Two more shapes stood there, unmoving. Russell was about to launch an attack when one of them started toward him. Fading back, he held up a hand. From the sound of the booted feet slapping on the concrete, he was sure this one was a human, well a Lazarite at any rate. As the unknown walker started past, Russell grabbed it around the throat and yanked it back. “Wait,” gurgled the captive. “I’m George Hanley, I work here!”
Russell slammed him roughly against the wall. As Thyme pointed her M11A in his face, and the four other troopers kept watch, Russell looked at the man. Not too tall, but thick in the body, he was wearing grease stained grey coveralls. Narrowing his eyes, Russell activated his comm. “Newsome, Newsome come in.” He glanced at his watch. It was 1 am on the dot. He hoped she wasn’t asleep.
“Newsome here.” Her voice was weary, carrying with it the sound of hunger and thirst.
“Newsome, this is Sergeant Russell. I’ve got a guy here claims he’s George Hanley. Describe him.”
Newsome’s voice was excited a she replied. Seeing that her description matched, Russell eased up on the man, saying, “Sorry friend, but we can’t take any chances.”
Hanley’s eyes filled with tears. “You’re from an Enclave? Thank God! Those crazy bastards want to blow up the dam!”
Russell’s eyes hardened. “Who’s the other guy with you?”
Hanley grinned. “That’s no guy, that’s a fucking zombie I pinned to the wall with a pry bar. I left it standing after I killed it. I heard something and hid.”
“We’ve been taking with Tabitha Newsome; do you know where she is?”
“Yes, we can be there in no time.”
“Lead on.”
Prohaska stood over the body of a killed zombie. So far, they’d been doing it quietly, garrotes, knives, entrenching tools. There were a lot of the bastards down here, but they were easy to kill, if one kept calm. The team dropped down a level and moved across four corridors. Stopping, Prohaska pulled off his mask and stowed it. The Lazarites were disorganized with no comms gear, so they didn’t know they’d been infiltrated. The sergeant wanted to keep it that way. Peering around a corner, he could see streetlights, the kind from the road level of Hoover. That meant they were at one of the exits. Waiting a moment, he saw shadowy movement. Ducking back, he tapped Beckett on the shoulder. A short redhead who wore her hair in a crew, she was his best grenadier. “Put in a beehive and follow me. The rest, keep an eye out behind us.” Quickly Prohaska loaded his shotgun with sabot rounds. He wanted to take the entrance quickly.
The Lazarites crouched just beside the entrance, keeping any approaching Unbelievers heads down with spurts of small arms fire. They had a few grenades but wasted most trying to bounce them off a wall and against the enemy. Once in a while, they turned and grinned at one another, happy that they were able to hold off their enemy.
Any real soldiers would have occasionally looked behind them.
Prohaska raised his shotgun as Beckett aimed her weapon. Creeping closer they started to squeeze their triggers when one Lazarite looked back for more ammo. For a second time froze. The Lazarite opened his mouth to scream and Prohaska fired, sending a sabot round right through the open aperture. The Lazarites head disintegrated, shattering into a cloud of flesh, blood, and pieces of bone. As the body tumbled back, Beckett fired, sending the beehive round into the other two. They exploded into a cloud of pink and red matter, blasted out of the entranceway, arms, and legs spinning away from their destroyed torsos. Reloading quickly, Beckett sent another round down the corridor, destroying three zombies stumbling their way, attracted by the activity.
“Let’s go!” Prohaska shouted. “Secure this entrance! DeMalle! Get outside; let em know we’ve got this one, get some reinforcements, pronto!”
As the men and women spread out, Prohaska and Beckett took cover, waiting for any Lazarites or zombies to try to take the entrance back.
Four zombies and a Lazarite, breathing hard after dragging an acetylene torch out of a work area, were outside the room where Newsome was hiding. Thyme, who had taken point while Russell listened to Hanley, stopped suddenly. Whispering into her mike, she said, “Four dead, one should be.”
Leaving Hanley back a bit, Russell took Beard forward with him. Joining Thyme, the three of them took a look and Russell said, “Gonna be hand to hand; can’t take a chance of shooting those tanks.”
