by John Ringo
“Roger, sir,” Copley said. “The NYPD liaison net is down. Ditto cell. I’m down to military radio.”
“Keep at it,” Tom said. “Durante, start moving forward as soon as we’re reloaded.”
The concert crowd had started to scatter as more and more of the infected swarmed the only light in a mile. Faith could hear screams over the music as they were picked off one by one in the surrounding darkness. She keyed on her tactical light as they moved down the road into the woods.
“No lights,” Tom said.
“Boss,” Durante said, firing.
“They’re attracted to the lights,” Tom snapped. “The reason we’re going south. No lights.”
“Lasers?” Faith asked.
“Authorized,” Tom said, firing carefully.
“Oh, my God,” Astroga said.
Faith glanced to the side and blanched. It was just possible to tell who was a zombie and who was a mosher but it didn’t look as if many of the moshers were left. And the zombies were fighting their way over the fences and razor wire to get to the band. Most of Voltaire’s back-up had quit, one was pounding a zombie with an electric guitar, but he was still strumming along.
“Jasper glittered all over the wall, so they /Hung him from the ceiling for a Disco Ball. /There was so much angst after the fight, /Edward and Bella broke up that night. /While some wolves chowed down on a puddle of food /That used to be some rasta vampire dude…”
There was a crackle of sparks as a zombie hit the power leads for the concert and the lights shut out with a sudden finality. Faith couldn’t see what happened in the darkness. But she could hear the screaming.
“You wanna, you know, fight zombies here?” Sophia asked. “I’m borrowing a pistol.”
“Go,” Faith said, returning to fighting. She tried to ignore the screams from the crowd.
“Don’t shoot!” a woman screamed, running towards the group. “Please! Help!” There was an infected in hot pursuit.
“Down!” Astroga shouted. “Get down!” The woman was directly in her line of fire. And she wasn’t listening.
“Cover!” Faith snapped. She could barely see, her eyes were still adjusting, but she drew her sidearm and tracked the zombie one-handed. There was a boom.
“Got it!” she shouted.
“Nice shot,” Copley said.
“Thanks,” Faith replied, firing into the darkness. There was a scream and something started thrashing.
“Thank you, thank you…” the woman sobbed.
“Hey, Christine,” Sophia said, airily. “I thought you wanted to be a zombie.”
“I changed my mind, okay?” Christine said.
“Quiet,” Tom said. Christine started to say something and he hit her on the back of the head. “I said, quiet. Listen.”
“I don’t like being under these trees,” Faith whispered. It was darker even than in the main square and very hard to see the zombies. She flashed her laser around and was rewarded by another thrashing sound. She moved it again and there was another thrashing.
“Are you playing laser tag with a zombie?” Sophia asked.
“I think it’s trying to chase it,” Faith whispered. The sound of the city had nearly died and all there was was the sound of their breathing, the crashing of zombies in the trees and the occasional scream in the distance. A horn started blaring and there were howls in the distance.
“Just keep moving,” Tom said. “Don’t fire unless you have to.”
A zombie came loping at the group and Durante turned to fire.
“I’ve got this,” Randall said, stepping forward. He let his weapon drop on the sling and held out his left hand. “Come on, zombie, nice fresh hand to bite…” He carefully drew his kukhri.
The zombie grabbed his arm and bit down on the offered hand. As he did, Randall brought the kukhri down and to the side, chopping into the back of the zombie’s neck. It dropped to the ground, twitching.
“Stay away from the blood spray,” Tom said.
“Oh, yeah,” Durante said. “Those masks and ponchos make more sense now. You get bitten?”
“Two sets of gloves,” Randall said, holding up his hand. “Rubber MOPP gloves and tacticals. Didn’t even penetrate the rubber.”
“You’ve been planning that, haven’t you?” Copley said.
“Since we got deployed.”
“Sergeant,” Tom said, quietly. “Support?”
