Rise of the Undead (Book 6): Apocalypse Z

by Higgins, Baileigh

  “Let’s hurry,” Jackson said.

  Together, they rushed toward the far end of the bridge. It seemed wrong to run to the horde and not away from it, but they had to finish the job. As they worked, Dylan kept glancing over her shoulder at the advancing zombies. She no longer needed binoculars to seem them. “Ginger, how’s the tripwire coming along?”

  “I’m done,” he cried, straightening up. “You just need to attach it on your end.”

  “Thanks,” she replied, applying herself to the task.

  “Get back to the truck so long, Ginger,” Jackson ordered. “Dylan and I will be right behind you.”

  “Okay, but you’d better hurry.”

  Dylan frowned at the mess of wires beneath her hands. Richard had made it seem so easy the day before. Now, she was second-guessing everything she did, and her hands were shaking like an alcoholic’s in need of a drink.

  “Damn it!” she cried when she cut her thumb on a piece of steel.

  “Keep it together, Dylan,” Jackson said. “We’re almost there.”

  “Easy for you to say,” Dylan grumbled as she sucked on her injured finger.

  The first zombies had reached the edge of the bridge by the time they were done. Dylan watched as they shuffled closer while Jackson did a last-minute check. This was the last bomb, but it was also the most important. It was placed at the mid-point of the bridge and was linked to a tripwire.

  When the leading infected set it off, a large part of the horde would be committed to the bridge and caught in the center of the blast. That way, a huge chunk of them would be killed on the spot. Incinerated.

  “We’re done. Let’s go,” Jackson said, tugging at her arm.

  “Are you sure?” she asked with a frown. Her eyes ran over their handiwork, tracing each wire to its proper position.

  “Yes, I’m sure,” Jackson said, his voice growing thin with barely-suppressed panic. “We need to go now.”

  A glance over her shoulder sent a shiver of electricity down her spine. The horde was so close she could make out individual faces. The front runners were almost on them, and the vibrations of hundreds of feet thrummed throughout the structure.

  “I’m right behind you, Jackson.” Straightening up, she grabbed her tool bag and sprinted in the opposite direction.

  Up until that moment, they’d been hidden from the undead’s eyes by a metal strut. That changed when they ran, and a ravenous howl rose behind them as the infected gave chase.

  Her feet pounded on the ground, each step vibrating up her spine and into her skull in an agonizing beat. A steel girder flashed past her on the left, and deep blue water churned far below.

  Behind her, they advanced: A faceless mass of men, women, and children. Together, they belonged to every class and occupation known to man. They were the rich, the middle class, the poor, and the homeless. They used to be teachers, pastors, engineers, scientists, doctors, beggars, plumbers, homemakers, cleaners, cashiers, and artists. They came in every size, shape, and nationality, and had little in common except one thing: They were all dead.

  Dead and hungry.

  Driven by a microscopic host to make more of their kind.

  More and more and more.

  All of these thoughts raced through Dylan’s mind as she fled from the horde’s open maw. She had to get across the river. On the far side, safety beckoned. Solid ground and a rumbling truck waited to ferry her back to the fort.

  Suddenly, her foot landed on a stone, and her ankle rolled to the side. Sharp pain lanced up her leg, and she cried out with horror. Each step after that was agony, and a white-hot flame kindled inside the injured joint. Her pace slowed to a crawl. Even tossing the tool belt didn’t help.

  “Run, Dylan. Run!” Jackson cried, his long legs carrying him ahead. He was almost on the other side while she lagged far behind. This was one race she wouldn’t win, no matter how hard she tried.

  A final look over her shoulder almost caused her to give up. The nearest infected was only a few lengths behind her. At that moment, she realized she wasn’t going to make it. I’m done for.

  She was two-thirds across when a terrific explosion filled her ears. A deep rumble traveled through the steel and concrete beneath her feet, and she almost lost her balance. A second blast followed the first, and then a third, and a fourth and a fifth.

  Jackson stood next to the truck, his expression horrified. She pushed her body to the limits, reaching out to him with one beseeching hand. She was almost there. So close. “Jackson!”

