Johnson fitted the young woman with a headset, while Del Floria watched one hand on his pistol.
Ward lifted the chopper, while she asked, “Are there any other survivors?”
The young woman shook her head negatively. Johnson put a hand on her shoulder, blushing all the while and said, “I apologize for what I have to do, but it’s for everyone’s safety.”
The girl looked at him oddly while he ran his hands over her body, searching for any weapons, hidden or not. Her eyes grew wide as he completed his search, then narrowed as he said, “You have to strip.” As soon as he said it, Johnson lifted an olive drab bundle. “I think this will fit you.”
The young woman, Laurie King stared at him, but understood. She’d heard stories of Lazarites pretending to be survivors, then killing the rescuers by ambush or leading them into traps. Shyly she removed her tattered dirty clothing. Johnson and Del Floria stared at her impassively and unemotionally when she was nude. They had her lift her breasts and then spread her butt cheeks. She had no privacy while undergoing the soldier’s inspection. When they were done, Johnson gave her a thumbs-up and handed her the jump suit. Her previous clothes were bagged for examination. As soon as she was dressed she said, “Do I pass?”
Johnson blushed again. “Not tossing that sheet into the props got you major points. Add that to not having a red diamond tattoo? I think so.”
Laurie sat on the choppers bench and hugged herself. “These don’t have tattoos, they’re branded.”
Johnson and Del Floria froze, staring at each other. Del Floria put a huge hand on her shoulder. “Are you sure? They brand them?”
Laurie’s eyes filled with fright. “Yes, I saw it done. Two of our people went over. M-my father,” her eyes filled with tears. “He made me hide. I watched as he bit Olga’s throat, then they slit his. I couldn’t hear what they were saying.”
Del Floria’s face was unreadable. “Sounds like Thursby’s group.”
Johnson nodded. “Sure does. Man I wish we knew about this place sooner. I’d have loved to put a fucking rocket up his ass!”
Laurie pulled the zipper of the suit she’d been given to her neck. “Thursby’s dead. A woman, Veronica… she’s in charge now. She killed my father.”
The two troopers exchanged glances. Thursby was dead, that was good news. But this Veronica, she was in charge now? Sounded like trouble.
Laurie wiped her face. “How did you know about us?”
Del Floria reached beneath the bench and pulled out a cardboard box. “Hungry? It’s tuna sandwiches.” Laurie nodded and took one of the thick sandwiches. Johnson handed her a canteen.
“These two odd balls pulled up at the Enclave about two days ago. They followed a convoy back. Maniacs were lucky they didn’t get their asses shot off.”
Laurie’s eyes widened. “Thigpen and O’Donnell made it?”
Del Floria nodded. “They had this old station wagon that was putting out so much smoke, it was surprising we didn’t see them coming ten miles away. They told us about the town, but we had a several missions out already, so it took time to get here.”
“Strap in!” Called Ward, “we’re done here, time to go home.”
Everyone on all the choppers felt the bitter taste of defeat. The Lazarites had beaten them this time.
15 September 2033
Lazarite Camp
Somewhere on the Ohio/Pennsylvania Border
A gentle touch awakened Veronica. Dark eyes snapping open, she saw it was one of the Blessed. Sitting up, she allowed the creature, not too badly damaged, only a gaping wound along its side showing how it had died, to touch her. It was a female angel, dressed in the tattered remains of what had been a severe business suit. You were pretty once, thought Veronica. A pair of horn-rimmed glasses hung around the angel’s neck. Smiling, Veronica took them and put them in their place. With a grunt of amazement (most zombies had very bad vision, their eyes drying out since their bodies circulatory system, if not totally failed, barely worked) the creature spun and staggered away from the camouflaged tent the Lazarites were using.
