Simmons saw it first. "Shit! Missile! Warn those flyboys!" Heads turned and followed the small track of fire as it disappeared into the Raptor’s engine. With a shudder, the plane shook and then its rear end burst into flames.
Lee glanced over his shoulder in time to see Brooks plane begin to burn. Eyes wide in anger, he knew the younger man was too low to eject; too damaged to get the plane higher and possibly jump. Lee jerked his stick and began to come around. There was a slight plume of smoke where the missile had come from…
Brooks fought the stick but he knew it was too little too late. Gritting his teeth, he aimed his plane at the largest concentration of zombies he could find. As he barreled down on them, a few figures started to run. He laughed harshly. Lazarites of course, trying to desert the sinking…
With a roar and a plume of fire that lit up the beach like the sun rising in the wrong direction, Brooks smashed his plane down into the head of the path the zombies were taking. A billowing cloud of black smoke spread upward from the wreck as the fuel and remaining ammo began to cook off. Deep inside the blaze was a bright white light as the metal in the airframe began to burn. Zombies set afire by the wreck staggered about, moaning and waving their arms as they burned to final destruction. One corpse, crushed under the crashed and burning plane was that of Admiral Jurgens, who wanted to see his former comrades die up close. Burning fuel inundated his corpse setting it afire. Jurgens would never revive, the fierce heat reducing his corpse to little more than ash.
Taylor rolled onto his back as the two helos floated down to the beach. The Marines rose by the numbers and ran toward them. It was oddly silent now with the Zumwalt no longer firing its cannons and the fighters and bombers gone. Only Lee, a few hundred yards above the battle remained. Setting his sights on the area the missile came from; he came flashing down with the early morning sun behind him. Squeezing the trigger, he obliterated the area where the two Lazarite missileers were. 20mm shells tore them and the small copse of trees they were hidden in to bits. Lee would never know that he hit them. They only had the one round for the stinger, so there was nothing to give off a secondary explosion. Still as he watched, the two helos rise up and away, he took a deep breath. Another mission over, but the cost was still too high for him.
Hopefully he would have an alpha strike to plan for the rest of this island.
01 July 2034
Recon Team
Roanoke Island
Taylor stood on the flight deck watching the chopper that would take him back to Enclave 13 rev up its engines. Standing with him were the newly promoted Captain Domini, the navy’s first ever female combat captain. Next to her stood newly minted (he’d screamed about it to no avail, wanting to stay enlisted) Lieutenant Simmons. Taylor slung his bag aboard the chopper and turned to the two officers. Domini shook his hand and said, “Thanks for the assist Sergeant. I hope we’ll see you again.” With that, she turned and headed for the bridge. Roanoke was taken, but there was still a lot of work to do. Retaking Norfolk was her main objective.
Simmons put out a large hand. “Maybe next time I’ll get to see how you do things on land.”
Taylor grinned. “You’ve got a good crew here, Lieutenant. Keep em that way. We’re going to win this war yet.”
With that, Taylor got on board the chopper where, unlike his friend Steve Chung, who would have been asleep five minutes out, he wouldn’t feel right until he had dry ground under his feet again.
Simmons stood there until he couldn’t see the chopper anymore. As he turned to carry out his days work he thought, “I hope you’re right, Joe. I really do.”
Chapter 18 - Arrival
Enclave 13
Wall Observation Post
15 May 2037
It was one of the wall guards, who saw the vehicle approaching. A plume of dust announced its presence long before the watchman could actually see it. Since there were no convoys out, he called for the officer of the day and then trained his twin .50 caliber machine guns on the approaching vehicle. Peering through the scope set on top of the mount, he kept a careful eye on what was for now, a target. If the intruder made a questionable act of any kind, he would open fire, shredding it with armor piercing ammunition. Ever since Enclave 9 was destroyed by the Lazarites, the remaining Enclaves lost any complacency when it came to keeping watch. Until E9 fell, the inhabitants of both above ground sanctuaries and underground dwellings felt safe inside their fortresses. At times, some even kept a skeleton watch, using the barest number of personnel. The destruction of E9 ended that. Many of the governing councils felt fortunate that none of the Lazarite bastards had been able to get into a nuclear missile silo. They likely wouldn’t be able to launch one, but exploding a warhead next to an Enclave would be just as bad. The fissionable material, spread by an explosion would make any area uninhabitable, the radiation poisoning the inhabitants. For some warped reason or another, the Lazarites shunned most modern inventions. Hand weapons and explosives unfortunately, weren’t on that list.
