Enclave: A Novel of the Zombie Apocalypse

by Robert Morganbesser

  Taylor put a hand up. “Shut the fuck up. We’re ready. When do we go?”

  Nevers grinned. “Tonight. Aerial recon showed a large number of infrared signatures approaching the area.”

  Taylor and Chung froze. “In the area?”

  Never’s nodded. “We’ve got to get there and stop those bastards. We’re going to chopper you in, about two klicks from the entrance Flanders used. He’s coming with you.”

  Chung rolled his eyes. “Coming with us? On a combat op?”

  Nevers turned. “Yes, into combat. He knows where the entrance is, as well as the storage room. No complaints. I’ll see you at the pad.”

  The big Blackhawk chopper was noisy as hell. Since new craft weren’t being made, the older ones were retrofitted and rebuilt until some were unrecognizable. The birds were treated like gold, since the slightest mechanical problems led to disaster. The last thing anyone wanted was to be out in zombie territory with a broken bird. Or worse to lay there in a crashed one, injured, waiting for the zombies to come.

  Clambering aboard the chopper, the men took their usual places. Across from Taylor sat Chung asleep as fast as his butt hit the seat. Next to him was Tyler Huston, sniper and booby trap expert. Huston had the ability to turn nearly anything into a booby trap as many Lazarites discovered to their dismay. Huston’s eyes were half closed his mind in some far off place.

  Sgt. Homer Zevon, who insisted on coming along, was an old friend of Taylors. The two of them were ‘old breed’; soldiers who had been in the Middle East before the shit hit the fan for the last time. Zevon had a powerful hate of the zombies, but he wouldn’t say why. Taylor knew better than to pry. Taylor had tried for years to get Zevon assigned to his team, but the man was in demand. For the last two years, he’d been part of 13’s internal security force. He was glad to be going out on what could be the end of this loathsome war.

  Theo Spiros, formerly their C/I, had taken a leave (they were permitted) from the team for a while, but came back for this mission. Taylor was glad to have the stalwart man back. Theo was a rock to the entire team.

  Taylor wiped sweat from his head. The Lazarites pills had another side effect; they made one stink to high heaven. If the soldier’s back in the Gulf had used pills like these, the rag heads would have known they were coming from fifty miles away. An air of unease was sweeping over Taylor. He was wondering if he should remove himself from the assault team and come in on the support team. He’d never felt nervous about anything, ever. Now he was having an uneasy feeling. Clutching his shotgun, he could feel his knuckles crack.

  Chung voice sounded far away. “Don’t sweat it, Joe. I’m here. As long we’re on the scene together, it’ll be cool.”

  Taylor started, thinking Steve was asleep. Turning his head slightly, he saw that he was. How the hell did the man just talk to him? Taylor’s thoughts were broken away as the helicopters lifted. Too late to worry now. All there was left was this mission.

  Possibly the final mission.

  Chapter 22 – Battle for the Future

  Assault Team

  Outside Keystone Base

  2 June 2037

  The assault team landed easily in the field that recon had marked out on aerial photographs. Taylor, followed by Flanders took point. They were all sweating heavily. They paused for a moment, taking the time to tie bandannas around their heads, better to keep sweat out of their eyes. For now, their helmets were strapped to their belts, the better to give them a non-Enclave silhouette. As they filed off out of the field, Taylor froze. There, in the trees were several shambling forms. Raising a clenched fist, Taylor keyed his radio. “We’ve got visitors. Keep an eye on us.” Turning to Flanders, he said “Time to see if this Lazarite shit really works.”

  Clenching his shotgun, Taylor walked slowly toward the zombies. There were three of them, all in pretty sad shape. One had no skin on its face beneath its eyes, the teeth that remained rotted to points. Another had no arms and its jaw was hanging by a thin sliver of muscle, the last was . . . A Lazarite! The Lazarite, a young woman came forward, unable to make Taylor out well in the darkness. She might have been pretty once, but the years and her affection for the Order had taken that away. Her head was shaved and tattooed with the diamond. Taylor walked forward, “I was sent to check on you.”

  She came closer. As she did, her eyes narrowed and her hand went to the radio at her belt. “You’re not . . .”

