by Vohs, J. W.
The men and women anticipating battle were strangely motionless inside cages, Hummer-firing-ports, and reinforced screens connecting the vehicles. Shotguns and crossbows were locked and loaded, stacks of pikes and spears close at hand; everything had been double and triple-checked. Gracie knew what it was like to be standing in that line, and she was surprised to find herself missing the reassurance of trusted fighters at her side as she steeled herself for the looming clash. Command had its own rewards, especially the deep satisfaction she felt when her plans and decisions resulted in victory. Gracie knew that the opposite was also true.
Logan was certain that the hunters bearing down on his position were all coming directly at him, and that they were far closer than three hundred meters. Finally, mercifully, he saw Gracie lift her arm and shoot the flare-gun. His crews had been awaiting the signal to fire as anxiously as their commander, and fifty guns fired nearly simultaneously with a ground-shaking thunderclap that literally took the breath from the waiting soldiers. The effect of the volley on the horde was simply devastating. The forward ranks of hunters were blown into pieces that rained down on the monsters pushing from behind. Logan, and most of his soldiers, shouted in joy as they watched the mass of flesh-eaters morph into a spray of blood and body parts as the deadly canister shredded the beasts. Then, the human shouts of triumph turned to cries of alarm as they watched the horde stumble over the corpses and gore without a moment’s hesitation.
“Reload!” was shouted by crew-leaders up and down the line, and Logan noted with satisfaction that his troops immediately reverted to their training and automatically turned their focus from the horrors in front of them to their guns. Thirty seconds later the first of the reloaded cannon fired into the horde, followed by the rippling roar of the rest of the guns discharging their fearsome loads. Huge swaths of hunters met the fate of their brethren who’d been mowed down by the first volley, and almost imperceptibly, the following ranks drifted to the right and left.
Gracie observed the effects of the guns with savage delight, easily pushing aside any feelings of sympathy for the monsters who were humans just a year earlier. These creatures were coming to kill her troops, her friends, and millions of innocents struggling to evacuate a state that had survived the outbreak only to become the target of Barnes’ latest rage. She estimated that at least two thousand corpses were piled on the ground and highway directly in front of the human position. The mound of dead writhed with the efforts of the wounded to scramble free from the bodies and gore holding them down. Gracie watched as a hunter missing an arm, and trailing intestines from a gaping abdominal wound, managed to struggle to its knees just in time to be trampled by a fresh wave of pack-mates pushing forward with the attack. The new wave was quickly scythed by a hailstorm of lead balls, adding their own flesh and blood to the hideous mound they’d just scaled.
The hunters to Gracie’s left had run right into the freezing waters of the reservoir, hundreds of the beasts flailing away in panic even as they were pushed further into the basin by the weight of the following ranks. Within a few minutes the horde was moving smoothly to the east, avoiding the water but heading away from the human defenses. Helicopters were rushing to the front to try to turn the creatures around, but Gracie knew they would fail; tens of thousands of hunters weren’t easily controlled.
On the right, the horde had pushed into and through the trench filled with fuel and other flammables. Gracie sent her second flare soaring into the sky above the battlefield, the signal to ignite the trap. She was nearly mesmerized by the sight of the flames rushing to life amid the hunters inside the trench, nodding in appreciation of her engineers as the fire danced out of the ditch and through the ranks of creatures who had waded through the fuel moments earlier. Maybe as many as a thousand burning hunters ran from the pillar of flames behind them, only to be mowed down by shotguns forty meters from the vehicles as the infantry finally got into the fight.
As with the reservoir, the weight of the horde continued to push hundreds of hunters to their deaths before the momentum of tens of thousands subtly shifted to either side of this new obstacle. Now hunters began frantically crawling at the slope as they sought a way around the flames to their front. Gracie immediately realized that the trench was a double-edged sword for the battalion. The fire protected a large part of the front and sent flank-attackers into the mountains, but she was shocked by how many of the monsters were now crawling their way toward the two squads waiting to repel them. She had figured on hundreds trying the slope above the flame-trench, but there were thousands of the beasts now headed toward twenty humans. The infantry posted between the ditch and the reservoir were still watching the big guns destroy the hunters trying to reach the line, but she feared that the fight was about to be lost because she’d underestimated the threat to the right flank.
Barnes had spent the first hour of the battle in the cockpit of his “presidential” helicopter, circling above his army of hunters and enjoying the show as they went into action against what looked like a battalion of Utah forces. Remembering that a couple of these enterprising militias had brought down a few of his choppers in the past, he had ordered the pilot to stay at least a half-mile from the front line. Even at that distance, he could see that the troops blocking the highway presented the most highly armored, heavily armed, and obviously mobile unit he had seen since the collapse. The cannon had come as a huge surprise, but he had quickly realized that he shouldn’t have been shocked by this new development. Crude gunpowder wasn’t difficult to manufacture, and sooner or later some survivors were going to figure out how to use rudimentary black powder in tubes bigger than those provided by deer-hunting muzzleloaders. Sooner had obviously arrived.
