“Miss Newsome, the Lazarites are guarding the entrances. Any other way in?”
As he listened to her reply, a grim smile spread across his face while an idea filled his mind. Telling Newsome to stay low and only go on the air every hour on the even hour, he called his squad leaders together.
28 April 2032
Hoover Dam, Nevada
Inside the Dam
Helen crouched by the opening to the machinery spaces of the dam staring at the two bodies that lie there. Both were taken out by headshots. The arrival of the damned Enclavers had thrown their plans off. Behind her stalked four ‘Blessed’ all still fresh enough to look human. Cradling her shotgun, she grabbed one and shoved it toward the doorway. The creature snarled at her but kept moving away toward the roadway of the dam. When it smelled the fresh blood from the exploded heads, it began to move faster, anxious to have a meal. The other three saw what their fellow creature was doing and followed it. Groaning and moaning they reached down for the dead Lazarites and started pulling at the body. Gruesome sounds came as they began tearing the flesh, cracking the bones, devouring the body. Quickly they tore the first corpse apart, the sounds of their feast bringing more of the dead, who were herded into the dam complex like hunting dogs, up from the machinery area.
Helen hunched back against the wall, letting them pass. She waited for the sounds of gunfire, but none came, only the crunching of bone and slurping of human meat. Rising she slid back into the dimly lit corridors, wanting the company of her fellows.
In the bowels of the dam near turbine number four, protected behind a red steel door, Tabitha Newsome wondered whether she should try to sneak out. She had found a large wrench, certainly strong enough to crush a zombie’s head – she’d done it before when she escaped to the radio room – when she glanced at her watch. It was time to call again. Lifting the headset on the radio – George Hanley, the foreman had insisted they hide one – most of the people who stayed knew that their hometowns were gone, so remained – was likely dead now. He’d been up above when the Lazarites and their zombies came. Tabitha pulled her dark hair back and bound it with a bandanna while she wiped a tear away. George and she had grown close in the time since the rise. George was a rock, helping keep Hoover’s staff together. No matter how bad the news, the man was unflappable, his strength there for everyone. If it weren’t for George, the staff and crew would have scattered, most of them to their deaths.
“Newsome to Major Hausefeld.”
Instantly Hastakis handed the set to the Major. “Miss Newsome, this is Major Hausefeld. Are you still safe?”
“Yes, Major. I heard some noises outside the door. I thought about sneaking out…”
“No.” Hausefeld’s voice was harsh. “We’re about to come in. Stay where you are, we’ll come and get you.”
“I understand.”
“Stay off the air and we’ll be talking face to face in a while.”
28 April 2032
Hoover Dam, Nevada
One half mile from the dam
Russell slid back from the road, moving down the sloped side. He shot a ‘thumbs-up’ at Thyme who dashed across and slid down into the dirt next to him. Russell and ten others had climbed over the barricade to leave some surprises for the Lazarites they knew were coming. Out beyond the barricades, they were in what old timers called ‘Indian country’, a term dating back to Viet Nam when anyone outside the wire of a firebase was in unfriendly territory. Using only hand signs Russell called in the rest of the troops. Using their NVG’s each knew the other troopers by the UV coated straps and name tags on their uniform. If their airpower weren’t grounded this area would be a killing zone, the road broad perfect for a bombing or gun run. Still, the sides of the road would make a good ambush site. Russell was tempted to hang around a bit, say with Thyme and one other trooper, but he had no right to risk their lives that way.
As they back toward the barricades, a shadow lurched out from behind a wrecked semi. Thyme, in the tail end Charlie position, felt cold clammy hands slide across her face. She was wearing her armor, but none of them were wearing masks. Keeping her mouth shut, she thrust the zombie away. This zombie was fresher than most, dressed in the gray coveralls of a dam worker. Thyme, off balance, could feel it dragging her closer to its mouth. Keeping one arm under its chin, turning her head to and fro to keep its fingers out of her eyes, she was fumbling for her pistol when the zombie went limp. Thyme fell back on her ass, breath coming in short gasps as Russell brought his rifle up and down in a second vicious arc. There was a crunching sound and the zombies head split like an eggshell, its body going limp at once. As Russell put a hand out for Thyme who nodded her thanks, there was an explosion from behind them. The Lazarites were just about in the area the troops laid their booby traps. The bastards moved faster than expected. Russell cursed and shouted, “Let’s go! Double time!”