Veronica looked out through the flap. As usual, several Blessed had gathered in the camp. They left the acolytes and Docents alone, just wandering harmlessly around. The Lazarites had to be careful when around the Blessed. If one were cut, even slightly wounded, they were dead, the Blessed taking their flesh. The pills all of them had taken changed their pheromones tricking the Blessed, making them unaware that Order members were alive. Even if one of the Blessed touched a Lazarite, the warmth didn’t override their sense of smell, which is how they hunted. It seemed this was the only sense that worked well, the others barely functioning. The rich smell of blood instantly cancelled out the protection given by the pheromones. Once the Blessed smelled blood, they went into a feeding frenzy.
Two acolytes came running across the clearing, their shadows long in the late afternoon sun. They made a line for Veronica’s tent. She raised her hood and came out into the open. She didn’t want anyone knowing whom she’d shared her favors with tonight; it might not go over so well with some of the more strait-laced in her cell.
“Mistress!” One of them shouted, breathlessly.
“What is it?”
The younger of the two she’d left to watch the town was breathless. Between gasping breaths, he said, “A group of aircraft came to the town. They killed all the Blessed they could! They also found a survivor.”
Veronica froze. A survivor? She thought they’d taken everyone. Then she saw the hulking image of King, now an angel and untouchable. He stood there, bloody neck wound encrusted with flies. He looked horrible, the wounds from the chopper attack destroying his former good looks and costing him his left eye and arm. All that remained of his left arm was a bright white shard of bone. For a moment a chill slid through Veronica, did some part of him remember that who killed him?
Staring at the Blessed, she wondered if she should destroy him. No, she couldn’t. The Blessed were the harbingers of the next world, sacred or their beliefs meant nothing.
Veronica looked around then shouted out, “Hamilton!” No Lazarite had more than one name. Lazarus had decided to have such was foolish. One name was all anyone needed.
A heavy set Docent with a branded face came running up. He carried a short-barreled shotgun and a belt with several knives. On his belt were scalps, all from female Enclavers. He’d taken his time with them before giving them to the Blessed. Another decoration that hung from his belt was a pouch made from a traitor’s scrotum. That man, Veronica didn’t remember his name, wanted to go over to the Enclavers, but was unfortunate enough to be caught by Hamilton. Veronica licked her lips remembering how the pitch of the man's screams had changed once he’d been emasculated. The wound had given easy access to the Blessed when they were allowed to feast. From what was left of the man after Hamilton’s gentle ministrations, death was a mercy.
“Hamilton, did we capture King’s daughter? Was she among those given to the Blessed?”
“I don’t remember seeing her. In fact, once they retreated into the town, behind the walls, I don’t recall seeing her at all.”
Veronica’s dark eyes clouded over. “Get ready to move. We’re going across the border into Pennsylvania. I think it would be best if we left this area for a while. We still have two weeks before we meet the rest of the group.”
17 September 2033
Small Camp
Somewhere in Pennsylvania
The screams that filled the night air were like those of the damned. Some were the high-pitched screams of children and women, others the deeper cries of mortally wounded men. Enjoying the sounds of these, screams, highlighted by the fires, eyes filled with fanatical belief, stood Veronica.
Smiling grimly, her coat billowing in the breeze caused by the bonfires, she looked at their handiwork. It had taken them two days using back paths to enter Pennsylvania. Ohio was growing too hot with the forces of Enclave 5 searching for her. As they neared the border, Encl
ave helicopters were patrolling the more obvious crossing points. This force obliterated a small town from the air, accidentally killing several of her best scroungers. Enclave Five was using valuable resources to destroy her and her group, so her decision to move on to greener pastures was a good one.
