Enclave: A Novel of the Zombie Apocalypse

by Robert Morganbesser

  They hadn't accounted for the Lazarites, who blowtorched open the loading docks, killed those few of their security that hadn’t fled, and led what they called ‘the Blessed’, into the building. The Lazarites were using the rear freight elevator, run on the buildings emergency generator, to ferry zombies and more of their own up and down at will. The researchers knew there was supposed to be a rescue team on the way, but it appeared that they would be too late.

  The leader of the Lazarites, a large man named Samms, leaned against the office door and sneered at the terrified captives. "All it will take to save your lives," he said. "Is your oath of allegiance to the ideals of Lazarus, the only true belief! Heaven awaits all who join the order!"

  Samms stepped forward and grabbed Lucy by the chin, forcing her tear filled face up. “Do you see how we walk among the Blessed? How we are also blessed?” Lucy closed her eyes, a fresh batch of tears spilling down her cheeks. In disgust, Samms thrust her away.

  There were eight of the researchers left, three women, and five men. The Lazarites had beaten them all. Sid Floyd and Jenna Lain, in charge of the research team were murdered right before the captives, their faces peeled off, leaving their skulls grinning crimson in death. After playing with the flesh as if it were a mask, this one, laughing, fed the parts to the zombies, the 'Blessed' as these lunatics called them. Before the pair could revive, one of the Lazarites chopped off their arms and eviscerated them. None of the terrified survivors noticed that the Lazarites were careful not to get any of the victim’s blood on themselves. The survivors had to watch while their former friends reactivated. As what was once Sid and Jenna were ushered out, Samms laughed. “They’re damned, unbelievers. They’ll wander like that forever, unable to take communion of the flesh, never to enter heaven! None of us will free them. They are marked, as all of you will be.”

  Another member of the team, Emma had leaped to her death rather than be taken alive. Lucy Chalmers, sitting closest to Samms cried endlessly. She'd spoken with the rescue team but had given up any hope they would be saved.

  Samms peered over his captives. One man, Felix Tavares, beaten badly by the Lazarites, was slipping in and out of consciousness. Felix knew how to defend himself; he had broken bones on several of his attackers before they overwhelmed him. One of the women, Joselle Wyndham, an attractive black who fought back, tooth and nail, glared at him through blackened eyes. She would be next Samms decided. The strong ones were always the best to use when trying to set an example to other captives. The past months had taught him this; all it took was one person showing resistance to shore up the backbones of others. Well, he’d put a stop to that damn fast!

  Samms was just about to give the orders dooming the woman when his head disappeared in a loud explosion. Before his body hit the ground, the doors blew open. A deafening roar, simultaneously with two quick blinding flashes of light disoriented everyone in the room. Chalmers and the others were blinking and moaning as shadows erupted into the room and engaged the three other Lazarites. One took a bullet through the throat that propelled him backwards against and out a window. The soldiers quickly overpowered the remaining two, binding their arms and legs, leaving them face first on the floor. One man struggled as they tied him. His reward was a kick to the face that had him spitting up blood and broken teeth. Semi-conscious, he lay there blood dripping from his ruined mouth.

  Taylor moved around the decapitated Samms. "Rivers, Metz. Keep an eye out. Brown, Simpson get them untied. See if these people know where the rest of the Lazarites are."

  Huston, taking the initiative with Carstairs assisting was booby-trapping the far stairwell. Nothing was coming that way, at least not until they'd run the gauntlet of traps.

  Taylor's headset buzzed. Rivera’s voice erupted in his ear. "Taylor! Sitrep!"

  "We've got the captives. Place is hot. Lazarites and zombies. How about those fucking helos?"

  "Five minutes out! Call sign is Cavalry! Get to the roof! We've got to get out now or we're getting overrun!"

  Taylor took a second. "Get going, Jefe. You’ve done what you can."

  "Roger that, we’re gone! Good luck!"

  06 March 2032

  The Rescue Convoy

  Outside 122A Water Street

  Rivera slid down inside the turret, dogging the hatch as he did so. "We're out of here!" The Bradley spun on its axis as Rivera switched to the armor freq. "All tracks, let's go! Best speed. Drive over anything in the way!"

