“Then I’ll have to be the one to pick you up.”
“You might fall over too. . . In which case, you should unstrap me.”
Dr. Archer chuckled. “As much fun as that sounds, I’m afraid I’m going to have to pass.”
Hawk looked down at his legs. Much of the muscle around his calf and knees had been torn away. He was thankful for his inability to feel pain. Death came with some perks.
“So, dump my ass in a wheelchair. I’ll wheel myself out of here.”
“I’m afraid it’s not that easy. You see—”
“Never mind all the medical mumbo jumbo. Doctors always make things seem more complicated than they really are. If you hadn’t noticed, I’m dead. Or, at least half dead. Don’t worry about my legs. I’ll have them removed and fed to some hungry dogs. All I need is for you to release these straps and give me a little push in the direction of the exit. Thanks for your help.”
Dr. Archer picked up a clipboard and turned it so Hawk could see the documents attached to it. “Do you see these? They’re reports on your condition. You need to be restored. I can give you back the ability to walk, to use your arms again. I could even make some improvements.”
“Lady, the only way to improve me is with a bullet in the brain. But I’m guessing you don’t have one of those on hand.”
“Afraid not.”
“How about a nice hammer?”
Dr. Archer frowned and lowered the clipboard. “I’m not sure you’re understanding what I’m offering you, Hawk.” She attempted another tack. “What do you remember of where you were before waking up here?”
The thought alone sent a shiver up Hawk’s spine. “In my dreams?”
“In real life.”
Think, Hawk told himself. Remember what happened before the big lights-out.
Where had he been? What had he been doing?
He remembered something. Darkness. Prostrate on the ground. It was wet. Not the kind of place you took a nice weekend break.
“Nowhere any good,” Hawk said. “Wait. . .”
Then he remembered them. His friends. People like him. Walkers. They’d been with him. Not in the same location, but somewhere close by. It was a little fuzzy. Something was wrong with his undead brain, unable to process new memories well.
“There were others. Others like me. Are they here too?”
“We only found you. You were lying in the sewer.”
“Sewer. That sounds about right.”
“You’d been in some kind of fight. We found two other dead bodies. Don’t worry. They’re not like you. We heard a big explosion and went to see what’d happened. You wouldn’t know anything about it, would you?”
Hawk tried to remember. “Sorry. No.”
“Probably a gas leak. There’s been a lot of issues lately. We’ve been looking for others you might have been traveling with. I have to say, it’s been quite exciting working on you.”
Hawk raised his head. Something in the way she said it. “Working on me? “
“As I said, I’ve been improving you. With modern technology and advancements in robotics, I’m certain I can help you regain your prior functions.”
“What kind of functions?”
“Restoring your limbs, for one. I’m sure you’d prefer to walk out of here on your own two feet than with a set of wheels.”
Hawk couldn’t deny that. He didn’t relish wheeling himself around in a wheelchair for the rest of his undead life. “What makes you think you can do that?”
“It’s basic surgery. And as you have no pain receptors, you won’t feel a thing. We can use alternative materials to rebuild you. Motors, hydraulics, that sort of thing.”
“Like the Terminator?” His eyes lit up. “I’ve always wanted to be a super-soldier.”
“Something like that. It’ll take a little time, that’s all.”
“How much time?”
“Thanks to your present condition, there’s no need for recovery time. A few days ought to be enough.”
Hawk’s excitement subsided. “But you’ll never bring me back to life.”
“No. I’m afraid the opportunity for that has long since passed.”
Returning to his original life was just about the only thing he wanted. That, and to see the good doctor naked.
“How about this?” Dr. Archer said. “Give me a few days, and I’ll return you to your previous condition—or better. You won’t be alive, but you’ll be a lot tougher than you were.”
Hawk looked at her out the corner of his eye. “Are you sure you can fix me?”
“Why not?” Dr. Archer looked at him pointedly. “I fixed your lisp, didn’t I?”
2.
