Simmons jumped in surprise, but he moved. When he was a handful of steps away he stopped and shrugged off the strap of an old, military-surplus musette bag he wore across his chest and tossed it in Pete’s direction. Pete caught it automatically and gave a crooked smile at the solid weight inside.
Brett’s courage may have failed him, but he’d at least come prepared. Hell, I bet this came out of Larry’s store, Pete thought as he ran the strap across his chest and let the bag hang on his hip. He tapped the magazine release with his trigger finger and slammed a fresh one home. “I’m out!” Vir shouted.
“Charlie, Vir, reload! Trey, Jenny — pour it on!” Pete screamed as he clicked the M-4’s fire selector onto burst and dumped the magazine with ten quick trigger pulls. The onrushing horde crawled over each other and the bodies of the fallen. Arms and legs and torsos intermingled into one continuous press of gray flesh. They’d been waiting long enough, Pete supposed. Their opportunity was at hand and the beasts were going to take it. Over my dead body.
His ears were ringing from the cacophony of the gunfire to an extent that he didn’t hear the sound of their salvation. He dropped the mag and fed another one home. He slapped the bolt release with his left hand as soon as the magazine was in place and shouldered the rifle to keep firing. The boom of an amplified shout over speakers interrupted him, and joy surged in him at their moment of salvation.
“MOVE!”
Hanratty’s voice was deep and authoritative face to face. Boosted via loudspeaker over the diesel roar of the LAV’s engine, it was like the roar of some ancient deity come to wreak havoc. Pete waved the others aside even as he joined the scramble. The electric whir of the cannon turret was almost subdued compared to the massive thump that he felt more than heard. Even as he tried to cover his ears, Pete turned toward the wall breach in time to see the center of the horde collapse.
Whoever was manning the turret made a slight adjustment to the cannon’s aiming point, and it barked again. The cannon shot washed away the crawlers on top of the heap, and Pete couldn’t resist his shout of elation. “Pour it on! Get some, Marines!”
Another cannon shot, and then the coaxial machine gun joined in. He was so fixated on the joys of destruction that he flinched when Vir grabbed his arm. “Pete, we’ve got to move! The buses are here!”
He glanced up. Sure enough, both vehicles were picking their way through the grass parallel to the eastern wall. The LAV maintained position, and he moved along with the rest of the survivors behind it as the armored personnel carrier continued to fire. The rate was somewhat reduced now, and Pete wondered if they’d taken a big enough chunk out of the horde to reduce the pressure at the breach. He mentally compared the stack of bodies they’d piled up to the gruesome specters he’d been watching. He couldn’t help but think that they had only seen a small sample of what lurked in the woods.
The first bus came straight on and nosed up against the southern fence to put the armored side toward the breach. The other bus had to move more carefully. The driver swung wide to line up the rear of his own bus with the eastern wall and began backing up. The driver of the second bus was Gary, and Pete raised a hand in greeting. The other man was too focused on what he was doing to notice.
As Gary’s bus came into position, the LAV ceased fire. If they hadn't reduced the numbers at the breach, the pause might have been fatal. As Pete peered around the edge of the armored vehicle, the breach was empty save for the bullet-wracked bodies of the fallen. And then, with the high-pitched tones of the backup beeper, Gary’s bus edged back and blocked that port. Metal squealed against metal on the driver’s side as he cut the wheel over to make sure the buses made a solid block. There might have been a gap of a few inches between the rear of the first bus and the side of Gary’s, but Pete doubted that it would be enough to be a problem. They’d used this method before, and it had worked well at the time. Just hold, he mentally urged the buses. Just hold long enough for us to fix the damage.
The squeal of metal was his cue to relax. He slung Brett’s rifle over his shoulder and strolled out from behind the LAV.
Gary pulled the bus doors open and hopped out. He looked around a moment, then headed in Pete’s direction upon spotting him. All they'd been able to hear moments before was gunfire, shouting, and the LAV’s engine, but silence — or something close to it — now reigned. The remainder of his team stood wherever they’d ended up, looking as though they were unsure of what to do. One second they’d been in a fight for their lives, and in the other, safety had descended back upon them. It was a weird feeling. Pete knew; he wasn’t unfamiliar with the experience. He’d once described combat to Larry as ‘minutes of sheer terror followed up by hours of boredom.’
