by M. Lorrox
“We’ve gained control of the surface at L’Enfant Plaza, and the quarantine is holding.”
“I’m glad to hear it.”
“Any updates on finding the signal jammers?”
“Negative. I have a team of engineers in a bird taking readings, building maps, and trying to triangulate, but it’s a slow process.”
“This is a perfect storm of shit. Someone is trying to royally fuck us… We’re in the dark without comms—can we fly another bird of engineers?”
“I already have another team waiting for pickup.” General Campbell clears his throat and remembers back to when they worked together on a secret operation in South/Central Asia. “And if it makes you feel any better, I’m right there in the situation room with you, waiting on Geronimo. We just have to keep up the good work until our soldiers deliver.”
“Sure, whatever. Keep me informed. Riley out.”
A few blocks away from General Riley, marines and the remaining ground forces work together to deploy anti-personnel mines at the surface of the L’Enfant Plaza Metro. Approaching the station through the tunnels from the Pentagon are three squads of Special Forces soldiers led by vampire knights Naga, Ricochet, and Qilin.
The platoon in the tunnel sees a brief bit of daylight when they cross the Potomac River on a fenced-in bridge, but they’re soon underground again.
Ricochet and his squad take the lead. In a lull of zombies, the question on his squad’s collective mind finally gets asked. “Sir, why the name Ricochet? It’s badass sounding, sure, but ricochets aren’t good.”
The knight with buzzed hair chews on a toothpick. “Call me Rick if it’ll let you sleep easier.”
“Seriously though, what’s the deal?”
He turns and ejects the long banana clip from his Beretta ARX-160—a gun that looks like a short-barrel version of a tactical assault rifle. He holds the gun in one hand like a pistol, and he hands the clip to the soldier.
The soldier checks the magazine. “Are you fucking kidding me? You’re shooting .22 long-rifle rimfires? That’s varmint-hunting bullshit. No way man.”
He takes back the clip with the double-stack of tiny bullets. “Yes way. Man. You may have noticed that the bullets are all round-noses. I’ve got wicked aim, and with these little babies, I can bend ’em around corners.”
The soldier shakes his head. “Shit. I guess it can be good then.”
“Yyyuuuupp.” He clicks the magazine back in. “Also, my mags hold thirty rounds each, and they’re light and compact. I dunno how much ammo you’re carrying, but I started out with forty-five magazines. I’m on my thirteenth.” He turns and smiles. “Bigger ain’t always better—at least when talkin’ bullets, anyway.”
“Shit, nice man. Fuck! One o’clock, group of three.”
At the Pentagon, the only two tanks present are in position and are awaiting orders to fire and breach new holes in the building’s thick, concrete walls. Each tank has loaded its main 120mm gun with a nearly three-foot-long and fifty-pound cartridge that will rocket a dart made of depleted uranium toward the target, thus proving without a doubt, that bigger is always better—at least when blowing up walls, anyway.
Just like when the south wall was breached for Charlie, flanking the tanks at these two other locations are soldiers with M4 carbines, M249 light machine guns, and Humvees with roof mounted M-134 miniguns. Captain Baker happens to give his firing command first, but Captain Davidson gives his order only a few seconds later.
After a few more seconds, just like before, zombies stream out of the holes in the breached walls. The soldiers waiting for them outside, slide their fingers to their triggers and fire, feeling a little better about the situation with every dropping zombie.
Jambavan passes the time by doing some isometric exercises with his legs as he wall-sits against the door that seals the spiral staircase off from the office in the South Tower. A zombie, or a few, push and bang on the door, and it rattles through the squire’s torso. “I can hold this, but I fear the door will give out before I do.”
“I’m working on it.” Korina closes her eyes while she thinks.
Harold rubs his face while he considers options. We can’t go down, because zombies. If we take the spiral stairs up one level to the attic, there’s no door off the staircase, so we couldn’t block the zombies. If we used the trap door in the attic to reach the parapet, we could block the trap door from the top, but then we’d be out in the open, cramped, with kids...
