Nurse Alissa vs. the Zombies | Book 3 | Firestorm

by Baker, Scott M.

  Alissa crawled across the cab and fell out the passenger side, taking cover behind the front tire.

  Nathan saw the blood on her arm. “You’re hit.”

  “It’s a flesh wound. Miriam, let me have one of those pieces of cloth.”

  Miriam rushed over, leaving Diana and the kids on the ground.

  They did not notice the deader sneaking up behind them, a North Conway police officer still wearing its bullet-proof vest.

  Kiera did. She ran out from behind the Ram and aimed at the deader. When she fired the FAL, the rounds blasted away its neck. The deader teetered for a moment, its head wobbling on the exposed spine before dropping off. The body collapsed into a heap, congealed blood oozing from its neck. The head rolled around like a football, coming to rest so it faced Kiera, its mouth snapping at her. Kiera blew the head apart with three more rounds.

  The parking lot became a blood sport arena, Alissa and Nathan engaged in a gun battle with Dickson, Miriam and Kiera crouched behind them taking down any deaders that drew close, and Chris behind the Ram clearing away the deaders approaching from Lowe’s.

  Stratman broke through into open air, thanking a God he didn’t believe in for letting him live so long. He kept running, wanting to put as much distance between himself and the flames as possible. He finally gasped for breath, inhaled smoke from the fire, and began coughing. Pulling his shirt up around his mouth to filter away the smoke, he ran as fast as he could.

  His energy gave out when he reached the far edge of the Lowe’s parking lot. Stratman collapsed onto his back. Every time he took in air, he coughed and wheezed. He inhaled deeply and hacked, spitting out black sputum. After that, he caught his breath.

  That’s when he heard gunfire.

  Rolling onto his stomach, he spotted Dickson crouched behind the Chevy battling it out with the others in the center of the lot. A pack of deaders rounded the far end of JC Penny and lumbered toward him, twelve in total. From this vantage point, he could easily take them down before they overran the boss. Stratman aimed the hunting rifle on the closest deader, what used to be a teenage girl with her face chewed off. His finger wrapped around the trigger.

  Stratman lowered the rifle.

  This was insanity. What had been an attempt to take the cabin from the newcomers became a lust for revenge. He had seen Dickson obsessed before and it never turned out well. He refused to die for this.

  Stratman placed the rifle beside him, lay low, and prepared to wait out the final moments.

  Elaine made it as far as the Quality Inn when she ran into a pack of thirteen deaders lumbering toward the sound of battle. Upon spotting Elaine, they surged in her direction. She could only move forward because of the fire surrounding her on all sides, and she would never outfight or outrun that many deaders. To her left, the roof of the Quality Inn already burned. Her only chance lay with going through the motel and circling around the pack, coming out the other side.

  Elaine bolted for the entrance.

  The glass doors did not slide open due to the lack of electricity. Elaine fired her weapon three times, blowing out the pane, then pushed through into the lobby. No deaders were inside. A sign by the elevators indicated the outdoor pool was to the right. Crossing the lobby, she turned down the corridor.

  And stopped short.

  Deaders filled the corridor, shambling toward her, attracted by the noise she had made. Spinning around, another pack from the corridor opposite the lobby also closed in.

  The stairs to the second floor stood off to her left, with only one deader blocking her path. She blasted it apart with her AK-47, pushed past the body, and ran upstairs. As she turned onto the landing, a young boy deader in a Pokémon t-shirt centered itself at the top of the stairway and snarled. A three-round burst from the weapon blew it against the far wall. Elaine ran up to the second floor.

  “Fuck!”

  Flames had burned through the ceiling in several places and smoke filled the building. Deaders packed the corridor up here as well, although most were at the far ends, clawing at the windows. Upon hearing the gunshot and seeing Elaine, they lurched down the corridor.