When it was still 1500 yards away, the vehicle stopped. The guard, Private Jeff Sloan, stared as a lone rider got out. For some reason, there were no zombies around this morning. Perhaps after years of being slaughtered, they moved on, some instinct in their living dead brains, telling them there was nothing but destruction by the Enclaves walls. Or those who remembered this area, however dully, had all been killed off.
Recently promoted from Captain, Major James ‘Blackjack’ Nevers came out onto the parapet.
“What’s going on here, Sloan?”
Without turning from his weapon Sloan said, “We’ve got a visitor, sir.”
“A what?” growled Nevers, voice incredulous.
“A visitor; out there, beyond the wall.”
Nevers lifted a pair of binoculars from a hook. Sure enough, it was a visitor. The truck looked like it used to be a garbage truck. It was outfitted like something from a bad survivalist movie. Metal gratings covered the windows and tire wells. Barbed wire hung off the sides. A hatch was cut in the top of the cab and another in the top of the collection/storage bin.
Nevers put the binoculars down. “What the fuck is going on here?” Shaking his head, he started to lift a megaphone, when from the left of the truck two zombies appeared. Sloan’s fingers tightened on the triggers of the twin machine guns. Nevers put a hand on his shoulder. “Wait.” From this distance, the heavy caliber bullets might shred their visitor as well as the zombies. Nevers wanted to see what this man would do.
The rider, wearing a long duster, pushed his goggles off his eyes and peered at the Enclave. Moving in front of the truck, he unlimbered a short-barreled shotgun. Movement from the corner of his eye made him turn. Without hesitation, he lifted the weapon and fired. The first Zombie, who was mostly skeletal on the arms and mid section, was blown in half, the top half flying into the second zombie, staggering it. Putting the shotgun away, the stranger pulled a sledgehammer held in a holster across his back and moved in. First, he smashed in the side of the standing zombie’s head. It staggered and fell over. Nevers grinned as the man brought the hammer around over his head and down on the fallen zombie’s skull, pulping it. He and Sloan could hear the echo of the skull cracking from where they stood.
The second zombie’s torso was trying feebly to reach its meal. The stranger brought the hammer up again and then down. This zombie’s head flattened like a pancake, the skull soft from exposure to the elements. Taking a rag out of his pocket the stranger wiped off the tool’s head and put the weapon back.
Nevers stared down from the wall. Who the hell was this guy? Obviously and amazingly, he had been surviving out there for the entire time since the collapse. It wasn’t unheard of for small groups to survive. Small numbers of survivors could move about quietly, remaining in the sticks, surviving by looting abandoned towns both sides had ignored. But this man was obviously alone. How had he survived so long? Nevers lifted the bullhorn from where it hung next to the binoculars.
“You o
ut there,” The stranger turned and looked up at the walls.
“Don’t come any closer,” Nevers continued. “You’re near a minefield and there are weapons trained on you.”
The stranger waved and got back into his truck. In a moment he reappeared, a bullhorn in hand. “Hello, the Enclave. I have important information for you.”
This response stunned Nevers. For a man who had been fighting zombies and Lazarites for years, for him to be stunned at anything was amazing. What kind of information would bring a man all this way, moving past the Zombies and Lazarites out in the wilderness? It wasn’t specifically to enter an Enclave. The way he was kitted, he could have done that any time. Never’s curiosity was piqued. If the man was an enemy, they could always… attend to him later. But first, they’d see about this information.
“Stand by.”
Never’s lifted the phone. “Get me Taylor.”
