“Our only fight is against the infected. I promise no one will use these guns against you if you leave the other survivors alone. There is enough food left in the stores and warehouses to keep everyone fed until we can get crops growing. Survival is a long-term effort. Stop keeping food away from other people. We can make this work. All you have to do is live and let live. Simple.”
Across the street, I saw the leader of the guys by the Humvees in a heated discussion with the men around him. It looked to me like his people were trying to talk him into something and he was getting angry. He shook his head from side to side and pushed the big guy with the protruding gut. The others backed off then, and he lifted the bullhorn.
“You want simple, bitch? How’s this for simple?”
He dropped the megaphone, raised his rifle and fired off a string of fully automatic rounds in our direction. I pulled my head further back into the store as bullets pecked at the cement wall in front of us. The man’s rifle ran out of ammunition, and there was a pregnant silence for a moment as everyone seemed to be deciding what to do next. I sighted in my machine gun at the closest Humvee and waited for Pops to give us the word.
My radio crackled, and I heard the Major’s voice. “Listen up. Everyone get under effective cover and stay down. I’m going to fire off a few rounds and try to get them to use up as much ammunition as possible. Do not shoot back unless and until I give the word.”
The radio went silent, and we heard five pops from the sporting goods store. The windshield on the lead Humvee shattered. That ignited a firestorm of activity as all of the people by the military vehicles started shooting at us. George and I ducked low beneath the cement and stone front of the store. Hundreds of bullets flew over our heads and smashed the glass and plastic displays behind us. The noise was deafening, and I was happy I still had my ear muffs. The barrage went on for what seemed like a long time but was probably only a minute or two. Then it faded into an occasional shot here and there. Finally, it stopped altogether.
There was silence then.
My walkie came alive, and we heard the Major’s voice again. “Buck, you read?”
Buck’s voice answered. “I read you, Major.”
“Do you have a shot at one of those bozos over there?”
“Yep, just give me the word.”
“Okay, listen up. Dan wants to try to do this without killing anyone. When you hear my shot, take out one of them with a leg shot. Then hunker down again and let them continue to burn ammo.”
“Roger that.”
We heard nothing for a moment then the Major’s shot sounded out. I was peering over the ledge in front of me and saw one of the men by the Humvees grab his thigh and start screaming. A second later another man’s knee exploded as Buck took his shot. The sound of the two men screaming was washed out by their friends shooting at us again. The barrage was all one-sided as everyone on our side just stayed behind cover as our attackers continued to use up ammunition without any real effect unless you counted hurting our ears.
George and I crouched under the protective half wall in front of us. I looked at George, and he grinned back at me. “Those idiots are sure using up a lot of bullets,” he shouted after a quick peek over the rim. “They aren’t even shooting at our trucks, just the storefronts.”
I smiled back and held the radio up to my ears so I could hear any transmissions from Pops over the gunshots and my earplugs.
Then…the shots stopped. There was a moment of silence before we heard frantic shouting from our attacker’s direction. George cast me a confused glance, and I shrugged.
“Everyone stand by; their shooting has attracted attention.” Pops’ voice over the radio sounded strained.
George and I risked a look over the lip of our cover.
On the far side of Herndon Avenue, we observed hundreds of infected Ragers converging on the line of Humvees from behind. More shooting soon replaced the brief interlude of quiet, but this time it wasn’t directed at us. The gang bangers were frantically trying to beat back the flood of crazed humanity. The enraged crowd was now coming at them from every direction; east and west on Herndon and even climbing over the fences of private residences along Tollhouse road.
We could hear the sounds of diesel engines starting and gears grinding. Several of the Humvees were backing up and fighting each other for room in which to turn their vehicles around.
The Major came over the radio again. “Virgil, do you have a shot at the lead Humvee over there?”
“Roger that, Major.”
“Take it out. Don’t try to hit anyone; just trash the radiator and tires.”
I didn’t try to reply, I just focused on my scope and maneuvered it over the front of the lead Humvee. My finger tightened on the trigger slowly until the sear broke and the light machine gun started doing what it was designed to do.
A stream of .308 bullets exploded from the barrel and I kept them going for a full twenty seconds. I eased off the trigger and shifted focus from the front sight to my target. The front part of the vehicle was now a mixture of ruptured metal, spouting water and fountains of steam. I found my sights again and aimed at the tires, first the left side, then the right. The M-240 shredded both of the tires and the rims underneath. The military grade tires were solid rubber and made to run even when punctured, but they were not designed to overcome being chewed away by high powered automatic fire.
“That’s good, Virg. Let ‘em run now.”
I was surprised to find myself disappointed when the Major called me off. The act of finally being able to shoot back at people who had been trying to kill me was surprisingly satisfying. I consoled myself by taking another look at the devastated Humvee which was still smoking and being abandoned by the little guy with the bullhorn and two or three other bangers. They were no longer displaying the bravado that was so obvious when they first confronted us. As I watched now, the little boss man was looking over his shoulder as he ran and the expression on his face told me that an underwear check would be in order if he was able to evade his attackers. His people were chasing the fleeing Humvees that had been able to get turned, trying to climb aboard. Several had been unable to turn around, and these were backing up in reverse down Sunnyside Avenue as fast as they could.
