The Deadland Chronicles | Book 4 | Siege of the Dead:

by Spears, R. J.

  “Just don’t press too hard on the trigger there,” Emmett said as he pointed back into the helicopter at the spray handle as he stood just outside.

  Garver had the blades of the helicopter spinning up, and they were starting to kick up dust, making Emmett put up a hand to protect his eyes.

  “What happens if I do?” Del asked with a concerned look on his face.

  “Just don’t do it,” Emmett said. “The welds on that end of the nozzle are pretty old.”

  Jones’ face appeared from inside the helicopter, and he said, “Gentleman, get your shit sorted out because we’re taking off in a minute.” He pulled away and crutched his way to the seat beside Garver.

  “Good luck, son,” Emmett said as he took a step away. “You should have let me go. I ain’t got that many years left, and you have a lifetime ahead of you.”

  “We’re not starting that again,” Del said. “Now, get away before you get your fool head lopped off.”

  Emmett hesitated for a moment, but Garver revved the engine, really kicking up the debris, forcing Emmett to back away. Del watched the older man as Garver took them up into the sky.

  All the way up, Del wondered why he always volunteered for dangerous missions like this. It made him think he might not really want to spend time with Lucy and his son. It puzzled him, but in the end, he conceded that he did these things to protect the two people he loved most in the world. That was a rationalization that he could live with.

  Once they hit five hundred feet, Del had a clear view to the west, over the walls of the Sanctum and to the river. What he saw nearly took his breath away. They were flooding onto the banks of the river, thousands of them, and spreading out like a swarm across the shoreline.

  “We’re going to need a B-52,” Del said.

  Chapter 45

  Doctor/Patient Privilege

  “They’re here, aren’t they?”

  Doc Wilson turned in his chair next to the gurney. “What?”

  Grayson’s voice was weak. “They’re here.”

  Doc Wilson had held a vigil beside the gurney since Eli, Sergeant Jones, and the others had left. A part of him didn’t think Grayson would ever wake. He had given him enough morphine to put down a horse. And Grayson was in terrible physical condition, but somehow he had pulled through. At least enough to become conscious again.

  The scientists had left them alone, too. They were combing through one of the storage rooms in search of more TRX-9 canisters. As it would turn out, they only had the four[2] they started with, minus the portion they had used in their experiment on Grayson.

  “How are you feeling?” Doc Wilson asked as he stood up.

  “Terrible,” Grayson said as a shudder of pain racked his body.

  Doc Wilson started to lean over to grab his medicine bag.

  “No, no,” Grayson said. “No more of that. My body can’t take it.”

  “You could die,” Doc Wilson said.

  Grayson let out a small series of coughs, but each little movement sent more shock waves of pain throughout his body.

  “Yes,” Grayson said, “and I would deserve it.”

  “No one deserves to die,” Doc Wilson said.

  “I do,” Grayson said. “Even before I became...became what I was. Half-dead, half-alive. I was not a good man.” He stopped and shut his eyes tightly to ride out the next wave of pain. It took several seconds, but he made it to the other side. “You see, I ended up in the experiments that turned me into what I was because I was in prison. On death row, really. The doctors made me a bargain. I could rot and die on death row, or I could take part in their experiments. What could I do? I took the deal.”

  “So, these experiments, they turned you into what you were?”

  “Yes, but they used so many others,” Grayson said. “Most of them didn’t make it. You’d think I was one of the lucky ones. But we, the four of us, were just research subjects of another kind.”

  “So, the four of you were the only successes?” Doc Wilson asked.

  It took Grayson a few seconds to roll through another ripple of pain.

  “We were not successes,” he said. “We were cursed. It changed our minds. Our spirits. It twisted us and made us hate anyone still alive.” He let out a cough, then spoke again. “As I said, I was not a good person, but what they did to us, the drugs, the experiments on us after we changed, it warped us. It opened us to something. To being influenced.”