  Rivera's Bradley, chain gun peppering the approaching zombies, who were ten deep, leaving in its wake a morass of crushed and pulped bodies, led the way. APC 1 was right behind them, then the other Bradley. APC 2, separated from them by nearly a hundred zombies, was having a problem. One of the flame-thrower men remained standing in the middle hatch, firing his weapon at the zombies, who were trying to grab at the vehicle. As he did, a Lazarite; hidden among the zombies, threw a Molotov cocktail in a high arc that ended with the bottle shattering across the man and the tanks on his back. With a scream as he caught on fire, the trooper spun around, still firing his weapon, setting the sandbags on the APC alight.

  Rivera stopped his Bradley to shepherd the other two vehicles ahead of him. Hearing the screams over his net, he spun the turret. Peering through his scope, Rivera felt his heart sink. APC 2 was on fire and surrounded by zombies. He could hear the screams of the terrified, trapped troopers. With so many zombies between his own track and theirs, Rivera knew they were beyond rescue. Pressing a switch, Rivera heard the thump as the TOW launcher unfolded. "Corbin. Take out the APC." He ordered, then whispered, God forgive me.

  As the blaze swept across the trapped APC, one of the troopers, knowing what was waiting, stuck her pistol in her mouth and pulled the trigger. The commander opened his hatch and started to climb out, but the zombies were waiting. As the stinking things pawed at him, he shot several with his pistol and fell back within the vehicle. That would be the last thing he would do as the TOW, made to deal with tanks, smashed into the side of the thinly armored vehicle and exploded. The resulting fireball spread across the zombies, enveloping them in burning fuel and cooked off ammo. A second TOW followed, smashing into the remnants of the APC, annihilating it. The secondary blast knocked over more zombies, some of them smashed against piles of rubble, bodies broken beyond the ability to rise. The troops within the escaping tracks grabbed at hand holds and one another as the ground beneath their vehicles trembled from the force of the explosions.

  Rivera had a haunted look on his face as he watched the smoke from the destroyed vehicle spiral upward. The sight would haunt him forever. Corbin tapped his leg. "You did the right thing, LT. They went quick. I wouldn’t want the zombies to get me."

  Rivera nodded while taking a deep breath. "Let's get the fuck out of here." To no one in particular he said, "Good luck, Joe."

  06 March 2032

  Rescue Team

  Inside 122A Water Street

  Taylor switched to the aviator's freq. "Cavalry one, this is Rescue."

  "Rescue, Cavalry. Read you five by five. Sitrep?"

  "This place is hotter than fucking Brownsville in summer and nastier." Taylor recognized the pilot's voice. It was 'Slim' Jim Harding. Formerly from Amarillo, Texas, he, like Chung and Taylor had served in several Middle-Eastern interventions. There were rumors that before the rise, he was on loan to the CIA for several black missions, but no matter how drunk he got, Jim wouldn’t say anything about them.

  "I'm gonna check out your roof, perhaps do a little sweeping, all right?"

  "Roger that! We're on the way."

  Quickly untying the former captives, they were given water and boosters of Zombicillin. This task accomplished, it was time to go. The soldiers stood by as the freed captives took a few moments to deliver a beating to the bound Lazarites. Face so bruised around his eyes, one Lazarite, blood dripping from his battered face, was nearly blind. The one with the broken mouth was barely conscious. The troops ignored his moans of pain. Taylor was abou
t to start giving instructions when an explosion rocked the room. Huston went to the door and shouted back, "They're coming! That was one of the claymores!"

  Taylor cursed under his breath. "Chung, take point. We're getting out of here!"

  Chung, moving quickly for a man of his bulk, dashed out the door. One trooper then the civilians, another trooper, the prisoners, finally the remaining soldiers, followed him. Taylor, moving backward, staring through the smoke of the booby trap, took tail end Charlie. As he did, several shadows approached from a cross-corridor. Quickly he raised his shotgun. "Wait! It's us! Team two!" Of the five men and women left to guard the exfil point, two appeared out of the darkness.

  "The others?"

  "Gone," said Branch. "We got jumped. They're using the fucking freight elevator. There must have been fifty of the bastards!"