  The sixth and final explosion hit her in the back like a supersonic wave. Her feet left the ground, and she was thrown head over heels through the air. Molten heat enfolded her limbs, and her eyes were fixed on the way she’d come.

  The bridge was gone. There was nothing left but a mess of broken steel, concrete, and tar. Flames and black smoke roiled among the ruins, incinerating everything it touched, including the horde. The undead were no more, and neither was she.

  Dylan hit the water with terrific force. The breath left her lungs in a whoosh as she impacted with the hard surface of the river. Clear liquid surrounded her body and flowed across her vision as she sank to the bottom. Unable to move, she watched as air bubbles escaped her lips and floated to the surface.

  She tried to fight against the paralysis that had hold of her limbs but couldn’t. She was finished. I’m sorry, Nick. I tried.

  ***

  It felt like an eternity had passed before her eyes flashed open. She lay face down on the river bank, encrusted in mud. With a gasp, she sucked in a deep breath only to choke as river water gushed up her throat.

  She spasmed and flopped about like a fish until all the liquid was expelled from her lungs. Sweet oxygen fizzed through her veins, and her mind cleared somewhat. Explosion. Bridge. I was thrown into the river.

  Pushing herself upright, she crawled up the bank. She was almost free of the water when cold, wet fingers wrapped around her ankle. A raspy groan was the only warning she got before teeth clamped down on her flesh.

  Dylan screamed and kicked out with her other foot. Her boot caught the infected in the face, a lucky strike. Its teeth yanked free from her leg, and the zombie snarled with frustrated hunger. “Get off me, you dead asshole!”

  Rolling onto her side, she continued to boot the thing in the face. Cartilage broke, teeth flew, and blood spewed from the zombie’s face as she kept kicking and kicking. Hope rose inside her chest when her hand closed on her knife’s handle, the one she carried on her belt. I can take one fucking zombie.

  Her hand rose and fell as she stabbed the infected in the head. It collapsed with a groan, but two more emerged from the shimmering waters of the river. She scrambled backward as they advanced, each more eager than the other to get their teeth in her.

  Suddenly, Jackson was there. He snapped off two shots, and her attackers dropped like stones. Ginger hauled her to her feet and dragged her up the bank.

  “Come on,” he yelled. “Move.”

  Dylan didn’t need any more incentive than that. The river was full of floating corpses, many of them still alive. Together, they staggered toward the waiting truck with Jackson bringing up the rear. She half-fell, half-jumped into the waiting vehicle, a whimper of pain on her lips.

  “Get us out of here, Ginger,” Jackson called, pounding his fist on the roof.

  Ginger obliged, and they spun away in a spray of mud and dead debris. Dylan twisted around in her seat and watched the scene fade away into the distance. The bridge was gone. All that remained was a ruined mess of steel and concrete. Smoke mushroomed into the air forming a cloud of death, but also hope. Sure, a few zombies might make it to the embankment, but most of them were either blown to bits or swept downriver.

  A smile grew on her face until she was grinning like a Cheshire cat. We did it. I can’t believe we did it.

  “What are you so happy about?” Jackson asked. “You almost got blown up and you were munched by a zombie.

  Dylan shrugg
ed. “It doesn’t matter. We did what we came to do. We blew up the bridge.”

  Jackson thought it over until he returned her smile. “One horde down, one to go. You look like shit, by the way.”

  Dylan’s head wobbled. “Thanks. Can I pass out now?”

  Chapter 18 - Saul

  “Damn it all to hell,” Saul swore, a set of binoculars pressed to his eyes.

  He’d parked the truck on a rise overlooking the bridge, hoping to get an advance view of the scene below. Instead, he arrived just in time to witness the second horde crossing the Monocacy River at Point of Rocks.

  There was no sign of either Mike Hansen or any of his people, and Saul accepted the inevitable. “They didn’t make it, or they’re holed up somewhere riding it out. I hope it’s the latter.”

  “Sir?” Jason, his fellow teammate asked, peering up at him. The young man was a stranger to Saul, as was his friend Raymond. Both came recommended by Mac for their knowledge of explosives. Knowledge that now proved useless.