TOMMY
The screeching wail of a tortured monster woke him.
Tommy peered at his surroundings. Confused, shocked, surprised. The last thing he recalled was a loud roaring screech. It filled his ears, shook his bones and made his teeth rattle in his skull. And then his weight shifted as the plane plummeted toward the Earth. His stomach rose into his mouth, failing to quell the screams that spilled forth.
He smelt the acrid stench of spilled gasoline and choking smoke. As a Walker, his senses were shot. The origins of the stench had to be close if he could smell them this strongly.
Foreboding white clouds with grey underbellies hovered overhead. They stalked behind the harsh glinting edges of twisted metal.
A plane crash. That’s what he’d been involved in. And somehow, he’d survived it.
He turned to one side. Something tugged at him. Spinning around, his arm smacked a metallic object. It sent vibrations through his lower abdomen. Blood dripped from his lips as he grabbed the spike that pierced his flesh.
An anonymous shard of shrapnel from the downed aircraft. He gripped it with both hands and tugged. It didn’t shift an inch. He let out a grunt. In agitation more than pain. He lifted his leg, raising it easily. He performed the same maneuver with his other leg. Then he exercised his arms, head, and chest. Everything else appeared to be fine.
He sat up and waved a hand over the protruding shrapnel. On the jagged spike, he felt something slippery and wet.
My blood.
The good news was the spear was no more than two feet in length. But that meant little if you couldn’t remove the damn thing. He placed his hands on the alien object and attempted to tug it from his body again.
No dice.
If removal wasn’t an option there was only one other recourse. . .
The thought alone sent shivers through him. He wouldn’t think about it. It was easier to get the job done that way.
He arched his back and placed his body weight on his hands and feet. He lifted himself toward the wide-open sky in a backward crab position. He slid up the pole inch by inch. For the first time since he’d been afflicted with the virus, he thanked God. To have to feel pain while he did this didn’t bear thinking about.
He went up onto the tips of his fingers and toes and wheezed out the oxygen in his lungs. He eased over the top of the pole and felt the friction leave him. Then he knew he’d cleared it.
* * *
Tommy rolled onto one side, careful to remove himself from the object as far as possible, for fear he might impale himself a second time. He lay there a moment to gather his thoughts.
His lungs didn’t burn. He felt no pain. No need to wait. He pushed onto his feet, wobbling a little beneath his meager strength. He steadied himself on something hard and solid in the darkness.
The plane groaned beneath him. The entire aircraft leaned to one side and emitted the same horrifying screech. Tommy almost lost his footing. The airplane was in a precarious state. I won’t be touching that wall again.
He appraised his location. The little light that escaped the metal carcass revealed a dark and dismal place. He approached what he thought was the front of the plane. It was hard to tell with everything mashed up.
Tommy banged his head against something hanging from the ceiling. He trailed the
ceiling’s angle with his hands as he pushed forward. The room shrank until he came to the cockpit.
The door lay crushed and bent to one side. The front of the plane had taken the brunt of the fall. He knelt on his hands and knees and peered through the narrow gap that remained.
Through it, he spied the front windscreen—or what should have been the windscreen. Now it was nothing more than an empty hole in space that spilled onto an open plain.
Above him, the aircraft groaned. Perhaps hoping to claim another soul.
I’m an empty shell, pal, Tommy thought. I’m what they call a wild card.
He wriggled through the hole. His hands discovered something sticky, tacky. It was only after he crawled over the grimy pilot uniforms that he recognized the liquid for what it was.
“Sorry fellas,” Tommy said. “I’m only passing through.”
He crawled through the missing windscreen. The plane groaned as he checked out.
The clouds blossomed with bright light. He straightened up and held a muddy hand over his eyes. He turned in the direction of the towering walls wrapped about the city of Austin and came to a stop.
He’d never seen anything like it.
* * *
The imposing walls were aflame. Chunks of the airplane had snapped off and crashed into the temporary military base at the foot of the city. Tall fires and molten shrapnel dotted the landscape.