  Before she could finish the sentence, Taylor brought up his shotgun and butt stroked her across the face. There was a loud cracking noise as her jaw snapped. She stumbled backwards, radio spilling out of her hands. Taylor came forward and brought the heavy stock of his weapon down between her shocked eyes. Her skull split like an eggshell, brains spilling out into the cool night. As the blood began to flow, the two zombies came alive with its rich smell. As the armless one started to hiss, Chung came up behind it and shoved it forward, as it toppled, he drew his combat knife and shoved it in through the base of its skull. The zombie shuddered once and stopped moving. The second Zombie was already down, one of the other troopers, Private Calvin, smashing its skull with a hand ax.

  Taylor took a breath. “Well the pills work. Let’s move. Keep an eye out for patrols. Seems the Lazarites suspect we might be coming.”

  They moved off quickly, missing the radio calling out, “Post five, report. Post five, report.”

  Finley dropped his mike. Ordinarily, Lazarites didn’t use radios. But these, cheap walkie-talkies salvaged from a small mall, had such a low output, Finley felt it worth the risk. “Post five isn’t answering. I told that bitch she’d better not be getting high out there.” Rubbing his eyes, Finley stared toward the dark opening of Keystone base. A group of his scavengers had followed a large number of zombies into this area. It seemed abandoned, but some of his watchers, men and women who kept an eye on Enclave activity, reported a higher than normal amount of flyovers in this area. Finley and his cell arrived in the area two days ago. If the Enclave was interested in the area, so was he. He suspected there was something important in what appeared to be a mine and decided they had to get it before the Enclavers. Wondering if his advance party discovered, he lifted his mike, saying, “Post 6 check on post’s 4 and 5.” Idly Finley scratched the scars where he had been burned. Something was happening in there. He could feel it.

  Chung slid back down a small hill. “There are three Lazarites and at least twelve zombies right where Flanders said the door is. We have to take em out.”

  Taylor nodded. “Tyler, get up here.”

  Huston, eyes narrow, slid up next to Taylor. He already had the long silencer on his sniper rifle. Taylor pointed. “Can you take the Lazarites? I’m not worried about the zombies. Once we paste the Lazarites, the zombies will be busy.”

  Huston peered through his scope. Usually he used a starlight scope, but that was when he was killing anything. This time the one he’d chosen was infrared, outdated, but Lazarites showed up on it like the sun. “I can get ‘em all Sarge. Just say the word.”

  Taylor motioned to Corporal Leary. A hard faced woman, she was a good trooper. She’d been in the shit plenty of times and never freaked. “Get in communications with Nevers. Tell him we’re about to enter the base.” Nodding, she opened the small satellite antenna and plugged in her headset.

  “Flanders, get that key ready.”

  Flanders had the slender keycard in his hand. “Sergeant, what if they are already inside the base?”

  Taylor grimaced. “We’ll worry about that when we’re inside.”

  Sal Scarpito had once been an inner city punk. When the end was coming and his choice was be eaten or survive, he chose survival. Now he was high in the Lazarites hierarchy, a Docent, a leader of others. Not bad for a kid from South Philly, he constantly told himself. Of course he spent every night drunk trying to forget the screams of people, his own aunt and sister included, who he helped feed to the ‘Blessed.’ He couldn’t even defect to an Enclave if he wanted to; he was
marked by too many diamond tattoos, the signs of the Order.

  His problems were about to end.

  Huston aimed and fired. Across the distance, the bullet smashed into Scarpito’s head. Like a gory balloon, his head exploded, splattering blood, bone, and brains all over the other two Lazarites. Before they could react, another was down, his heart exploded by a second shot. The third was smashed into the side of the hill; the last bullet nearly decapitating him as it tore through his throat. Houston brought his rifle down, content at sending more Lazarites to hell.

  Before any of the Lazarites could stop twitching, the Zombies were on them, pulling and ripping at the flesh. Taylor held up a hand, signaling his team to be ready to move. He wanted to give the zombies a little time to get busy before moving. He still didn’t totally trust the pills.

  The Lazarites bodies were quickly dismembered and disemboweled, long lengths of intestines brought up to hungry mouths. The zombies growled and jostled among themselves, each wanting the best bits for themselves.

  “Let’s go!’