Russell, leading Thyme and the other troopers, kept up a murderous pace. No one knew how long before a horde of the living dead, along with their Lazarite allies would appear on the road. Hausefeld hadn’t wanted to allow them to go out, but Russell argued convincingly that while they were dealing with the enemy within the dam, they had to hold up those approaching, to even the odds.
All of them were glad when the barricade loomed up before them. Stretching across the road, the steel structure rested on one side against the damn itself. Chains were run through the gaps in the metal, secured to rings set deep in the concrete. The other side rested against a small wall beneath which lay the torrent of the floodgates. It was a good defensive position. Russell slowed and looked back. So far, the road behind them was empty. As soon as the troops appeared, ropes were lowered. Russell and his people half-climbed, were half-hauled up and over to safety. Once they were over, coils of concertina wire, attached to the top of the barricade were tossed over. This would keep any Lazarite from attempting to climb it, which would be a death trap. Of course, if the Lazarites got close enough with explosives, they’d get through and Hausefeld’s redoubt plan would become a reality. Still that was in the future, right now, retaking the dam and holding off the approaching enemy took was the plan.
28 April 2032
Hoover Dam, Nevada
Road to the Dam
The first booby trap was ingeniously simple; a series of trees primed with detonator cord and trip wired. As the first zombies – used as shock troops by the Lazarites, divine or not – crossed the wires, the bases of the trees exploded, sending out shards of wooden shrapnel that stuck in zombies – eliciting no response – or in Lazarites, which resulted in screams of pain, streaks of blood and death, as the zombies caught the scent and fell on them. Some of the blasted trees tumbled onto the road, crushing zombies to jelly and smashing a few vehicles beyond use. Lazarites ran backwards from the explosions in a panic, the screams of the wounded and soon dead, following them.
Lance, once a California beach bum and dope smuggler, was the leader of this group. Forehead proudly branded with the red diamond of the Lazarites, he carried a whip, which he knew how to use. Sneering at his running comrades, he struck them, not hard enough to make them bleed, but hard enough to stop them in their tracks. “I’ll stake out anyone who doesn’t stop! You’ll hang from a tree branch until you rot off! None of you will ascend!”
This stopped them, but the panic of the ambush slowed the Lazarite advance to a crawl.
If they’d known what waited ahead, they would have kept running.
Russell was the last one to reach the barricades. Waiting for the others to be helped over, he turned to face the road. Spirals of smoke and tongues of flame were rising from the traps set, but he knew that would only slow the Lazarites, not stop them. They hadn’t had the time to leave any really nasty surprises. Going prone he snapped up the covers on his scope and waited. His patience was rewarded as the head of a Lazarite blocked the flames he was sweeping his scope back and forth before. This one had their diamond on both cheeks and a garish red Mohawk. Stayin
g low, next to a large tree trunk, the Lazarite looked back over his shoulder. Russell wondered how this one had avoided the traps on the road. Likely, from the way he was dressed, in buckskin pants and vest, he was one of the rare Indians to join the order.
Corporal Errol, one of the grenadiers at the barricade, called down, “Sergeant! They’re all in! Come on!”
Russell ignored him, concentrating on his enemy. It seemed that the mohawked Lazarite could feel eyes on him, as he stayed low, showing good woods skill. Russell kept frozen as four shambling shapes came out of the wood. From the jerky way they walked, he knew they were zombies. No danger there, he’d been in worse situations before.
