by John Holmes
I stared at Brit’s body, unable to move. The gunshots still echoed in the kitchen as Ziv stood, holding the pistol directly at my face. Behind him, the kitchen door crashed open, and half a dozen black-clad soldiers stormed in, laser sights cutting beams through the gun smoke.
Ziv was putting handcuffs around Reds’ wrists. He shook his head at me, a look of regret showing on his scarred face. “Sorry, Nick. It is nothing personal. It is just about money.”
“YOU BASTARD!” I screamed and leapt out my chair. From the doorway, a slim figure in green fatigues fired a compressed air gun at me. The dart hit me in the chest, and everything went slack as I fell to the floor, my face landing in the pool of cooling blood. Unable to move, the only thing I could see in my field of vision was Brit’s small boot, the laces lying open. How many times had I told her to tie them up properly? I couldn’t move, but I could smell. The metallic tang of blood, a whiff of cordite, a faint odor of corruption where someone’s bowels had let loose the moment they died.
As I lay there, someone kicked me in the head, sending stars shooting across my vision and I heard Doctor Moranos’ quiet voice.
“I have plans for you, Nick. Such awesome plans.” And she laughed.
Chapter 108
I woke up with a scream, and Brit immediately sat up in bed, scanning the room with the .38 revolver she kept in a holster on the night table. Seeing nothing, she turned to the light on and put her arm around me.
“Nightmares again?” I nodded my head. Despite her being right there next to me, I could still see her body lying on the floor of our kitchen.
“Nick, I know you don’t like it, but you have GOT to take the Prazozin that Doc gave you. When the shit DOES hit the fan, you’re going to be less than useless if you don’t get any sleep.”
I knew she was right, but I hated taking that crap. It left me completely groggy when I woke up in the morning, and I felt less than useless, unable to think.
“Brit, it was fucking horrible. You were dead, and Ahmed and Hart and Doc, and Ziv betrayed us.”
“You’re just worried about tomorrow. Ziv isn’t going to betray us, this whole plan was your idea in the first place. We have to get that woman into the open, you know there is no way we can get to her in Seattle. Sure, we might take her out, but then we would be done. This way we’re fighting her on OUR ground.”
I was still shaking, and I felt weak inside. Outside, an early summer thunderstorm sent flashes of lighting across the night sky.
The plan, so far, was on schedule. Ziv had picked up the gold two days ago, and had been in further communication with Doctor Morano. We knew when she was coming, and how, courtesy of Major McHale at Flight Ops in Albany. She would be bringing in some heavy hitters, a squad of mercenaries (sorry, “military contractors”) and her two Delta guys to act as snipers. Their LZ was a half mile upriver, on the Stillwater side.
We were going to hit them before they even got into position to hit us. Ahmed, with Red as a spotter, had built a hide site 300 meters away on the second floor of an old building, covering the entire LZ. His orders were to take out the two Delta operators as fast as possible. Ziv, good with a rifle himself, was paired with Brit, in a basement window that had a good line of sight covering most of the open space. Myself, Hart with a SAW, and Red were one assault team. Jim and Donny the Butcher from the Mechanicville salvage crew, along with my farmhand Joe, made up the other, forming a classic L shaped ambush. Doc was on standby as our medic. Our ace in the hole was Major McHale, who knew to vacate the area as soon as the drop off occurred, denying them any kind of top cover.
I ran over the plan in my mind, unable to fall back asleep. The nightmare of Ziv betraying us kept running through my head, but I had to trust him, he owed me his life. I couldn’t think of any other contingencies. It was going to fall to surprise and intelligence about their movements, like Sun Tzu said in the book. Just in case Morano had outthought me and had recon on the building, we had captured several Zombies and were going to let them loose in the first floor, locked up. That way their heat signatures would look like there was someone still in the house, moving around. We could take care of that when we got back, and we would swim the river the night before to get into position.
One aspect of the plan was Morano herself. I wanted her alive, if I could, but I wasn’t going to take any chances on any of the team getting hurt just to capture her. If she died in the first round of gunfire, so be it, but I counted on her being last off the chopper, after he goons had secured the area. If that we the case, McHale and his crew chief were going to lift as fast as possible before she got off, hopefully trapping her onboard.
