This is the End 3: The Post-Apocalyptic Box Set (8 Book Collection)

by J. Thorn

  “What’s on your mind?” I asked, taking the last drag of the cigarette and crushing it out below the instrument panel where the faint light from the burning tobacco wouldn’t be visible to anyone scanning the lake. She didn’t say anything for a moment, then pushed the goggles up onto the top of her head and looked at me.

  “Just remembering the last time you left me alone on the boat. No biggie. I’ve got Mayo and Dog this time so everything will be fine.” I was trying to find the right thing to say but she continued before I could speak.

  “I’m worried you won’t be coming back. You barely survived saving me, and I know you’re still not close to a hundred percent. Not sure I want to try to survive this on my own.” I didn’t know what to say to that so I settled for reaching out and taking her hand in mine. We stayed like that, holding hands, until I cut the throttles when the cruiser’s navigation system showed we were three miles off the shore.

  On the shore to our left was the camp Anderson had described, brightly lit and shining across the water like a beacon. I raised the binoculars and took a look. Apparently the lights were also a beacon for the infected which pushed up against the barricades in throngs too large to even begin to count.

  The walls protecting the camp looked to be made of boat trailers turned on their sides with steel plates welded to them and stacked two and three trailer widths high. On the inside of each trailer a steel strut had been welded at a forty-five degree angle from the higher edge of the trailer to the ground where it provided bracing against the constant push of the infected. Makeshift watchtowers had been built, and I could hear the occasional report of a rifle as some sentry shot an infected. I was too far away to tell, but my guess was they were having to watch for and shoot the much more agile females when one would find a way to start climbing the outside of the barricade.

  Still using the binoculars I scanned the shore to the west, but it was too dark to make out any details and the NVGs weren’t any good at this distance. We’d have to get in close to the shore and hope the map wasn’t wrong or just grossly out of date. I started to climb down the ladder but Rachel stopped me with a hand on my arm. I met her eyes, smiled more jauntily than I felt, and quickly made my way down to the deck.

  Blake was already in the speedboat, reconnecting the flex hoses and Anderson was nervously checking and re-checking his pistol’s load. Mayo stood at the bottom of the ladder, waiting for me to clear the bridge so there would be room for him. Stopping in front of him I looked him in the eye.

  “I’ll keep her safe.” He said. I nodded, clapped him on the shoulder and herded Anderson into the speedboat.

  Blake had the exhaust back in place and as I settled into the driver’s seat he kneeled down in the bow, released the line tethering us to the cruiser and reached up and pulled the charging lever on the machine gun. Anderson settled into the seat next to me and I hit the boat’s starter. Blake gave a push to get us clear of the larger boat then I gave the motor a couple notches of throttle and headed to shore. Behind I heard the cruiser’s motor start as Rachel and Mayo headed back north.

  I kept our speed down to just under ten knots until we were a mile from shore, then dropped us down to five knots to reduce our noise as much as possible. Next to me Anderson continually scanned the shore with a pair of binoculars that had come from the houseboat, looking for a seaplane depot. Half a mile from shore I cut the throttle back to idle and the boat slowed to only a couple of knots.

  I was steering us parallel to the shore, heading away from the barricaded compound to give Anderson a good when I heard the boat motor behind us. Looking over my shoulder the NVGs let me clearly see a small boat heading out of the marina and in our general direction. Three men were on board, one driving and the other two sitting in the bow with rifles held pointing skyward.

  They were a still a good distance away, but the military grade NVGs allowed me to make out that they were also wearing night vision. I had no way of knowing if they’d managed to get their hands on some military grade hardware or if they were using the much lower resolution units that can be purchased in any sporting goods store. If they had military units then they would spot us any moment, otherwise we were well outside their range.

  Anderson suddenly sat up straighter and stared through the binoculars at a point on the shore, then pointed excitedly.

  “There,” he said. “I can see a large hangar with a concrete apron that runs right down into the lake. That has to be it.”