“Haigy! Come on!” This was Thyme now, panic in her voice. Russell stayed low and frozen, he knew that this Lazarite was dangerous and wanted him gone. As Thyme was about to climb back down, thinking Russell was wounded, the Lazarite made his mistake. Rising half way up from his crouch, he moved out slightly from cover. Russell pulled his trigger and a moment later, the top of the Lazarites head, Mohawk, and all was torn off by the slug. The Lazarite went up and down, lying on his back, killed instantly. As the blood began to seep from his shattered head, the first of the zombies turned to him and knelt, digging its fingers into the convenient opening in the dead man’s skull.
Russell jumped to his feet, grabbed the rope, and tugged at it. Within seconds the troopers on the other side began pulling him up. Once he reached the top, Thyme snarled, “What the fuck was that about?”
Russell clambered down from the barricade. “One Lazarite beat the gauntlet, looked a little too smart, so I had to take care of him.”
Thyme shook her head. “You live too dangerously for me.”
Back on the road, Lance regrouped his troops. They’d found a trap and congratulating themselves on avoiding it, walked right into a second. The first was a deadfall log, done clumsily and quickly. While the Lazarites were happy not to have been squashed, the second trap, made of claymores, was far deadlier. Once they’d dropped the log, the claymores went off, eight devices in all, shattering the lead element of their force. Men and women went down as explosive propelled ball bearings scythed across the road with a high-pitched whine. Out of the danger zone, Lance spun watching some of his best people go down. Legs shattered, lungs pierced, heads blown apart, they were all fodder for the zombies now. Lance cursed at this. They wouldn’t be able to get the Blessed moving until they finished feeding. And where the hell could Two-Horses be? The Indian was their best tracker, he’d gone ahead to scout the dam, to see if there was a way around the barricades, so they could surprise the unbelievers. How the hell were the others going to sabotage the dam machinery if they didn’t get the explosives they needed?
Cursing, Lance signaled the rest of his force to stop. He’d sent some people along each side of the road, in the woods to look for more traps. Licking his lips, he hoped that they’d take some prisoners. He’d be sure that they were hours in their dying.
29 April 2032
Hoover Dam, Nevada
On the Dam
Hausefeld looked at his watch. It was midnight, time to begin the assault on the dam. There was no sign of the Lazarite force that was coming; likely the traps and darkness slowing them down as they learned caution. So far, there hadn’t been any rain, just an increase in the wind. Hausefeld didn’t want to waste any more time. Now was the time to clear out the warren inside the dam, take it back for civilization. The lights were still on, the Lazarites either forgetting to turn them off, or not knowing how. Who knew how many techs were left? Their inside informant, Newsome was still broadcasting, though she was thirsty and hungry. Hastakis had told her to hang on, promising her some of the baklava he carried with him. As well as a superb radioman, the Greek descended soldier was a fine baker. If there hadn’t been a war – seemingly without end – he planned to open a bakery when his enlistment was over.
Hausefeld stared at the two main entrances. He wished he had better info on how many zombies and Lazarites were in there, but he didn’t and time waited for no one. Activating his commlink, he said, “Go.”
From cover, soldiers threw smoke grenades into the openings. For a moment, all was silent; then one form, choking and gasping came out onto the dam’s surface. Before he could blink, bullets impacted on his flesh, tearing the Lazarite apart. Other soldiers kept up fire on the entrances, keeping their enemies heads down.
While this went on, the assault team crossed the road and climbed up on top of the fan entrances. Quickly they opened the machinery access hatches, set their lines, and slid down into the unknown.
Russell, NVG’s ready, slid down first. The inside of the dam was gloomy, the light low. Moving silently out of the way, he made room for Thyme. Peering around a corner, Russell saw a shape standing still. Behind it was a solid steel door. Shouldering his rifle, he drew his knife and moved off, watched by the troops, strung out behind him. Russell knew that this was a zombie. It stood too still to be a living human, and the smell from it was incredible. Raising his knife, he got closer and, lunging suddenly, grabbed the zombie under the jaw. The creature thrashed for a moment as he shoved the knife blade in through its eye. Leaning on the blade, he wrenched it to either side; then pulled it out. The zombie went down, destroyed for good. Wiping his blade on the thing’s filthy clothing, he sheathed it. Activating his link he said, “Team one is in.”
