Book Read Free

Infected World Trilogy (Books 1-3): They Only Come Out At Night

Page 84

by Guenther, David


  “Damn it, Lieutenant, pull yourself together!” Peters shouted. The man before him only became more agitated, shrieking louder. Peters saw two more airmen running towards his gate. His initial relief turned to horror as the two women joined the lieutenant in trying to get at him. Both women, covered in blood, shrieked in unison with the lieutenant. One wore OCPs complete with the blue beret of a security forces specialist, her sidearm still in its holster. On her shoulder, a radio blared asking for status with only a few replies. The last woman, wearing only part of her dress blue uniform, was totally saturated in blood from her face all the way to her knees.

  “Oh, hell no!” Peters shouted back at their shrieking as he jabbed the key back in the door, quickly locking it behind him. He ran for the phone in the bedroom. There was no dial tone as he picked up the handset. Really! He threw the phone down as he tore at his bag until he found his satellite phone. Dialing the command center’s number from memory, the sudden quietness, outside startled him. There was no more shrieking or pounding.

  “Space Command Operations Center, TSgt (Technical Sergeant) Kim” blared from the sat phone.

  “This is Major General Peters, Vice Commander, Space Command. I’m trapped in billeting at the Spanish House. I have three people trying to break in. Contact security forces; inform them I also numerous heard gunshots!” Peters felt he sounded calm and profession.

  “Sir, the entire base is under attack; I recommend you shelter in place if they are not able to get in. I’m notifying security forces of your status now.” What the hell? Did that asshole just hang up on me! Furious, Peters tore back into his bag until he found his second magazine for his M18. Stuffing it into the inside pocket of his jacket, he pulled out his M18, angrier at the sergeant on the phone than he was afraid of attackers at his door. He checked the loaded chamber indicator on the top center of the slide by the breech. Thumbing the safety to fire, he took a moment to stuff the sat phone into his jacket’s inside pocket.

  At the front door, he looked out the peephole to make sure they had not broken through the wrought iron gate. Relieved, he quietly opened the door and proceeded slowly to the gate. Farther out, by the street, he could see his earlier attackers hunched over a body. Peters shuddered involuntarily before running to his rental car. Clicking the fob in his hand, the alarm chirped once as the car unlocked and the headlights flashed. Two of the attackers were already racing towards him as he opened the driver’s side door. Diving inside, he quickly locked the doors, he jammed the key into the ignition switch and was relieved when it started immediately. Shifting into reverse, he was surprised by another attacker that ran full steam into the driver’s door a second before the previous attackers slammed into the passenger side doors. The new attacker was smashing his head into the window. Peters raised his left hand and flipped him the bird. “Fuck you! Elvis has left the building!” He shifted into drive and floored the sedan the same time the driver’s window started to form spider cracks. “Ha ha ha ha!” Peters shouted as the attackers tried to chase after him.

  The sound of gunfire was getting louder as he neared the Space Command building. He bailed from the sedan a few yards from the buildings door, running all out, the sound of gunfire and shrieks getting louder behind him.

  “Son of a bitch!” he shouted, realizing he’d have to reach into the ankle pocket of his flightsuit to get his common access card (CAC) to open the door. Out of breath, he reached down as the door flew open, a Master Sergeant (MSgt) shouted, “Down!” Peters fell to his chest as the MSgt rapidly fired two shots. Peters felt hot liquid spray onto the back of his neck and head the same time a woman’s body fell on him and rolled off. “Move your ass or I’ll leave you out there!”

  Peters got to his feet, his ears ringing from the gunshots. “Move your ass, I said!” Peters saw red before he heard the echoing footsteps on the pavement behind him. He ran for the door, not looking back. The MSgt managed to shut it as two assailants smashed into the glass.

  “No worries, sir. The door will hold.” Peters bent over, hands on his knees as he caught his breath. The MSgt noticed for the first time he had a two-star general in front of him. Peters looked back out the glass door and saw the body that had fallen on him and felt weak in the knees. The dead woman’s body was bigger than his own and looked like she’d been a weight lifter.

  “Uh, good work MSgt…”

  “MacDonlds, sir, MSgt MacDonalds.”

