Lizzy clung to Reece, overwhelmed by the push of people. It would have been so easy for her to get swallowed up by nearly a hundred adults, each with the capacity to trample her to the ground should chaos break out. And it was close to doing so, very few of those here actually hardened military, mainly reservists, support staff, technicians, all desperate to get the hell out of Dodge.
They didn’t know that shortly the decision would be made to stop any more trains that weren’t already running. Fort Detrick was becoming a gangrenous limb that had to be severed from the body to save the whole.
***
John knew the situation was dire, but he still held hopes that the army base could somehow be salvaged. The ranks of the undead were surely being significantly depleted; the more zombies destroyed, the more chance the defenders had of swinging the battle in their favour. If they had been given more time, maybe they could have even made the base impenetrable. And they would have done, but some bright spark had decided to redirect the available resources to build the defensive outposts like Hedgerow, most of which had already fallen. John was still angry about that, his voice of objection going ignored, as had Major Carson’s before him it now seemed. Somewhere, in the highest ranks of the US Army, a senior general was to blame for that grievous error of judgement.
This horde had come from both Washington and Baltimore, merging together into one gigantic mass, destroying everything in its path like a tsunami of death. It devoured the land, transforming it into a dead landscape where nothing larger than an insect was likely to survive above ground. Every tree, every hedge and every field became contaminated as the virus was shed from the hosts it was creating. Plant life, whilst immune to the virus, was not immune to the feet and the bodies that could trample so much of it, squashing the foliage into the very soil. In a sense, Lazarus was terraforming the planet, changing the Earth from a world rich in life to a place only fit for the undead. Wherever the undead roamed, there would be no crops, no livestock, the ability for man to forage off the land completely removed. Any survivors of the plague would have to add starvation onto the list of enemies they now faced.
And that was before the global effects from the use of nuclear weapons took effect. There were already concerns that enough particulate matter had been thrown into the atmosphere so as to reduce global temperatures for decades to come. Much of the survivors would be relying on packaged food for the months and years to come.
John, now alone, forced himself through a door and up a flight of stairs, motion activated lights coming on instantly to display the pristine whiteness of the stairwell. He had always been unnerved by how sterile everything looked in this subterranean domain, as if it was possible for something to be too clean. The next door he encountered required his security clearance, and he swiped his badge across the reader, the sounds of battle detectable. Adrenaline now flowing, he pulled on the door impatiently, knowing that it wouldn’t open until the required buzz occurred, obscenities flowing from his mouth. His fellow soldiers were dying, and there was little he could do to help them.
The corridor he entered smelt of gunfire and human waste, his ears instantly accosted by the relentless barrage being unleashed. To his right, the noise was almost unbearable as a group of soldiers held the corridor, the confined space allowing their controlled fire to contain the surging undead. As the zombies were decimated, they formed their own barrier which they were forced to climb over, and climb they did, eager to get at the flesh that awaited them.
The barrier of corpses was good to slow them down, but also good to give them limited protection from the men who were trying to shoot them. At least until their head and shoulders appeared at the top of the barricade, where accurate fire took most of them down. Presently it was a stalemate, but that wouldn’t last forever, for either the soldiers would run out of bullets, or the undead would somehow get the edge, as they had in parts of the base already. John could see clearly that all the men here could do was bide their time.
A soldier ran past John, his arms laden with a box of prepared ammunition. Even if this corridor could be held, John knew this wasn’t the only way through to the floors below, two lift shafts and another three staircases giving the undead ample choice in their descent.
It didn’t make sense though. The undead shouldn’t have been able to penetrate to this level of success so easily. He didn’t understand how they had managed to get through the prepared defences so quickly. A conventional army would have been ripped to shreds out on the specially prepared killing fields.
He had come up here to see for himself just how bad the situation was, and he was not reassured. It was also at this moment that John saw why the facility was doomed to fall.
He’d read the reports from Rosenbaum about the armour the undead had been developing as their dead outer layers thickened, had even seen some of the videos, but he had never really understood just what it would mean to those fighting on the ground. Standing almost uselessly, he witnessed the wall of destroyed undead suddenly tumble forward, a zombie to rival Mark(Z) forcing its way through, only this one’s flesh was totally grey, almost granite-like in appearance. The bullets had seemingly no effect on it, the strength of the creature able to rip a human to shreds, pulling corpses aside as it barged through the mound of its fallen comrades. What came with it was even worse, the floor alive with the bodies of dozens of rats that writhed between the legs of the bipedal zombies they seemed to follow like rotting pets.
The undead were evolving. No, scrap that, they already had evolved, multiple species working together to overcome any obstacle they came across. Lazarus had created the perfect army.
Other regular zombies followed in its wake, surging forward, absorbing the desperate fire, the vanguard reaching the first of the soldiers who emptied what was left of his magazine at the armoured zombie’s face. That seemed to fell it, but another stepped past as the zombie fell, the soldier grabbed and easily ripped limb from limb, all the while rats crawling up his legs to bite and rip at any flesh they could find. The strength and ferocity of this foe was beyond anything John had ever encountered.