  Flanders leading the way, the team sped across the clearing and toward the hidden door. Fingers moving nimbly he slid the key into the hidden reader, rewarded with a soft sigh as the tumblers slid back and the door opened easily. As he entered the blackness before him, the team moved in behind. Last was Huston who scattered a few delayed action pyro bombs near the zombies. He was going to make sure the back door remained secure.

  Taylor peered ahead as the tunnel was illuminated by the helmet lights Flanders passed out. He hated having one eye. It ruined his depth perception and he had to carry himself with his head cocked. He could feel sweat trickle down his back. What if this was bullshit? Perhaps a Lazarite plan to draw out a massive amount of Enclave forces and then ambush them? This is a hell of a time to think of that Joe, he thought irritably. A hell of a time!

  Taylor could smell the rank odor of his sweat. Shaking his head, he could feel a slight breeze from ahead. The tunnel was widening. Stopping, he raised a clenched fist. The team froze each of them leaning against a different part of the wall.

  Taylor keyed his mike, whispering, “Doc, which way from here?”

  Before the Doctor could answer, a voice called out from up the tunnel, “Is that you Bill?”

  Taylor peered ahead. There, standing at the end of the tunnel, was a shadow. Taylor froze, staring. Another damn Lazarite! They were inside. Waving at the team, he hefted his shotgun and moved off down the tunnel. Keeping his head down Taylor kept glancing up. He began to stagger like a zombie, hoping it would buy him a few more seconds. It almost worked.

  The Lazarite stared. “How did you get here? This is supposed to be a dead end.” Curiosity tinged the Lazarites voice as he drew out a piece of human flesh from a pouch on his belt. Waving it like one would wave a treat at a pet; he smiled through yellowed, filthy teeth. Taylor could smell the bastard’s foul breath from where he stood.

  At the last moment, the Lazarite realized this zombie, his angel, wasn’t. It was too late as Taylor brought up the shotgun and slammed the barrel into the Lazarites face. Leaning on it, the angry soldier jammed it though his enemies’ left eye, cracking the socket driving the barrel deep into the Lazarites brain. Shoving the dying man against the wall, Taylor put all his weight on his weapon, not stopping until the end of the barrel was stopped by bone.

  Breathing hard, Taylor yanked the weapon back out of the dead man’s head, ignoring the twitching hands and feet, he waved to his troops. As the team filed down from the tunnel, Chung stopped by Taylor who was wiping his weapon off on the dead Lazarite. Chung let out a low hiss of air. “Wish the Lazarites would have turned the air-conditioning on. I’m sweating my balls off.”

  Taylor recognized his friend’s use of levity as a way of lessening the pressure they felt. “Yeah,” Taylor growled. “Me too. Let’s go.”

  Outside, Finley rose from the communications vehicle. Once it was a bread van, now it was a mobile communications post. While the Lazarites rarely used radios – the Enclaves were too quick to triangulate on one – they did monitor Enclave frequencies. At times, it led to a convoy getting ambushed or reaching supplies or survivors first. Covered with netting to hide its boxy shape, he stared at the main entrance to Keystone base. He wished the few scouts he sent in could use their radios, but even if they had, the signal wouldn’t be able to penetrate the mountain. Something was in there, something important to the Enclavers. But what? Motioning to his guards, he moved off toward the entrance. Around them stood the Blessed in all their various forms, waiting patiently for a taste of human flesh.

  Flanders motioned to Taylor. They were in the main console room. Their lights illuminated a large area that showed old signs of destruction. In the middle of the room was a blackened, shattered monitoring console. Some of the damage to them appeared to be from explosives. Scattered about it, covered in a layer of dust, were well-chewed bones. A large hyperbaric chamber with a damaged door dominated the area. Taylor motioned to the team to spread out.

  Flanders pointed at a small door. “That leads to where I found Mahan’s corpse.” Turning, Flanders pointed at a second door, “Through that door is the vaccine.”

  Taylor stared at the door wondering why it had no biohazard sign on it. Mahan wanting to keep the anti-virus a secret was his best guess. Taylor keyed his mike. “Steve, take three people, get into that room. We’ll be security. Huston, stay back near the tunnel. We may have to leave in a hurry.”