My radio crackled again, and Pops calmly gave us our orders. “Listen up, everyone. We’ll wait until the Humvees, and the horde get a few blocks down Tollhouse then pack it all up and head for home. Be ready to move on my order. M-240 operators stand by to cover us as we load.”
I stood and stepped over the stone facing of the phone store, onto the sidewalk and raised the heavy gun to my shoulder. Sixty feet to my right our people who had been looting the sporting goods store started flooding out and tossing their last loads of liberated goods into the backs of our trucks.
I noticed Marcus on the far side of our vehicles. Like me he had his weapon pointed at the retreating Humvees. There were shouts among our people as they accomplished the act of getting loaded and climbing on top of the guns, tents, ammo crates and (surprisingly) dozens of shoe boxes. The sight was so unusual that I almost didn’t hear the sounds of running feet converging on George and myself.
With my attention on the Mojados and their pursuers, I had neglected to keep my eye on the little road which ran between the stores next to my hiding place. I turned just in time to see several dozen infected people sprinting toward me. I didn’t have time to grab the radio and shout a warning to the others. The Ragers were so close I only had time enough to swing the barrel of the M-240 around and yank the trigger.
The rattle of George’s M4 joined the louder noise from my weapon. The first line of enraged people was only ten feet away when our barrage starting cutting them to pieces. In the space of a heartbeat, we reduced dozens of infected human beings to spatters of blood and human tissue which was flung into the air and splashed on the wall behind them.
If we had another second of time, George and I would have been able to gun down the rest
of them. It would have been close, but I think we could have done it if we just had that additional second.
We didn’t.
Three Ragers bowled into George and knocked him to the sidewalk. Four more lunged at me, and I was able to squeeze off one last burst before their bleeding bodies slammed into me. My weapon was torn away from my grasp when I hit the concrete, and the four infected men who had tackled me were all now dead or dying. They were also heaped on top of me. I pushed at the weight which was holding me to the ground, trying desperately to get free of it. Two of the men’s bodies were lying across my legs and preventing me from crawling out from under them. I could see other infected as they ran or staggered toward me, their faces contorted by mindless hate.
To my right, George cried out in pain; then I heard his pistol bark. The sound reminded me of the Glock on my hip, and I struggled to twist around so I could reach my holster. It was difficult because I was still being pressed to the ground by the limp bodies on top of me, but I was able to grasp the hilt of my handgun and yank it free. As soon as it was loose, a woman came around the mound of bodies on me and leaned down, her teeth bared and her fingers held out like claws.
The ten-millimeter bullet caught her in the center of the chest. The potent loading had a hollowpoint slug that hit her breastbone and opened up like a six-pointed star. The shock to the woman was enough to thrust her backward where she crashed into the legs of another Rager coming up behind her. Both of the infected hit the sidewalk, and I gave a final kick that freed my legs from the corpses on top of me. Scrambling to my feet, I was horrified to see George on his back and fighting for his life.
There was a large male Rager wearing a tattered Police Officer’s uniform complete with his leather Sam Brown belt and holster. The former cop was now growling as he tore at George’s face with his fingernails. I saw George’s handgun lying beside him with the slide locked back and smoke still wafting from the barrel showing he had run out of ammo.
I acquired a quick sight picture on my Glock and blew off the infected cop’s forehead. He slid off to George’s side, and I tried to grab my companion’s hand. Before he could grasp my wrist, another man and three women catapulted over the dead cop’s body and slammed into me. I staggered backward, barely keeping my feet and didn’t waste any time, just raised the Glock and started firing. The man and one of the women dropped immediately, but one woman kept coming. She was in her late teens and would have been beautiful in her earlier life. She had long blonde hair and a fitness club body. She also had all of the fingers on her left hand bitten off, and her hair showed bare spots where it had pulled out in clumps. One of my shots had hit her in the ribs, but she showed no effect to it. She reached for me with her fingerless hand, and I shot her in the neck. The column of flesh erupted in a red and pink mist, some of it spraying my face, but she went down. I shifted my aim to the third woman and put a round directly into center mass. She spun around and did a face plant on the parking lot asphalt.
George had been able to struggle to his feet and was trying to keep an obese woman on her knees from dragging him back to the ground. The angle wasn’t right for a shot at the woman because George was in the way, so I stepped forward and kicked her in the face. The blow was enough to stun her and allow me to help drag George over to where I was standing.
George bent to grab the pistol from the dead cop’s holster, thumbed off the safety and joined me in shooting at the growing crowd of infected attackers coming at us. I dropped about eight more Ragers before my weapon ran dry. I snatched a fresh mag from my vest, slammed it in and resumed firing. We took out fifteen more of the infected and were steadily backing away from the flood of diseased people flowing from the feeder street, trying to create some distance. In my mind, I took account of the number of fresh mags I had brought for the Glock and realized I only had one more left. My slide locked back, and I grabbed the last one.