Even from where he was, Tommy could hear the screams of the dead and dying. A cluster of uniformed figures ran, a matching gang lumbering after them.
The zombies ran amok.
In a single stroke, the Architect had wiped the military base from existence. Tommy’s heart went to his beloved Samantha, trapped inside Austin’s walls. No doubt the Architect would have plans for her, just as he had for everyone else.
There would be no stopping the Architect now. His plan for world destruction would be in full swing. The US military would be engaged with the impossible task of holding the virus’s inevitable rise back. That was what he should be doing, but first, he had to find his team.
Guy. Emin. Jimmy.
They were amongst the detritus of the plane crash. Somewhere.
He got down on his knees and shouted through the hole he’d crawled out of. “Guy! Emin! Jimmy! Are you in there?”
He listened but heard nothing. He’d seen nothing of them in his section of the plane. Perhaps they were in one of the others.
He moved around the plane at a slow jog. He stumbled over a section of wing. It jutted from the ground like an arrow fired from a powerful Greek god. A truck lay with its wheels facing the sky the way a dog played dead. Fuel leaked from its underside and spilled down the incline.
He heard shuffling from the wing’s top.
Tommy called up to it. “Is somebody up there?”
“Tommy? Is that you?”
Relief flooded Tommy’s heart. He’d recognize that voice anywhere. “Guy? Are you up there?”
“If it’s not me, it’s one hell of a ventriloquist act.”
Tommy rounded the wing. Guy’s legs dangled from its tip.
“How did you end up there?”
“I wanted a better view. What do you think? I got sucked out and got caught on it.”
“Can you work yourself free?”
“I think so. That’s not what concerns me. It’s the fall that’s the problem. Do you think you can place something soft underneath me?”
The ground was flat. He’d need to drag something over to act as a cushion.
Tommy returned to the overturned truck. The chassis lay twisted, the majority of the bolts shorn clean off. He pulled two seats free and carried them over to the wing.
The fall must have been twenty feet. Was the cushion of the two seats enough?
“I’ve put something down. Try to fall in a straight line.”
“That’s easy for you to say. Don’t make me regret trusting you.”
Guy fed himself over the wing’s edge. He kicked out for a better hold and dislodged the fuel cap. Gasoline spilled down the wing’s body.
Blood spilled from a wound Guy had taken in the chest and splattered over the seats’ armrests. Tommy hastily pressed the buttons on the side and slid the arms out of the way.
Guy let go and fell on the soft foam fabric below. He hissed through his teeth and muttered curse words. It wasn’t the most graceful landing but he avoided smacking his head on anything hard.
“Take it easy,” Tommy said. “You’re injured.”
“I fell worse with my first love. I’m fine. Go help Emin and Jimmy.”
“Where are they?”
Guy pointed down the incline. He pressed a hand to his head and checked it for blood. He must have hurt it at some point. Tommy took off around the wing.
The gasoline rolled down the hill, nipping at his heels.
* * *
Jimmy hopped on his toes, dancing one way and then another, one leg trapped between a pair of airline seats embedded in the dirt. Jimmy tugged on his leg but couldn’t work it free.
Tommy held the boy steady and ran his hand over his ankle. “Hold still, Jimmy. Let me give you a hand.”
“Tommy!”
In his struggle to escape, the boy had twisted his leg almost completely around. It was a wonder it hadn’t snapped.
“Move back this way a bit. Now lean forward.”
He edged the boy’s foot backward until it slipped free. Tommy wrapped his arms around Jimmy in what he hoped was more of a mannish hug than a feminine one—the boy wouldn’t like that. But he took no notice of it. Instead, he bent down and grabbed at something between the two sets of seats.
Tommy leaned around him. His breath caught in the back of his throat.
It was a hand.
Emin’s hand.
She lay pinned between the chairs and couldn’t escape. She likely couldn’t breathe either, but that made little difference to a Walker.