  At 13, the assault flight was getting ready to lift off. Five Apache gunships and for support, five troop carrying Blackhawks. Now that Taylor and his team were inside, it was time to cause a distraction on the outside. Nevers watched from a parapet as the vehicles rose into the pre dawn darkness. All of them had their orders – kill as many Lazarites and zombies as possible. In case any of the choppers were damaged or had to land, all of the troops had taken the pills. That might give them a chance to get back to the Enclave. Pilots were too valuable to lose. Nevers watched until the choppers were lost in the early morning haze. Turning away, his thoughts echoed Taylor’s: What if this was bullshit? The loss of all those people and equipment could cripple 13 as an active deterrent.

  Assault Team

  Inside Keystone Base

  2 June 2037

  As Chung moved off with his part of the team, Huston backed into the tunnel with his. Taylor had the remaining nine spread out. There were only two ways into the command room and he wanted to be sure both were covered. There was a world of hurt coming outside, and Taylor was going to make sure no one who ran from that felt safe in here.

  But no plan goes perfectly. As Taylor was beginning to crouch down behind a console, a voice said, “Hey! What are you doing in here?”

  Taylor spun, shotgun coming up. Before he could spin and shoot, the four Lazarites who had wandered in grabbed at Spiros, guarding the entrance and shouted, “Unbelievers!” Taylor fired from the hip, blowing one Lazarite off a wall, Spiros spun, kicked a second enemy in the knee; then with a swift slice, brought his kukri knife across the Lazarites neck, decapitating him. Taylor fired again, hitting one of the remaining two in the stomach. As the wounded Lazarite slid down the wall, he fired his weapon. Several troopers ducked as the bullets ricocheted away.

  The last fired his gun, hitting Spiros in the left thigh. Bright blood sprayed from the wound and Spiros went down, knife spinning away. Moving quickly, the remaining Lazarite grabbed the wounded Enclaver by his web straps and yanking him down the tunnel.

  “Damn!” Taylor shouted moving cautiously to the entrance. “How the hell did we miss those four?” Taking a moment, he put his shotgun against the wounded Lazarites head and blew the top of his skull off. For a moment, Taylor thought about heading after his friend, but he didn’t know how many Necs were outside. Cursing, Taylor backed away from the entrance, knowing his friend was a good as dead.

  The Lazarite wrapped a powerful arm around Spiros’s throat. The wounded soldier, blood pouring fr
om his leg with every beat of his heart, knew he was as good as dead. As the Lazarite dragged him toward the outside, he was tearing at his enemy, ripping at his equipment. The helmet was thrown away, clattering down the tunnel. As the Lazarite went for Spiros sidearm, he made a fatal mistake – he loosened his grip. Groaning with pain, Spiros slammed his head into his enemies face, smashing his nose. As the Lazarite fell back, Spiros yanked his pistol and fired it several times. The Lazarite went down, chest shattered, bloody bubbles gurgling out of his mouth.

  Spiros turned and tried to head back down the tunnel to safety. But he’d lost too much blood. With a gasp of air, he collapsed to the floor.

  Taylor finished setting some claymores across the entrance to the command room. He dragged the Lazarites corpse into the main corridor and left it near the mines. Any zombies that came in wouldn’t get far. Peering down the musty corridor, he wished he could close the main gates. But Howard, years past, had done his job well. Further damaged by the elements, the gates would never close again. Taylor cursed, wishing that Spiros could have used his grenade. Better a clean death than what the Lazarites would do to him. Keying his mike he said, “Chung, we lost Spiros.”

  “What? How?”

  “No time for that. How much longer with that fucking vault?”

  “Almost through. Five minutes. Has anyone seen Flanders?”

  Taylor froze. “Flanders? No, why?”

  When the wounded Lazarite fired, a ricochet hit Flanders in the stomach. Falling back, he could feel warm blood, thick and sticky, seeping through his fingers. Without panicking, he withdrew a dressing and pressed it against his stomach. Somehow, he knew it would end for him here. Crawling to the one working console, he dragged himself into the seat and removed a well-preserved hand from a pouch. This once belonged to Howard, now it would have one last part to play. Placing it on an imprint panel, Flanders was rewarded by the panel lighting up and showing; Recognize Howard, Thomas. System optimal. Flanders took a deep, painful breath, glad they hadn’t used a retinal scanner. From within the bowels of the innocent looking desk, a screen rose. In red letters, it displayed: CONDITION TERMINAL. ENTER CODE TO BEGIN COUNTDOWN.