That’s not a good idea either. He looks out the window near the door to the spiral staircase. “Oh!”
Korina opens her eyes. “What?”
He points past Jambavan, out the windows that face north; the roof of the main building is just outside. “We could go out onto the roof!”
Carrie walks over to him. “Uh, Harold?”
“What? I know it’s not the safest place for children, but it’d be much safer than up on the parapet. Can you imagine all of us up there? Cramped, with no walls?”
“Harold, remember that these kids have a sunlight disorder. They can’t go out there.”
His face loses all joy. “Oh. I forgot.”
Korina nods. “That is a good idea, but it’s not an option while the sun’s out, and right now, we have to do something a bit more drastic.”
Jambavan lifts his head, watching her. He notices how she still favors her side while she stands.
She points at the door behind Jambavan. “This won’t last. If they bust the door down, we’ll have to fight them as they come up the stairs. They’d be bottlenecked, but there’s so many of them… Besides, their constant banging is upsetting the kids.”
With one hand, Skip holds Minnie’s hand, and with the other, he holds the mace. “What do you have in mind?”
“I go out and fight them down. Jambavan goes up and clears the level above us, then he guards the door. When I clear the staircase and the room directly below us, I’ll figure out a way to make a better barricade.”
Harold shakes his head. “That’s far too dangerous. All it takes is one bite, my dear, one bite. That’s all! And he’s just a boy!”
Korina almost snaps his head off. “Look, I know the risks, okay? He and I are trained for this, and unless somebody goes down and creates a better barrier, it’ll only be a matter of time until the zombies bust through this door.”
Skip leans over to her. “Maybe you could take some help? I mean, there’s a lot of...chaperones that could go with you.”
“Everyone’s safety is my responsibility. I went along with the exodus, and now we’re screwed here. Alright? We can admit it. We have to do something, and I think this is the best option.”
Skip shrinks. He can’t help but feel like eyes are on him, blaming him. He sighs. “I... I just was trying to help.” He looks at Korina, and she dodges him. Skip huffs. “Look, it seemed like a good idea at the time, alright? And we’re in the situation we’re in, so how the hell do we get out of it?”
Minnie squeezes her eyes and hugs onto Skip.
He doesn’t notice her. He does notice the big vampire chaperone—the one that backed him up when they were leaving the basement—take a step alongside Korina and clear his throat.
“Captain, listen: you need help. You can barely stand. I’ll go down with you.”
She nods.
Skip turns to him. “Thanks…uh…what’s your name again?”
He groans. “For the third time, it’s LANCE.”
“Sorry, it’s hard to keep track of everybody...”
Harold shakes his head. “This is madness! There aren’t any zombies in here, and if they do get in, then we will... We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it.”
Lance stands over him. “No, we can’t let that come to pass. Captain Sarkis, what’s the plan?”
“Get a weapon.”
Lance holds up the crowbar.
“Okay good. Now Jambavan, when you lean off the door, get out of the way, and I’ll go in. Then Lance comes behin
d me, then you go up and clear upstairs.”
Harold holds forward the antique gun. “Take this.”
Korina tries not to laugh. “No guns. We save the bullets we have for when we need them most.” She swallows. “No shooting until the end.” She looks around the group in the office. “Who has the rifle?”
Frank raises his hand. “I’ve got it and the mags.”
Korina nods. “NOBODY fires ANY guns, unless somehow zombies get past us and they put a foot on this floor. Agreed?”
Frank lowers his arm. “Agreed.”
Harold nods.
Korina looks at Jambavan. “I’m waiting.”
“Agreed, yes.”
She nods. “Well that’s the first part. Now Harold, I’ve got to ask you a question, and I need you to really think about your answer.”
“Okay...”
“We’re in a castle, the exterior walls are stone, but how fireproof is the inside? Do you know what the flooring is made of?”
He shakes his head back and forth in mini-tremors. “What? Why does it matter?”