  Elaine ran over to the room opposite the stairs and tried the door. It was locked. Something on the other side slammed into it and snarled. She ran down to the next door. It was also locked. Fear overtook her. She tried each door in turn, finding none of them open. With each minute, a horrible death drew nearer. At the fifth door, she found the keycard still in the lock. The nearest deader had closed to within ten feet. Elaine removed the card and reinserted it. The green light flashed. She smelt the decayed breath of the deader as it charged. Shoving the door open, she pushed her way into the room and slammed shut the door. Several dead hands scratched at the outside.

  A hungry growl emanated from behind her.

  Elaine spun around to see an obese male deader wearing only boxer shorts lumbering toward her. She ducked as it drew close, passing by the obese deader as it crashed into the door. Circling around the bed, Elaine rushed over to the window, shoved it aside, and punched out the screen. A strip of grass lay beneath her. If she didn’t break her leg, she would be fine.

  Swinging her right leg out the window, Elaine prepared to jump when the obese deader attacked, pinning her left leg inside the room. Its dead hands clawed at her, scratching her face. Elaine raised her hands to protect herself. The obese deader lowered its hands, ripping open her shirt and tearing its way into her abdomen. Elaine screamed. The pain was unbearable, but not as much as when the deader yanked out a segment of her intestine and shoved it into its mouth. It backed away, releasing the pressure on Elaine’s leg. She dropped out the open window, her intestines unwinding as she fell. She landed on her shoulders, snapping her spine.

  As Elaine’s life flowed from her body, her dying vision was of the obese deader standing by the open window, pulling up her intestines bit by bit to feed.

  Alissa’s Mossberg ran out of ammunition. She went to reload. “Shit.”

  “What’s wrong?” asked Nathan.

  “I’m almost out.”

  Nathan checked his own supply. “I’m down to three magazines.”

  Alissa turned to Miriam and Kiera. A ring of deader corpses spread out on front of them. “How are you two doing for ammunition?”

  “We should have enough to take care of these,” answered Miriam.

  “But we don’t have enough to take out Chris’ horde,” added Kiera.

  Alissa checked out Lowe’s. Both it and JC Penny were on fire. Chris had taken down half the horde, but almost one hundred remained. They were at the peak of the crisis. If they survived the next few minutes, they had a good chance of making it out alive. At this moment, though, the odds were stacked against them.

  Dickson hid behind the Chevy to reload. At this rate, he’d run out of ammunition or get shot before this gunfight ended. He needed help, but that prick Joel was of no use. He sat against the door to the Chevy, holding his legs against his chest, his head resting on his knees. Dickson leaned over and slapped him across the head.

  “Snap out of it, asshole.”

  “What?”

  “We need to outflank them.”

  Joel stared, dumbfounded. “How?”

  “I’ll lay down cover fire. When I do, charge the Hummer and kill them.”

  “And get cut down out in the open? No fucking way.”

  Dickson leveled his AK-47 at Joel’s head. “Then get shot right here. Your choice.”

  Joel stared at him, slowly realizing Dickson meant it. Removing the last AK-47 from the rear seat, Joel moved to the end of the Chevy, crouching behind the bed. He checked his weapon and nodded. As Dickson popped up and laid down suppressing fire, Joel ran around the end of the Chevy and charged the Hummer.

  “It can’t end this way.”

  Chris watched the roof of Lowe’s cave in, sending dust and flames billowing skyward. The side wall collapsed, crushing a score of deaders. There were still too many, and he had only twenty or so r
ounds left. Burnt alive, eaten alive, or gunned down by thugs. There had to be another way out.

  The front wall of Lowe’s steamed from where the internal fire heated it. In the far-right corner, near where the deaders passed, stood the gated area containing the twenty- and forty-pound propane tanks. If they had to go out, at least they would do so with a bang.

  “Everyone hit the deck,” he yelled across the parking lot.

  Chris aimed the sniper rifle at the propane tanks and fired seven rounds into them.