“Everyone all right?” Pete asked, and winced. His ears were still ringing and he’d spoken more loudly than he intended to. The others gave him nods and other gestures of understanding. Despite the knock he’d taken on his head, Charlie stood tall and looked as focused as ever. Of the others, Trey in particular still looked a little queasy.
Going to have to talk to him later, Pete judged. Any other assessment of their condition was on the back burner, though, as Gary walked up with a frown on his face.
“What the hell, Pete?” The other man’s voice was firm. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m glad that you and your people were here, but last I checked this sort of thing ain’t their job.”
Pete gave him a level stare, then murmured, “We got a pretty good tip that Dantzler and his boys were the ones running the meth lab, Gary. That’s why I didn’t involve you and your guys. I couldn’t risk word getting out to them before we had an opportunity for an arrest.”
Gary rocked back on his heels, eyes wide. He glanced back over his shoulder at the buses. The now-demolished guard shack was inside the new, temporary perimeter they’d created. Maybe they should have checked for survivors, but Pete doubted that there was anyone still alive in there. If they had been, the racket from the gunfire and fighting would have roused them right into the horde.
Stranger things have happened, of course, Pete allowed. As soon as we fix the breach, we’ll have to take a look.
“Leaving aside the fact that you didn’t fill me in on this, why did it just so happen that an explosion damn near takes the wall down right at the same time that you’re going to arrest some of my boys, Pete?”
He sighed and rubbed a hand through his hair. “Best guess, they set up shop in the drain culvert and screwed something up. They used to say on the news all the time how explosive those labs were. I didn’t think they were that bad, but maybe so. Who knows, Gary? It is what it is.”
The other man stared at him for a long moment. When his shoulders slumped Pete knew that Gary wasn’t going to keep raising hell about the issue. “Good grief. What are we going to tell Norma and the rest of the council? She’s going to have kittens.”
Pete grinned at the thought. “Well . . .”
Jenny screamed. Before he could turn his head to see what she was screaming about, Gary lurched forward and carried Pete to the ground. The other man tried to speak, but despite his Herculean effort, all he did was aspirate blood down Pete’s front. As he pushed himself up onto his elbows against Gary’s dead weight, Pete saw the pale, wrist-thick length of wood projecting from his friend’s upper back. The incongruity of it made him stop and stare for a moment. It wasn’t until his eyes traveled down the length of the shaft that he realized what it was.
Whoever had made the weapon had repurposed sort of tool or gardening implement. It was too straight and uniform to be anything but a machined piece of wood. Whatever had once tipped it was gone. A long, gray cylinder now sat on the end of the shaft, lashed to it with some sort of fibrous gray cord. As Gary’s body slid off of his chest, Pete realized with a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach what it was.
A tube of bone tipped the spear, sharpened and shortened somehow. It was too thick and straight to be anything but a leg bone. As Gary’s body began to twitch an
d spasm with renewed, unnatural life, Pete realized that wasn’t their only problem.
Whip-thin figures vaulted onto the tops of the school buses, assessed the ground beneath, and hopped down. Some paused long enough to hurl still more spears, and the screams and shouts began to spread.
“Shit,” Pete whispered. “They learned how to jump.”
Chapter 34
Two hundred feet seemed an interminable distance when it loomed beneath you and promised unthinkable agony or outright death at the end of the fall.
When it was all that separated you from another, more intimate death, it seemed to be nothing at all.
Miles licked his lips and mentally counted off as Chief Foraker pumped rounds out of his SCAR in a steady, robotic rhythm. You could have set time by the measured pace at which the senior enlisted man aimed and fired.
At the count of thirty, the Chief stepped back. He pulled the empty magazine from his rifle as Ross stepped into firing position and began his own measured fire into the elevator shaft.
