by Joe McKinney
*****
Harry extracted nearly a full tank of gas from the minivan while Leo broke the rear window. Leo’s nose was instantly assailed by the sickening sweet smell coming from the two dead lapdogs on the front seats.
Camping gear, Girl Scout books, uniforms and literature, plus a cooler full of warm water and spoiled food was arranged in an orderly fashion in the back of the stifling van. Leo and Harry pulled all of the gear out of the minivan and spread it out on the still warm asphalt. It looked like they were having a yard sale. They took the water purifier, binoculars, tent and six sleeping bags. They were sure to come in handy since it would be getting dark soon and the nights were very cold in the high desert.
*****
Cade called the group over to one of the picnic benches in the middle of the grass.
“I think this would be a good place to stay the night. It’s off the road far enough, defensible, and the freeway is straight in both directions. We are in the open but at least we’ll hear and see any approaching vehicles before they’re upon us.”
“We could circle the vehicles like a wagon train and anyone wanting to sleep under the stars could sleep in the center. I will volunteer for guard duty,” Harry offered.
“Not a good idea Harry… we’re not camping, we’re trying to survive in a hostile environment. The vehicles would offer better shelter from the elements, animals and those things; but if you want to sleep under the stars, I’m not going to try stop you.”
Harry left the meeting in a huff. Constructive criticism it was not. He felt talked down to and belittled. Why did I even tag along with these ungrateful whelps anyway?
*****
“Leo. You want to pull guard duty first?” Cade asked, trying to include him. He had been withdrawn and quiet since the death of his brother Ike, even more so now that they had lost Shelly.
“I will if I can borrow the smaller pistol.”
“You can have the Glock until we find a place to acquire some more weapons.”
Cade removed the gun and an extra magazine from the holster and handed them to the young man.
“Don’t forget, the safety is on the trigger, and always assume the gun is loaded.”
“I promise I’ll only shoot at those fuckin’ creatures.”
“Happy hunting,” Cade said, admiring Leo’s new found bravado.
Chapter 28
Day 2 - Whiteville, North Carolina
Carl quickly stole a glance over the three foot wall surrounding the rooftop. It was the stench his brain registered first. The smell of death clung to everything; it was something Carl knew he would never get used to. At least thirty of the undead were shuffling about the parking lot. Several had taken an interest in the truck. The bucket was at eye level, right in front of his face, but he didn’t dare do anything until he had a moment to collect his thoughts.
“Where did they all come from?” he asked Brook.
“Raven told me they came through the trees over there,” she responded, pointing at the thicket of dogwoods.
“I think they’re workers from that factory near the interstate,” Raven offered.
The parking lot in front of the metal prefab building was full of cars. Quite a few of the walkers did have on work type clothes, coveralls, aprons, work boots and such. Most of them were slightly overweight men, and their movement was quite lethargic. Even though the walkers moved slower than a living person, you still had to be careful not to develop a false sense of security. The dead had the overwhelming strength in numbers, therefore a seemingly safe situation could turn deadly in a heartbeat.
Carl said, “Just great! This is the biggest gathering of these things I have seen in one place and they just haaadd to show up while we are cooling our heels on a Bi-Mart roof.”
Raven, always willing to point out the facts, added her two cents. “Don’t forget Uncle Carl, our only means of transportation happens to be sitting down there, fully surrounded by them.”
As they watched, twenty more undead filtered through the trees. “We need to make a run for it. I suspect that the swing shift must have just ended,” Carl said, failing in his attempt to be funny.
“There is a time and place...” Brook was abruptly cut off by a massive explosion at the Jackpot fuel mart.
The shockwave rolled over their heads, followed by intense heat and overpressure caused by the displaced air. It made their ears hurt, causing a prolonged ringing. The blast lasted only a few seconds. It felt like an invisible hand had slapped them completely flat on the rooftop. The surface felt cool on Brook’s stomach as the heat wave rolled over her back. She put her arm around Raven’s head and shoulders to shield her.