“Multiple teams in contact,” Copley said. “The reaction team is in contact. The bases that aren’t deep in buildings are all under attack.”
“If you can, pass that they’re attracted to sound and light,” Tom said. “Go to NVGs.”
“Wish we had them,” Randall said.
They finally cleared the park. There was more light on Washington Square South but not much.
“We need wheels,” Tom said. “Where’s the nearest headquarters that’s not under attack?” Tom asked.
“Fourteenth Street precinct reports no movement,” Copley said.
“Bank’s closer,” Tom said, pointing with his pistol to the west. “We’ll go there. We’ve got a heavy rescue vehicle. We can get you back to your people.”
“Not going to complain,” Copley said. “Wait…” He put his ear to the radio. “Roger… Is that confirmed? Roger… We’ve got ten personnel, say again, ten. Team eight-three, one civilian, six contractors… Okay… Roger… Do no, say again, do not use lights… Roger…”
“What?” Tom asked.
“There’s an MRAP moving down university place to NYU to pick up another team that’s hot. They can do pick-up for us as well.”
“All of us?” Tom asked. “Or just your team?”
“All of us,” Copley said. “It will be tight but they’ll pick us up.”
“East it is,” Tom said. “Rotate with Durante on the park side. Faith, you’re plowing the road.”
“Oh, goody,” Faith said. “Which way?”
“There,” Tom said, grabbing her shoulders to point her in the correct direction. “Specialist, take the back door. Private, you cover the street side. Sergeant, back-up Faith in clearing the road.”
“Roger, sir,” Randall said.
“On it,” Copley said. “We’d better hurry, though. I’m not sure how long they’re going to wait. Or if they can make pick-up if we don’t make the ETA.”
There was a sudden flash of light and a Yellow Cab took the turn onto the street from the direction of the university. Which meant it was going against the traffic if there had been any. It was weaving from side to side, dodging most of the zombies. As Faith watched, it hit one, tossing it half way across the street. As it zoomed by the group it tooted its horn and a faint big band swing medley dopplered into the distance.
Unfortunately, its antics had attracted the zombies in the park. And they were now closing in on the group. Some were getting caught on the low, metal fence of the park but most were successfully clambering over.
“Contact,” Durante said, pulling the trigger. “Tango down. Multiple contacts my side.” He fired again. “Tango down. Not clear…”
“New plan,” Tom said. “Middle of the street. Plow the road and shag bloody arse.”
“We are in heavy contact and moving to your position,” Copley shouted over the radio. “Request support soonest.” He was firing his M4 one handed as he ran.
“Here zombies, zombies, zombies,” Faith said. She was panning the Saiga back and forth at shoulder level. As soon as the red laser would appear, meaning something was in its way, she fired.
“Oh, there’s a bunch behind us!” Randall shouted. “Cover me while I reload!”
“I really wish I’d brought more Saigas,” Steve said. “But what could go wrong with a concert at night in a zombie apocalypse?”
“You’re never going to let go of that, are you?” Faith asked. “I’m out!” she yelled. Zombies were too close to reload so she pulled a pistol and started firing.
“We’re getting surrounded,” Tom said. �
��We need to keep moving!”
“Take cover!” Copley said. There was a sound of a heavy vehicle moving and a burst of machine gun fire suddenly hit a group of zombies by the park.
“South side,” Tom shouted. “By the buildings!”
“Shit!” Faith snarled. She’d dropped behind a concrete planter just as a burst of bullets ripped over her head.
“Friendlies!” Copley shouted. He was face down on the ground. He popped a chemlight and threw it in the air towards the MRAP.
The unlit MRAP continued to lay down fire over their heads as it moved forward, slowly. When it was opposite the group it stopped and the back doors opened.
“You waiting for an engraved invitation?” somebody shouted, then fired to the rear.
“Waiting to make sure you weren’t going to shoot us,” Astroga shouted. She was in the heavy vehicle like a shot.
“Thanks,” Faith said. “I think. You nearly tagged me back there.”