Brit had, of course, fallen back asleep. I looked at my watch, and saw that it was 03:27. I was due to relieve Doc, who was on watch with Ahmed, at 03:52. Might as well get it over with now, let Doc get some extra sleep. I sat on the edge of the bed and strapped on my leg, then pulled on my multicam then checked my weapons, loaded and on safe.
On the roof, Doc was grateful for a chance to get some extra shut eye. He still wasn’t completely healed from the torture he had gotten on Grand Isle, and he gingerly let himself down through the trapdoor in the roof.
Ahmed sat watching the woods and fields through his scope mounted on his rifle, and I picked up the NVG’ Doc had left.
“What’s going on, Ahmed?”
He didn’t take his eyes off the scope. “Having trouble sleeping again?”
How did he know this stuff? Before I could answer, he said “I heard you scream. Well, I heard Brit scream, too, but that was much earlier, and probably for a different reason.”
I laughed. OK, so maybe we were a bit noisy. “Yeah, well, I had a hell of a nightmare. Dreamed Ziv betrayed us and most everyone was dead.”
“Really? How did I die?”
“Ziv stabbed you in the chest with that big Rambo knife of his.”
“Ha, I like the thought of that. Traditional, almost like dying in a sword fight like my ancestors. I would like to fight Ziv one day, with swords. Christian against Muslim, like in the old days.” He chuckled quietly, never taking his eyes off the scope.
“Lunatics. My entire frigging squad. All of you.”
His laughter stopped short, and I felt him tense up.
“Nick, we have company.”
“Zombies?”
“Yes. Maybe two dozen. Behind them, there are hotter figures, looks like six, following. They have just appeared out from behind the rise, maybe 300 hundred meters. Due East.”
“Take out the hot spots. Those are Morano’s mercenaries. Shit shit shit. I’m on my way downstairs. Stay in radio contact, report anything else. I’ll send Joe up here to watch the other side, make sure they aren’t trying to sneak up from the river. Remember, claymores at the field wall, one hundred meters.”
Ahmed didn’t say anything, just started firing. I slapped the alarm button, sending a siren shrieking through the farm.
Chapter 109
On the way down the stairs, I threw the breaker on the outside floodlights. They were angled to cover the grounds outward, blinding any attackers. Also attracting any Zombies within 10 miles, but that was a chance we had to take. Return fire started thumping into the house, then died off when the lights powered up.
I met Joe coming up the hallway. “Backup Ahmed, watch for an assault from. 2 dozen zombies approaching from the east, backed up by mercenaries. Go!” He took off down the hall and started up the stair to the roof.
Brit and the rest of the guys were busy slamming the steel shutters shut over the windows. I had installed them a few months ago, cut from used sheet metal. They would stop everything up to a 7.62 round. Just as I thought that, a loud BANG sounded from one of the window on the West Side, and a hole appeared in the steel. The round buried itself in one of the kitchen cabinets as we hit the floor.
“Barrett .50 cal!” yelled Doc. That was not good. Another round banged through the wall and gouged its way across the kitchen table, shattering it.<
br />
I got on the radio to Ahmed. “TAKE OUT THAT .50!” I yelled probably way too loud. Joe came back on the radio. “Nick, Ahmed is down. I have movement on the west shore of the river, looks like a Zodiac boat, maybe another 6 guys.”
Damn. We had to act.
“Ziv, take Brit and Red. Go south and then cross the canal. Wait. Wait a minute.”
I wasn’t thinking straight. Of course. We were on a frigging island. The attack from the east, the harrassing fire from the Barret, were all just diversions. There was no way the zombies could get across the canal; the doors were open, and we had used cutting torches to take out the foot bridges. The only way onto the island was by boat or by foot or vehicle from the North, or by …
“Ziv, head south. Take Hart and Red with you. Cover the south field, expect an airborne or helo insertion. Take the 240, GO!” They rushed out the back door, Red grabbing extra ammo cans.