Slinging their main weapons, the three went to their secondaries. Russell and Thyme chose knives, Beard, a marine, had a sharpened entrenching tool. In a rush, they tore down the short distance and onto their enemies. The Lazarite, trying to light the torch, went first. Beard chopped a chunk out of his skull with the tool; then kicked one zombie’s leg sideways snapping its knee. Russell slammed his arm across a zombie’s throat and drove his fighting knife into its brain. Thyme drove hers up through one zombies chin into its brain, but the knife stuck. Struggling to pull it free, the final zombie got its teeth on her free hand and bit down, penetrating her glove. With a shriek of pain, she pulled her hand away, leaving a bit of meat and leather in the zombie’s mouth. With fright adding to her strength, she wrenched her knife free and slammed it through the zombies head, cracking the light bone near its eye, destroying it.
Beard; finished with the last zombie, watching as its head rolled away, turned to Thyme, who was on her knees, pulling off her damaged glove. Stuffing the tool through his belt, he tore out a field dressing and wrapped the wound. It was bleeding freely and Thymes eyes were growing wide with shock. Reaching into her first aid kit, he pulled out an ampoule of Zombicillin and injected her.
Russell knelt by her. “You’re gonna be OK.”
Just then the comms erupted with, “Team 2 has taken an entrance. Stand by for reinforcements. Team one hold position.”
Hanley and the other three soldiers came around the corridor. As they did, the older man ran to the red door and banged on it. “Tabitha! It’s George! It’s safe to open the door!”
A second later the door opened, a disheveled, hungry black woman poking her face around. Wearily she asked, “Does anyone have anything to eat?”
29 April 2032
Hoover Dam, Nevada
The Western Barricades
Errol peered through a slit in the steel barricades. They’d strengthened the barricades by adding sand bags and bags of concrete discovered in various maintenance sheds. The top of the six-foot steel wall was covered in concertina wire. Errol had toyed with electrifying it, but that would have been as big a danger to his own people as the Lazarites and zombies. Looking around he made sure that his two machine guns, both M-60’s were set up to enfilade the entire approach. Once they opened up, he was sure that the Lazarites would do what they could to destroy them. Errol had ordered a few of the lights over them shot out, the better to keep their numbers unknown. The inside of the dam was a war zone right now as half the troops; twenty-five men and women entered it to clear out the Lazarites and zombies. He hoped they’d rescue some of the workers, but didn’t think many would have survived. Earlier, a brief spattering of rain had passed through quickly, leaving a few puddles here and there, but as usual the meteorology boys, now without access to most of the weather satellites, were wrong again.
Errol licked his lips and looked east. Another barricade, nearly a duplicate of his, had fifteen men at it. The troops defending that end were equipped with one fifty caliber machine gun and two mortars, but so far had seen nothing but a few zombies. Errol knew he could call on Estevez and his men for support, but they only had one pick up truck to come across the dam. For better or worse, the western barricades would stand on their own.
In the middle of the dam, Major Hausefeld and his radioman, with one officer and a medic, kept in touch with everyone. Hausefeld was a tough son of a bitch. The Lazarites would have loved to get their hands on him, but Errol knew that if things turned to shit, the man would never be taken alive.
“Corp!” Greer’s voice came from the left. “Movement on the road!”<
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Errol lifted a pair of night vision binoculars to his eyes. There at the far end of the road, came staggering shapes. At first, a few shapes came staggering into view - then many. Errol couldn’t tell if there were any Lazarites with them, but he knew zombies when he saw them.
“Let them get a little closer, I’ll let the Major know.”
Hausefeld listened to the sounds of gunfire drifting up from the entrance. Once the shooting started, he had his men blast the other entrance with grenades. When the smoke cleared, what remained of two dead Lazarites and five zombies were discovered. The bodies were quickly tossed over the side of the dam; then the rest of the men sent either into the dam itself or to the barricades. Hausefeld, Hastakis, Lender and Mueller, the Medic, were the only ones left near the entrances. Lender kept an eye on the one entrance, M11A gripped in white knuckled hands. It was the first time on a mission for the young Lieutenant, so Hausefeld kept an eye on him.