  Chapter Twenty

  The intense heat surrounding the tanks caused the propane inside to expand, putting pressure on the containers. When the bullets struck, the gas erupted and was ignited by the flames and embers. A massive fireball expanded outward, engulfing the closest deaders. The blast wave bowled over every deader, blew away a large section of wall, and sent shrapnel flying across the parking lot. Of even greater danger were the seven tanks punctured by Chris’ bullets. They tore through the area like rockets, destroying everything in their path. One slammed into the passenger door of the Ram, bashing in the side and pushing it sideways several inches. Two ripped through the horde, taking out nearly a dozen of the living dead. Three shot harmlessly across the parking lot.

  The last, a forty-pound tank, struck Joel as he rushed the Hummer. It caught him in the chest, pulverizing his ribcage and crushing his upper body, and ripping off the front of his head. The tank traveled another two hundred feet, dragging Joel’s corpse most of the way before the body dropped and rolled into a bloody mass on the pavement.

  The explosion also blew open the back of JC Penny. With the rapid increase in oxygen, the flames inside the store exploded into a giant fireball. Most of it bellowed skyward and burst through the weakened roof, contained by the remaining walls. A wave of fire blasted out the front doors and cascaded across the parking lot, setting alight the twelve deaders out front.

  As the shock of the explosion wore off, Miriam crawled over to Diana and the kids. “Are you okay?”

  “I think so,” said Diana. “Just a little shaken up.”

  Kiera rolled into a crouching position, waved to her mother, and scanned the area. The deaders had all been knocked off their feet. Most were attempting to stand. Kiera picked them off one by one.

  Rebecca had seen Joel running toward them a moment before the explosion. When she raised her head, she no longer saw him, only a heap of shattered tissue wearing his clothes that lay on the other side of the parking lot. She felt no emotions.

  “Check on Chris,” said Nathan. “I’ll keep the Chevy covered.”

  Alissa stayed low and rushed over to the Ram, circling around back. She found Chris lifting himself onto his elbows, shaking his head.

  “Serves you right, dumb ass. What were you thinking?”

  “I was trying to save our lives.” He pointed toward Lowe’s. “I think I did a pretty good job.”

  Alissa glanced in the direction of the horde. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding.”

  Chris followed her gaze. Twenty deaders had gotten to the feet and stumbled toward them, their bodies burning.

  Dickson waited until the debris stopped falling. His ears still rang from the blast. He raised his head slowly, brought his weapon to bear, and scanned the area between him and the Hummer, fearing the others might be charging. Nothing except the mangled body of Joel, who had been caught in the blast. No fucking loss.

  Moaning caught his attention. He spun around. Two deaders, one in a yellow road worker’s vest and hardhat, the other a woman with both hands torn off above the wrists, both in flames, were less than a few yards away. Dickson fired at the deader in the vest. The round reflected off the hardhat. He steadied his aim and fired again, this time catching the deader in the mouth and blowing out the back of its head. Dickson switched targets and fired. The weapon clicked.

  Fuck.

  As he reloaded, the handless deader attacked, its stumps vainly grabbing for something to hold on to. Ten more deaders were behind it. Dickson shoved the handless deader back into the closest one, causing them both to fall over. He finished reloading, crouched by the Chevy, and took out the two deaders, his attention drawn away from the shooters.

  Nathan saw the battle play out between Dickson and the deaders, which gave him an idea.

  “Alissa?”

  She appeared from behind the Ram and Nathan waved for her to join him. Alissa crouched and rushed over.

  “What’s up?”

  “Dickson is pre-occupied with the deaders. We have a chance of taking him out.”

  “How?”

  Nathan pointed to the JC Penny building. “I’ll provide cover while you and Rebecca head for the corner. Once you two are in place, lay down cover fire and I’ll charge him. Try to conserve ammo since we’re low.”

  Alissa shifted her position to Rebecca. “Are you up to this?”

  “If it means we take out that son of a bitch, yes.”

  Alissa nodded to Nathan. “Let’s do this.”