Jimmy wrapped his hands tight around Emin’s wrists and pulled, tears streaming from his eyes.
Tommy shifted the boy aside. “Emin? Emin, can you hear me?”
The hand waved. Frantic.
Somehow, she’d gotten trapped between the lips of the cushions. The metal seat frames had melted, forging a single unit. For Emin’s other limbs to protrude the way they were, they must be severely bent and twisted.
Tommy had no tools to cut her free. He moved to the chairs and worked the dials on the sides. They eased back a little, relieving some of the pressure from Emin’s crushed body.
“Tommy. . .” Jimmy’s tiny voice was frightened. He pointed with a shaky finger at a steaming line of black smoke chasing a racing flag of flames. Fast approaching the massing lake of fuel Guy had accidentally created.
If he didn’t get Emin loose soon, that fire would reach these seats and Emin would burn alive.
At least she can’t feel the pain, he told himself. It came as little consolation. Failure was failure. He couldn’t allow it to come to pass. It was one of very few ways to kill someone like them.
He ran back to the truck wreckage and searched amongst the remains. He found a length of metal that’d served as part of the front passenger seat’s frame. He moved back to the ensnaring seats and slipped it into the gap between the chairs. He pulled down with all his might.
“Jimmy! Gimme me a hand!”
Jimmy was small and his extra weight added little to the effort. Together they leveraged the metal seats apart. They creaked. The two chairs screeched as they were shunted apart. A narrow gap opened up.
Emin’s mouth appeared at it. “Good work! Keep going!”
The fire met the spilled jet fuel and raced toward the stack of airplane seats. The first of a dozen pairs burst into flames, soft fuzzy fabric going up in an instant.
“Lean back, Emin.”
Tommy inserted the pole behind the chairs. As he pressed his weight onto it, he twisted the pole and leveraged it in the opposite direction. The strained bolts groaned.
The bolts popped, shearing off.
The fire leaped onto the next set of chairs. Just two more before the fire reached them. Before the fire reached Emin.
The next set of bolts popped. Enough to release one of the chairs pinning Emin in place. It rolled forward onto its front. Tommy hopped onto the chairs behind Emin and strained beneath the pressure. Two more bolts popped. Emin worked her way loose.
Tommy felt the pressure on his arms and legs. The final few bolts would not break.
A figure fell into Tommy. Guy. They pressed with their combined weight. The final bolt popped and the upper seats rolled aside, spilling Tommy and Guy onto the dirt.
Jimmy grabbed Emin and eased her free. The chairs were still attached to her. She collapsed at the foot of the ramshackle bonfire. Tommy and Guy helped lead Emin to a safe distance.
“That was a close one, huh?” Tommy said.
“Even closer for you,” Emin said.
She beat at his ass. Tommy caught the fleeting whisper of fire and smoke she’d doubted.
“Thanks,” Tommy said.
“Don’t tell me,” Emin said, pre-empting his response. “You’re hot stuff.”
Tommy grinned. “Hotter than I thought.”
3.
SAM
The room swam into view. Fuzzy dimness fringed her vision. She lay on a bed that stretched the length of one wall. A single thin foam mattress, a plain duvet, and pillow. A single bare toilet sat in the corner of the room. No toilet seat. It was built-in. She’d have to sit on the rim. A bucket of water to flush it with. Her foot hung over the edge, on a cold surface. No carpet. Bare tiles. No doubt it made cleaning easier.
Cleaning what?
She pushed off the mattress and shook her head. She shut her eyes. Behind them, a weight hung on her optic nerves. She thought back to what she could recall.
Terrifying roars as an airplane careened toward the ground. Terrible explosions on the other side of those giant Austin walls. Men. She remembered men armed with rifles. One of the research assistants had turned, taking control. Something pressed over her mouth. Sweet, with a chemical hint to it. She’d recognized it immediately and knew she would be out for some time.
Death Squad (Book 3): Zombie Nation Page 2