Errol raised a hand and dropped it. Abruptly the SAW’s opened up. Other than their muzzle flash, it would be hard to tell where they were. Errol had the tracer rounds removed, since they allowed an enemy to follow the line of fire back. He’d saved the rounds for a last ditch effort, since they would set clothes or dry wood on fire. Watching through his binoculars, he grinned. The zombies went down like ten pins, legs, arms and torsos smashed by the bullets. Activating his link he said, “Cease fire.” Next to him, two nervous grenadiers wondered when they would get some action. Errol covered his mike and said, “Relax. I don’t think the Lazarites are done with us yet.”
Errol was right. It took Lance hours to get his people over the fright of the booby-trapped road. He’d killed two of them, feeding their entrails to the Blessed, leaving their revived bodies nailed to trees, before the others were convinced it was safer to continue. Letting the Blessed lead the way, he and his remaining Docents and Acolytes followed. The Blessed could smell the unbelievers ahead. Growling their need, they stumbled forward, wanting to fill their decrepit maws with warm flesh and entrails. They finally reached the dam at five a.m. There, by the edge of the woods he’d found what was left of Two-Horses. An angry sneer crossed Lances face and he shouted; “All the unbelievers will pay for this!”
Now he stood in the shadows of the trees, watching unemotionally as the unbelievers blasted down the ranks of Blessed. It didn’t matter how many were destroyed, Lance knew he had more to of them to spend. Chewing his lip, he wondered what to do. He had one truck left. It was loaded with all the explosives they were supposed to use on the dam, but that plan was past now. Perhaps it could be used as a bomb? He had a few followers who would be more than happy to try.
29 April 2032
Hoover Dam, Nevada
Inside the Dam
Russell wiped sweat from the exposed part of his face. He and his team had accounted for twelve Lazarites and at least fifty zombies. But best of all, as well as rescuing Newsome and Hanley, they’d saved seven other techs. These were smart enough to hide in crawlspaces and machinery rooms, areas that once locked were like little fortresses. Along with the dead Lazarites, the unit recovered their so far, unused explosives. Next to him, Thyme was pale and breathing in slow, long gasps. Russell wanted to wrap this up and get her to better medical attention; perhaps she'd caught some kind of bug off the captives. Game as usual, she fought, using her pistol, the injured hand making her assault rifle untenable. Russell wanted to ask her about it, but knew she’d just blow it off. A sound of feet brought Russell’s attention back to the present. Raising his rifle, he started around the corner and ran into, “Prohaska!”
Prohaska slid to a stop and grinned after a moment. “Russell, you scared the shit out of me! Anymore here?”
Russell shook his head. “Nope, just us.”
“Then I think we can call this place secure.”
Russell nodded, “Great. Any idea what’s going on up top?”
Prohaska shook his head.
Russell grabbed Thyme by the arm. “Pro, you take charge down here. I think we’ve got all the explosives the Lazarites had; we can put em to use. I’ll go topside and report to the Major.”
“Gotcha.”
Russell led Thyme toward the stairway up, keeping a steadying hand on her. His friend was covered in sweat and her eyes looked glassy.
29 April 2032
Hoover Dam, Nevada
Command Post
Hastakis held a hand over his mike. “Sir, Corporal Errol says the zombies are two deep at his location. Requests one mortar sent his way.”
Hausefeld, standing with Russell and Thyme, who looked like she was going to fall over, said, “Call Estevez, have him send both mortar teams to Errol.”
Hausefeld looked at Thyme. “Corporal, you’d better sit down. Want some water?”
Thyme didn’t even reply. She merely slumped to the ground, back against a wall. Head tilted back, her breath was coming in short, shallow gasps. Russell knelt next to her. Pulling her canteen from her belt, he offered it to her. She opened her mouth and he filled it, but she could barely swallow.
Hausefeld looked concerned as he said, “Mueller! Get over here and take a look at Thyme!”
Mueller was there in an instant. Other than a caduceus worn on his lapel, he was armed and armored like any other trooper. There was no Geneva Convention in this war. The Lazarites showed no mercy to any captives, so no one went unarmed. Being a Conscientious objector in this war would get one killed. As he knelt by her, he looked at Russell. “What happened sergeant?”
“She got bitten. Beard bandaged her wound and gave her some Zombicillin.”
