The Apocalypse Crusade Day 4: War of the Undead

by Peter Meredith

  Chapter 25

  1– 11:01 p.m.

  —Taconic High School, New York

  The call had come in fifteen minutes before. “Rod, it’s Platnik. The President has gone fucked in the head. He’s conducting a purge, and we both made the list, so you’d better figure shit out before they come to arrest you.”

  General Axelrod hadn’t been all that surprised. It had been a wonder that it hadn’t happened sooner. “How long do we have?”

  “Not long. He’s moving on us really fucking quickly.”

  “Thanks…and uh, good luck.” If history was any indicator, they would both need all the luck they could get. Generals were frequently the scapegoat when the shit hit the fan and they frequently were forced to eat a bullet or had their necks stretched.

  Axelrod sat there in the hanger for all of ten seconds feeling a strange sensation of relief. Yes, he would be arrested and he would be sent to some far off jail and there was a chance he would die, but on the plus side he’d get some sleep and this mess would be someone else’s problem. The idea held some appeal.

  “But who would take over?” he asked under his breath. “And how long would they last before they were purged as well? And how many people would die as a result?”

  So much for relaxing. He stood and clapped his large hands together three times to get everyone’s attention. “We are going mobile folks. Take only the essentials. Robert, I’m going to need two of your Blackhawks,” he said, deciding on the spot to rescue Dr. Lee. Before she had been an unnecessary risk, now she and her cure was a bargaining chip.

  Robert Middleton, his aviation operations officer, shook his head. “I have one right now, but the second might be thirty minutes, maybe more. The birds of 101st are dry and stranded.”

  “Shit,”Axelrod mumbled, looking over his staff. Some would have to stay and risk getting arrested. He picked out seven of his staff, men of proven valor and ability and to the group he added Courtney Shaw. As big a pain as Courtney had been, she was an absolute communications wizard, and would be valuable once they took their show on the road.

  There was one more slot on the helicopter and, with a shrug, he chose John Burke. He was immune to the disease and there was no telling when that would come in handy.

  “We are going, now!” he told them. “Arm yourselves. We’re going to make a stop in Indian country.” John and Courtney shared a look of hope as Axelrod’s staff, a group of senior officers, most of whom were pushing fifty, scrambled for their weapons and their gear and followed him out to the flight line where a Blackhawk was spooling up.

  Courtney hauled a scanner in one hand and a blocky sat-phone in the other. As soon as they were on board, she yelled into the radio: “We’re coming. Where are you?”

  Thuy and Deckard’s balloon had run out of fuel twenty minutes before. They were south of the high school and were slowly dropping down into a forest. Among the trees were countless undead, staring up at the expanse of white silk with vacant eyes.

  “Please hurry!” Thuy whispered into the radio just as the basket was scraping the tips of the trees. “We’re south of the school. When we hit, we’re going to try to make it to a field that’s west of it.” She flicked off the radio then. It would do nothing but attract more zombies.

  “You ready?” Deckard asked as the basket shook beneath them and threatened to pitch onto its side.

  Thuy sunk as low as she could. She was terrified of falling, of getting stabbed in the face by a branch, and of getting eaten alive by one of her creations. She only nodded, afraid to say a word. Then they hit for real. She was thrown forward into Deckard. He grabbed her with one hand and grabbed the side of the basket with the other just as it rolled and they were tossed to the other side.

  There was a great deal of snapping and smacking and thrashing before a branch impaled the basket, ripping up from the bottom like a spear. The branch then cracked in half and once more the two were on their side as the basket went over, further and further.

  “Grab onto the ropes!” Deckard cried when it became obvious that the basket was going to tip completely over. Thuy didn’t so much as grab the ropes which were spilling all over the place, as she fell into them. For a moment, she felt like a fly caught in a web, then she was falling as the forest echoed with the high scream of white silk tearing.

  She dropped through the green canopy, the ropes spinning and searing along her arms and back, her body twisting uncontrollably until she landed on the soft earth with a heavy thud and a most unladylike: “Ooof!” The wind was driven from her body and as she lied there desperately trying to suck in a breath, Deckard descended from the heights, sliding easily down a rope, making it look effortless.

  He came down to one knee, pulled the M4 from across his shoulders, and asked in a whisper, “Are you okay? Can you walk?”

  Since she couldn’t breathe, she couldn’t talk. Thuy nodded her head and before she could blink, Deckard had lifted her to her feet and was pulling her along, hurrying through the forest as best as he could. It was too dark to go faster than a quick stumble and Thuy, still struggling to catch her breath, seemed to stumble over every root and fallen branch.

  Then the zombies were upon them, appearing like phantoms out of the dark. Deckard was running now, somehow keeping the two of them just ahead of the swarming creatures. They only made it fifty yards when the shadows in front of them birthed more of the nightmare creatures.

  Deckard lifted the M4 and fire seemed to leap from the muzzle. Five shots and then the two were running again. They didn’t get far before they were cut off by a second wave. There were hundreds of them, too many to fight and too many to try to run through.

