Infected

by Anthony Izzo

  Rob heard a squawk come from behind the van. He was sitting on the bench seat, his arm around Kayla. He looked behind them and saw the Sheriff's patrol car. The squawk was the loudspeaker. Thank Christ. It was Emma.

  He waved to her and she returned it. They were headed for the north end of town, where they were supposed to rendezvous with the helicopter and hopefully get the hell out of here. A gray farmhouse loomed on the left and an ambulance stood at the end of the driveway.

  The house was dark and Rob thought the ambulance peculiar.

  He felt the van begin to slow. “What are you doing?”

  Anthony said, “Look.”

  “Shit,” Matthews said.

  Rob saw the source of their dismay. Coming out of the woods and onto the road were a good fifty zombies. They hadn't seen the van yet.

  “Turn around,” Matthews said.

  “There's more of the same the other way,” Rob said.

  “Dad?” Kayla asked.

  “Don't look hon,” Rob said. “Can you radio for the chopper?”

  “Can do. But we have to get off the road. We're carp in a bucket sitting here,” Matthews said. “Too many of them.”

  “The farmhouse. Maybe we can hold them off until the chopper gets here,” Rob said.

  Matthews said, “Pull in. Do it quick.”

  They parked in the driveway, got out of the van, and went to the front door. Rob banged on the door and he heard footsteps. The door opened and a grizzled man of about seventy appeared, a shotgun in his arms. He looked from Rob to Kayla to the soldiers. “More house guests.”

  A second later Rob saw Emma's patrol car pull in behind them.

  “Sir we're with the U.S Army,” Matthews said. “There's a Blackhawk helicopter coming for us. We need shelter, though.”

  “Why now?”

  Rob said, “There's a mess of those things coming up the road. We can't get through.”

  “Rob,” Emma called. “We need help. Got patients from the hospital.”

  One of them was his mother-in-law, who usually had the demeanor of a grizzly bear with a thorn stuck in its ass. The other was a teenage kid, his head pale and bald from chemo. With the soldiers' help, Rob got his mother-in-law and the boy up the steps and onto the porch.

  “Jesus, the walking wounded,” the farmer said. “All right then.”

  The man's brow furrowed and he waited a moment before inviting them in. Once inside, he shut and locked the front door.

  Kayla went straight to Emma, threw her arms around Emma, and squeezed. Emma looked at him, a slight crease in her brow, and he knew what that meant: how could you let her get lost?

  “How you holding up?” she asked, and then surprised him by hugging him, her hand warm on the back of his neck. Normally she didn't approve of displaying affection while on the job, but tonight was no ordinary evening in Anderson.

  “Good. Glad you're safe. I was worried.”

  “You always are,” she said, and broke off the embrace.

  They got Emma's mother and the boy settled in the dining room, the mother on the couch and the boy in a rocking chair. Rebecca offered to stay with them and took a seat next to Christopher. Then they went into the kitchen where a woman in jeans and a heavy sweater sat at a table. There were two others: a man in dark blue scrubs and a woman in a lab coat. They sat on the floor in the dark kitchen.

  “Lights?”

  “Trying not to draw attention,” the elderly woman said. “But based on our influx of company, that's not working.”

  “Dr. Weiss,” Emma said. “How'd you make it out?”

  “It was dicey, but we did it,” Weiss, the man in scrubs, said.

  “What's the ETA on that chopper?” Emma said.

  “Five, ten minutes,” Matthews told her.

  Emma said, “We should set up some defenses. Guns on all sides of the house. I'll take the driveway side.”

  Matthews said, “Anthony, watch the back. I'll take the other side.”

  Rob said, “I'll take the front.”

  The farmer said, “You help the sheriff. All she has is a pistol. I'll watch the front.”

  Their assignments in place, those with guns went to their respective rooms. Rob could hear the groans and growls coming from outside. They were getting closer to the house.

  Chapter Twenty One

  Mary took Ramsey's arm as they walked toward the helicopter. The old guy wobbled and his chest heaved and she was worried he might be having a coronary. One of the soldiers was in front of them and he put his arm out to stop them.

  The rotor wash blew back her hair.

  The soldier said, “Hold up. We'll go in a second. When I tell you, crouch and move fast.”

  “What do you think happened to Ryan?” Mary said.

  “I think it probably wasn't good,” Ramsey said. He was out of breath.

  “Are you okay?” Mary asked.

  “I'm too old for this kind of crap. I'll be fine.”

  “I wish they'd get us out of here,” Mary said.

  “That's the Army. Hurry up and wait,” Ramsey said.

  The crashing noises from inside the building were growing louder and she didn't want to end up as zombie chow. What were they waiting for?