Mueller looked concerned as he cut away her bandage. The wound was already festering, the edges black and puffy. Blood still seeped from it. Holding it gently, he squeezed, eliciting a moan from the wounded woman. Squeezing a little harder, greenish pus erupted out of the damaged hand. Taking out a clean bandage, Mueller dressed the wound; then laid Thyme on her back, removing her helmet so she could lie comfortably.
Stepping back, he loosened the flap on his pistol holster.
Russell brought his rifle up. “What the fucks going on?”
Mueller stared at the man. “The corporal, she’s infected.”
Hausefeld erupted with, “That’s bullshit! We’ve all had shots of Zombicillin, so how the fuck did this happen?”
Mueller moved his hand away from his pistol. Keeping an eye on the near delirious Thyme, he whispered, “This isn’t common knowledge, but some people are allergic to Zombicillin, and some it doesn’t help at all. It’s a small percentage, but it has happened.”
Russell felt his heart begin to beat harder. “So she’s going to die? Thyme is going to die?”
Mueller saw the pain in the sergeant’s face. “Yes. We’re going,” he put his hand on his pistol, “To have to take care of her.”
Russell brought the rifle up; put it nearly under Mueller’s chin. “Anyone touches her but me, I’ll fucking kill them.”
Hausefeld put a hand on Mueller’s arm. “Leave him be, son. Let the sergeant take care of things here.”
29 April 2032
Hoover Dam, Nevada
The Western Barricades
The pickup came tearing up to the wall, spinning to a stop. The vehicle barely stopped sliding when out poured the mortar teams. As the men and women set up base plates and tubes, the 81mm shells were unloaded. Errol grinned. “I’m glad to see you fucks! We’re almost out of ammo.”
PFC Shannon grinned as she took a round from a box. “Never worry, never fear when your mortars are finally here!”
With that, she took a look through the observation slot, turned a knob on the tube, and dropped a round. With a chuffing sound, the mortar spat. A few seconds later a large cloud of white phosphorus spread through the zombie ranks, burning through and destroying many of them. But to the ears of the Enclave troopers, the sweeter sound was that of human voices screaming in pain.
There were Lazarites mixed in with the zombies.
Those were the last words Lance would ever say. What soldiers would call a million dollar shot landed right in the bed of the truck with him and detonated, its HE causing a fraternal explosion that obliterated Lance and most of his Lazarites in one glorious blast. The explosion left a crater eight feet across and two feet deep in the tarmac of the road; it also knocked down several trees and every zombie within a hundred yards.
The trucks engine shot up a hundred feet into the sky; then plummeted down, smashing two zombies into a puddle of smashed flesh and bone.
Behind the wall, Errol’s eyes opened wide as the mushroom cloud of Lance’s death rose up at the far end of the road. Turning to Shannon, eyes wide, he asked, “What the fuck was in that shell?” The PFC lifted one and showed him, “It’s a regular HE round.”
“Then what the fuck was that?”
Neither of them would ever know what the lucky shot accomplished.
Russell sat on a crate, watching over Thyme. Several soldiers had come up from the dam, lugging bodies to be tossed over the side. A few had brought up five prisoners, whom they trussed and left near the CP. They glanced at him but a warning shake of Lieutenant Lender’s head sent them on their way. Thymes breathing slowed, coming in short, painful ragged bursts. Russell took the time to strip off her armor and other gear, just in case Mueller was wrong. He sat there thinking of the dangers they’d been through and now this, to die because a stupid fucking drug had no effect. Russell wanted to cry but didn’t. He didn’t notice when Thymes breathing stopped. Without warning, Thyme’s feet started to twitch, then her hands. Russell rose to his feet and flipped off his safety. Suddenly Thymes eyes opened and with a groan, she sat up. Lender, who had never seen anyone reanimate, jumped. Russell looked at Thymes once beautiful brown eyes, now crusted over and dull, raised his rifle and pulled the trigger. Thyme went down, what had been her mind blasted out of the back of her skull. Slinging his rifle, Russell lifted her body and tossed it over the edge of the dam, gone forever. Better to join nature than turned to ashes and used for fertilizer. He briefly thought about following her, but thought instead of the Lazarites that were still out there, Lazarites he would kill.
Enclave: A Novel of the Zombie Apocalypse Page 27