  “The trees!” he cried. “Quick, get up in them.”

  Thuy hadn’t climbed a tree since she was eleven and these trees were thick and the branches were high. She scraped at the bark, trying to get some purchase as Deckard started firing again with a noise like thunder. The rifle was so loud that she didn’t hear the Blackhawk suddenly appear over them.

  It shot flares from its sides, lighting up the forest and mesmerizing both the undead and Thuy, who thought that dozens of repelling soldiers would be following the flares.

  Deckard knew better than to expect an assault team to try to drop down through such a thick canopy. The flares were meant as both a distraction and as a way to light his path. With so much light, he was able to actually sprint. Thanks to the sneakers she had taken from the lost and found, Thuy was able to keep up for once.

  They darted around the zombies and the trees until the flares went dim. Then the zombies came alive again and chased the two out of the forest. With a thousand zombies behind them, they ran for the Blackhawk that was settling down in the field.

  Thuy should have been thankful, but all she could think was: why on earth did they land so far away. She was flagging badly and gasping for breath when the door gunner on the Blackhawks started firing, walking his rounds from left to right. Deckard didn’t flinch as the tracers came uncomfortably close. In his mind, the closer the better when the other option was being dragged down by a horde of zombies.

  Then the two of them were in the chopper, being pulled aboard by a helmeted crew member. For a few moments, Thuy knelt on hands and knees, her heart racing and her nerves tingling with a sudden surge of happiness—she had made it! She was alive and free and safe. Her happiness was surging so wildly in her that she wanted to kiss the deck of the helicopter, but knew that it would look weird.

  Sitting up she yelled, “Thank you!” above the roar of the engines as they lifted off. “Thanks so…” She faltered upon seeing the other passengers, who were, for the most part, shockingly old. In her mind, rescue work and fighting was a young man’s game. Then her eyes fell on Courtney Shaw and, in a crouch, she rushed over to her and embraced her tightly.

  Thuy tried to thank her, however the noise was too great. One of the older men took off his headset and gave it to Thuy.

  “Dr. Lee, this is General Axelr
od,” Thuy heard Courtney say through the soft foam headset. Courtney pointed to the oldest of the soldiers. He had two black stars on his collar and dark eyes that were sizing her up. Thuy stuck out her hand, which was swallowed up in the general’s big paw.

  “It’s nice to meet you,” she said. “And thanks for the ride. We’ll need to get to the Walton facility as fast as possible.”

  He gave her a queer look. “We’re not going to Walton.” He didn’t really know where they were going, but they certainly weren’t going to be leapfrogging around the Quarantine Zone at the whim of a civilian. “Why would we go there anyway? You said there was no cure.”

  “I said that there wasn’t a cure yet,” Thuy explained, “but I’m convinced that the possibility for one lies in Walton. Anna and Eng will go for the ruined Com-cells. I know it. More than likely they’ll doctor the results of any demonstration by using high doses of opiates and then blame any later issues on a mutating gene.”

  “Why don’t they just replicate your work?” Axelrod asked.

  Thuy laughed. “Because they can’t. Neither of them are actually Ph.Ds and I’m pretty sure I’m the only one on any of the teams who has memorized every single data point within this study. In case you’re wondering, yes, you should be impressed.”

  Across the helicopter, Deckard snorted. When Axelrod glared at him, Deckard said, “If finding a cure is a priority, then you should trust her.”

  “Unfortunately, right at the moment, a cure is low on my priority list. It ranks behind winning the war and not being arrested.” The general took a few minutes to explain the situation.

  Thuy listened with her steepled fingers touching her full lips, her eyes staring down across the tips of her nails, which were ragged and ripped. In her concentration, she didn’t notice them. When he finished speaking, all eyes turned to Thuy, who sat there, gently nodding her head. She had come to a conclusion on how to proceed. “We’ll go to Walton. There are thousands of pre-receptored Com-cells in the BSL-4 labs. I’m going to need them.”

  Axelrod started to speak, however Thuy held up a single finger. “From there we’ll go to the R&K Research Center in Stoney Point. It’s about twenty miles north of New York City and it has everything you need, sir. One of the founders of R&K, Stephan Kipling, insisted on security. It’s basically a fortress, sir. It has a generator, secure communications, and biosuits. You should be able to run your war from there and I’ll be able to work on a cure.”

  “In the middle of the fucking zone?” Axelrod demanded.

  “I think so,” Deckard said, seeing the idea as the perfect balance between safety, danger, and productivity. “It’s the last place anyone would look. You can run the battle through junior officers and if you are found out, do you really think The President will send soldiers into the Zone to arrest you guys? I doubt it.”

  “And there aren’t any zombies there?” Axelrod asked.

  That was a question Thuy couldn’t answer. The R&K Research Center had been constructed with security in mind and yet, she knew that far more secure locations had been overcome by the zombies. She shrugged. “I’m sure there are some, but no more than anywhere else. I don’t see what you have to lose.”