“Jim, you and Donny deal with the boat, I’m sure a couple of 40mm grenades will discourage them.. The big former Marine nodded. Donny laughed his retarded laugh, and started fitting an HE round into the M203 under his rifle. Frigging weirdo. “Then head north, cover the road. I don’t think they can get through the wall we built with anything short of a couple pounds of C-4, but just make sure.”
“Brit, go see how Ahmed is, see if he needs any more help.”
“Where are you going?”
“I’m going zombie hunting, baby. Give me a kiss, and give me some cover from up top.”
“Nick, if you don’t come back, I’m going to kill you.”
I grinned at her and then had a thought and turned toward the radio.
“Orange Main, this is Lost Boys, over.”
“Orange Main, this is Lost Boys, Over!”
Figures. Stupid RTO was probably asleep or playing X-Box. Not to worry, I had a backup plan. I flipped frequencies.
“Sheriff, Sheriff, this is Lost Boys, Over.”
“Lost Boys, this is Sheriff, what’s up, Nick?”
High over the Hudson Valley, running a racetrack pattern, an Air Force EC-130H “Compass Call” aircraft was providing radio retrans and coverage for the Upper Hudson Valley and the forces operating in a 150 mile radius from Albany. Their call sign was “Sherriff”, and ANY unit in trouble could reach them, 24 hours a day.
“Kevin, I have unknown forces attacking my position” and I quickly told him the grid to the island, which I had memorized long ago. “Do you have anything on call?”
“Roger, Nick, I have a AC-130 gunship returning from Z suppression in NYC, ETA Albany in 5 mikes. I can divert, but only for a few passes, he is almost bingo ammo.”
“That will be fine, tell them to run on any hot spots east of my grid. One or two passes will suffice.”
“Roger that, our TAC has handed them off and they will reach you in about eight, I say again zero eight minutes. Can you hold till then?”
“Check. Thanks, Kevin, I owe you one.”
“You owe me three, now, Nick, but I’m not counting, over.”
“Come by the farm someday. Lost Boys Out.”
I love it when a backup plan comes together.
I ran upstairs, passing Brit along the way as she and Joe carried a bloody Ahmed down the hallway. “How is he?” Brit shook her head, not taking her hand off the wound in his shoulder area. Damn.
As I reached the roof, I heard several grenades detonate, their flat CRACK muted by going off in the water. A red glow started behind the trees that shielded the house from the river. Something hot had set off one of the gas tanks in the Zodiac. Nothing to worry about from that end.
Almost at the same instant, a long stream of tracers suddenly ripped across the south field. I hurriedly put on the NVG’s that Joe had left on the roof, just in time to see another short, 3 second burst dance its way through the figure that were struggling out of parachute harnesses. One started to fire back, then crumpled to the ground as rifle fire joined in. Two of them ran south for the river, away from the gunfire. I guess that mercenary paycheck just wasn’t enough.
Two sides secure. I looked North, but I could see nothing on the road, so I turned East. Overhead, I could hear the drone of the AC-130 approaching from downriver. A few more minutes and the zombies and mercs prowling the woods and fields out there would be smears on the dirt, fertilizer for next year’s corn crop. What I wanted had to be somewhere past them.
I took off the NVG’s and lifted Ahmed’s scoped rifle to my eye. He used an Infrared scope, rather than an ambient, low light one. I scanned the far fields until my eye caught two figures, far behind the attacking force. One was bulky, wearing combat armor and a helmet. The other was smaller, not even carrying a weapon.
I could settle it right here, right now. I’m not the greatest shot in the world, and it was well over 700 meters away, but I thought I could make it. I laid the cross hairs right on the smaller figure’s center torso, let my breath out, and slowly squeezed the trigger.
Chapter 110
Eight hundred meters is a long way for anyone to shoot, and I missed. Well, I sort of missed. The larger figure, which I took to be one of her ex-Delta Force goons turned bodyguard, partially hid Morano’s body as I fired, and I forgot to take into account for windage. A strong south wind, unusual for this time of year, caught the round and moved it about eight inches to the left. Enough that, instead of seeing Morano’s slight form crumple to the ground, the big, beefy soldier folded in the middle, probably gut shot. I had been aiming lower because of her shorter stature. When I had settled the scope again from the recoil, both had disappeared into a fold in the ground.