  Stamford was on the horn with the Colonel. He stood off to the side of the chopper, aware that the noises in the building were growing louder. The two civilians were waiting to get on, both of them doing a little shuffle. He knew the feeling waiting for a chopper. Usually when the enemy was bearing down on him and his men. Those were often the longest minutes of his life, waiting for a bullet to tear into him.

  “What's the situation?” the Colonel said.

  “We took out a few dozen of these things. They look like the dead come back to life. We had to put extra rounds in them.”

  “How many all together? In town?”

  “Could be hundreds.”

  A long sigh came on the other end. “I'm working on getting you help. CDC is sending people up there. You're going to have to hold tight. We're mobilizing but we won't be down for a few hours. You're my eyes and ears for now. Get any civilians out you can.”

  “Yes sir. Any chance for more air support? We can take them out from the air easily enough.”

  “I've got two Apaches getting ready to go. They'll be there within the hour.”

  “Thank you sir.”

  “Be careful, Stamford.”

  The Colonel broke the connection and Stamford gave the sign for the squad to get on the chopper. He caught the first movement in his peripheral vision. Coming from the busted out lobby doors. He saw the source of the noise in the building in the form of roughly three dozen of the undead.

  “Go!” he shouted.

  His men led the civilians to the chopper. Stamford unslung his M-16, crouched, and began firing into the crowd of freaks. His gunner opened up with the SAW, tearing into the zombies and cutting down a whole row of them.

  Stamford glanced over his shoulder and saw the civilians had made it onto the chopper. The zombies were within thirty yards and Stamford kept blasting. He took two more down with head shots, turning skulls into jelly. He retreated and motioned for the squad to follow.

  They climbed into the chopper as the freaks drew close, lifting off when they were within ten yards.

  To the pilot he said, “Head north. There's a Wal-Mart at the end of town. Anthony and Matthews are supposed to meet us there.”

  The chopper gained speed, and he looked down at the crowd of zombies and wondered how they were ever going to deal with this.

  Mary sat in the helicopter, the rotor blades humming. Ramsey sat next to her. The old man's breathing had settled down and she was relieved. Hopefully he wouldn't have a heart attack. The old man's ticker wasn't the best, as he'd had open heart a few years ago.

  They had set down in the Wal-Mart parking lot to wait for Rob and the other soldiers. The store was dark and there were no cars in the lot, the store having closed at ten o'clock. The parking lot was
bordered on one side by the woods, and Mary watched them with a sense of dread. The deep, dark woods.

  One of the soldiers – she thought his name was Stamford – leaned close to her and said, “We're taking off. There's a farmhouse on the other side of town surrounded by freaks.”

  Mary heard someone shout, “Lookout!”

  She turned and saw a half dozen of the creatures coming. The soldiers opened fire, cutting down half of them. They couldn't hit all of the zombies, and as the chopper lifted off, they leapt into the open passenger bay.

  As the chopper lurched forward, one of the creatures eyed her. He was a kid in a green striped shirt. The lenses in his black-rimmed glasses were cracked. Blood streaked his chin. He lunged at Mary.

  Stamford smashed one of them in the face as it lunged for the woman. His rifle butt caved in the side of the undead kid's head, but he still flopped around. Stamford didn't have enough room to finish him, so he pulled a knife from his belt and drove the blade into the back of the kid's neck. The zombie convulsed, its arms twitching.

  One of the others, a woman with spiked blond hair and a scar on her cheek, sank her teeth into one of of the men's neck. He flailed and fell backward, out of the chopper. She targeted her next victim, the old man, and pinned him back against the wall.

  The other squad members had wrestled the third creature to the ground. This one was a pudgy man in a blue oxford and khakis. He wore one shoe, a scuffed loafer. The spike-haired zombie snapped her jaws, drawing closer to the old man's throat. He managed to thwart her by getting his hands up, but she pushed closer.

  Stamford managed to give her a kick, which separated her from the old man, but then she turned her attention to the cockpit, and grabbed the pilot. The chopper banked hard right and someone rolled over Stamford, kicking him in the jaw. He tasted metallic blood in his mouth.

  The chopper bucked again and someone landed hard on his nuts, and he groaned. It was the woman they'd rescued from the office building. He shoved her off, and got to his knees just in time to see the pilot fall over, blood dripping from the side of his neck. The Blackhawk's nose dipped and the ground drew closer. He was aware of a noise that made his eardrums implode, then a searing heat dancing over his skin. So this is what death felt like.

  From her post inside the small room that overlooked the driveway, Emma heard the explosion and felt the floor shake. Rob, who was standing behind her, said: “That can't be good.”

  Kayla sat against the wall opposite the windows. Her knees were tucked up against her chest and she had a blank stare on her face.

  Emma turned and said, “Stay away from the windows hon, okay? And be ready to move when we tell you.”

  Kayla nodded absently.