  Taylor cursed. "Get moving. We're headed for the roof. The helo's are nearly here." Calling to Metz, the Sergeant pointed to the prisoners as he pulled out his fighting knife. "We don’t have time for dead weight."

  In his Cobra attack chopper, Harding swung around the roof of the building, looking for the team to appear. They'd already blown a few Lazarites off opposing roofs with rocket fire. Spirals of smoke rose from the further shattered buildings, the black smears marring the beautiful blue sky of morning. A second Cobra buzzed nearby buildings, occasionally firing off a rocket at anything that looked like a threat. The more vulnerable troop choppers hung back, waiting for the all clear.

  Taylor moved quickly into the stairwell following the two survivors of the other team. As they ascended, he could hear the sounds of shambling zombies below them. In moments, the enemy would find the presents Taylor and Chung left for them. As if on cue, horrible screams came echoing up the stairwell. Taylor and Metz had hamstrung their former prisoners, making sure they were bleeding freely. Taylor nodded to himself. Those bastards got what they deserved. They had ten more flights to cover before they reached the roof and with tired captives, it was going to take awhile. Taylor took a deep breath, made sure he had a grenade handy.

  Two floors below them, snarling zombies were being herded out of the freight elevator. From here, a Lazarite led them into the stairwell. The Lazarites wanted these unbelievers, wanted to see them suffer as gifts to the Blessed. When the zombies bunched up to devour the helpless Lazarites left for them, the others let them die. They were going to heaven, so should be joyful.

  With eight floors to go, Taylor had an idea. "Chung, listen up."

  "Go ahead."

  "I'm going to take Huston, Brandon, and Stephens on a side mission. We're going to blast the freight elevator shaft, stop the Lazarites from using it."

  "Roger that, but don't do anything stupid!"

  “When have I ever done anything stupid?”

  As Taylor led his men off, he thought don’t do anything stupid? Like going off with only three men against an unknown number of enemies is intelligent?

  Huston stood back from where he'd booby-trapped the stairwell. Five claymores, set up in a criss-cross pattern would cover their rear. He was glad Taylor's troops carried a lot of the little bastards. Fortunately, the zombies didn't have the same mobility humans had. It would take them awhile to climb the stairs. Taylor nodded. "Let's go. Do we have a satchel charge?"

  Brandon lifted the bag filled with C-4 explosive. With a nod, Taylor led them out of the stairwell down a long unfinished hallway to the freight elevator doors. The men moved quickly but cautiously. There was no way of knowing if the zombies had made it this far through another entrance.

  Brandon, in the lead heard a noise and stopped, raising a fist. The others froze. There was a pounding from behind a door, but it seemed sturdy enough to hold for a moment.

  "All right," said Taylor. "Brandon, grab the other door." Slinging their weapons for a moment, the two men grabbed the elevator doors and strained at them, pulling them apart. Once they were open a foot, Stephens jammed a pry bar in to hold them that way. Then they did the same to the inner doors. Huston lifted the satchel, held it in the opening, and pulled the primer cord. Grinning at Taylor, he leaned in a bit and released it, watching a moment to make sure it fell clear into the shaft.

  Task done, the men grabbed up their weapons and ran down the corridor, the noise behind the closed door getting louder.

  At the street level, the Lazarites were shoving more growling, snarling zombies into the elevator. They didn't hear the thump as the charge landed on the elevator roof. With a deafening roar, the C4 detonated, the blast blowing the elevator to pieces along with the Lazarites and their zombie charges. Pieces of the doors blasted their way across the street, crushing several more zombies as a pillar of fire shot up the shaft, setting the grease in it on fire.

  The destruction of the elevator reverberated through the building, nearly knocking the escapees off their feet. Taylor, again taking the rear position shouted, "Masks! Put your masks…" Even as he spoke, the side door they’d passed slammed open. Taylor brought up his shotgun in one hand, while he fumbled with his mask, and fired, decapitating one zombie on a fountain of gore. As he backed away, unable to ratchet in another round, a zombie dug at his face. He nearly collapsed from the pain as a filthy nailed finger dug into his left eye, popping it. With an enraged cry of pain, he shoved the zombie back, yanked out his pistol and fired into its neck, blasting its head off.