Time to go. Time to leave right fucking now.
The warrior in John wanted to stay and fight, to help his fellow soldiers. But he had more important things to do here, and there was no saving the valiant defenders, the crawling mass already upon them, consuming them. With the radio still clenched in his sweaty palm, John switched the channel and retreated back the way he had come. There was no problem with using the radio underground, the whole network of tunnels and bases specifically adapted to accommodate their use.
With a click, the metal door closed behind him. It would hold, but somehow John didn’t think it would hold for long. Seconds later a face appeared at the small window in the door, the undead eyes glaring at him. John heard the fists beating on the other side of the door, knew he was safe, at least for now. Then the creature began head-butting the glass, doing more damage to itself than the door it was trying to penetrate.
“This is Captain John Fairclough, go for code recognition.”
“Awaiting verification,” the voice on the other end said. He was patched through to Site R. By now they would already know that Fort Detrick was lost.
“Whiskey, Alpha, Tango, three, seven, Bravo, Niner.”
“Authentication accepted. Voice print verified. Please relay message.”
“Detrick has fallen, I repeat Detrick has fallen.”
“Received, Captain,” the voice said calmly, “will relay your message. This verifies what we already know.” So they had been told.
“Recommend isolation protocols be enacted.”
“Roger that. A decision is being made about that as we speak.” The line went dead. He reckoned he still had time.
Fifteen minutes at a best guess, that was likely all he now had.
***
Reece could feel the madness of the crowd building. A single train arrived, driven on automatic and people piled in, more tha
n it was designed for. This would be the last train, although nobody had been told this. The only thing preventing complete chaos was the promise that rescue was still an option. Two heavily armed soldiers had to step in and intervene, their stern words trying to remind people of the discipline they were supposed to work under. People still tried to force their way onboard, the carriage quickly turning into standing room only.
As if to prove the insanity that was ready to spill over, several people had already been pushed onto the track as the crowd on the platform bargained with its own life. Those who fell were helped back up, but it would only be a matter of time before that civility broke totally, before people started being pushed, hitting, brawling. Then it would be every man and woman for themselves, fists and elbows, even weapons being unleashed to try and give people the edge in their need to survive. Against all the odds, the doors to the train managed to close, and it shot off on its last voyage.
Reece felt a hand grasp her upper arm.
“Come with me,” Howell said through gritted teeth. Reece was reluctant because he was pulling her and Lizzy away from the platform, but she trusted him enough to know he was their only chance to get out of here. If Howell was of the opinion it was time to leave, it must have meant the chances of getting a train had significantly diminished.
Howell had been stationed here for long enough to know its general layout, to know its procedures. Unseen by most on the platform, they retreated back down a corridor, turning right where there were much fewer people, the shouts and the objections of the demented falling behind them.
The area they entered was larger than the train platform, able to store hundreds of packing crates as well as five glorified golf carts, all of which were absent. Wherever the three of them were going, it would evidently be on foot. At the far end of this chamber was a formidably thick open door, a long tunnel stretching away into the distance. This was the loading bay for the manual tunnel which was designed for the electric vehicles. The tunnel was about ten metres across, enough to allow two electric carts to pass each other, as well as an army to march along should they need to. It ran parallel with much of the underground train network, connected in parts to allow servicing of the mag-line rails.
“How far is it?” Reece begged. She could see people ahead of her already making the trip, no longer prepared to wait for trains they rightly suspected they would never catch. Some people walked, others jogged.
“I've heard it’s twenty-six miles,” Howell said with an apologetic expression. “But we aren't going to get on a train, not in time. We both saw the look on the Captain’s face. Penetration of the lower levels by the undead is likely imminent.” Looking back the way he had come, he saw John briefly run past the intersection. If John followed them into this chamber, then Howell would know he was right.
“Lizzy can’t make that,” Reece implored.
“Then I’ll carry her if need be. I have enough food and water in my backpack. But if we are doing this, we need to go now, before the rush begins.” More importantly, before this door was closed. Reece looked down at Lizzy, knew that Howell was right despite the distance. They were looking at perhaps eight hours if they didn’t stop, but they would most definitely stop. They would be forced to. Not even Howell would be able to march for that duration.
Three soldiers ran past them, each laden with as much as they could carry on their backs. Their lives were in their backpacks, and Reece felt Lizzy pull on her hand.
“We should go,” Lizzy insisted. Once again, the kid was right.
***
John grabbed the nearest soldier he could find. He found it difficult to be heard over the throng of the crowd.
“Corporal, gather all your men. Disengage from the platform, and make for the service tunnel.” The corporal accepted the order without question, the half a dozen soldiers down here quickly retreating from the crowd, the men and one woman worming themselves through bodies, not doubting that their commanding officer knew what he was doing. Instead of seeing it as a sign that they too should retreat, the people on the platform began to descend into anarchy, more than one punch suddenly being thrown due to the frayed nerves and the fear that was spreading faster than Lazarus ever could.