“Because I’m thinking maybe I light a little fire downstairs to keep the zombies off Lance and me while we barricade the stairwell.”
He closes his eyes and the mini-tremors quiver themselves out. “When they first built the castle, they used a lot of wood, and there was a really big fire. Since, they basically rebuilt the entire building with much more fire-resistant materials, but—”
She nods at him. “Glad to hear that.” She turns away. “Katlyn? How many Molotovs do we still have?”
Harold’s eyes explode. “MOLOTOV COCKTAILS! ARE YOU KIDDING ME?”
Korina ignores him while Katlyn looks through her shoulder bag.
“Six.”
“Alright, be ready to pass them down to us.”
Skip furrows his brow. “Wait...”
Korina, Jambavan, Lance, Frank, Harold, Katlyn, Carrie, and literally dozens of other people look at him—expecting a follow up that doesn’t come.
A zombie slams into the door Jambavan sits against and almost sends him flying, but he pushes back against the door with his legs. “No rush, Skip. Whenever you’re ready.”
Skip’s eyes dart around while he thinks. “Korina? How many of the Molotovs do you think you’ll need?”
“Two or three should be enough; we don’t need a ton of flame.”
Harold closes his eyes and breathes, trying very hard to stay calm.
Skip nods. “Okay, good. I think we should save a couple.” He looks at Harold. “What about the roof, is that fireproof?”
Harold falls over. Lance catches him and immediately passes him to Carrie. She is nowhere near strong enough to hold the man, but she at least directs him softly to the floor.
Lance sniffs. “Let’s get on with this.”
Tatsu and Schermer describe the ordeal they went through on their plane, and the first half of their story is similar to what Charlie experienced. The vaccine supplied to the team didn’t work—huge surprise to everyone in the Pentagon—but instead knocked the soldiers out and turned them into zombies. Their plane had farther to go, and so the soldiers on that plane took the vaccine a while after the soldiers on Charlie’s plane had taken theirs. When the dust settled, the plane was further out, and it took longer to get back.
Schermer shakes her head. “It’s a shame; we lost good soldiers.”
Charlie grits his teeth a moment. “No, not a shame… A tragedy. A horror. Those people were murdered.”
“Yes. Yes, they were... It seems we were lucky though—Tatsu and Peeters and I—because the soldiers were all strapped in when they took the injection. When we realized that they were turned to zombies, it wasn’t much of a hassle to...euthanize them.”
“That’s good. We lost Fugleberg almost immediately, and Tiger, uh, hopefully Tiger will be okay.”
Tatsu steps forward. “Is he here recovering?”
Charlie bites his lip and shakes his head. “Long story, but I sent Sky and a friend in the FBI out to go get him.” He swallows. “Tiger and a chute left the plane over Texas.”
Schermer and Tatsu share a glance and quiet moment.
“From what I gather, he’s a wily and stubborn man. He’ll make it, and if Sky takes after him, she’ll find him.”
“Yes.” Tatsu fixes his posture, standing up straight. “I believe she will. We got here as soon as we could.”
Charlie furrows his brow and nods. “Yeah, I’m really surprised to see you so soon, actually.”
Schermer turns her head and cracks her neck. “With a little persuasion, we landed at Reagan National Airport instead of Joint Base Andrews. All their flights and helos are grounded, and zombies were reported in the area, so things were crazy. We borrowed a truck, then eventually made it here; the roads are nuts.”
Charlie flashes his eyebrows up. “So generous of the truck’s owner… Too bad they forgot to give you the keys though, right?”
Schermer scowls. “No, we actually borrowed an air traffic controller’s truck. I’m sure he’ll want it back, eventually.”
“Oh... Anyway listen, I have to get to DC, and I’m afraid I have some bad news for you, Major.”
“Whatever is needed, I will do it, sir.”
“I need you to take command here, and if I have my way after this is over, you’ll take my command permanently, but we’ll burn that bridge when we cross it.”
Tatsu tilts his head. “Sir? Burn the bridge?”