“A miss is as good as a mile,” the vehicle crewman said. “Who’s got the count?”
“Me,” Tom said. “And we’re good,” he added as Durante boarded.
“Ow!” Sophia said, banging her head. “We should have worn helmets.”
“Military vehicles are designed for them,” Steve said, leaning forward. “Hunch and you probably won’t hit your head as much.”
“When did we go hot?” Copley yelled. The inside of the MRAP was like being in a rock crusher. It also was occasionally tossing around as if it was hitting potholes.
“When the lights went out and every zombie in New York City headed for anything with lights on,” the crewman shouted. “Every team’s been hit and just about every headquarters. We are ‘redeploying for active clearance.’”
“About fucking time,” Randall snarled.
“It’s going to get really tight in here,” the crewman said. “We’ve got two more teams to pick up and they’ve got some civilians, too. I guess the zombies are enforcing the curfew for us!”
* * *
It was nearly dawn by the time Tom was able to arrange pick-up for the group and get back to the Bank.
“So are you pulling the handle?” Steve asked.
“I’ll have to see what the Fed and the Board say when they get around to meeting,” Tom said. He was looking out the window of his office at the darkened skyline of New Jersey. There were a few lights. And although he couldn’t see him he was sure that each was surrounded by a wall of “infected persons.” “I can’t pull the handle until the tipping point has clearly been reached, the Fed orders temporary suspension of all operations or the Board orders suspension.”
“I’d say last night was a tipping point,” Steve said.
“For us, maybe,” Tom said. “But I’ve got to stay until they pull the handle. You can go. The evac plan is solid. Everybody involved in critical actions or in the evac group has been vaccinated and boosted.” His phone rang and he picked it up.
“Smith… Roger, sir… Understood… I’ll send a team to pick them up… Roger, it’s under control…”
“Pulling the handle?” Steve asked.
“Sounds like it,” Tom said. “The Chairman and his family are holed up in their apartment on Park Avenue and apparently they can’t get out. Zombies don’t you know. Do me one last favor?”
“Short on teams?” Steve said.
“Very,” Tom said. “Take the BERT truck and go get them. There’s a few other board members as well. Then take it over to the dock and trade places with Kaplan. I’ll send Durante with you but he may need some fire support.”
“I’ll contact you on Channel 47,” Steve said, standing up wearily. “I’m getting too old for this shit.”
“We both are,” Tom said. “Brother…”
“We’ll see you when we see you, Tom,” Steve said. “You going to say good-bye to the girls?”
“Faith would blow me away like a zombie if I didn’t.”
* * *
“As a last job for Uncle Tom that sucked,” Faith said, collapsing onto a couch in the saloon. “I’m done. I’m sooo done.”
It was nearly sundown. They had been up all night and the way things were going they were going to have to be up another night.
The thirteen-year-old was barely out of the hospital. She was toast.
The “simple” job of moving the Chairman of the Board of the Bank of the Americas-along with his “immediate family,” which included not only children and grandchildren but some cousins he thought would be helpful, other board members, their “immediate family” and some hangers-on that Steve thought probably fell into the category of “mistresses” or in one case “boyfriend”-had been a nightmare.
The only people who seemed to understand words and phrases like “urgency,” “emergency evacuation” or “get in the fucking truck, lady” were the Chairman and his wife, Nancy. The Chairman had had to leave in the first lift to get to the meetings at the Bank. There were essentially no electronic communications working. That left his wife trying to persuade a group of wealthy, entitled cats that they needed to move. Didn’t happen quickly and it wasn’t helped by the fact that they had to ride in the BERT van.
In one of the last lifts, Faith had finally lost it when she heard:
“I am not riding in the back of a simply horrible vehicle like that!”
The lady was the wife of a president of something or another at the Bank. A president as she repeatedly had pointed out. Hubby had long since left to attend “meetings.”
Faith, who was working the loading point, pulled her.45 and put it to the woman’s head.