The stranger, whose name was Xavier Flanders, sat in the cab of his truck. In his mid-fifties, once, a professor of Anthropology at Penn State, that ended when the world collapsed.
Now he waited to see if the Enclavers would let him in. It would be good to see people; even semi-civilized like these, again. Would he stay? That was another story. If the information he recovered were true, he, and the rest of humanity, might be free to live wherever they wanted once again. And, just as importantly, die again with dignity.
The gates of the Enclave were opening. He noted that rather than being on hinges, they rose on tracks, which meant they could be dropped, much like the portcullis on old castles. He was impressed by this wise planning move. Before the door went more than a foot up, gouts of flame from twin turrets shot out fifty yards. Another interesting idea. Since the living dead were not among the most vocal of creatures, they could have crept up, if they got through the minefield and waited there for anyone to come out. Once this was done, the steel door continued rising and two vehicles, one a small dune buggy type, the other an infantry assault vehicle exited. The dune buggy roared toward him while the IFV rumbled forward, its cannon pointed directly at him. This told Flanders that there were likely no mines before the road. Both vehicles showed hard use, the IFV’s armor spotty in places where it had been repeatedly repaired. Flanders supposed the mines in this area were remotely deactivated.
Flanders stepped from his vehicle and carefully removed his shotgun from its holster. Laying it on the ground in front of the truck, he stepped two paces away. The dune buggy, carrying a tough looking oriental and a one-eyed man, slowed to a stop. The one-eyed man, whose flak vest carried the name “TAYLOR” on it, got out. He was carrying a large ugly shotgun and it was pointed at Flanders, who raised his hands.
“Name.”
It wasn’t a request.
“I am Professor Xavier Flanders.”
The oriental, whose nametag proclaimed him as “CHUNG” left the vehicle running, but got out. He took a look at the truck and asked, “Anyone else in the truck?”
Flanders shook his head. “Just myself and my supplies.”
Chung nodded. “Think I’ll take a look anyhow.”
Flanders knew better than to argue. He stood there quietly as Chung clambered up on the cab, then onto the rear of the truck. Pulling a flashlight off his belt, he lifted the hatch, which went up silently, the hinges well oiled, and peered in. Looking down at Taylor, he nodded.
Taylor was staring past him. Down the road, a small group of Zombies were approaching. “We’ll talk more inside.” Taylor spoke into his mike and the assault vehicle moved behind the truck. Without warning, the 25mm cannon on it opened up. The approaching zombies burst like water balloons thrown off a roof. Coagulated blood and blue grey intestines splattered across the landscape. There was nothing wrong with leaving a few less dead stalking around the world.
“We’re attracting attention, professor. You ride in the AFV; I’ll drive your truck. Let’s get the hell inside.” Taylor paused beside the cab of the truck. “Why are you here anyhow?
Flanders pointed at his truck. “What I have in that truck might just save us all, gentlemen.”
“Then let’s get the fuck inside,” growled Taylor.
Enclave 13
Major Nevers Office
15 May 2037
Major James ‘Blackjack’ Nevers had one comment to make when he was promoted. “Once I had an office the size of a broom closet,” he grumbled, “Now I have an office the size of two broom closets.” Never’s wore two hats; he was in command of rescue operations and Enclave security. As part of the latter, he ran aggressive patrols, hunting the enemy throughout his AO.
The enemy in this case was anything that threatened the people of Enclave 13, a safety zone from the terrors of the outside world. There were two main enemies – the Zombies, mindless, reanimated human corpses that fed upon the living, and Lazarites. A mad order of humans that was able to move about and lead hordes of zombies. Both were to be killed on sight. No negotiations. So far, the brain boys in the Enclaves hadn’t figured out how the Lazarites could walk among the dead safely. Once that was solved, then the problem of the Lazarites would be solved as well.
Nevers looked across his small office at Xavier Flanders. The man was who he said he was, computer records kept from before the fall of civilization (it was amazing what garbage was kept, everything from the last season of college football stats to strip poker) a professor from Penn State.