Not far across the border, her advance scouts discovered a small palisade. Built of wood angled out so it couldn’t be climbed, behind it were a mobile home and a station wagon. Where had these come from? Only a few Blessed were nearby and those had the weather ravaged look of ones that had always been in the wild. She decided to take two others who did not have the obvious mark of the Order – Veronica was branded, but not the face. Her mark was on one thigh, burned deeply in so that it could never be eradicated. When she was with Lazarus before the rise, he’d caressed it lovingly, telling her she was his favorite. What he didn’t know was that she was planning to replace him one day. She knew of the virus at that time and felt that he was moving too slowly. The world needed change now, not later. Sometimes she was sad that the unbelievers killed him in Washington that fatal day. His leadership skills would have been useful among the various groups of Lazarites, separated by distance, always a target for the Enclavers. While the order was united by purpose, the petty ways of humans kept them separated. Some had their own agendas. If Veronica had her way, the order would be united under her iron fist. It would be run as Lazarus would have wished, with a single vision, not the fragmented forms it took after his death.
Veronica and two followers, toting packs of food, had emerged from the woods, shot down the feral Blessed they’d discovered – an act that made her ill, but sacrifices, even among the Blessed, had to be made. Surely, these had gone straight to heaven.
Having done this they were invited into the small area protected by the palisade. Inside they discovered four families, a total of seventeen people who had decided to abandon their fort and try to reach Enclave 13. Veronica’s blood boiled at the sound of that Enclave. They had killed the most Blessed and Lazarites of any. They were merciless in their attacks and it was rare to fool any of their soldiers. If she could do something to damage the forces of that Enclave, it would shake the other unbelievers to their very core.
The leader of the small group, Saul, smiled and told Veronica that they’d had radio contact with the Enclave and been told to remain where they were. In a few days, they’d be sending out help. They had built the palisade because their small mobile home had broken down and they couldn’t fit everyone in the station wagon that remained. It had taken a few days but the only zombies about were few and weak. Saul laughed when he told them how easy it was to destroy them. Veronica laughed as well, but she was thinking of how different a sound this one would make when sacrificed.
Veronica told the curious survivors that she and her companions lived in a small abandoned town nearby and were out foraging when they saw the light of their fires.
Veronica smiled, quickly noting how hungry everyone looked when she offered to share food with them. These people were fools she thought as they led her to a fire burning beside the mobile home. A large pot was placed over the fire and from canned goods, a stew prepared. While it was cooking, Veronica added a special ingredient.
Once the people were asleep, Veronica had her two fellows lead in the rest of their party. Siphoning the remaining fuel from the vehicles, they prepared large bonfires. Others remained outside the small palisade, guiding other Blessed to the area. Some of these the Lazarites had decorated with red bandannas. The Blessed smelled the humans and began to gather around the walls, expecting a feast.
Then the real work began. The unconscious humans, Eleven adults, six children were stripped and staked down to the ground. Carefully the Lazarites made slits across their stomachs enough to see the intestines, not enough to puncture the sac that contained them. One woman awoke during this and screamed in pain, prompting the Lazarite doing the cutting to remove her eyelids. “Now you won’t miss a thing,” he growled, laughing as she screamed again. Others began to wake and soon a cacophony of moans and cries, some to God, filled the air.
One young woman, given to whichever among the Lazarites wanted her, lay listless, eyes open, mind destroyed. Veronica stopped them from slicing her, instead cutting the woman’s throat. The Blessed would have a newcomer among them now. When this woman revived, Veronica would signal her followers to open the palisade and allow the Blessed their gift.
Saul awoke and screamed out his hatred at Veronica who stood over him and quite carefully, spit in his face. Blinking as the saliva ran down into his eyes, Saul was filled with fury at himself, knowing that his trust doomed them all.
Veronica didn’t have to wait long. The young woman’s feet and hands began to twitch, and then her eyes opened and closed. Quickly Veronica cut the ropes holding her down. With a lurching motion, she jerked to her feet and stood there. For a moment, it seemed as if the murdered woman was remembering where she was. She staggered toward Veronica, raising her hands then spun away and practically fell on Saul, who had shouted until he was hoarse.