“I’m out!” I barely heard George’s words over the gunshots.
George reached behind his back and withdrew a comically large Bowie knife that sported a twelve-inch blade.
There was now a pile of dead bodies between us and the oncoming infected and the crazies were climbing over the top of it instead of running around it. I kept shooting, and most every shot took one of them down.
Then I felt the slide lock back. I looked down and glimpsed the smoke drifting upward from the breech. George glimpsed at the empty pistol and just gave me a shrug. I clawed at the hunting knife on my belt trying to pull it free.
Then the lines of Ragers began to explode. There were about forty or more of them coming at us from the side street and they all staggered and jumped and jerked, sending spouts of blood and bodily fluids into the air.
George and I continued backing up, putting more distance between the Ragers and us. I couldn’t pull my eyes from the scene of human beings having their limbs torn away and their torsos shattered.
Then I heard something odd. I couldn’t figure out what it was for a moment or two before I realized…it was silence.
There was no more shooting, no more shouting, no more growling or shrieking.
My control over my senses returned, and I looked to my left. Marcus was there, holding his smoking M-240 and surrounded by ejected cartridge shells. Pops, Buck, the Major and two or three of the others we had brought along with us were also there. They had all joined in to pull us out of danger.
“George!” Marcus handed the heavy machine gun off to one of his people and came running over to where we both stood. In the confusion of the fight and the effort to stay alive, I had not noticed that the older brother was bleeding from several bite wounds on his face and arms. Marcus reached him just as he started to lose his balance. His brother caught him and hefted him up until two more of their people ran forward to help.
“Get him in the Suburban,” Pops yelled. Then he came over to check me for injuries. I had a few scrapes on my arms and hands but no bites. “How’s your head,” he asked. “Seeing double or anything?”
I quickly took stock of myself. “Nope. Scared as hell, but I think I’ll live.” My hands were trembling, and my ears were ringing. The realization that I had narrowly escaped being torn to pieces by an enraged mob of mindless crazies settled in. It was a mixture of terror and relief.
I could swear I perceived pure, unadulterated parental pride in Pops’ eyes before he beckoned with a head movement for me to follow him back to the Bronco. Everyone else was already loaded and waiting for us to lead them out.
Buck draped an arm around my shoulder. “Good work, kid. You’re a natural.”
I acknowledged the Marine’s praise with a nod and slid in on the front passenger side. I found myself reaching into the nylon bag at my feet and pulling out a replacement magazine for my weapon. I hadn’t even thought about doing it, just reacted on instinct. Maybe I really was a natural at this.
We started to cruise through the parking area toward Herndon Avenue when Jimmy came over the radio. “Movement, west side on Herndon. Is that a woman?”
The Major answered immediately. “Sure is…and she has company. I don’t think she’s infected; they’re chasing her. Top off your mags, boys; we might not be out of this yet.”
We all turned to look west and spotted a young woman sprinting toward us at a respectable speed, followed by thirty or more infected. The pack was ten yards behind her but gaining fast.
“We got this,” Pops transmitted. “Take up position pointed east on Herndon and wait for us. Keep your eyes out for those Mojado idiots.”
We turned right on Herndon while everyone else went left. The woman and her pursuers were about ten blocks from us. She looked to be exhausted from running and seconds away from collapsing. Pops covered the distance quickly. He slammed the brakes and left twin black streaks on the road surface behind us then jumped out with his M1A barking. Behind the woman, Ragers started dropping. Buck ran by my door and reached in to snatch my M-240 without even slowing down. I was about to follow th
em, but it was all over before I could even get the door open. Between Pops’ accurate snipes and Buck’s professionalism on the machinegun, the entire group of Ragers was now down, dead or dying.
Pops intercepted the woman just as she fell and wrapped her in his arms as she dissolved into racking sobs. He bent down to gather up her legs and carried her back to the car like an infant. I watched them coming and moved into the driver’s seat, allowing him to attend to our new refugee. They wound up in the back seat with Buck by the tailgate, and I took off.
Swarms of Ragers flowed out of the surrounding side streets, alerted by the pandemonium of sound produced by our battle with the Mojados. They observed our vehicle and raced towards us, but I left them behind easily. The woman was crying hysterically in the back seat and Pops was doing his best to calm her. I caught up with our other vehicles and was confused by the sight of a bunch of our people bent over and doing something in the road. I reached for the radio handset.
“Marcus, what’s going on over there?”
“Magazines. Those jerks left bunches of M4 magazines just lying in the road. We’re scooping them up.”
“Get everyone back in their vehicles; we’re heading for the barn. You take point.”
“Roger that,” he answered. I was using the pre-arranged code for the area in which Marcus and his people lived. I didn’t have to tell him to take a circuitous route to thwart any attempts by the gang to follow us; he already knew what to do. It was already clear to us that we could rely upon the two brothers without question.
We turned east, west, east again then south and finally hit Ashlan Avenue, turned on Fowler Avenue and took it over to Shields. In the seat behind me, the woman had stopped crying, and I could hear Pops still making soothing sounds to her.
Virgil's War- The Diseased World Page 13
