A Pound of Flesh: Surviving the Zombie Apocalypse

by Shawn Chesser

  His left hand finally found the rubberized handle and he thumbed the switch, wincing at the intensity of the stark white beam. With the Glock in his right hand counterbalancing the hefty flashlight in his left, he waddled down the hall on soft soled shoes. Just as he made the top landing and brought the beam to bear on the marble staircase, a low distant rumble reached his ears.

  Thunder, he guessed, as he double timed it down the nearest set of circular stairs. His breathing quickened—a combination of anxiety, stress and fear—primarily the latter. He needed to get the generator refueled before anyone realized he had let the tank go dry. “Fucking brothers,” he muttered. If one of them would have taken care of this earlier he wouldn’t be facing the prospect of upsetting Robert Christian and finding himself nailed to a cross feeding the birds. That poor houseboy Fredrick. He caught R.C. in the wrong frame of mind and under the wrong set of circumstances. The screams seemed to go on forever. It was something Cliff would take with him to the grave.

  He froze in mid-step halfway down the stairs. In the distance, from somewhere near downtown, he heard a series of muffled explosions echoing across the valley.

  Better wake the boss, he thought to himself as he fought the urge to go to the garage and steal one of the many toys parked inside. Who was he fooling, before being conscripted into NA service he had worked as an armored car driver, and if he had been at home in Chicago when the shit hit the fan instead of vacationing in Yellowstone there was no way he would still be alive. Furthermore, he was certain that if he left alone right now with only his Glock and a bag of Cheetos to see him through, he’d be zombie bait within the hour. Nope. Better to be safe than sorry, he thought to himself. Wake the boss first, and then his henchmen, was the strategy he decided would probably keep him breathing.

  ***

  Cade followed Maddox through the doorway into the courtyard and paused to get his bearings.

  The ski chalet-styled mansion rose in front of him, blotting out the stars; its circular drive and front entry was off to his left. Tinged green by the NVGs, moonlight played on a sliver of water visible between the rear of the mansion and what he guessed had to be a pool house.

  “Going in the front,” Cade said. “Team two... sit-rep.”

  “Clear so far,” Lopez whispered.

  “Give it two mikes then rendezvous at the front door.”

  “Copy that,” replied Lopez.

  Cade padded to the east side of the expansive porch. Sitting in the drive was a dark colored SUV. Crouched low, he dashed to its front fender and placed a palm on the hood.

  Cold.

  He crept back to the porch and up the stairs and slid next to Maddox, who was already hard at work on the intricate lockset on the wide wooden double doors.

  ***

  Tran’s eyes snapped open. The low distant rumble that had jerked him from a deep slumber sounded nothing like thunder. His worst fear had come to fruition. The man-demon Bishop must have blown the bridge, which Tran knew was the only thing keeping the walking monsters at bay.

  He slowly climbed from bed, knelt on the cold wood floor, and began to pray.

  ***

  The moment the flat screen flashed to blue and finally total black, Greta’s moans and Hanz’s Neanderthal grunting ceased. Liam stirred and opened one eye, wondering where in the hell he was. He barely remembered leaving the bar.

  Did I drive?

  Thankfully he didn’t remember the awful German porn he had been watching before he passed out.

  Suddenly he wanted a drink of water more than anything. He sat up, but his brain seemingly stayed on the couch for a second before slingshotting back into his skull throbbing painfully—a nauseating reminder of his overindulgence from the Gods of Scotch whisky.

  He knew the explosions for what they were the second he heard the bass heavy report.

  And so did Lucas, who barged from his room seconds later zipping up his black jacket.

  “Let’s go,” he said, pistol in hand, “that was not the bridge.”

  “Wait one,” Liam whined. “I’m still getting sorted.”

  “Hell of an understatement little bro,” Lucas stated. And as the secondary explosions echoed outside, he visibly stiffened and shot Liam a look that screamed, Hurry up.

  Laying an M4 on the couch next to Liam who was busily lacing his boots Lucas said, “Stay sharp—the dead don’t blow shit up. We’ll check the jennies first... I filled both tanks earlier so I think we probably have visitors.” He opened the door and stepped from the darkened guest house, his big black Beretta leading the way into the inky blackness.