At times like this, enlisted men had to trust the officers, it was all they had. John deliberately waited till everyone with a gun was free of the chaos before he tried to address the crowd. He was about to try and shout to be heard, only for the corporal to hand him a bullhorn.
“Everyone,” John said, heads turning to him, the ruckus calming slightly. He was briefly giving them something to concentrate on other than their own panic, but there were at least half a dozen people still arguing with each other. Selfish idiots thinking only of themselves. “You need to make your way to the service tunnel. Walking is the only way we are getting out of here.” By relaying his radio communication, John knew the train network would be shut down between here and Site R if it hadn’t already been so. He also knew something else that he wasn’t going to share because that would have simply induced further panic. No matter what, John felt they needed to try and maintain some kind of order.
There was little in the way of military discipline here, too many civilians diluting the ranks, too much panic to have any chance of fully getting control of things. Even highly trained soldiers could succumb to disorder and pandemonium given the right situation.
“Just get the trains here, goddamnit,” someone in the crowd shouted. That got a roar of approval, heads nodding at the wisdom of what had been said. Feedback shrilled through his bullhorn, and John once again tried to persuade the masses. A half-empty bottle of water came hurtling out of the crowd, missing his head by mere centimetres.
“There will be no more trains, the only way out is to walk. You need to come with me, you need to come with me now.” He figured he nearly had them, his powers of persuasion almost enough to swing the tide. But as well as desperation, there was also anger in the crowd. With them packed in so tight, all it took was a heel to be brought down awkwardly on someone’s foot. A shout of pain, a shove back in retaliation even though no deliberate act was committed, and the bedlam erupted again. More scuffles, followed by another punch. Some people took John’s advice, but the bulk of the people let themselves be swept up in the melee. John dropped the bullhorn. There was no helping them, he had done all he could.
“Fuck this,” John said. He briefly considered firing his gun in the air, but did he really want this madness trapped in the tunnel with him? No, he fucking did not. Idiots didn’t deserve to live.
Nobody saw the three rats run through the feet of the crowd and onto the floor of the monorail tracks. With everyone too intent on fighting amongst themselves, the rats slipped away off down the tunnel. Every one of them had some kind of wound inflected by tiny teeth.
***
“Come on people, arseholes and elbows. Move it, move it.” John stood by the entrance to the tunnel, his gun ready, the soldiers flanking him. People ran past him, but not enough considering the numbers stationed here. They were going to leave too many personnel behind, and there was nothing he could do about that except accept it. As for the soldiers on the surface, John just had to hope they would somehow be able to make it to safety. He couldn’t help any of them.
Running away like this left a bad taste in his mouth, but it was the only way. It occurred to John that fighting the undead no longer worked. There were too many of them. Their only chance now was to try and hide below the surface and hope nature would somehow remove the undead as a threat.
Did zombies starve? Did they wear down and break apart as corpses were supposed to? Would humanity be able to reclaim the land the undead had stolen? All questions he didn’t know the answer to.
Behind where he stood was the control panel for the door, already wired up with C4. When he activated the door closure, his corporal would remote detonate once the door was sealed. There would be no way for that to be overridden, and the tunnel would be for
ever sealed.
More dust descended from the ceiling as a mild vibration rippled through the walls surrounding him. Another explosion on the surface, probably tank fire. That was exactly what it was, an Abrams trying to collapse the surface entrance the undead were pouring into. John didn’t know it, but hundreds were already down here into the lower levels, the tanks efforts too little too late.
He heard gunfire, the soldiers with him twitching nervously. Here it was, the last moments before they initiated the door closure.
“Remember men, head shots,” John ordered. “Aim for the nearest zombie, keep firing until it’s down. Some of these bastards are tough, as if they are coated in granite.” He turned his head to look at the corporal. “Don’t forget to shoot anyone you see with visible bites. The virus cannot be allowed past this point.” The corporal didn’t like what he was being told, but John knew he and the other soldiers would do what was required of them. These were hardened men, some of the best.
“It’ll be like shooting ducks,” one of the soldiers insisted defiantly.
“Ducks don’t rip your head off, son,” John admonished. They didn’t need bravado now, they needed to hold their nerve and save as many as they could.
A surge of about two dozen people suddenly appeared, heading for the tunnel entrance, the wisdom of John’s order finally breaking through to them. More soldiers appeared, fleeing from the level above, which meant the undead were likely here. They would be the last to make it, and John turned to the control panel that would close the door forever. With his swipe card he activated the panel and inputted the access code, his finger hesitating over the ENTER button. “Come on, come on,” he said under his breath as more people appeared. The sound of shooting just out of sight was the final signal, and his finger pressed down hard. The huge door began to close.
The Lazarus Strain Chronicles (Book 5): The Last Page 27