  “Can you see any planes?” I asked, keeping my eyes on the approaching boat.

  “No, but they could very well be in the hangar. If I had a hangar available I wouldn’t leave a plane sitting out in the weather.”

  I pushed my NVGs up onto my head and took the binoculars from him, looking where he pointed. He was right. A large hangar sat about fifty yards back from the edge of the water with a concrete apron that ran from the hangar all the way down to the water. There was a large sign over the hangar doors, but it was too dark to make out the lettering.

  The place appeared to be deserted with no sign of survivors or infected. Making my decision I bumped the throttle forward and pointed us at a small dock that jutted out into the lake at the edge of the apron.

  “We’ve got a problem,” Blake called out from the front of the boat. “The noise they’re making is attracting infected and they’re bringing them right down the shore with them.” He gestured at the boat that had appeared behind us.

  I looked at the boat coming our way, its exhaust loud, then checked the shoreline to see dozens of infected stumbling along as they stared out across the water at the source of the noise. At their current rate they’d be at the hangar just a few minutes after we arrived. Not good. I had no idea how long it would take us to break into the hangar and get a plane ready to go. Anderson was confident that any plane we found would be fueled and ready to fly, but I didn’t want to count on it. Shit!

  Keeping the throttle where it was I spun the wheel and pointed us out to the open lake. I didn’t know if these guys were a patrol or just some assholes who decided to take a late night joy ride, but the last thing we needed was them bringing a pack of infected down on our heads while we were trying to get a plane in the air. This is what happens when you don’t have time to do reconnaissance and gather intelligence.

  We had just settled on our new course that would take us away from the shoreline when the sound of another motor roared from the direction of the marina. All of us looked to our right and saw a bass boat – what was it with these guys and bass boats? – quickly gaining speed and heading directly towards us. Three armed men accompanied the driver and one of them raised a giant spotlight and turned it on, swinging it in our direction. They’d spotted us from shore. Someone had some military issue hardware. Well, so did we.

  “Light ‘em up, Tech Sergeant,” I said, spinning the wheel and accelerating to put the new boat directly in front of us.

  Blake stood up, grasped the machine gun with both hands, swung it a little up and to the left to adjust and squeezed the trigger. The gun started hammering and Blake adjusted fire as red tracers lanced out and splashed into the water to the boat’s right. There were shouts of panic from the boat and the driver turned the wheel to try and avoid the incoming fire, but Blake adjusted with him and shredded the boat and the four men aboard.

  We were all deafened after the hammering fire from the M240 and I watched in silence as Blake’s chest disintegrated in a spray of blood and his body pitched over the side into the water. The other boat had someone who could shoot! I slammed the throttles to their stops, not worried about noise discipline any longer, pointed at the wheel and scrambled forward to man the machine gun as Anderson slipped into the seat I had just vacated.

  Standing behind the machine gun I flexed my knees to absorb the motion of the boat and swung the barrel onto target as I pulled the trigger. The gun started hammering out rounds and I used the tracers to walk my fire up and into their boat. The heavy, high velocity s
lugs destroyed everything they hit. Fiberglass, aluminum, flesh, bone; it didn’t matter. They punched through everything, and I kept the fire up for a couple of seconds to make sure everyone in the boat was down for the count. One of the tracer rounds found the gas tank and the boat exploded in a bright flash and ear shattering boom. A few moments later flaming debris started raining down onto the water.

  Letting off the trigger the barrel smoked heavily, the wind of our passage quickly cooling the weapon back down. I scanned around and didn’t see any other threats, then looked for and spotted Blake’s corpse floating in our wake. I motioned Anderson to slow down and come about and moments later we slid up next to Blake, engines idling. Unclipping a boat hook from the side rail I snagged the body, pulled it close and grabbed the NVGs off Blake’s head. Tossing them into the boat I let the body slip away and re-clipped the boat hook. I don’t like leaving a fallen comrade behind, but trying to recover Blake’s body and take it with us would almost undoubtedly cause our mission to fail, and failure would most likely mean death for all of us at this point.