  Stephens, Brandon, and Huston charged back down the corridor, firing into the small mass of zombies, massacring them. Taylor slumped to the floor, pistol clasped in white knuckled fingers. Huston pulled away the half-attached mask, removed Joe's helmet and, using his first aid kit, wiped away the mess that had been Taylor's left eye then applied a dressing. Pulling out an ampoule of Zombicillin, he gave Joe a booster, then put the helmet, and mask back on.

  Helping Taylor to his feet, Houston asked, “Morphine?”

  Grunting, Taylor waved it off. Huston considered giving the man the shot anyhow. Instead, he shoved the one-shot syringe away and lifted Taylor’s shotgun from the floor.

  "Can you walk Sarge?"

  Taylor rose painfully to his feet. Shoving his pistol in its holster, he took his shotgun and replaced the expended round. In too much pain to speak, he nodded. Huston pushed him ahead, saying, "I'll take tail end."

  The men ran for it, slowed slightly by the injured Taylor who fought down nausea as he felt fluids from his eye socket fill the bandage and run down his cheek.

  On the roof, Chung popped smoke to bring in the first chopper. He wanted the civilians gone. The big Huey floated in majestically as a door gunner looked nervously at the roof exit, guarded by two troopers.

  Lucy Chalmers was the last to board. "Thank you!" She was crying as she hugged Chung who took a moment to pat her on the back before she boarded. As the bird lifted, Chung spoke into his mike, 'Taylor, where the fuck are you?"

  Huston answered. "Make sure that fucking chopper is ready, man! Taylor's hurt and we've got company!"

  At the words from Huston, Chung's face went white. Ratcheting a grenade into his M11A, he stomped toward the stairwell door and stared down.

  The team was back in the stairwell, moving as quickly as they could up the stairs. Below them, the claymores detonated and they could hear the deadly whine of shrapnel as it tore into their pursuers. As they passed the next to last floor, the door smashed open, zombies crowding into it. Taylor was already past it, but he turned at the roof entrance and fired down into them, blasting them back. Stephens stopped, holding a WP grenade, ready to throw it at the creatures. Brandon froze for a second before the door and was grabbed and pulled into the hallway. Huston fired into the zombies then smashed ones face with his stock, forcing it back. Grabbing Brandon by his web gear, he yanked the frightened man to his feet. Protected by his mask and armor, the man wasn't hurt, but the stain at his crotch showed that his bladder wasn’t convinced he was saved. Huston decided to dog the man about it later. As soon as the rest of the team was clear, Stephens threw his grenade. Sho
rt fused, it exploded quickly, spreading hot burning metal through the hallway. Huston passed the doorway, shoving Brandon ahead of him then, as fast as he could pull the pins, tossed the rest of his grenades at the oncoming zombies.

  Chung was the only one not on the last chopper. He stood there with his rifle, ready to fire as the rest of the team erupted onto the roof. Grabbing Taylor by the shoulders, he half-lifted, half-threw his friend onto the bird. Brandon, Stephens, and Huston followed. Chung waited a moment then fired an explosive round into the roof entrance, collapsing it. This done, he turned and jumped onto the chopper. With a growl of engines, it pulled up and away. Once it was clear, the two Cobras began expending ordnance into the rooftop, collapsing it onto the top floors of the building. That done, they turned and headed away leaving the burning building as the only evidence they'd ever been there.

  09 March 2032

  Brooklyn Field Camp

  Medical Tent

  Taylor sat up in bed, the left side of his face bandaged heavily, but otherwise feeling well. He hated hospitals and wanted to return to duty, but was under order from Nevers to stay as long as the Docs said he should.

  Chung came in whistling. "Say buddy. How you feeling?"

  "The sooner I'm out of here the better. Where the fuck am I?"

  "Brooklyn," said Chung. "Manhattan’s done. New line is right here."

  Taylor frowned. "How about Rivera?"

  Chung's face sobered. "They lost an APC but got out OK. No military left in Manhattan. Word is we won’t be here long. Just another holding action, then we head for Enclave 13. Looks like most of the east coast cities are finished, but there are still survivors out there, people who need to get rescued."