—showed off the kind of purposeful strides that would make Usain Bolt jealous. Long and loose brunette hair cascaded around her head like some kind of parachute as she drew closer to him, the machete in her right hand pistoning up and down, up and down as she sprinted.

  Thirty yards.

  Twenty-five…

  Damn, she was fast.

  Cole lifted the rifle to aim—

  The woman stopped on a dime and dived to her left.

  Pop-pop! as Cole fired and both rounds pinged! into the steel door that the butcher had come out of earlier. The door hadn’t stopped the 5.56 rounds, but it might have diverted—

  A pale white face popped out from behind the door, and the woman squinted across the alley at Cole. Fresh blood dripped from her right cheek, so Cole knew that he hadn’t missed completely.

  Pop-pop-pop! as Cameron stepped up beside Cole and unleashed his remaining magazine into the door, stitching it from left to right, then up and down for good measure. If Cole thought their gunshots had been loud before, Cameron’s M4 on full-auto was impossibly loud now.

  The crazy had vanished just before Cameron started shooting.

  The door, badly damaged, swung open, revealing…emptiness on the other side.

  Cameron stopped shooting only when he had to reload. He also didn’t bother picking up the spent magazine. “I think I got her.”

  “Wanna bet, sport?” the Voice said.

  Cole didn’t know if Cameron had “got” the crazy or not, and he didn’t care. They’d been inside the alley for too long, making too much of a nuisance of themselves.

  And that fucking car was still coming, the voice still broadcasting:

  “Hello. Is anyone out there?”

  Cole turned to go, Cameron moving alongside him. He kept the rifle ready as he ran, ears wide open for sounds other than the car approaching from somewhere behind them.

  “Hello. Is anyone out there?”

  “Hello. Is anyone out there…?”

  Chapter Fourteen

  “Well, that was a bust.”

  No shit.

  “No. No shit.”

  I was being facetious.

  “I don’t know what that means.”

  You know everything I know.

  The Voice laughed. “So you admit it. I’m you.”

  No.

  “No?”

  You’re not me. You’re the part of me that shouldn’t exist.

  “That’s still you.”

  It’s not.

  “I guess we’ll just have to agree to disagree.”

  I don’t agree.

  It laughed even harder. “What are you, a comedian now? That’s my job, chum!”

  The stupid Voice wasn’t completely wrong in its assessment. This was a bust. Worse still, the mission had only served to focus the attention of every crazy in the area onto them. Including the ones that weren’t already watching them. Of course, it wasn’t all their fault—or all the gunshots they’d let loose to save their skins, to be exact—but that damn vehicle broadcasting the message played its part.

  “Someone deserves a nice kick in the ball sacks for that,” the Voice said.

  Someone certainly did. The only upside Cole could think of was that the car had drawn most of the crazies to it, which allowed Cameron and him to escape back into the warehouse unmolested. Besides the ones they’d already shot and killed, there was no one in their path back to safety. That had spared Cole the need to exert himself further. His entire body was already shaking, telling him in no uncertain terms that it’d been way, way too premature for him to have gone out in his condition. Not that Cole was in any mood to thank the driver of the vehicle anytime soon.

  Bolton was waiting for them at the side door, another one of the rifles at the ready. They knocked using the prearranged knocking patterns they’d cooked up earlier, and the door snapped open to reveal the pilot’s grizzled face. “You guys okay?”

  Cole and Cameron quickly slipped inside, the chopper pilot closing and then locking the door behind him. The door itself was solid steel, so it would take a large crazy with an even larger hammer to break his way in. To keep it sealed while no one was watching it, they’d stacked shelves and other assorted heavy objects against it. Because the crazies didn’t work together, it was extremely unlikely they could break the barrier down by themselves.

  “Still in one piece,” Cameron said.

  “Just barely,” the Voice said.

  Barely is good enough.

  “For now.”

  Yeah. For now…

  “No supplies?” Bolton asked.

  “We never made it,” the soldier said.

  “I heard shooting.”

  “That’s why.”

  “Well, that sucks.”

  “It wasn’t just us. There was someone else out there that helped ruin the party.”

  “Yeah, we know,” Bolton said.

  He walked past them to take the lead. Cameron and Cole exchanged a curious glance as they followed the older man. They had to weave their way around the maze-like interior of the warehouse and its giant blocks of heavy equipment. The sticky cement floor squeaked underneath Cole’s boots, and the air was thick with sweat and grease and oil. The building was large enough that it took them a while to reach their destination.