Despite the inhuman marksmanship of the SEALs, the undulating gray wave of infected flesh moving up the elevator shaft was gaining.
They’re too fast, Miles despaired, and then immediately after — forget how fast they are, they’re climbing, idiot!
The dead had behaved the same way for so long that Miles had never given any consideration to the fact that situation might change. Ross and his men were similarly accustomed to the ‘meat machines.' Though each man moved with a calm ease, there was a sense of panic in their words and facial expressions. Despite their accuracy and the dozens of undead they’d sent to the bottom of the shaft, the distance between the leading edge of the climbers and the rim of the shaft continued to shrink.
Another count of thirty, and Ross and Foraker exchanged positions once again. In the short time it took them to move, the leading edge surged forward, and was now past the halfway mark to the top.
Ross pressed a hand to his ear to better hear his MBITR. Despite the sound suppressors on each rifle, the racket of firing and falling bodies echoed around the walls of the elevator shaft and created a hellish cacophony in the shack. “Come back, Brian — all clear, you say?”
Foraker grimaced and shouted, “Pull him in!”
If Ross heard the Chief, he didn’t modify his command. “Stand by; we can’t afford to get flanked.” The Lieutenant raised his head and glanced at Foraker and Miles in turn. “Options, Chief?”
“Explosives.”
Ross grimaced and slapped the base of his rifle magazine to ensure it was properly seated. “We don’t know the architectural structure of the building. Is the shaft the main support? I sure as hell don’t want to surf the whole works down if we implode it.”
Foraker went dry, and the men exchanged places. “Server room. There’s not enough room for more than a dozen or so of them on the landing at a time, if they can even make the jump across. We hole up in there and wait it out.”
“Limited food and water,” Ross mused aloud. “That’s plan C, Chief.”
“We may not have time for anything else, Mikey,” Foraker pointed out. “We pussyfoot around for too long and we won’t be able to get in there.”
Miles grimaced. The Lieutenant had given him a hard look before they’d begun firing and told him to keep his rifle on his shoulder. Sure, he was nowhere close to these guys in skill, but wouldn’t something be better than nothing?
He was about to step forward when Janacek screamed outside. For a moment Miles thought it was a scream of pain, but the words that came next proved that they were anything but.
“Lieutenant! The BFT is buzzing up a storm!”
Ross emptied his rifle and stepped aside. To his credit, the distraction didn’t slow Foraker in the least, and he resumed his shooting position. The leading edge of the climbing undead was now perhaps eighty feet from the roof. “Talk to me, Janacek!” the Lieutenant shouted.
The younger man abandoned his position long enough to pull himself up onto the roof of the elevator shack, retrieve the Blue Force Tracker, and return to his position at the door. The portable device looked like an old 90’s-style cellular phone, only larger, with a swiveling whip antenna on one side. Janacek presumably read something he liked off the device because he gave a whoop of celebration and shouted. “They’ve retaken the airfield, sir! Dust-off is fifty minutes out!”
Foraker’s rifle clicked empty. As he and Ross exchanged positions the Chief gave the Lieutenant a significant glance. “We ain’t going to hold this position for fifty minutes, boss.”
Ross grimaced, but didn’t look particularly surprised by the revelation.
The situation was immediately obvious to Miles. To get a line of fire on the entire ladder, the SEALs had taken a position at the rear of the elevator shaft. If they remained there, when the climbers crested the top they would cut the shooters off from the door. They could shift positions to the opposite side of the shaft, closer to the door, but they’d be firing directly down on the ladder and would be less effective.
We just need to buy some time. To get this close, only to end up getting overrun — Miles pushed down the despair. There had to be something in here that could help them. He tried to ignore the shooting and rushed over to the workbench and rummaged through drawers and shelves. He paused over the wiring harness they’d cobbled together. Could they wire together some sort of net or fence or something, across the railings, to keep them out? He discarded the thought. They didn’t have nearly enough cable to manage that. But maybe — he looked over his shoulder to study the exterior doors, then grinned.