Charlie waves him down. “Never mind, Tatsu. Major? Are you ready?”
“Am I ready to take the job I basically already had before you were promoted for political reasons to make our lives a little more complicated while we trained you to be our commander?”
“Is that a yes?”
“Yes, I’m ready, sir. Thank you.” Her stone-like façade reveals a smile.
“Glad to hear it. When I started to pawn, er, promote Flying Eagle, he seemed reluctant.”
Tatsu laughs. “I bet.”
Charlie shrugs. “Listen: you both should check in with High Councilor Villablino. I’m headed that way; I’ll take you to him.”
“Wait, sir. What about me? Could you use my help?”
Charlie looks at Tatsu and remembers seeing him in a different uniform—a very different uniform—made of wood and fabric and bone and blood. “I certainly could, but I will not let anything stop me from my goal. Even if it means I bend the rules, break the law, kill, or get killed. It’s probably better if you stayed.”
He bows.
After Charlie sees them both into Vincent de Villablino’s room, he knocks three times on Philip Simonsen’s door, and then he waits outside in the hall. He presses his body up against the wall, trying to stay out of the way of foot traffic.
A few moments later, Jules comes out and finds him. “Charlie.”
“You said you’d be leaving soon. Where are you headed? If I may ask.”
“Northwest. I have some business near... Are you familiar with the area?”
Charlie shakes his head. “No, but I still know that northwest isn’t toward DC. I have to get to downtown and help the tour bus with the kids. They’re trapped.”
“That’s awful.” Jules’ eyes dart a little.
So, she CAN show emotions, I knew it!
“They were near the National Mall?”
Charlie nods.
“I heard it’s rough over there, but everything’s been surprisingly quiet.”
“I know.”
She leans her back against the wall beside Charlie. “Ideally, how would you get them out?”
“Ideally? I don’t know; I haven’t gotten that far into the plan. The roads are junk, so I guess a helicopter? A really big helicopter.”
Her eyes light up. “How soon can you leave?”
“One minute.”
“Okay. Give me three, and meet me under the awning outside the ER.” She starts to walk away.
“But where are we going?”
&nb
sp; “Times ticking, big guy.” I think that’s an acceptable thing to call him. It is a nickname based on a physical characteristic, but he’s old fashioned and he probably likes being a “big” “guy.”
Charlie smiles and bolts to Eddy and Enrique’s room. He left his sword and his battle-pack there, and he’s going to need them.
“Hold on, Captain.” Skip turns, finds Katlyn, and motions her over. “Can I give you Minnie again for a bit?”
She nods. “Sure, but you owe me.”
“I do. Minnie, do whatever Katlyn tells you, alright?” He transitions her to his girlfriend.
Minnie takes her hand. “Is Tommy alright?”
“Let’s go visit him and see.” She winds her way into the group to find Jennifer and Tommy.
Korina clears her throat, louder than what would be reasonable.
Skip turns to her. “We can barricade ourselves in here, but we’ll still be trapped here. For what it’s worth, I’m sorry if I rushed the idea and if leaving the museum was a mistake, but it seemed like a decent thing to do.”
She motions over to a corner where people have started peeing. “You’re just lucky your sense of smell isn’t that great.”
He grumbles. “In any case, we’ve upgraded from a cafeteria to a tower, but we’re not supposed to be here, right? We’re supposed to be on the bus, not across the mall in another building’s tower. I haven’t gotten any texts or calls, and last time I checked, nobody else has either. I’d say it’s safe to assume that our friends don’t know we’re here. I think we should set a signal fire on the top of the taller tower to let people know.”
Korina scowls. “And?”
He shrugs. “Uh, I don’t know… We have to let someone know we’re trapped here, right? How long do you think before someone will come to rescue us?”
She sighs, and her eyes sink. I was your rescue. This was my assignment, and I’ve blown it… But he’s got a point. Eventually someone will come, somehow. “Okay, I agree. We’ll set aside Molotovs for a signal fire, but we should still ration them. We may need some later.”