  There were three windows that looked onto the driveway. The room contained a table with a sewing machine and scraps of gingham fabric on top of it. There was a large oak rocker pulled up to one of the tables.

  “Sounded big,” Emma said.

  One of the soldiers poked his head in the room and said, “I think our chopper went down. We have air support coming in but they won't be here for a bit (make sure Matthews knows this).”

  “Wonderful.”

  Emma jumped as a female zombie with fiery red hair pressed her face against the glass. The window was elevated to a height where the thing could only look in. To Emma's surprise, it began smashing its forehead against the glass, blood welling up on the skin. The glass cracked, and her head came through. Emma cracked it in the skull with her gun butt. It took three more blows before it pulled back.

  It reached through the broken glass, grabbed the sill, and began to pull itself up. Emma fired the Glock point blank and put it down.

  More of them came out of the darkness and crowded around the windows.

  “I hope that chopper gets here fast,” Emma said.

  Sam was pissed. The same abominations that had killed their horse were now swarming up the porch steps. On his damn property. He stood in the living room, which faced the porch. Trudy was behind him. He only had one gun, otherwise she would've defended the house with them. They started pounding on the glass and the first pane smashed in a moment later.

  The pale-faced things stuck their arms in. One of them started to worm its way through the window, head first. Sam stepped up and fired the shotgun. It's head exploded like a pumpkin with an M-80 lit inside. The others yanked the body back and another one took its place, this one a long-haired man with a bushy beard.

  Sam shot the bearded man, the buckshot shredding his face. But he still crawled forward and flopped onto the living room floor. As he stood up, Sam blasted him in the head. This time he stayed down. It didn't stop his buddies, as they smashed out the front windows.

  “Upstairs,” Sam said. “We'll barricade ourselves in.”

  They retreated up the stairs, which were off the living room. They hurried into the master bedroom and locked the door. He tried to shove a tall dresser against the door, but it was like trying to move a Mack truck. Trudy tried helping, but it was useless.

  “Door's going to have to be good enough,” Sam said.

  “I don't want to end up like them,” Trudy said.

  “We're not gonna die.”

  “I mean like them. Dead but alive. Don't let it come to that, Sam.”

  “If you mean what I think, I can't do that,” Sam said.

  “You might have to.”

  “Don't talk like that.”

  He could hear them stomping up the stairs. It was the worse thing he'd ever heard.

  Weiss and Lori had taken up a position at the side window opposite the driveway. He'd grabbed a long knife from the kitchen and Lori had a meat mallet. If a rogue filet mignon attacked the house, at least they'd be able to kick its ass. It felt inadequate, especially now since the freaks were outside pounding on the windows.

  The old woman and the boy from the hospital were with them, sitting in dining room chairs across the room. The nurse - Rebecca - was keeping an eye on them. The soldier – Matthews – opened fire. Weiss felt like his eardrums had ruptured. Matthews shot down the first wave of them, who had broken the glass and were coming in the windows. The second group of them came, and as Matthews pulled out his clip and grabbed a fresh one, a thick-necked zombie pulled itself in the window. Weiss stepped forward and drove the knife into its eye, jamming hard and hoping to reach the brain. The knife stuck, and the man pulled away. Weiss lost his weapon.

  They started to climb in the windows. Matthews said, “We're going to be overrun. Grab the kid and the woman.”

  Weiss picked up the old woman, who groaned like a sinking ship and called him a moron.

  “I can walk,” the boy said.

  “I'll help you,” Rebecca said, gripping his arm and helping him up.

  Lori said, “Move like you've got a fire under you.”

  “To the back door,” Matthews said.

  They retreated to the kitchen, where the other soldier named Anthony watched the back door. There was no sign of any zombies at the back door, but Weiss could hear them crashing through other parts of the house. If they didn't get out, they were going to join the ranks of the dead.

  Matthews said, “Is it clear?”

  “They haven't come to the back door,” Anthony said.

  “We'll have to try for the ambulance. Fight our way through,” Weiss said.

  “We're not leaving without my daughter and granddaughter,” the old woman said.

  As if on queue, Emma Ross and her family entered the kitchen. The sheriff said, “They're coming in the windows. We're screwed.”

  Weiss said, “We're trying for the ambulance. It might be our only shot.”

  “Where's the farmer?” Rob asked.

  “I'll get them,” Emma said.

  “No time,” Weiss said.

  “I'm not leaving them here.”

  Emma slipped into the sewing room and gunned down two zombies. Stepping over the bodies, she reached the living room and froze. The things were cli
mbing in the windows. She could hear more of them banging around upstairs. Going after someone. She figured the old guy and his wife had retreated up the stairs. There were a half dozen of the things in the living room, and a group of them jammed on the stairs. She shot three more of them then made her way back to the kitchen, thinking she couldn't have gotten to the farmer without some sort of automatic weapon.