Most of their exposed arm hair had been singed; the awful smell still mingled with the zombies’ stench. Debris rained down around them, sounding and feeling like an intense hailstorm. A severed human arm, still wearing a bulky diver’s watch, landed with a thud near Carl’s head. He removed the indestructible Timex Ironman, murmuring, “You won’t need that anymore.” Finally a little truth in advertising, Carl thought.
Carl wanted to go see what had caused the explosion but didn’t want to waste the diversion it afforded them. Once again he thanked the Big Guy above.
Carl looked down at the stinking mass of hungry zombies. “Some of them are going around the building towards the gas station. I’m going to try to get inside the truck.”
Dangling the keys in his direction, Brook pointed out, “You’ll need these.”
Carl pocketed the keys. “When I start down the boom I want you two to get in the bucket and keep out of their sight.”
“Big brother… be careful.”
Carl scaled over the wall, momentarily paused inside the bucket, and then climbed onto the boom, feet first with his head looking down the wall at the asphalt below.
The zombies noticed and were moaning and reaching up towards him. He felt like a canary in a cage with the big fat tomcat hungrily staring at him.
Carl took a handful of thick black grease from the hydraulic piston by his head and swabbed a liberal amount under his nose. It had a harsh chemical odor, but anything was better than the stink of the walking dead.
Here goes nothing. Inch by inch Carl lowered himself towards the relative safety of the truck’s bed.
*****
Brook looped the duffle bags’ straps around a piece of metal protruding from the bucket and then stepped into the confined space. Thank God Raven was as small as she was, because it was getting cozy in the fiberglass bucket. Brook held her daughter, trying her best to calm her. Raven was shaking uncontrollably; she had been through ten lifetime’s worth of trauma in one day. Brook feared her daughter was going to have severe PTSD if they somehow found a way to stay alive.
Carl had shimmied a third of the way down the boom, but he was still a good distance from the cab. The shotgun, hanging from his shoulder, banged steadily against the boom, alerting the entire undead crowd to his presence. The massed ghouls were agitated and more were arriving. Below him the moaning intensified.
The flesh-eaters were now three deep around the truck. Their sheer numbers were causing it to rock like a boat at sea. Brook struggled to keep Raven calm in the swaying bucket.
Three immolated undead staggered around the corner and headed for the utility truck, oblivious to the fact that they were on fire. Carl didn’t want the walking torches to get anywhere near the truck’s fuel tanks and he really had no desire to end up crispy like them. To his relief, after a few more ungainly steps the charbroiled trio fell short and ceased moving.
We almost had a Waco moment there. Carl had no idea why they seized up, he was just grateful they did. Shooting three moving corpses from his position would have been nearly impossible. His best guess was that their brains must have cooked in their skulls.
Six feet separated Carl from the clamoring crowd of undead; the grease under his nose was no match for the disgusting odor radiating from them. He had chosen the shorter of the two shotguns
and had six shells loaded into the tube under the barrel. The truck’s rear window was near enough that he had to choose which side of the bed he wanted to land on. The driver’s side had a few less walkers; the ones on the right were so thick they were starting to crawl on top of each other, getting close to boarding the truck. Carl knew if he didn’t move hastily he was going to be dinner.
A formerly teenaged zombie wriggled up onto the passenger side of the truck and grabbed for him. Carl placed the Mossberg muzzle three inches from the ghoul’s upper lip. Her undead eyes showed no hint of recognition that her time on earth was over. Hundreds of lead pellets disintegrated her face from the nose up. A new zombie emerged, coated with the other’s brains and exhibiting the same mindless drive. Carl crouched down, racked the slide, and aimed the shotgun at the truck’s back window. The blast imploded the window. From the angle of the shot and where he was laying he failed to anticipate what happened next. Buckshot and sharp shards of glass ricocheted back, peppering his face. Somehow his sight was spared.