Thyme, brown eyes wide, looked around the interior of the dam. Around them, they could hear the hum of the turbines, a sound that would make their task more difficult. Russell pulled his rifle off his shoulder. “Let’s move out. Keep your eyes open, masks close.”
Team Two, led by Lieutenant Sam Jay, spread out to cover their entry point. Jay, one of the last officers to come from West Point, raised a hand freezing his team. Where they had come in, the stairs leading deeper into the dam were like those on a ship, made of steel grating, steep and open to view by others. Lifting his M11, Jay crouched (he rarely asked anyone to do anything first), and started to slide around the wall into a corridor. As he crossed the open grid to reach the corridor, a fusillade of shots rang out from below. The Lieutenant didn’t even have time to scream as the rounds tore up through his legs and groin, beneath his body armor. Shaking from the impact, his hand tightened on his weapon, firing it off even as he died. His body hit the guardrail and toppled over into the darkness.
Sergeant Prohaska, second in command, ducked back as the Lazarites below kept firing. Cursing at the loss of the well liked (even though his gung ho attitude was a bit much at times) Lieutenant, he said into his mike, “Masks.”
As the team was masking up, the Lazarites below had reached Jay’s corpse. Swiftly they stripped it, cracking his skull so he wouldn’t reanimate. Then they left the dead, nude body for the Blessed they’d brought with them. The zombies were spread out through the dam, the better to give the Lazarites time to plant their charges. While the Lazarites were safe from the ‘Blessed’, the creatures, attracted by noise, would wander about, getting in the way. This could be a negative for the Lazarites, since the Enclavers would shoot right through them. The arrival of the Unbelievers caught them unawares, so now they weren’t sure what to do. One of the Lazarites, Cassie, took Jay’s radio and, fitting the headset fiddled with the switches. But it was (fortunately for the assault teams) wrecked in the fall. Tossing the radio aside, Cassie gave a backwards glance in time to see some Blessed reach Jay’s body. Without hesitation, they fell on it, digging their filthy hands into it, tearing flesh from bone.
Up above, Prohaska asked, “All masked?”
As the team affirmed, Prohaska removed a gas grenade from his webbing. “VG, everyone read?” Affirmed again, he pulled the pin and tossed it over the side of the platform. It disappeared quickly, looking like a dull silver soda can. Half way down, it activated, a low popping followed by a hissing cloud of noxious gas. Three others followed. The gas was made for crowd control. Since there were (hopefully) still civilians in the dam, he’d ch
osen to use vomit gas. It dissipated quickly, but would make any human being worthless for a good while. One couldn’t fight while puking their guts out.
Cassie found Jay’s M11 and lifted it. Grinning she slung it over her shoulder and glanced up in time to have one of the gas grenades explode at her feet. A second later she was heaving, then began puking. The contents of the Lazarites stomachs made a vile, slippery mess beneath their feet. The four Lazarites with her, all caught in the cloud were on their knees in seconds, the contents of their stomachs erupting onto the floor.
Prohaska raised his shotgun and motioned to his team. “Let’s go!” In a rush, they poured down the access stairs. Cassie, face covered in thick vomit, practically at the feet of the stairs looked up in time to have her head blown to bloody splinters by his shotgun. As Cassie collapsed, not coming back, she didn’t feel any pain as her stolen M11 smashed against her back. The other Lazarites lasted less than a minute, the last of them having his skull crushed open by the boots of one of the troopers.
“Let’s find that entrance and secure it people!”
29 April 2032
Hoover Dam, Nevada
Inside the Dam
Russell, followed by Thyme peered around another corner. They’d come down one level, which should have put them on the level for the entrance. Hausefeld’s plan didn’t require both entrances be taken, but they needed at least one. Once that was taken, troops could pour in and secure the dam. The machinery plenums they’d entered through were too good of an ambush site. It just showed how amateurish the Lazarites were that they hadn’t covered those.
Enclave: A Novel of the Zombie Apocalypse Page 26