  ***

  Maddox popped the lock open in under a minute. The two operators crouched low, awaiting the return of Lopez and Tice.

  Cade heard Lopez’s voice in his earpiece, “Approaching the front.”

  “Roger that,” Cade answered.

  Once the team had reunited, Maddox pushed the door inward and inched his way into the foyer.

  The air inside was only a few degrees warmer than outside and an eerie silence seemed to permeate the mansion.

  “Team two takes the right stairs,” Cade ordered.

  Silence.

  Cade watched Tice peel away and shadow Lopez up the stairs, lasers sweeping the front as they cut the corner and crouched down, waiting for him and Maddox to summit the thirty-plus stairs on the other side of the foyer.

  Cade ran point as the Delta team moved down the hall, the carpeted runner swallowing up the sound of their footfalls.

  Putting a clenched fist in the air Cade took a knee.

  The other operators followed suit. Lopez turned to keep an eye on their six.

  Using hand signals Cade alerted the others that he detected movement around the corner.

  As he inched his head around the corner, one degree at a time, the sound of rapid knocking filtered to his position.

  “Mister Christian,” a distant voice called out.

  More knocking, louder.

  Cade signaled that they were moving on the source of the noise. He crept around the corner and trotted swiftly down the hall; oil paintings rendered in washed out greens, portraits and landscapes, blurred by in his peripheral vision. The knocking continued and as he rounded the corner the source of the racket came into view. Holding a black pistol and dressed head to toe in dark clothing, a man of average height who was in dire need of a Gut-Be-Gone continued to bang on a door thirty feet down the hall.

  “You have to wake up Robert!” the man bellowed.

  Walking the green laser beam down the hall, Cade settled it on the man’s temple then advanced swiftly to within ten feet of the guard and said in a low voice, “You move and you’re dead.”

  The guard stopped beating on the door and pivoted incrementally on one foot, his right arm holding the Glock near his leg. “You fucking with me Ian?”

  Finger tense on the SCAR’s trigger, Cade barked. “Drop the pistol... now.”

  Cliff squinted at the blocky silhouette, and, forgetting to drop the pistol, raised his arms.

  With a soft report two silenced rounds left Cade’s SCAR. The first bullet entered the man’s open mouth, struck his mandible bone, caromed slightly left and down severing his internal carotid artery, while the second 5.56x45 mm round hit squarely between his eyes. The resulting kinetic energy hinged him backward and spun his body to the carpeted floor, face down and dead.

  Cade stepped over the bloody corpse to take stock of the door. He called Maddox forward where they conferred and agreed the door had a steel core, and since it was locked from the inside could not be breached quietly.

  Builders of mansions typically used the best materials money could buy, Cade thought. And this door was no exception.

  “Stand back,” Maddox warned as he fired a tight pattern of slugs into the door and frame around the handle, then in one fluid motion kicked it inward.

  Moving like mercury the team swarmed the room.

  Each operator had taken down hundreds of room
s in this manner, both under fire and nice and quiet and serene like this one.

  Lopez crossed the room, opened the French doors and checked out the veranda, calling “Clear,” a second later.

  Tice rushed through an open doorway which he guessed led to the master bathroom. And after probing the immense spa-like suite he yelled, “Clear.”

  The final “Clear,” emanated from the cavernous walk-in closet a moment before Maddox stepped back into the master bedroom.

  Cade stood at the foot of a four post bed that had to be a king plus if there was such a thing. A lone figure lay still underneath covers that through his NVGs looked like some kind of shimmering alien fabric. He clutched a corner of the bedspread and yanked hard. The satin sheets slithered to the floor exposing a frail looking man who Cade guessed had been playing possum to avoid detection.

  Lopez removed a glove and checked for a pulse while Cade kept his SCAR aimed on the unmoving man.

  “Is he alive?” Cade asked as he removed a handful of photos from his breast pocket and began comparing them with the man’s face. Though the pictures that Nash had provided at the briefing were several years old, the likeness was unmistakable.