  Anderson had pushed his NVGs up on his head and stared at me with eyes as big as saucers. I grabbed his shoulders and moved him to the passenger seat, jumping behind the wheel. We’d just alerted all the people in the camp as well as every infected for miles around to our presence and we still had to steal a plane. Jamming the throttles forward I steered around the flaming wreckage of the other boat and aimed for the concrete apron.

  The speedboat covered the water at a fast clip as we made a beeline for the seaplane hangar. As we approached I could see infected swarming down the shoreline, still a good distance from the hangar, but closer than I was comfortable with. I shouted to Anderson to be heard above the roar of the engine and the wind whipping past our faces.

  “I’m going to pull right up to that small dock. You get the hangar open and find us a ride. I’ll hold off the infected.”

  “How do I get in if the hangar’s locked?” He shouted back.

  “You have a pistol. Shoot the lock off if you have to. Watch your back, too. There might be infected inside.”

  Anderson nodded he understood and a moment later I cut the throttle as we roared up to the dock. The boat settled and slammed hard into the wood, snapping off the stainless steel railing that ran along the top of the bow rail. Anderson was out in a flash, up on the dock and running for the hangar. I checked the area through the NVGs and didn’t see any infected yet, but I could hear the screams from females coming our way.

  Checking on his progress I saw Anderson reach the hangar and tug on a man-door that was set into the larger rolling doors. It didn’t budge and he didn’t waste any time stepping back, drawing his 9 mm pistol and firing several rounds into the knob and deadbolt. Grabbing the door he yanked and it flew open. He disappeared inside and I had to turn my attention back to the business at hand as female infected appeared around a building a couple of hundred yards down the shore. I also noted the noise of several boat motors, but they sounded to still be a fair distance away.

  Tilting the machine gun on its pintle, I fired four very short bursts and was rewarded with all of the females in view falling to the ground, legs and bodies destroyed. I shifted attention to the lake and spotted three small boats heading my way, each packed with men. They were still too far away to effectively engage with the machine gun, but it wouldn’t be long before I would need to deal with them. More infected started appearing and I waited briefly, giving them time to cluster together as they tended to do, then opened fire again and took out eight of them as the machine gun ran dry.

  Tossing the empty ammo can overboard I opened the next one in line, grabbed the end of the ammo belt and fed it into the gun. While I had been distracted doing this, another dozen infected came into sight and I cut them down before swiveling the gun towards the lake and sending some tracer fire towards the fast approaching boats.

  I’ve been shot at in the dark by machine guns with tracers and I’m not ashamed to admit it is downright terrifying. If you’ve had any exposure to weapons at all you know what a single bullet can do to you, and the thought of hundreds of them coming your way in the span of a few seconds will make even the bravest soul dive for cover. So it was with the boats, each driver executing a fast turn to try and put a big cushion between them and me.

  Glancing over my shoulder at the hangar I was frustrated to not see the big doors rolling open yet. I had to trust Anderson to do his job and I had to do mine. Three more bursts from the machine gun took down another ten infected, then another burst out into the lake to keep the boats a respectful distance away.

  I moved my attention back to the shore and had to fire more bursts to cut down the next pack of females who ran screaming towards me, then paused and stared as a solid mass of infected appeared downrange. At the same time, bullets started smacking into the dock in front of me, a few of them also finding the speedboat, splintering the fiberglass hull where they struck. Swinging back to the lake I pulled the trigger and walked the stream of bullets into the closest boat. Men dove overboard as their boat started coming apart, then I found the gas tank and another explosion lit the night.

  The bullets coming my way stopped as the remaining boats moved further out into the lake and I swung back to the infected and started laying down fire. Infected fell before the withering fire from the machine gun, then it fell silent, another belt used up. Cursing I fumbled the empty case out of the way, opened the last remaining case and fed the final belt into the gun.