  “Never mind, Jason. Please let Fort Detrick know that the second horde is en-route. We arrived too late to blow the bridge. Also, Mike Hansen and his people are still missing.”

  “Yes, Sir,” Jason said, reaching for the radio.

  While he relayed the news, Saul continued to gaze down at the horde. It was both a horrifying and fascinating sight. There were so many of them, thousands upon thousands. In their disregard for each other, they pushed forward without care. Several zombies tumbled off the sides and into the water below.

  “There’s no way we can block them now. They’re coming,” Saul said as he climbed back into his truck. “We’d best fall back to the first line of defenses and make sure everyone is prepared. Are you with me, boys?”

  “Yes, Sir,” they replied with eager grins.

  As Saul drove back toward the city, he wondered what it felt like to be so young and eager for action. He couldn’t remember a time anymore when he looked forward to fighting. I’m getting old, and my joints can attest to that fact.

  The next thought that occurred to him was whether Dylan’s party had been more successful than his. As he reached for the radio to find out, his question was answered by a series of loud booms in the distance. Not long after that, a cloud of smoke ballooned above what must’ve been the remains of the Sandy Hook bridge.

  The two soldier boys with him whooped and hollered at the sight, and a sensation of immense relief flooded Saul’s body. At least one horde was taken care of. It doubled their chances of survival. And we will survive. We must.

  They reached the city, and Saul inspected the various barricades built by Davis and his team. They’d demolished a couple of buildings and used the rubble to block off specific routes. That way, they could funnel the horde in the direction they wanted.

  Several kill zones had been rigged up too. Areas filled with booby traps: Mines, claymores, drums of diesel and powdered laundry detergent forming poor man’s napalm, and holes filled with sharpened spikes.

  Saul stayed away from these. Instead, he pushed forward to the first line of defense. There he met Corporal Keith Parker, who was in charge of the army. Soldiers in groups of three waited behind barriers made from concrete and sandbags, ready to kill as many zombies as they could.

  “Corporal Parker,” Saul greeted. “Could you use another team?”

  “You’re welcome. Find yourself a spot and have at it,” Corporal Parker said.

  “You know about the bridges?” Saul asked.

  “Fort Detrick kept me updated,” Corporal Parker said. “The observation points radioed in just now. The horde from Point of Rocks is coming, but the other one was in its tracks. A few infected got across, but it’s nothing a mop-up crew can’t fix.”

  “Glad to hear,” Saul said.

  After parking their truck behind the line, Saul got out. “Come on, boys. Ready for a fight?”

  Jason and Raymond cheered, and they took up a position near the center. As Saul hunkered down with his automatic rifle between his knees, he allowed himself a satisfied smile. They might have failed with the bridge, but they would make up for it here.

  Roughly fifteen minutes later, Jackson’s team came roaring past. Jackson stopped for a brief moment to talk. “I take it you couldn’t blow the bridge?”

  “Nope. The horde was already halfway across,” Saul replied.

  “Yeah, I figured that much. They’ve reached the outer city limits. These things are fast. We barely got in ahead of them.”

  “That they are,” Saul agreed, his eyes searching for Dylan. “Where’s Dylan?”

  “Passed out in the back. She got hurt, and I’m delivering her to the infirmary.”

  Saul frowned. “Is it serious?”

  “No, she’s okay, but I need to get her to a doctor,” Jackson said.

  “Go on, then. Get her to safety,” Saul said, watching as they raced away.

  Minutes later, a terrific explosion sounded as the first kill zone was triggered. More fires and booms followed as the horde moved toward the center. Thick, acrid smoke curled above the buildings, and orange flames licked at the walls of a nearby office block. Within minutes, the air took on a sooty haze as the ashes spread throughout the streets.

  “Get ready, boys,” Saul whispered. “They’ll be here soon.”

  The two youngsters exchanged nervous looks. The atmosphere was enough to dampen even their spirits, and a breathless hush descended over them all.

  The infected emerged from the gloom like ghosts, their arrival both silent and terrifying. For several seconds, nothing happened. Grey figures covered in rags filled the area, their staggering gait bringing them closer and closer to the waiting men and women.