“Hey,” Miles shouted. “Any of you guys see Lord of the Rings?”
Gary’s eyes had just gone gray when Pete awkwardly pushed his body off and put a double-tap into his head. “Sorry, bud,” he murmured. “I know you’d have done the same for me.” He grabbed the crude spear jutting out of his friend’s back and levered himself back onto his feet.
Getting tired of falling on my ass.
More spears arced out; some hit flesh and elicited screams while others plunged harmlessly into the turf. The clot of wall guards that had gathered after what they’d thought had been the end of the breach had scattered. A handful of them were down for now with spear wounds, while others had run for it.
A few — too few — stood, and fought.
Pete slid his Colt back into his holster and pulled the radio off of his belt. His motions were slow and lethargic. Everything felt surreal and muted, almost like a dream. Keep it together, Marine. This ain’t over yet.
He licked his lips and pressed the button on the walkie. “This is Pete at the southeast wall. We have a major breach. Everyone to shelters, now! Wait for the all clear. Confirm receipt and cascade.” He lifted his button off and listened. There was a receiver set in each of the common buildings. This time of day, most people would be eating supper, which should streamline things a bit. Anyone who wasn’t, well, the volume of fire should have been a pretty obvious clue. A handful of voices acknowledged him. The order to cascade meant to pass on the information on the other frequencies they used — by the other wall guards, for the most part. If they weren’t engaged in their own fight, at least they’d now know what was going on. It wasn’t much, but Pete had done his part. For the sake of his family and friends, he hoped the warning had come soon enough.
The sudden eruption of fire from the LAV’s turret drowned out the crackle of gunfire from the surviving guards. Metal shrieked as the heavier cannon raked the top of the school bus. Pete noted with a sinking feeling that the fire wasn’t as effective this time around as it had been against the first wave. These zombies ducked and dodged. Their movements were awkward and off-sync, but they did their best to evade the fire. In a way, it looked like a sped-up version of one of the old monster movies Pete had watched with Miles back in the day. Sinbad, maybe, by Harrywhatshisface.
The 25mm barked again, and once more the Marine manning the turret added the coaxial to the mix. Glass s
hattered and the roof of the blocking bus took the brunt of the rounds that didn’t find flesh or bone. If we make it through this we’re going to have one hell of a lot of work to do to keep that thing from leaking like a colander.
If.
Pete knelt and retrieved Brett’s M4 from the ground. After the gunner inside adjusted for the difference in tactics, the LAV was now sweeping any zombies who popped their heads up off the top of the bus. The most pressing concern was the group that had made it down and across. Some were already down, taken out by those who had stood their ground. Still more stalked across the ground with what — frighteningly — looked like a canny sense of animal wariness.
As he watched, one of the wall guards who’d come with Gary fell, flanked on either side as he focused his aim on targets to his immediate front. One zom raked the side of his face with fingers that were little more than bones and dark tendons sheathed in leathery gray flesh, and the other stabbed him in the side with one of the crude spears. The guard fell with a cry, and Pete’s mouth went dry as he watched both of them leave the guard where he’d fallen and rejoin the slow advance across the grounds. The injured man cried out for aid, but he was behind the advancing line.
Pete recalled what had happened to Gary after the spear took him down. They’re not feeding. They’re waiting for him to turn and provide reinforcements. The bones themselves carried the virus — smeared with blood, or tissue? — and the smallest injury now presented the threat of infection.
Pete raised the rifle and shouted, “Survivors, to me! Defensive formation!” He had to repeat himself twice before the others heard him and pulled back to the side of the LAV. He pushed and prodded and got them into some semblance of a semicircle. “I don’t know why and I don’t know how, but they’re acting smart,” Pete fired a single shot at one of the approaching zoms. Its head jerked back but the thing kept its feet. A streak of white showed where the 5.56mm round had creased, but not penetrated, the skull. Damn poodle shooter. He fired twice more. This time, he hit straight on, and the zom went down in a heap. “Slow rate of fire!” Pete barked. “Watch the spears — they spread the infection!”
A Place Outside The Wild Page 46