  The sound of the helicopter whipped overhead, and Doc Wilson followed its path with his eyes. As the sound receded in the distance, he turned his attention back to Grayson.

  “What are you talking about?” Doc Wilson asked.

  Grayson closed his eyes, and Doc Wilson was certain that he had fallen back into unconsciousness until Grayson spoke again. “At night, this voice spoke to me. I’m sure it talked to the others, but we didn’t talk about it, but I’m sure it did. It spurred us on, feeding on our anger. Our hate. I don’t know. Maybe it was...was what we were, turned in on ourselves.”

  A deep silence fell on them, but this time, it was the doctor’s turn to break it.

  “Before I came here,” he said. “I was with a group down south. There was one guy who was with us. His name is Joel. After some very awful moments, he became our leader, and, well,” he stopped, and it was easy to see that he was having trouble getting to the next part of the story. “Well, he had these visions. There were some in our group who thought they came from God.” He waved a hand in the air. “Others thought he was crazy.”

  “What did you think?” Grayson asked.

  “I don’t know, but some of these visions saved our asses. There was a young woman, her name was...is...Kara. I don’t even know if they are still alive. Anyway, she thought this whole...whole shitstorm of zombies, well, it reset the world. Set us back. Like we’re entering a new dark age. And that the forces of good and evil were at war. God versus the devil, only with a capital D.”

  “You may not be wrong,” Grayson said, and it looked like he might say something, but he grimaced, and the skin on his face became tight.

  Doc Wilson leaned in over him and asked, “Do you need another shot?”

  Grayson opened his eyes, and it was as if a clarity came to them as he looked up at the doctor.

  “I need you to do something for me,” Grayson said. “Make me a promise.”

  “About what?”

  “If the zombies get inside,” Grayson said. “If they overwhelm the people here, I need you to promise me that you will give me an extra heavy dose of your happy drug there.”

  “There won’t be a need for that,” Doc Wilson said, waving his hand in the air as if to push Grayson’s words away.

  “Look at me,” Grayson said, but his eyes were closed. “If they get inside, I’m not going anywhere.” He paused and sucked in a long breath. “And don’t think you’ll do anything heroic like try to carry me out of here. I won’t survive it, and you won’t, either. So, if they breakthrough and get inside, you have to promise me you won’t wait. You’ll give me that shot and get the hell out of here.”

  “I don’t think it will come to that.”

  Grayson opened his eyes again and fixed them on Doc Wilson’s. “You don’t know what they’re capable of. I do. This could all go sideways, and if they get in, you have to make a run for it. There’s no use for us both dying, and I’d rather not be eaten alive or locked in here to slowly starve. Besides, I don’t think I’ll last long, anyway. You know what shape I’m in. We both know my time on this earth is limited.”

  “There's a chance I get you back to full health,” Doc Wilson said.

  Grayson fixed the doctor in a stare. “Look at me. How many cripples have you seen around this world? How long could I survive? Not long, and you know that’s the truth.”

  “Let’s not go there. Again, I think the people are in a good position to defend themselves.”

  “You don’t know what’s coming like I do,” Grayson said. “I need a better exi
t strategy than what I said. And I need you to promise me that you’ll do what I’m asking.”

  Doc Wilson said, “I’ve been meaning to ask you something. It could be important, or it could be useless.”

  “Ask away, doc.”

  “This control you were able to exert over the zombies, how did it work?” Doc Wilson asked.

  Grayson started to answer, but instead spasmed in pain, lifting his back off the bed.

  “Let me get you something,” Doc Wilson.

  Grayson grunted and put up a hand. “Not yet.” It was obvious to tell that he was trying to keep the pain at bay. “It wasn’t control. It was more like an attraction. Something about us brought them to us, but we could push them along, too.”

  “Push?”

  “Well, they gathered around us, and when we moved, they moved.”

  “That’s what the others are doing now?”