  “Move your ass, Anderson!” I screamed over my shoulder, hoping he would hear me inside the large hangar.

  Mowing down more infected it was obvious I didn’t have enough ammunition to hold my position much longer. I was maintaining fire discipline and using very short bursts and took a glance out at the lake to make sure the boats weren’t creeping back in to shore. They were keeping their distance, but I knew as soon as I ran out of ammo they would make a dash forward and light me up. Just as I hit a green tracer, telling me I was halfway through my last belt of ammo, I heard a metallic squeal as Anderson pushed open the hangar doors.

  “Let’s go!” Anderson shouted, shoving one of the doors the last few feet open and running back to get the second door open.

  More infected were showing up by the second. Hundreds of them were now shambling my way. A large group diverted towards Anderson, having been attracted by his shout and the squeal of the hangar doors opening. Two packs of females sprinted out ahead of the main group, one towards Anderson and the other towards me. With less than half a belt of ammo left I swung the machine gun and mowed down the pack approaching Anderson, then switched to my rifle and started firing on the pack running straight at me to conserve the last of the heavier ammo.

  In three round burst mode I burned through a 30 round magazine, slapped in a fresh one and used most of it to neutralize the females. As I brought down the last one, bullets started smacking into the dock a few feet from me. I looked out at the lake in time to see the muzzle flash from the shooter that was hoping for a lucky shot. I had to decide between the shooter in the boat and the herd of infected that was almost to the edge of the concrete apron. I didn’t have enough ammo left for the machine gun to engage both.

  My decision was made for me when I heard first one then a second airplane engine sputter to life. Anderson had gotten a plane started and was taxiing out of the hangar, propellers spinning up and engines roaring. He’d found a fairly large twin engine plane with big floats. Underneath each float were two sets of wheels so the plane could take off, land and taxi on a paved surface.

  As the plane fully emerged from the hangar a bullet sparked off the concrete too close to it for my comfort. Slinging my rifle I swiveled the machine gun out to the lake and pressed the trigger, using the tracer rounds to walk the stream of lead up and into the boat. Perhaps they thought they were out of range at close to 800 yards, but the M240 chewed up the boat and the men in it then ran dry.

  One of the les
sons the Army hammers into you during training is that you never leave a functioning weapon behind on the battlefield unless you’re willing to have your enemy recover the weapon and use it against you. Even though I was out of ammo didn’t mean there wasn’t someone in their camp that had some or knew where to get some. Grabbing a thick cloth I’d brought for the purpose, I wrapped it around the sizzling hot barrel, pushed the release and twisted ninety degrees. The barrel came free from the machine gun and I flung it as far out into the lake as I could. Not the best way to dispose of it, but it was too hot to put in my pack and I still had infected to fight before I could catch my flight.

  Climbing onto the dock I started firing at the front ranks of the herd as I moved towards the concrete ramp where it met the water’s edge. Every time I pulled the trigger an infected fell down dead, but there were already more infected in sight than I had bullets. My goal was to drop the front ranks so those behind them stumbled and tripped over their bodies, slowing the herd enough for us to escape.

  The plane’s engines revved as Anderson headed for the water, but the infected were approaching too quickly for me to stop shooting. If they cut off the open ramp we were screwed. The propellers, spinning at thousands of revolutions per minute, would shatter upon impact with an infected. The human body has a lot of very hard bone in it, and unlike in the movies, propellers don’t dice up the bad guy to end the fight then keep on spinning like nothing happened.

  I ran across the ramp, directly towards the herd, waving Anderson to the water behind me. Firing as I ran the infected kept dropping, but there were too many of them and they were within 20 yards of me as the plane passed behind. Dropping two more shambling males with the last rounds in my magazine I let the rifle drop on its sling, turned and ran for the airplane as the front of the floats hit the water. I never saw the female that tackled me from behind as I reached the plane.