The young pilot had apparently just remembered he had stored a set of high-quality binoculars under his seat, keeping his eyes on the controls as he reached down and grabbed the case with his left hand before offering them to his president. When Barnes got his first close-up look at the soldiers fighting his army of infected, he wondered to himself why they were all wearing black, in possession of all-black vehicles. Only their edged weapons were gleaming in the desert sunlight. Remembering that Andi was in the bay wearing a headset, he keyed the mike and asked her about the unidentified force he was intent upon destroying.
“I don’t have the view you have up there,” she smartly answered. “But from what I’ve been able to make out, those guys are kicking your ass at the moment.”
“I didn’t ask you how the fight was going,” Barnes had to work to keep his temper in check. “I asked if you knew this unit.”
“No,” she replied, “but my guess is that they’re some sort of elite, quick-reaction force. Those cannon are amazing!”
“Merely delaying the inevitable,” he sighed with impatience and switched off the mike. Barnes pointed to the west and gave the pilot a thumbs up, signaling that he was ready to head to the forward command post until the highway was clear. As the chopper turned west, he looked back toward the battle one last time. The human line was still holding, but Barnes could see that his host stretched to the horizon. The monsters were finally massing into a phalanx that he knew would be unstoppable. For now, he would land and enjoy his lunch; dinner might be delayed as he watched Utah die.
Jack didn’t allow the convoy to stop in Denison, or any other settlement they passed through during the long night. They had nine hundred miles to travel in order to reach Utah, and everyone felt the need to get there as soon as humanly possible. Brief breaks for the troops to relieve themselves and switch drivers were allowed several times along the route, but mostly it was pedal to the metal across the vast stretches of West Texas, New Mexico, and Arizona. Finally, they crossed into Utah just after sunrise and took the shortest path to I-15. Jack, along with many others in the convoy, prayed they were on time as their tires kicked up Utah dust in the clear, early morning air.
Half an hour later, Jack called for a halt on the outskirts of Hurricane. With the engines quiet h
e could easily hear the rumble of the guns a few miles to the west. He quickly called his inner circle over to study maps of the area and try to figure out what was going on without leading the convoy into the middle of a massive battle without knowing who, what, where, and when. There was no way to answer all of those questions, but John’s practiced eye quickly offered an analysis of what was happening ahead of them. “Somebody, maybe Luke’s battalion, is trying to block the highway where this reservoir is only a mile from the mountains. Any defender would have a lake on the left, and a mountain range on the right; it’s a damn good position.”
Jack agreed, but suspected that if they circled Hurricane and the reservoir to the south, they might end up behind the attacking army. “We need to take this highway 17 to the north until it intersects with I-15, then we can circle in behind the fight and get a better idea of how we can help.”
Carter had been fiddling with a radio. “I can hear garbled transmissions on this thing; I’m guessin’ that if we get close enough, maybe line-of-sight, we might regain radio contact with friendlies over there.”
“Keep trying,” Jack encouraged, “but right now get everyone back in their vehicles and let’s go find out what the hell is going on.”
Gracie climbed down from her post and looked around to see who was available to join her in reinforcing the threatened flank. Courtney rushed over and handed her a handheld radio. “This is Captain Seifert-Smith!” Gracie barked.
The voice was difficult to pick up, but it was unmistakable. “Gracie, this is Jack. We’re two miles out with an infantry company on DPVs. We can hear the guns. Where do you need us?”
Gracie’s first response was to wonder if this call was really taking place. She looked around for a moment, until Courtney tugged on her sleeve and whispered. “Send them up the mountain.”
Gracie nodded at the girl. “Jack, we need you on the right flank, up on the slopes above us. You’re about to come up on Silver Reef Road; there’s a café by the same name on the left of the interstate. You need to take the road to the right and follow it as it runs along the base of the mountain. Just keep riding to the smoke and the guns. If you can get up the slope on the DPVs, great; if not, you’re gonna have to climb.”
“Turning onto the road now,” Jack replied. “We’ll be there in a few minutes. Where’s Luke?”
“Not here right now—he’s following one of his feelings. I’ll tell you everything later.”
“Okay, Gracie— just hang on . . .”
They drove their DPV’s off the road and up snaking trails that only experienced eyes could make out. As they approached the first crest that formed the ridge leading to where Zach’s squads were fighting, Jack finally decided that they could take the DPVs no higher and leapt from his machine before it stopped. The rest of the troops followed his example, and soon some of the younger men raced past him. When Jack was finally certain he couldn’t take another step, the men ahead began to disappear over the steepest part of the slope, and a minute later Jack joined them on the ridge. Hands on his knees as he labored for the oxygen his muscles were screaming for, he looked out toward the forlorn hope that Zach’s isolated troops now represented. Scores of hunters had fought their way past the line of brave fighters; the survivors now standing shoulder to shoulder in a small circle of no more than a dozen men. Luckily for the battalion in the valley, the flesh-eaters that had gained the crest were more interested in finishing off and devouring the soldiers still on their feet. Jack could see that many hunters were piled onto the men who’d already fallen; sacrifices that currently halved the number of monsters attacking the living.