“Dammit!” OK, well, that’s the way shit happens sometimes. I scanned the field for the vehicles that must have brought them there, and in the far distance I saw two 5 ton trucks. I may not be a great shot when it comes to people, but I can hit a truck. I emptied the magazine into the engine compartment of one, then the other. Hot radiator fluid spilled out onto the ground, making a bright white splash in the infrared spectrum. I wished for a tracer round to set them on fire after I had punctured the gas tanks, but they were probably diesel anyway. Bullets never set gasoline on fire, unless you got lucky and a steel jacketed slug struck sparks off some metal. Even then, no huge explosions, just a hot fire. Another Hollywood myth. Either way, Morano might still be alive, but she wasn’t going anywhere.
I turned the scope southward, to the field where the mercenary team had tried to parachute in. I could see a single figure walking toward the remains of the paratroopers, followed by the short / tall team of Red and Hart, pulling security. As I watched, the lone figure, must have been Ziv, fired a short burst into each of the bodies on the ground. Cold bastard, he was, but he was right. We had other things to worry about than someone faking death and sneaking up on us behind.
Lifting the scope higher, I searched for the two that had run away. I saw one floating in the river, unmoving. His heat signature was fading as I watched. This time of the year, the Hudson was still very cold, and he probably had been wounded anyway. The other one was trying to hide behind a tree. I shot him. Such were the wages of being a mercenary, and I had no sympathy for the ones that hired themselves to someone like the Doctor.
As I made to head back down the stairs, the ground to the east rocked with a rhythmic pounding as the 40mm cannon on the Spectre gunship walked its way across the fields, followed at intervals by the big BOOM of the 105mm howitzer. I ran down the stairs, passed Doc and Brit frantically doing CPR on Ahmed, and flipped the radio to the TACAIR frequency.
“Spectre, Spectre, this is Lost Boys, over.”
The copilot of the gunship immediately came back over the radio. I could hear the rumbling of the engines and the hammering of the guns over his headset. “Go ahead, Lost Boys.”
“Spectre, what’s the situation, over?”
“Lost Boys, we are engaging approximately two – four, I say again, two – four undead and receiving small arms fire from a group located about 100 meters from
the undead, break”
After a second he came back on “be advised, small arms fire no longer a problem. Will continue to engage target area until heat signatures are gone, over.”
“Roger, Spectre, much appreciate the support. Be advised there may be heat signatures eight hundred meters east of my position. DO NOT, I say again, DO NOT engage. High Value Target. Will attempt capture.”
“Roger, will not engage.”
“Also if there are any heat signatures on the west bank, consider hostile, over.”
“Roger that, Lost boys. We will be on station for approximately ten more mikes. Spectre out.”
I dropped the hand mike and raced upstairs. Brit sat crying in the hallway with Ahmed’s head cradled in her lap, covered in blood, his eyes closed. Doc was stripping off his gloves. He also had blood up his arms, and it was pooled on the floor.
“He’s gone, Nick. The round hit him in the shoulder, penetrated his chest cavity, down to his heart, I suspect. There was nothing I could do. He was dead before we brought him down here.”
I sat down next to Brit and put my arm around her. She was sobbing hysterically.
“Brit.” I squeezed her shoulder. “Brit.” She shook her head. I grabbed her jaw in my hand and turned her face towards me. “Brit, he’s gone. We have work to do. Let’s go.”
She looked down at Ahmed’s peaceful features, all the color drained away from the massive internal bleeding. She made a pillow out of her hoodie and set his head down on it, then leaned down to kiss his forehead, a strand of her red hair brushing across his still face, tears mixing with the blood.
“Morano is out there, probably still with some of her goons, and maybe some Z’s. I wrecked her transportation, so they aren’t going anywhere.” I listened, but the explosions outside had stopped. “Air support is done. We need to get the team together and go after her.”