  “He’s alive... but it looks like he has self-medicated,” Tice said, holding up a pill bottle. “Ambien... some kind of sleeping pill.”

  “That’s not all,” Lopez said, indicating the empty champagne bottles.

  “Wake him up,” Cade said impatiently. Then he went about the business of getting them a ride home. “Jedi One-One this is Anvil actual, how copy?”

  After a second of silence Ari Silver’s voice crackled in Cade’s earpiece and said, “Copy that Anvil actual. We will be wheels up in one mike. How about those SAMs?”

  “Benedict Arnold is in custody and all arrows are broken. I repeat arrows are broken,” Cade said, speaking in code and letting Ari know that they had Robert Christian in custody and that the Patriot batteries had in fact been destroyed.

  Chapter 47

  Outbreak - Day 12

  Jackson Hole, Wyoming

  The House - 3:01 a.m.

  Lucas swept the flashlight beam over the pair of generators. “The gas lines have been cut,” he whispered.

  “On both of them?”

  “Yes. And some of the wires have been tampered with,” Lucas added.

  “Ian said that bitch Clay wasn’t going to let Robert Christian get away with sending saboteurs and assassins into Colorado Springs. Like stirring up a hornet’s nest.” He cursed under his breath. “I bet there’s a division of Marines in the valley.”

  “Get a grip Liam. Did you hear air transports or troop helicopters?”

  “No.”

  “Then how in the hell does a Division of anything get into this valley?” Lucas asked.

  Silence.

  “No doubt we’re dealing with a small group of Special Forces. What we need are the night vision goggles.”

  Liam wore a pained look. “Carson pulled rank and took every pair with him to Minot.”

  “That was days ago. He left nothing here?”

  Liam shrugged.

  “The M-60?” Lucas queried.

  Liam replied, “It’s in the garage in the back of the H2.”

  “Get it and fall back to the guest house. We’d be stupid to engage a team of shooters on their terms.”

  “What about Cliff and the guys in the mansion?”

  “They’re on their own,” Lucas said, shaking his head slowly. “I’m saving my own skin.”

  “Amen brother,” Liam said as he set out to get the big gun.

  ***

  Miner’s Butte SOAR Loiter - 3:01 a.m.

  “Kick the tires and light the fires,” Ari said as he tightened his harness and ignited the turbines. “We have a paying fare, gents—and they’re bringing baggage.”

  The rotors spun slowly at first then spooled up, transferring minute vibrations through the airframe.

  Ari pulled pitch and rocketed the Ghost Hawk into the crisp night air.

  Durant, sitting in the left seat, input the GPS coordinates Cade had relayed to him and brought up the exfil point on the topo map. “The butte juts to the north fifteen hundred AGL. The mansion is on the north end of the finger.”

  “Copy that,” Ari answered. Then tearing his eyes from the green glow of the burning SAM sites he looked aft and said, “Warm up the mini, Hicks.”

  ***

  The House - 3:01 a.m.

  Cade snatched a crystal vase off of a side table which was flanked a couple of overstuffed chairs, and tossed the silk flowers on the carpet. “Flex-cuff Sleeping Beauty,” he hissed as he went into the master bath.

  A minute passed before he returned, carrying the vase filled with cold water.

  The second the water hit the prone man he jerked awake, straining against his bonds, then rolled off of the bed hitting the ground with a hollow thump.

  Cade put a boot on the man’s boney ankle, then knelt down making sure that his knee was strategically placed on a softer more delicate area.

  The man grunted and writhed, obviously in extreme pain.

  Thrusting the picture Daymon had given him into the prone man’s face he barked, “Where is this woman?”

  A sly grin spread across Robert Christian’s face.

  Putting all of his weight behind the knee Cade asked slowly and forcefully, “Is she still here?”

  Teeth clenched in agony the old man sneered and said, “You’re too late Sir Galahad... she’s gone.”

  “Tice... Maddox... take this photo. See if you can find her. I want all of the rooms in the upper floor searched,” Cade said, thinking that the bedrooms were the most likely place for the dirt bag to keep his concubines.