  Peters felt a bit off and shaky, quickly turning instead to euphoria. “Can I get an order of fries with that save, MacDonalds?” He laughed at his own joke before continuing. “Can you tell me why I’ve been attacked three times in the last hour, MSgt?”

  “Sir, we were ordered by the command post to lock down the same time the first attacks commenced. It’s been a tossup between judgment day and a zombie apocalypse. Please continue into the building, sir. Our friends out there have a short attention span, and will move on if they don’t see us in here.” Peters shrugged and headed for operations. The MSgt ducked into a doorway, and then proceeded to remove his magazine, hands beginning to shake, as he reloaded.

  The normally polished floors had long streaks and reddish black puddles. It took Peters a moment to realize they were puddles of blood and the streaks were blood trails from bodies being dragged off. He bent over to grab his wallet from his ankle pocket, and then retrieved his CAC. He slid the magnetic strip through the reader and let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding as he heard the loud click of the electronic deadbolt opening.

  The operations room was a shambles; numerous monitors broken or knocked over and there was the distinct smell of blood, bad meat, and loosened bowels, mixed with the smell of ozone and burned gunpowder. Damn, did I just enter hell?

  “Sweet Jesus! You’re alive, Willy Pete!” Peters looked across the room to see General Tullos, head of Space Command, sitting in an office chair while a pair of sergeants attended to a wounded arm. Even for a Friday night there were obviously not enough personnel to man the operation center, he noted.

  “Sir, what the hell is going on? He began to walk towards the general, then noticed the bodies scattered around the room. What the fuck?

  “Willy Pete, my money goes on the end of the world. We’ve been monitoring this shit from its beginning in Japan, then across China, Russia, Europe, skipping across the ocean and starting up on our east coast all the way down to the tip of South America. Like one giant wave. The news stations are going crazy. No damn warning at all then BOOM!” Tullos looked down at the sergeants, “Thanks, I think I’ll live, better get back to your duties.” He crooked his finger for Peters to join him. He sat down next to the general, and then the story continued.

  “The pandemic followed the setting sun. As cities became dark the infection initially seemed to be spread through the air. Rough guess are seventy-five to eighty percent of folks were infected. They in turn spread it further by bodily fluids. This has been from pole to pole. The only break so far is that the infected are staying out of the sunlight. Every city seems to have had some partial recovery, but average population is about five percent of what it had been.” Tullos took a swig of water and handed a fresh bottle to Peters.

  “We’ve lost all communications with our chain of command. The White House evacuated aboard Air Force One. We picked up some cockpit chatter before the plane crashed over Pennsylvania, it augured in, no chance of survivors. Same thing happening here is at every headquarters in the chain. We’ve been unable to get in contact with any level of the National Command Authority. The best we were able to do here was activate the Alternate Command Center in Cheyenne Mountain.” Tullos looked like it took great effort to raise his arm to point to a monitor. The picture on the screen was tinted pink. In the background of the display could be seen a female Canadian officer in a flightsuit with her mouth buried in the stomach of an airman lying across a computer console. “We activated the mountain and they ran their checklist and locked down against all threats, nuclear, biologic
al, and chemical. (NBC) They were infected the same timeline as us, just that they could not run from the infected, we believe they are one hundred percent infected. NORAD, USNORTHCOM, all are not transmitting.”

  Peters and the rest of the people in the room jumped as three NCOs burst through the door, quickly slamming it shut. Two were carrying decorative guidon poles with the flags torn off, effectively making them into spears. Both had bloody tips. The third NCO carried the handle from a paper trimmer, now a deadly machete, covered in blood. “Sir, we were able to get the supplies you requested, we left them in the loading area. We just need transportation out of here. We lost Chief Aoki and Capt. Morita when we were gathering the special material you wanted. That’s all here in the briefcase. I didn’t get a chance to set the code so it’s 000. We also lost our last pistol. After Chief Aoki was out of ammo, he buried it in the head of a zombie that was attacking me.” The sergeant held up his arm, showing a bloody bite mark on his forearm.