  “A little,” Grayson said and grimaced for a moment. “But the way it worked was we got them close to people like you -- the living -- and that’s all we needed to do. Their lust for flesh did the rest.” At the end of the sentence, he let out a low and sustained moan.

  Doc Wilson reached for his medical bag, but Grayson put up his one good arm.

  “Soon, not just yet. I’ve been under the influence of something or someone for so long. I just want to be me. For as long as I can take it.”

  Doc Wilson bit his lower lip for a moment, his thoughts elsewhere, then he said, “I’ll hold out here as long as I can, and we’ll see what happens.”

  Grayson let out a long groan and said, “I think I need a shot now.”

  Doc Wilson picked his medical bag off the floor and said, “Coming right up.” He tried to put as much cheer in the words as he could, but it rang hollow.

  As he prepared the shot, he couldn’t help notice that he had more than an ample supply of morphine, but he told himself that it wasn’t close to going that direction. Not yet, at least.

  Chapter 46

  Attack Run

  Garver pushed the chopper low and fast, causing the ground to blur beneath them. He didn’t want a repeat of what happened to Bradbury’s helicopter. A large portion of the horde had made it across the river, and were collecting down at the bottom of the gently sloping hill that led up to the campus.

  The helicopter was low enough in the sky that those inside had a feeling like the zombies were rushing towards them.

  “What am I looking for?” Garver asked.

  Jones leaned forward in his seat. “Bradbury said he saw a thick congregation of them.”

  “Well, shit,” Garver replied, “there's a thousand of them coming across that river. They all look like they’re crushed together.” There was a tinge of something in his voice that Jones didn’t like.

  Jones turned toward Garver and said, “Hold it together.”

  Garver narrowed his eyes and said, “Sorry about that.”

  “Hey, I’m going to be honest,” Jones said. “I have no idea what we’re looking for. This is new to all of us. I guess the important thing is if you see one holding an RPG launcher, shoot it.”

  “Thanks, Mr. Obvious.”

  Jones couldn’t help but smile. Garver had calmed himself down. From what Jones could see, there were several hundred zombies on their side of the river but there was still a lot in the water. While Garver had them moving at high speed, he could also tell that some of those zombies in the river were struggling.

  “Look,” Jones said, trying to moderate the excitement in his voice. “The river’s taking some of the zombies out.”

  Zombies plunged into the water, but some were swept away by the current, arms and legs flailing in the water, but losing the battle. Jones hoped they ended up far downriver.

  Clayton spoke from through the comms, “Thank God, those undead assholes can’t swim.”

  “You guys see anything?” Clayton asked over the comms. He and Del were positioned on different sides of the helicopter. Clayton was the door gunner with the .50 caliber gun. Del had the sprayer at the other door.

  For Del, this was like the most frightening amusement park ride of his life. The sprayer was a cumbersome beast, and he constantly had to use his body to keep the entire thing from slipping out the door as the chopper rushed through the sky. Had they had just a few minutes, they would have lashed it down with something, but the clock had run out on them. The zombies were on their side of the river and moving toward the walls.

  “Let’s make a run at them,” Jones said. “Maybe we can make these sons of bitches change their minds.”

  “Pick a spot,” Garver said.

  Jones scanned the zombies starting to mount the hill. It brought back some very unpleasant memories of the Taliban assaulting a mountain that he had been defending a lifetime ago and half a world away. An involuntary shiver slipped up his spine.

  He didn’t see anything that tipped him to the presence of one of the smart zombies, so he decided it was best to hit the ones at the head of the herd.

  “Go for the ones up front,” Jones said. “Hold back on the rockets. Hit them with your machine guns.”

  Garver said, “Yes, sir,” as he leaned the stick forward, picking up speed.

  “Clayton, you can let loose, too,” Jones spoke over the comms. “Del, you hold off until we identify a target.”