After wiping the blood from his eyes, he wedged his big frame through the opening, just escaping the reach of the persistent ghoul and its hungry mouth full of yellowed teeth. Lying on the bench seat was an awkward position for a man of his size. Getting the key into the ignition was going to be a pain in the ass, let alone trying to drive the truck like a contortionist. More zombies had managed to get onto the back of the truck and were reaching their dirty rotting hands through the shattered opening.
The engine started on the first try. Carl manipulated the tree mounted shifter into reverse and pushed on the gas pedal with his hand. The truck accelerated backwards from the store. Wrenching the steering wheel all the way to the left, he gave it more gas.
Brook had kept her head down throughout the gunfire but now that the truck was moving she risked a look. An audible gasp escaped her mouth when she saw the surrounding army of ghouls. To her horror, she saw that three of the creatures had found their way onto the rear of the truck and were trying to enter the cab through the broken rear window.
Brook chose the Remington over the Ithaca, it was heavier but it held four more shells. She racked a round into the chamber and clicked the safety off. While bouncing up and down in the bucket, Brook lined up the iron sight on the front of the shotgun and pulled the trigger. The buckshot peppered the ghouls around their heads, but did no real damage. Several walkers were sucked under the dual rear wheels and caused the bucket to violently bob up and down. Brook felt the truck start to list. The weight of the fully extended bucket had changed the truck’s center of gravity. She jammed the lever all the way down to the detent. The boom started to retract and slowly lower at once. Brook’s quick thinking once again saved them all.
The two undead had gotten stuck in a dangerous place on the truck and they didn’t know how to work their way out. While they feebly struggled the enormous boom folded down on top of them and settled into its resting place. The weight of the cherry picker caused their internal organs to explode; bodily fluids coated the truck bed. The bigger one was crushed into a fetal position, its gasses escaping with a loud farting noise. The other’s fate was no better. The wide boom acted like a pile driver and pushed down on its head, pinning it to the diamond plate decking.
Carl had his hands full, blindly driving the big truck from the floorboards, while a cold clammy hand continued to claw at him. In addition to all of the superficial cuts on his face and scalp, the ghoul’s jagged dirty fingernails were gouging deep furrows into his back.
Brook was practically hanging upside down from the bucket when it finally stopped its downward movement. The remaining creature found itself trapped; it appeared to be doing the breast stroke, its pale torso half in and out of the shattered rear window. She calmly put the shotgun on the zombie’s exposed neck; the blast decapitated the monster, its severed head falling from the truck and bouncing multiple times on the hard blacktop.
Brook noted the two squirming carcasses lodged under the lift boom. Crouching low and getting to eye level, she was astounded at how hopeless their situation was, yet they still strained and snapped trying to bite her. She racked another round into the shotgun and placed the barrel flush with the ghoul’s temple. One shot stilled it. The other monster’s head was stuck farther under the hydraulic piston that actuated the up and down movement of the arm. There was no way to safely get a headshot without damaging the hydraulic lines that snaked nearby. After chambering another shell, she buried the gun deep into the creature’s crushed chest cavity, all the way up to the trigger guard, the muzzle lodged in the ghoul’s throat. The report was much quieter than she had anticipated, but resulted in a disgusting shower of gray brain matter, blood and spinal fluid. The trapped zombie shuddered once and then went limp.
“That was the last of the bastards on the truck, but we’re still surrounded!” Brook exclaimed as Carl’s bloody head popped into view. He took in the destruction the big truck had caused. At least twenty of the zombies were pasted to the blacktop unmoving; many more were severely injured or reduced to crawling half-corpses, their arms propelling them after the red bucket truck. The truck looped the parking lot; nearly fifty of the flesh-eaters stiffly marched after. The explosion and resulting inferno at the truck stop beckoned the dead from the factory like moths to a bug zapper.
Carl aimed the vehicle towards the path of least resistance. Only three walkers were between them and the open road. The young girl zombie went under the front of the truck as if sucked into a vacuum. The other two were male; they both had fresh bloody wounds. It was a perfect 7-10 split. Carl sideswiped the one in a business suit and threw him into a parked Hyundai. The utility truck clipped the last walker and sent the putrid pedestrian rolling into the gutter with multiple compound fractures jutting from its flesh.