Out of his protective gear, it was amazing that Flanders survived so long. He was given time to clean up before being brought to Nevers. His cobbled together protective gear wasn’t all that different from what the troops wore, although his was taken from sporting goods stores rather than made from Kevlar. Dressed in a jumpsuit, he held his tattered briefcase, an old one, of WW2 vintage, made of heavy leather, before him. In it, he claimed, was the information that might just end the Zombie plague.
Never’s sat down at his rarely used desk. Leaning forward on it, he said, “So, make with the info Prof.”
“Might I have something to drink?” Flanders asked, opening his briefcase. Nevers reached behind his desk and pulled out a bottle of beer. It was homemade, but it had alcohol and tasted decent (after about ten of them). The men called it ZombieBrew, because before one drank enough to kill the sense of smell, it tasted the way Zombies smelled.
Flanders removed a document from his case that looked like it was printed yesterday. It was pristine and neat, the paper almost too white to be real.
“Have any of you ever heard of Benton PharmCorp?”
The three men started talking simultaneously before Never’s raised a hand. “Yeah, we’ve heard of it. They were responsible for whatever it is that brought the dead back. They also created Zombicillin.”
Flanders tapped the sheet of paper. “I believe I found their main research laboratory, the place where all this started. It’s called the Keystone Research Facility.”
Never’s eyes narrowed. “Keystone Research Facility? Where is it? Have you been there?”
Flanders smiled as he sipped at his beer. “I was there. It appears to have been converted from an old mine. Inside, I found a locked room, which, with the help of an acetylene torch, I opened. In it, I found a corpse, a Doctor Adam Mahan. I would guess he killed himself, since his body had no wounds on it, nor had it revived. He was thoroughly mummified, but I crushed the head as a precaution.”
Taylor and Never’s looked at each other. They were beginning to like and respect this old man. He was certainly brave and to have survived outside for so long, definitely worth letting into the Enclave.
“In his office, I found these documents. Gentlemen, the plague of the undead was not caused by terrorists, nor is it supernatural. It was part of secret bioweapons research that Benton wanted to sell to the government.”
Never’s scowled and reached for the documents. Shuffling through them quickly, he looked up. “Up until now, we thought that Benton might have done this under duress from the Lazarites or some other fanatics.
”
Flanders sat back, the beer taking effect. “From what I discovered at the site, I believe that Mahan went beyond any company set directives. I found several reports that made it apparent that he actually had these creatures inside the complex, for some time before the outbreak. From what I discovered, the release of the virus may have been accidental. Once this happened, Mahan ordered a world wide release.”
Taylor leaned forward. “I have a feeling there’s something else you want to tell us, Doc.”
Flanders smiled. “Yes, I was forced to leave outside, I found clues that Lazarites were in the area. It’s quite isolated a good place for them to assemble. The opening I used is hidden, meant only as an emergency exit perhaps known only to top personnel. I believe, based on what I’ve read that there is a cure to the plague and that it is inside Keystone.”
Chung finally spoke. “But if the Lazarites get in there and get to it first…”
Flanders held out his hands. “I have to imagine there is a larger opening. There is no way a facility like that could be set up using the way I entered.”
Nevers stood. “Show the doc to some guest quarters. I’m going to talk to the council. We need to make a decision, here and now.”
Lazarite Camp
Somewhere in Pennsylvania
15 May 2037
Finley rubbed the burned side of his face. Almost two years prior, while traveling to a rendezvous, his cell was hit by Enclave air. For him it was just bad luck. The Peregrine’s that jumped him were out destroying a large congregation of Blessed. Finley and his people just happened to be traveling among them, using the zombies as cover. It was a case of the wrong place at the wrong time. Of his cell, only Finley and three others survived. If it weren’t for his people, the Blessed would have taken him. Still it took Finley nearly a year to heal from the wounds. The Enclaves might not be able to retake the world but they were certainly holding their own against the Order and the Blessed.
Enclave: A Novel of the Zombie Apocalypse Page 47