There was no time to wait for the entire company to climb the slope; Zach’s warriors would be dead in minutes. Jack stood up and forced his quaking legs to move forward. Half of his troops were ready to follow, visors slapped down and favored weapons held at the ready. The squad blessed with pump-action shotguns was trotting along with Jack. He waved them forward as they approached the battlefield. The gunners stopped fifty meters from the melee surrounding the beleaguered survivors and fired a round of buckshot into the packed hunters. At least a dozen flesh-eaters went down under the storm of lead, while at least as many more of the beasts peeled away from the action with gaping wounds. The gunners then began to run, concerned about the possibility of striking the remaining humans if they shot again.
Jack watched three more soldiers fall to the furious hunters just before he and the men running beside him struck the monsters in their unsuspecting backs. The halberd felt better in his hands than he’d ever imagined it could. God help me, he thought as he chopped a third skull in half in as many swings, but I love this. Months of stress and pain came pouring from his hands as he stabbed and slashed with his favorite weapon, gore and blood covering his visor as he waded more deeply into the mass of flesh-eaters now frantically trying to escape the wrathful humans on their flanks. Unfortunately for the beasts, dozens of veteran hunter-killers were itching for a fight. The creatures fell writhing to the rocky ground, trying to flee with no escape route open. The peak was clear of all but the dead in a matter of minutes.
Jack ordered the nine survivors of the valiant two squads that had fought so bravely to rest and rehydrate behind the new line, then began assigning positions to his soldiers. Hunters were still reaching the top of the slope by the score, but the fresh troops speared and hacked and shot them down in droves. A two-hundred-meter line was established from directly above the fire trench to a deep ravine leading away from the battlefield; thousands of hunters were now streaming into the mountains as Gracie had originally hoped.
With the immediate threat to the right flank eliminated, the troops blocking the highway were free to continue mowing down the ranks of the howling flesh-eaters as they pressed forward. Whatever questions anyone in the battalion might have had about the value of the cannon were quickly forgotten as the storm of death continued to blast the hunters. Across the entire front, the oncoming creatures now had to traverse large mounds of corpses in order to reach the human defenders. Wyatt’s troopers, with their muzzle-loading rifles, were proving to be especially adept at shooting down the monsters as they silhouetted themselves atop the piles of their own dead. The soldiers posted behind the laager were having an easy time of it, few crossbows or shotguns had been employed as the fighters realized that spears could handle the trickle of hunters managing to reach them through the hail of lead.
From her position atop the command vehicle, Gracie could see that the numbers of flesh-eaters seemed to be dropping; past battles with massive hordes had taught her to expect ever-increasing pressure. She told Courtney to raise Jack on the handheld to ask him what he could see from his position.
Twenty seconds later, his voice was in her ear. “The hunters that have hit us so far have just been a very small part of the horde, a hundred times more, at least, are coming up soon.”
“Why are they waiting?” Gracie asked anxiously.
“Some sort of accordion effect was going on along the highway, which is pretty normal during a march.”
“Okay, so what are they doing now?”
“You see how those Blackhawks are circling about a mile away?”
“I see them,” Gracie curtly replied. “What are they doing?”
“They’ve managed to halt most of the hunters; now they’re making them spread out and bunch together.”
“Jack, weren’t they doing that already? They hit us damn hard.”
“I know they did,” he sympathized, “but that was just a disorganized mess forced in this direction. The next assault will be a lot worse.”
“What do you see?”
Jack hesitated before answering. “They extend to the horizon; there must be millions of them.”
Gracie was quiet for a moment before responding. “I’m glad you made it here to help us kill ‘em all.”
Luke was doubling back to rejoin the Black Battalion when he heard a lone helicopter approaching, and he flattened himsel
f to the ground to avoid possible detection. An unusually large Marine bird passed directly over his head with no sign that it had noticed anything to be concerned about. The aircraft had a familiar mark on the bottom, and he needed a few seconds to recognize what he was seeing: the official seal of the president of the United States.
Luke was instantly on his feet. There’s no way that chopper is flying anywhere near Barnes unless that bastard is on board, he thought with growing excitement. Running back to where he could look out toward the mountaintops, he expected to see the presidential helicopter disappearing to the west. The bird wasn’t heading west; it had turned to the south, following the contours of a valley that would eventually lead back to I-15. Then, to Luke’s surprise, the helicopter appeared to be landing on a ridge just a few short miles away. Luke smiled and signaled to Will in the distance—it was time to pay a visit to General Barnes.
CHAPTER 32
The sun was past its zenith, but not far past it, as the massive assault Jack had seen being prepared to the west finally struck the battalion. Zach stood in the turret of his Hummer, his spear unbloodied but ready for action. He watched the horde march over a rise about a half mile away, but lost sight of the forward ranks as they dipped below the corpse-mounds stretching across the entire front. As he expected, hunters atop the heaped dead signaled the arrival of the monsters a few minutes after he’d lost sight of them. He steeled himself against the expected roar of the big guns, but before the artillerymen had enough targets to open up on, Zach learned something new about fear.