The truck jumped the curb swaying left and right, straightened out and then raced from the corpse-strewn parking lot. The brake lights flashed as it slowed momentarily and then rounded the corner disappearing from sight. The crowd of zombies moaned as if in disappointment but kept hobbling after.
Through it all, Raven had stayed curled up on the floor of the bucket sobbing. It was all that could be expected of an eleven-year-old under such duress.
Chapter 29
Day 2 - District of Columbia
The two Black Hawks of the 160th SOAR crossed the Potomac River and slowed to 60 knots. The Night Stalkers piloted their helicopter’s NOE (nap-of-the-earth), hugging the ground’s contour while running dark the three hundred twenty-five miles from Fort Bragg. As they neared the target the two Apache gunships gained altitude and started a racetrack pattern. Reaper Three and Four would provide over watch for the hovering Black Hawks as the Delta Teams were inserted.
Mike Desantos had never asked his men to accept a mission he wasn’t willing to undertake himself, especially with this much at stake. He looked at his men and then looked at the darkened city through the port side window. There were no streetlights. All of the buildings looked cold and uninviting. Multiple fires reflected a red orange glow off of the river, making it look like misplaced lava. Mike saw the masses of undead lurching about the city streets, illuminated by the firelight cast from the burning buildings.
The pilot gave a thumbs up and then held his hand open, fingers spread. The silent signal let Mike know they were five minutes from the target.
Captain Mike Desantos was the 18a detachment Commander and his 180a Warrant Officer, number two man, was Deke Clifton. Mike would be leading his Delta team, call sign Zulu-One. The six operators would fast rope from the helicopter onto the west roof of the target. Deke’s team of six Delta operators, Zulu-Two, would insert on the east rooftop.
The Special-Ops pilot held the bird in a perfect, steady hover as the six operators, led by Mike, fast roped two at a time from the helo’s open doors onto the roof. The night vision goggles adorning their faces rendered the scene in a green glow. Litter and bodies were strewn across the expansive lawn. A large helicopter sa
t quiet in the grass; next to it zombies were feeding on the body of a Marine in full dress blues, his white and black brimmed hat lying by his eviscerated body. The ghouls paused briefly and stared intently at the insertion taking place.
All of the men were safely on the roof. The pair of Black Hawks, having deposited their human cargo, accelerated quickly out of sight. The undead, having lost interest, resumed consuming the fallen Marine’s body.
*****
Mike had been inside this building before as a guest. This time he would be breaking and entering.
Sergeant Darwin Maddox anchored a thick nylon rope onto the sturdy steel bracket that secured the rooftop air scrubbers servicing the building. Silenced H&K MP7A1 at the ready, he pushed off with his back to the open air and smoothly rappelled over the edge, landing on the portico below. He went to one knee and scanned the area with his NVGs, carbine moving as one with his eyes.
Speaking in a whisper, Maddox called “Clear,” his throat mic amplifying the words and transmitting them through all of the team’s earpieces. Brent, Haskell and Calvin joined Maddox on the terrace. A moment later Desantos and Clark formed up; all six men were together in the alcove a mere ten feet above where the zombies roamed.
Maddox expertly applied the DET cord around the secure door frame and prepared the charge. The men turned their heads away when the cord detonated so their NV goggles wouldn’t wash out, momentarily blinding them. The explosion wasn’t spectacular. A low rumble and a puff of smoke later the door fell inward and landed with a muffled thud on the thick navy blue carpet. The smell of death wafting from within didn’t surprise Mike.
The six men stacked up hand on shoulder, weapons at the ready and entered the glowing green room, barrels covering their zone. The room was uninhabited, but the scene was surreal. A wide mahogany antique desk, made with wood sourced from the HMS Resolute, sat facing their breach point. A secure phone and a computer with two large LCD screens shared space with family photos on the expansive desktop. The American flag was prominently displayed on the left side of the desk. On the opposite was a flag bearing the presidential seal. They were in the Oval Office of the White House without an invitation.