  “What’s going on?” Cameron asked Bolton.

  “You need to see it for yourself,” the pilot said.

  “What are you talking about, Bolton?” Cole asked. Had something happened while he and Cameron were shooting their way back? They hadn’t been gone that long.

  “Better you see it for yourself,” the older man said.

  They stepped around something that looked like a heavy-duty steel press and out into the wide-open front half of Johnson Steel.

  “Mother,” Cameron said.

  The ex-soldier wasn’t calling for his mom. The mother he was referring to was an expression of surprise. He had every right to be, because there was something in the warehouse that hadn’t been there when Cole left:

  A black matte armored vehicle that looked like a cross between a bus and a van. Its tires were hidden behind steel plates to protect it, while six windows looked out on each side. The front windshield was speckled with blood and dirt and mud and God knows what else; there were spiderwebbed cracks along one side, but the entire thing was still very much intact. Dry red and black and brown spots were smeared over the slick engine bay and front grill, which gave the impression of a battering ram, complete with a winch. Cole eyeballed the monster at about 28 feet long, 8-something feet wide, and maybe 10 feet high.

  It was an APC—armored personnel carrier. Not military, judging by the paint job, but likely designed for civilian law-enforcement. There were protected spotlights all around and some kind of camera system on the top of the front cab that could turn 360 degrees. Two built-in speakers that were part of a larger PA system jutted out from the rooftop.

  “So that’s the loudmouth,” the Voice said.

  Yup. That was the loudmouth, all right. And what a loudmouth it was, too.

  The APC’s sides, like its front, had seen a lot of action. Dry (and some fresh) blood splatters covered the dark metal plates. There were minor divots and scratches from external attacks, but nothing had been able to punch through. The vehicle likely weighed a shit ton, which was probably why that engine powering it was an impressive beast.

  “What the fuck is that?” Cameron asked as he, Bolton, and Cole walked over to join the others.

  The “others” were Zoe and Ashley, mother and daughter standing with two strangers Cole had never seen before. Dante was also there, but he was moving around the APC in his wheelchair, exploring every facet of the machine. Cole glimpsed more movement inside the vehicle, visible through the windows. The two front doors were opened, but
no one else came outside to greet them besides the two talking with Zoe.

  “That’s an armored personnel carrier,” Cole said.

  “I’ve never seen an APC like that,” the soldier said. “That’s law-enforcement?”

  “I don’t know. Definitely civilian.”

  Zoe looked over at them. “You guys okay?”

  “Yeah,” Cameron said. Then, without missing a beat, he nodded at the two newcomers and said, “No thanks to them. Entire mission’s FUBAR because of that thing.”

  The couple was a man and a woman, both in their thirties. They wore similar clothes—cargo pants, T-shirt underneath a black jacket, and sneakers. The man was dark-skinned and Hispanic, and stood at least a head taller than the woman, who was blonde with green eyes. Pretty, but not quite on Emily’s level.

  “Biased much?” the Voice said.

  He probably was.

  “Probably?”

  He definitely was.

  “There you go, chum.”

  The way the two newcomers stood next to each other told Cole they were more than just friends.

  “Sorry about that; we didn’t know,” the man said to Cameron.

  “This is Deke and Annette,” Zoe said. “Did you guys see them out there?”

  “No, but we heard them,” Cole said.

  “And so did every crazy in the area,” Cameron added, with that same unsubtle You almost got us killed tone.

  “Again, sorry about that,” Deke said.

  “What the hell did you think you were doing, running around out there with your speakers blaring?”

  “Looking for other survivors,” the woman, Annette, said. She didn’t look nearly as “sorry” as Deke. Then again, even Deke hadn’t looked all that sorry.

  “Forget about their little faux pas,” the Voice said. “Check out the ride.”

  Cole did just that, walking to where Dante sat in his chair looking over the armor plating along the side of the vehicle.

  “What kind of armor is that?” Cole asked the kid.

  “Heck if I know,” Dante said. He banged a fist on the vehicle, yielding a pair of loud but noticeably dull thuds. “But it’s strong.” He stuck a finger into a divot; it’d been put there by something metal and very sharp. “And tough. Way tough.”