  Nathan raised his hand and flipped it, extending one finger. He did it again with a second finger, and the last time with three. Alissa and Rebecca ran around the rear of the Hummer and toward JC Penny as Nathan stood, protected by the hood, and pumped a single round every two seconds into the Chevy, stopping only when the woman reached their spot. He still had some rounds left in the magazine but switched it out with a full one. When finished, he waved to Alissa. She waved back and began the countdown with her fingers.

  Only a handful of deaders remained. Dickson had enough ammunition to deal with them and show those assholes a thing or two. This was far from—

  Gunfire tore into the Chevy from the direction of the Hummer, punching through the metal around the engine. Who did those motherfuckers think they are? He would take a lot of pleasure in watching them suffer.

  When the shooting stopped, Dickson counted to three and stood. Sure enough, that dick who had tried to kill him earlier in the office had rounded the rear of the Hummer and charged.

  Dickson raised his AK-47.

  Rebecca moved away from the corner of the building, crouched, and raised her AK-47 as Dickson stood and lowered his against Nathan. She fired through the cab, hoping to be the one who killed the bastard. The frame scattered most of the bullets. By the way he screamed and flinched, some must have struck home.

  Alissa dodged to the rear of the Chevy, crouched behind the bed, and leaned around the fender, aiming at Dickson. He spotted her and fired a split second before she did. The bullets missed. She ducked behind the truck, her round firing harmlessly into the air.

  Rebecca circled around the front of the Chevy, blasting away at the hood. None of the shots struck home.

  Dickson fell back into the blazing zombies.

  Alissa and Rebecca met by the driver’s side of the Chevy. Rebecca raised her weapon and centered it on Dickson’s back. Alissa placed her hand on the barrel and lowered it.

  “Why did you do that? I could have killed him.”

  Alissa nodded toward Dickson. “He doesn’t deserve to go peacefully.”

  Those assholes were closing in on him from three sides. Dickson knew if he didn’t move now, he’d be fucked. There were only ten of the living dead between him and safety. He would get out of the area, wait for the firestorm to pass, then come back and kill these motherfuckers one at a time.

  His chances of survival would have been good if he had circled around the left of the pack. Instead, he charged into them, determined to fight his way out.

  The closest three deaders were easy targets. He shot a fourth in its face, blasting it over backwards. Spinning around to the fifth, a male in a blood-covered sweater, he shoved the barrel against its mouth and pulled the trigger.

  Nothing happened.

  The deader clutched Dickson by the shirt. He felt the fire from its charred hands searing his face as it pulled him in to feed. Dickson raised his arms, breaking its grip, then battered the stock of his AK-47 into its face three times. I
t staggered backwards and fell over. Dickson patted out the flames that had sprung up on his shirt, burning the skin beneath.

  A snarl from behind caught his attention. A deader that had once been a child no more than ten, and whose face had been chewed off, snuck up on him. Dickson swung around, crashing the stock of his AK-47 into its head with such force that he snapped its neck. He raised a foot and kicked out, sending the thing sprawling.

  Turning around, he watched as two deaders collapsed, their muscles having been burned away, rendering them immobile. They fell to the pavement, still clutching at him with withering arms.

  Dickson kicked one in the face, laughing. “You can’t beat me, you motherfucking deaders. I’m better than all of you bast—”

  The last two deaders, one a female in a tattered, gore-stained nurse’s uniform and the other a man wearing a blood-soaked Red Cross armband, lunged forward as their legs gave out. Both tumbled into Dickson, pushing him over. He fell so hard it knocked the breath out of him. Those few seconds of disorientation sealed his fate. The two deaders pulled themselves onto Dickson. Their clothes set his own on fire. The agonizing pain as the flesh seared from his body snapped him back to full consciousness. The Red Cross deader had burned to the point it could no longer function. It fell to the side, landing on Dickson’s legs, pinning them. Grabbing the Red Cross deader by the back of its hair, Dickson yanked, succeeding only in tearing out a clump of hair from its decayed flesh. It clawed at his abdomen, tearing open his shirt and digging into flesh. The nurse deader reached in, wrapped its hands around his organs, and yanked them out, stuffing his lungs into its mouth.