  Looking down at the prisoner, Lopez shook his head then turned his gaze towards Cade.

  “I promised,” Cade said in a low voice.

  No, you compromised, Lopez thought.

  “Give me a hand,” Cade said as he pulled the prisoner to his feet.

  Together the two operators hustled him through the French doors onto the veranda.

  Cade roughly shoved Christian onto a teak chaise lounge chair. “Don’t move.”

  “I’m declaring diplomatic immunity,” Robert Christian blurted, “and as President of New America, a sovereign nation—”

  Lopez removed a sweat stained bandanna from his cargo pocket and shoved it deep into the man’s mouth. “Saddam Hussein tried that angle when they caught him in Tikrit... and look where it got him,” he said, miming hanging himself with an imaginary noose.

  “Nothing,” Maddox stated as he walked in the door, having just returned from searching the rest of the upper level.

  “We must have cleared fifteen rooms each with its own commode.” Then closing the door behind him, Tice added. “How many shitters does one man need?”

  As if in response to his question automatic rifle fire raked the door, pinging off of the steel core and sending shards of wood from the casing rocketing into the master suite.

  “Taking fire from the hallway,” Maddox calmly stated.

  After another volley the firing stopped.

  Stalking from the veranda into the suite, Cade leveled his SCAR and fired a pair of full auto bursts into the drywall to the left of the door. Screaming ensued from the hallway. Then pleading. Cade emptied his SCAR into the wall near the floor.

  The screams ceased.

  “Maddox, you cover the door,” Cade said as he made his way out onto the veranda. Then, sensing the low timbre hum of Jedi One-One, he activated an IR strobe and placed it on the roof’s edge to mark their location. The device, which flashed brightly in the infrared spectrum, could only be seen with the aid of night vision goggles.

  Durant’s voice crackled in Cade’s earpiece. “Jedi One-One to Anvil actual, I have eyes on you. How copy?”

  Craning his head to get a visual on the Ghost Hawk, Cade answered, “Good copy. Are you ready for a tricky exfil?”

  “I was born ready,”
Ari stated as he deployed the landing gear and banked the helo gently while glancing over his right shoulder. In the distance fires raged bright yellow and green in his NVGs as the burning Patriot battery lit up a good portion of the elk refuge. “Good job negating the air defenses,” he added.

  “Least we could do,” Cade replied. “You’re going to have to perch one wheel on the deck rail.”

  “Just like the Hindu Kush,” Ari said, referring to the desolate high altitude mountain range in Afghanistan that he had regularly ferried SF operators in and out of during his deployments there. “Rock pinnacle... wood deck... what’s the difference.”

  Cade watched the hulking chopper as it approached and soon the thrumming Ghost Hawk’s rotor wash was whipping the surface of the infinity pool to a glowing froth.

  The starboard wheel kissed the deck and the door slid back revealing the Hawk’s dimly illuminated interior.

  Cade walked the prisoner ahead of him, and with a helping hand from Lopez forcefully threw the billionaire President wannabe into the open door head first. He glanced right and noticed the reassuring silhouette of Sergeant Hicks manning the deadly mini-gun. “Go, go, go,” he yelled over the comms.

  Tice jumped in first and took a seat at the aft bulkhead.

  Cade covered the French doors as Maddox climbed aboard.

  Once everyone was onboard the helo Cade joined them, closed the door and strapped in on the port side.

  Ari increased power, putting a couple of feet between the wheel and the deck, then retracted the gear. “No bad guys on the loose?” Ari asked Cade, immediately regretting his words.

  Green tracers erupted from the large house a few hundred yards northeast of the swimming pool. The glowing bullets ripped through the night air barely missing the helo’s belly.

  Ari glanced right and slid Jedi One-One sideways and away from the mansion to give Hicks a clean angle on target.

  “Engaging,” Hicks said. The gun’s electric whine filled the fuselage as he let loose with a three hundred round burst. The tracers chewed up the house leaving only tattered curtains where the upper story window used to be.