The zombie woman pressed her face against the red gash in Saul’s stomach. Like a thirsty person sticking their head in a pool for a drink, she buried her face in the wound. Saul’s hoarse voice erupted out of him as she lifted her head; mouth clamped on an intestine, dragging the rest of it out. Contentedly the new angel sat back and began chewing on her live victim’s innards. The pain was so intense, Saul’s face twisted, his mouth open – but no scream came forth. Blood flowed from his mouth as; in his pain, he chewed through his lips.
Veronica smiled but resisted the urge to pet the creature. “Let the others share in the feast!”
As soon as the crude entrance was unbarred, the Blessed, moaning and growling like mad dogs came in. They staggered about the victims, stopping at the nearest. Soon the sounds of flesh being torn from living victims, the moans of the dying and the chewing of the Blessed filled the night air. Veronica was pleased with her handiwork. The Blessed were given their sacrifices and these pathetic fools stopped from reaching an Enclave, thus swelling the numbers of the unbelievers. She wished she had the weaponry to stay here and ambush the rescue party, but not knowing what vehicles or how large their numbers, she knew it was better to leave.
Her handiwork would speak to the Enclavers for her.
“Let’s go!” She barked. “We’ve done enough here.”
19 September 2033
Enclave 13 Reaction force
Somewhere in Pennsylvania
The head of the murdered woman came apart from the shotgun blast. As her mostly headless corpse fell back into the blood-splattered dirt, Sergeant Joe Taylor rubbed his chin. To his left, Sergeant Steve Chung was busy pulling a machete out of a zombies split head. Brains leaked out of the wound as he said, “This fucking sucks.”
Taylor started back toward the helicopters. The pilots had spotted smoke from the fires and alerted the team on the way in. Taylor had leaned out of the chopper to get a better look, thinking it was cooking fires, but from the volume of smoke, he knew he was wrong. They went in hot and a bunch of zombies paid the price. Still, killing the zombies meant nothing since they hadn’t saved even one refugee.
Chung was right, thought Taylor. They’d seen the stakes and the bones lying around. The Lazarites had ambushed these people. It did fucking suck. But the forces of 13 couldn’t be everywhere at once, no Enclave forces could. This time the Lazarites won, the innocents lost.
Tyler Houston, the team’s sniper/booby-trap specialist, was shouting from where he stood by a small battered station wagon. Taylor pointed to his mike; it had malfunctioned and he couldn’t hear the man over the nearby choppers. Shaking his head, Huston ran across the small distance, shouting:
“… Said we’ve caught one! We’ve got a Lazarite!”
In a padded room deep in the Enclave, Taylor’s cold, one-eyed stare made the captive squirm. The interrogation had gone through what he called ‘the easy phase’. Their c
aptive was bloody, having received a well-deserved beating from Houston and Chung. One eye was crusted shut with blood, the scalp split from a boot heel. Still, ass kicking or not, the man wasn’t talking.
Taylor put a rubber-gloved hand on the gash in the man’s head and pressed. This got him a scream. The one-eyed soldier hadn’t said a word as the captive was beaten all about the room. Blood and other bodily fluids stained the padded walls, which had originally been designed to hold zombies for study. When this turned out to be too dangerous, the pit was created. Now this room served various purposes, one of them interrogation.
The Lazarite stared defiantly at the sergeant, who put a hand on his shoulder in a friendly way. “You are going to talk, friend, one way, or the other.”
The man tried to spit but ten hours without water gave him little moisture to use. Chung came out of nowhere and slammed a meaty fist into the side of the captive’s face. His eyes rolled back and he gurgled, spitting out pieces of fractured teeth.
Crossing his arms, Taylor said quietly, “Get the prayer board.”
Taylor wasn’t a vicious man, but he and the troops like him, trying to help humanity survive this crisis, had little patience for traitors. The Lazarites were the greatest traitors of all. They had betrayed humanity itself, all on the whims of a madman. He would have rather used a truth drug on the man, but such things were in short supply and needed elsewhere.
Enclave: A Novel of the Zombie Apocalypse Page 36