  Neither Del or Clayton responded, but Del wished he had Clayton’s job rather than staffing the nerve gas sprayer. He understood machine guns well enough from his time overseas. The sprayer was a brave and frightening new world. He wasn’t sure that he wouldn’t get them all killed despite Emmett reassuring him over and over again that the ‘super sprayer’ would work as advertised.

  The helicopter was a ‘test’ version of an update on the Black Hawk helicopter. This variation was called the Kitty Hawk with the designation, UH-70Z. It was faster and trimmer than the UH-60, and it was deadlier. Twin rocket launchers had been installed to complement the dual 7.62mm machine guns. Its slight size limited the number of people on board to six, but it also cut down on the demand for three pilots.

  Colonel Kilgore, who had been one of the commanders at the Wright-Patterson Airbase before the world went to hell in a handbasket, competed with two other bases to get these prototype versions. The one Garver flew was one of only two that made it off the base before the place was overrun. The other one was the one Bradbury had been in.

  With the forward momentum, everyone in the helicopter felt a combined sense of exhilaration and fear. While Garver complained about having to pilot this mission, he was a born warrior. Jones was along for the ride because he was in command. Clayton was the reluctant addition, and Del was drafted. It was a strange crew.

  The zombies were coming up quick when Garver depressed the trigger on the machine guns. Bullets poured out of the twin barrels at an explosive rate and tore into the lead zombies with deadly force. It wasn’t like being shot from a long gun or pistol. The impacts were like miniature explosions, blasting into the zombies, and ripping them apart. Blood exploded into the air, splattered onto the zombies behind the ones up front, painting them red.

  Garver pushed in a straight line through the undead horde, and it was like someone had opened up a giant bloody zipper through the middle of the mob. Body parts and blood were literally propelled onto the zombies on each side of the line.

  Jones heard Clayton letting loose with his gun, and when he looked out the right side of the chopper, he saw zombies dancing from the impact of bullets. It was a macabre sort of jitterbug as they were blasted apart.

  With a normal enemy, this sort of devastating attack would cause most enemies to second guess their plan of attack, but zombies were a whole different creature. They didn’t have doubts or fears. There was no second guessing going on in their shriveled brains. In fact, the loud chattering of the machine gun seemed to spur them on. Loud noises usually meant humans were present, and humans were food, and they were always hungry.

  Those in the helicopter
hoped that there might be a deterrence factor in the attack, but it was like trying to dig sand out of a hole on a beach with the tide rolling in. No matter how hard or how fast you dug, the water and sand just filled in the hole. In this case, as soon as Garver had turned the helicopter around for another run, the bloody path he had cut through the horde had been filled in by zombies clamoring up the hill.

  Garver pulled the helicopter to a hover over the far side of the river. Below, a stream of zombies entered the river, surging across the fast running waters. Most of them made it to the other bank, but more than a few were swept away, bobbing up and down as they drifted away. The way the water was running, there was no telling where they would end up.

  “We’re not going to be able to stop them before they get to the walls,” Garver said with a hint of defeat in his tone.

  Jones jerked his head in Garver’s direction as he flipped off his comms. “Listen to me. We are not giving up.

  Garver turned off his comms and said, “This chopper might be our only way out of here.”

  “We are not running,” Jones answered.

  “This might be our only chance,” Garver said.

  Clayton yelled from the back of the helicopter, “What the hell are we doing?”

  Jones reached out a hand to grip Garver’s shoulder. “We have to keep this up” He stopped and broke eye contact for a moment.. ”I know we can’t stop them, but we can cut their numbers down. We have to. It’s the only chance these people have.”

  “But we could go down with them,” Garver said as he shook off Jones’ hand.

  “Look down there,” Jones said. “I think there’s less than before, and the water is taking more of them.”

  “It’s not enough,” Garver said. “There’s too many of them.”

  “We are doing what we can,” Jones said. “Like you said, we’re safe up here.”

  “Bradbury was safe, and now he’s dead,” Garver said.

  “Guys!” Clayton said. “Why the hell are we just standing still? We’re sitting ducks!”