  “Good job, men. Go get yourself some water and take a break, treat that wound before it becomes infected.” Tullos looked older than his fifty-eight years as he turned to Peters. “Willy Pete, I have a mission for you. I’m implementing Operation Phoenix, with the resources we have here, you will take all unwounded personnel, and any you find, and get the hell off this base while you can. You will head for Douglas City, Wyoming. There you will set up operations, assume command of all military units, regardless of service, available to you. If you find a unit with a senior commander to you, you will put yourself and your operation under their command to the best of your ability. You will align your command under the National Command Authority. If unable to do that, you will establish a base of operations to clear out the infected to the best of your ability, per my verbal orders.” The general handed Peters the bloody briefcase the sergeant had handed him earlier.” “In this case you will find the codes and instructions for all our space-based assets along with portable drives with the necessary data. Looks like you are now the Commander of Space Command.”

  “Sir, Operation Phoenix was a joke. It was an excuse for me to go fly-fishing in Wyoming, and visit my kids from my first marriage. I didn’t think we’d ever have to start over on a clean slate.” Peters argued back.

  “Willy Pete, I want to see your hairy ass off my base in one hour. Try to save as many of our troops as possible. Now, the correct response from you will be…” The general shook for a minute as though he was having an epileptic seizure. He then sat quietly for a minute with his eyes closed. When he opened his eyes, the pupils were fully dilated, none of his blue iris was any longer visible. He started to drool while looking off into the space.

  “General Tullos?” Peters asked nervously. He reached his hand out to shake the general’s shoulder. Tullos shrieked, opening his mouth to bite at the hand. A silver-tipped guidon pole slammed into his mouth, breaking teeth as it continued out the back of his skull, pinning him to the chair. The general just seemed to wilt before he lost control of his body.

  An airman stood before General Peters, pulling the guidon pole out of Tullos’ mouth. “Sir, he ordered me to stay by him for when this happened. He knew he only had hours left and didn’t want to hurt anyone. Do you have any orders, sir?”

  ZOMBIE LIEUTENANT: INFECTED WORLD BOOK 2

  https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07MTSWWYH

  Chapter 1

  Converse County Airport, Wyoming. April 5, 2029

  A1C Caleb White looked at his watch and cursed softly when he saw it was 0333. While he appreciated being in a safe location to spend the night, sharing a tent with fifteen others, none of whom could get through the night without either snoring or night screams, made for a long night. Combining that with his extremely sensitive sense of hearing made sleep near impossible. He looked around the tent, which was dark enough to hide your hand in front of your face. With his vision though, everything appeared like it was daytime. In the far corner, he could hear and see a couple sharing a cot. Screw this. I’m going to go to my truck to sleep, he thought. Quietly he slid into his uniform and picked up his bag with his civilian clothes he’d worn the day before. He buckled his belt, pleased with the way the weight was distributed. Should I still carry or should I take my 9mm and the rest of my weapons to the armory? I’ll ask Capt Conrad tomorrow when I see him. I wonder if I can transfer to security forces?

  The wind snapped at Caleb as he exited the tent. With the wind chill, it was minus one Celsius. He could feel that it was cold but it didn’t even elicit a shiver as he walked to his truck. I wonder what would happen if I took off my shirt? Can I get too cold? I wonder what other surprises are still ahead of me for being a Z?

  Everything was quiet with almost no activity. He heard pots banging in the distance from the field kitchen as they prepared for the new day, he could even smell bread baking. Along the airport’s perimeter, he heard the sounds of the armored cars’ engines, either patrolling or just running their engines to stay warm. On top of the airport terminal, a lone sentry wore a heavy parka trying to fight the wind and cold while wearing his NVGs to detect any intruders, normal or infected.

  There was something wrong as he approached his truck; he could smell cologne and soap, someone else is out here and doing a good job of being quiet and hiding, probably using a car for some privacy, he thought to himself. He could see his truck now. The tarp was not covering up the supplies he and Anny had packed so carefully. You have gotta be shitting me! Caleb got down on all fours and slowly crawled to his truck. He could see boxes on the ground on the opposite side of the truck and two pair of feet. His heart started to pound and the night looked like it was tinted red. He ignored the 9mm on his hip; he wanted to punish the two thieves. He heard a can being popped open as he was about to turn the corner of his truck to face them. He looked over the hood, two men in their mid-twenties, obviously civilians by their long hair, and extended guts. Half a dozen empty beer cans lay in the grass around them with an open whiskey bottle.