“You can get into the van or I can turn you into vaccine,” she said, coldly. “Your call.”
“You wouldn’t!” the lady snapped.
“Look in my eyes, lady,” Faith said. “Get in the fucking van and get in the van now!”
She got in the van.
“Well, I don’t think we’re going to be asked for our services again, all things considered,” Steve said. “I understand there were complaints.”
“I hope so,” Faith said. “I thing a was a…” Her eyes closed and she started to snore.
“It reminds me of when she was four and she used to fall asleep in her plate,” Stacey whispered.
“The difference being she’s not four, she’s not small and she’s still got all her gear on,” Sophia said, tiredly. “Faith!” She shouted, kicking her sister’s boot.
“Wasat?” Faith said, sitting up and reaching for her pistol.
“Whoa,” Steve said, clamping her hand. “You need to get undressed and into bed.”
“Ogazada…” Faith said and her eyes closed again.
“Mile Seven, this is Thunderblast,” the radio crackled.
“That’s Tom,” Steve said, stepping into the cockpit and keying the radio. “Thunder, Mile Seven.”
“Code is Goose, say again, Goose.”
“Confirm, Goose,” Steve said. As he replied there was the sound of distant explosion behind him. Looking north he saw the center of the George Washington Bridge collapsing into the river. “Bloody hell… Roger, Goose. Good luck.”
“Same, same,” Tom replied. “Out here.”
“And we are away to better climes,” Tom shouted. He hit the anchor winch switch and looked towards the darkened skyline. There were fires burning out of control in Harlem and more from the direction of Brooklyn. The same seemed to be the case on the New Jersey side with widespread fires in every direction.
He raised the mainsail and jib, catching the strong northeast breeze, then straightened away to the south.
When he was underway he pulled out his iPod and scrolled through it for the playlist he’d created. There was a recessed input for it right on the console so he plugged it in and started the playlist.
“Speed bonnie boat like a bird on the wind…” he crooned. “Onward the sailors cry. Carry the lad that’s born to be king, over the Sea to Skye…”
BOOK TWO
I WILL NO
T BOW
Watch the end through dying eyes
Now the dark is taking over
Show me where forever dies
Take the fall and run to heaven
All is lost again, but I’m not giving in
I will not bow, I will not break
I will shut the world away
I will not fall, I will not fade
I will take your breath away
I Will Not Bow
Breaking Benjamin, Dear Agony
PROLOGUE
“It is requested that passengers move to their designated lifeboats…” the enunciator purred over the screams.
“Gwinn! Come on!” Chris Phillips yelled from the lifeboat.
Chris had spent ten years in the Royal Navy as a chef. That was not a cook as he liked to point out. He was a Royal Navy chef. There was a difference. And Stephen Seagal didn’t know the difference.
But after a while, the “allure” of Navy life palled. He still enjoyed the sea. The problem was he never got to see it except from land. He was a very good chef. Good chefs served admirals and admirals generally were also land-bound.
So he’d quit and put out some resumes. Which was how he ended up as a chef for Royal Caribbean Cruise lines and met the love of his life, Third Officer, Staff, Gwinneth Stevens. After years of bachelorhood that had most people joking about his actual tastes, he’d proposed only two months ago.
Then the H7 virus had broken out.
They’d pieced together that the bastard who spread it had left one of his calling cards at the Cruise Terminal in New York. Which meant that there were at least fifteen “patient zeroes” on the boat. And by the time they found that out, there were more.
The boat had been put in “at sea” quarantine. Then the “afflicted” had started to turn. And without antigen testers, they couldn’t screen for who was infected and who wasn’t. And then it spiraled.
The captain and other “ship” officers were already gone, taking all the powered lifeboats. But Staff Side had stayed on. The ship officers, Greeks as was common, considered themselves only responsible for the ship. When it was clear the infected had control and there was nothing to do about it, they had given an almost Gallic shrug and fled, the bastards.