  Corporal Parker broke the stand-off. “Fire!”

  The soldiers let loose, and a hail of gunfire ripped through the ranks of the undead. Their torsos jerked from the impact of the bullets before falling to the ground. They looked like puppets at the end of a madman’s strings.

  A howl rose from within their ranks as they realized fresh meat was close at hand. Galvanized, they sprinted forward, faces contorted into hideous caricatures of the people they once were. They were fast, and they were hungry.

  But, the soldiers never faltered. They were staggered throughout the fighting zone in groups of three that formed two lines. The front row laid down a wall of withering fire until they ran out of ammunition. At that point, the second row took over while the first reloaded. On and on until the undead got too close for guns to be effective.

  “First line: Retreat,” Corporal Parker yelled during a lull.

  The first line fell back to a new barrier set behind the second line, giving ground.

  Saul and his team were among this line. With the second row laying down cover, they retreated to a new alcove formed by sandbags stacked on top of each other. A box of ammunition waited, and he quickly reloaded. The moment the other row ran out, he opened fire.

  Rat-tat-tat.

  Rat-tat-tat.

  Rat-tat-tat.

  The undead fell by the dozens, scores, and hundreds until their bodies formed mounds of corpses. And still, they came. When the soldiers could retreat no further, the fight became brutal. The infected screeched as they engaged with living people, and screams soon filled Saul’s ears.

  “Fall back, fall back,” Corporal Parker shouted, waving to a row of vehicles that waited to ferry the soldiers to safety.

  Saul jumped up, preparing to run. “Get to the truck, Jason. Raymond.”

  The two youngsters obeyed, racing toward the waiting vehicle with sure-footed speed. He covered them with his pistol until it clicked on empty. That was his queue.

  As Saul turned to follow, a zombie jumped over the wall of sandbags and plowed him to the ground. Teeth clipped at the air above his throat, and the rancid smell of rotting flesh washed across his face.

  With a wild yell of defiance, Saul smashed his rifle’s stock into the infected’s face. Teeth and bone crunched, but the thing
kept fighting. Clawing. Biting. Bucking his hips, Saul tossed the zombie onto the ground. In an instant, he was on the monster’s chest, pinning it to the ground with one knee. Raising his rifle above his head, he battered the zombie’s skull into pink mush.

  When the infected ceased to move, Saul launched himself toward the truck. Ghostly finger plucked at his clothes as the undead sought to claim him for their own. He barely made it, ducking and diving beneath their reaching arms.

  “Not today. Not ever,” he wheezed through spent lungs.

  As he jumped into the truck, undead bodies slammed into the side. Shrieks and screams filled his ears until he thought his eardrums would burst. The vehicle rocked beneath the onslaught until Saul yelled, “Go, Jason. What are you waiting for? A medal?”

  Jason jammed his foot on the gas, and they joined the convoy of vehicle roaring to safety. Within minutes, they left the horde behind as they passed through a maze of new barriers and kill zones.

  There were three such layers of protection laid throughout the city, each taking them nearer to the fort. They’d have to go through the same maneuver twice more before falling back to the inner defenses.

  Twice. Saul wondered if he had the energy to survive two more rounds like the last one, but he had no choice. It had to be done. It’s either them or us, and I’ll be damned before I let them get to Tara.

  While they drove, Saul took stock. His rifle was ruined, the stock splintered in half. His tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth, and he reached beneath the seat for bottled water.

  “Here,” he said, passing the reviving liquid around.

  Jason and Raymond accepted with grateful smiles. “Thank you, Sir.”

  When everyone had sated their thirst with deep gulps, he set about arming himself with a new rifle. This time, he tucked two grenades into his pocket for good measure and added an extra pistol to his belt.

  Once they reached the second line of defense, he sucked in a deep breath. “Are you ready for round two, boys?”

  “Yes, Sir!”

  “We’re ready!”

  “Good. Let’s teach those undead monsters a thing or two,” Saul yelled as he jumped out, ready to fight or die for those he loved.