  “You gentlemen owe me for my beer and whiskey. How are we going to work this out?” Both men laughed as they tried to stagger to their feet. Jacob took two steps then used an oblique kick into the nearest man’s knee. The leg popped backwards as he fell back on his ass. He began to scream in pain at the top of his lungs. Jacob jumped over the man and gave the second man a solid round kick to the side of his head while he was still bent over. The man let a short groan out as he fell back, out cold. Jacob spun himself around, wanting to inflict pain on the asshole still awake when the first of the security forces showed up. He looked at the man screaming and the other out cold, and then the sky cop flashed his M4’s light into Caleb’s face, illuminating his dilated eyes. The distinct click of the selector switch engaging sounded like a shot to his sensitive ears. Caleb grabbed the barrel with his right hand, jerking it forcefully to his side while delivering a left-handed roundhouse to the airman’s chin. Half a dozen shots were let loose in that short time before the gunman hit the ground out cold. The civilian was still screaming non-stop, getting on Caleb’s nerves as he raised his hands to signal a pair of SFs running towards him.

  “Take it easy guys, these two douche bags were ripping off my truck, and I was defending myself when Barney here tried to draw down on me.”

  “Keep your hands raised and turn around and face the truck!” The young SF was out of breath and sounded like his voice was going to crack. Casey turned towards the truck as ordered and spotted the half a dozen bullet holes in the side of his truck above the rear wheel. He lost his breath and turned to face the shooter when he was butt stroked in the back of his head.

  Cold concrete, I know that feeling. Why am I laying on cold concrete, naked, with a hood on my head, tied spread-eagled. “Sir, we didn’t know what to do. That Z took down two civvies, then attacked one of our own. We heard him talk, so I thought we should try to capture him.” The voice sounded high pitched like an adolescent or maybe a girl to Caleb.

  “It would have been easier if you’d ju
st popped him. This is going to be a mess here. I’ll see if the doc wants this one put in the cage with the other Z” Capt Conrad said angrily, after being woken for a single Z. The men on both sides of him stiffened as the door opened.

  “At ease gentlemen, I heard we had a Z get through the perimeter, and was only stopped after it got as far as the vehicles. If that’s correct, this is very disturbing.” Major General Peters stated.

  I know those voices! Jacob tried to talk, and then shout, but the spit hood was stuck part way in his mouth. He tried to force it out with his tongue, then tried to blow it out of his mouth. On his last try, it came free. “Excuse my fucking French, but get this goddamn mask off my head now!” Conrad looked at Peters, then down at the naked body wearing a spit hood. He reached down and tore it off his head. Caleb blinked in the bright light and fought his rising anger at the same time, deciding he had better not open his mouth.

  Conrad first looked at his eyes, then at all the bruises that covered the man’s body. “Cut him loose and give him back his clothes. Airman White, what in the hell happened to you?”

  “I couldn’t sleep so I went out to my truck…” Anger started to rise up and he fought it as he continued his story. “…only to find a couple civilians stealing my stuff. When they saw me they attacked. I put one down and the other one was injured and started screaming. When Barney Fife showed up, he drew down on me and shot up my truck. I defended myself from him, then surrendered myself to another pair of SFs. They butt stroked me and now I’m bare ass on the concrete with a shitload of bruises I didn’t have earlier.” The three SFs began to wish they were somewhere else, and then Peters spoke.

  “I want you to know that I’m trying not to lose control. Nevertheless, I am so damn mad right now I wouldn’t give a second thought to a summary court martial, and pulling the trigger myself. This man is a genuine hero. If I’d known he was back, I would have already decorated him for all the acts of bravery he performed in the evacuation of Peterson AFB. Make him comfortable and make sure the doc sees him before I return!” Peters slammed the door behind him, making everyone in the room cringe.

 

‹ Prev