  “How about my life?” He sat back and gazed at Thuy like a poker player looking for tells in an opponent who had just gone all in. Thuy stared back, calmly, without emotion. He was the first to blink. “Fine,” he said. “Let’s do it. Someone tell the pilot to head to Walton.”

  Courtney Shaw held up a hand. “I sorta already did a minute ago. Since I knew you were so smart and all, General, I figured that you would appreciate the time I saved you.” She gave him a weak smile and he glared it into a grimace. “We can talk about that later, right? Hey, I see Walton. There’s the helicopter. Are they about to take off? Is that a body next to it?”

  “And why is there a fire on top of the building?” the general asked. “That looks like a beacon. Do you think the FBI is calling for help?”

  Thuy gazed down on what had once been her pride and joy, the place where she had discovered the cure for cancer. It had once been beautiful but was now ugly, burnt, black and tortured. “The FBI didn’t light that fire,” Thuy told him. “Something else did.”

  2—11:26 p.m.

  The Walton Facility

  Inside the facility Special Agent Katherine Pennock was horribly, dreadfully alone and had never been more afraid in her life.

  Earlier, on their way up to the fourth floor as the team crept through the building, she had been nervous, and when the zombies had crawled from beneath the ruined floors and out of dark crevices, her nervousness had quickly become fear. But when she saw Joe Swan swarmed and eaten, Katherine’s pulse had skyrocketed.

  “Back inside!” she had hissed to the others. They had raced into the admin section, where she was forced to shoot three hulking creatures that had torn aside the cubicles to get at them. The last one had taken three bullets to the head before it went down almost at her feet.

  “That was close,” she had said, turning to the others. “We can’t stay…” Her foot had come down on something soft and she jumped. Katherine had stepped on PFC Jennifer Jackson. The soldier was lying face down on the floor. There was no sign of Anna or Eng, or of Jackson’s rifle.

  In a flash, she saw her predicament: She was in a building filled with zombies, there were two terrorists on the loose who would think nothing about murdering her, and she had no way to escape the Zone. It was right then when her fear began to boil into terror.

  “Jennifer? Jennifer?” Katherine whispered, giving the woman’s shoulder a little shake without eliciting the slightest response. She then slid her fingers beneath the woman’s mask, feeling for a pulse. She was still alive. There was blood leaking from the back of her head and Katherine guessed that Eng had hit her with the edge of his shield just below the lip of her helmet.

  “Please wake up, Jennifer,” Katherine practically begged, slapping her lightly on the cheek and shaking her again. There were more zombies coming. They had heard her shooting and now they were stumbling through the refuse.

  Katherine stood so that her eyes just cleared the top edge of the cubicle. She counted eight shadowy creatures coming for her. She wanted to run away, but she knew that they would eat Jennifer if she did, so Katherine dragged the soldier to the nearest room that had an intact door. It was a storeroom and there was a corpse in it.

  “Hey!” she hissed at it. The body certainly looked very dead, but she was no expert. With her M4 pointed at it, she gave it a kick. It didn’t budge. This was all the time she had for corpse testing and she slid Jennifer inside and shut the door.

  “Now what?” Katherine asked herself. She had no idea. She couldn’t stay in the storeroom; the zombies would sniff her out and break down the door. And she couldn’t fly a helicopter… “But maybe she can.” It was possible. Maybe Jennifer wasn’t an expert or even licensed, but she had been around Blackhawks for the last few years. “Maybe she had picked up enough to fly a little.”

  She was grasping at a very thin, very brittle and very short straw, but it was all she had.

  Katherine tried once more to wake her before she heard the snuffling of a zombie coming closer. She came up with a plan on the spot. She would distract the zombies, find Eng, get the Com-cells that he had volunteered to cart around in his backpack, and get back. Hopefully, by that time Jennifer would have regained consciousness.

  With a deep hot breath, she threw open the door, bashing aside a zombie that had been sniffing the cracks. There were more of them all around her. She fired the M4 three times and then kicked the storeroom door closed. A scabby hand grabbed her armored shoulder but she shook it off and ran, ducking through the billing room and into the patient reception area, which was windowless and pitch black.

  Her shin struck a desk with a rocket of pain. Stifling a grunt, she felt along the desk until her hand hit nothing but the empty, black air. She hurried on, stumbling like one of the things that were ch
asing after her, when the door opened behind her.

  At first, she thought that one of the brain-dead beasts had accidentally hit the handle but then, just as she slunk low, she heard a little voice: “She here? She here, Jammee?”

  “Hush. I cun smell her good.”

  The voices had been croaky and evil, but also small. They were the voices of children—child zombies. The same ones that had eaten Joe Swan. The thought sent a wave of goosebumps across her flesh and she ducked lower until she was practically lying on the floor.

  Katherine began to crawl away as the patter of little feet came closer. There were more than just two of them. The pack was in the room, sniffing and poking about. Katherine was just about shitting herself when she saw a gleam of dull light. There was another door!

  She scuttled across the floor to the door. Without hesitation, she threw it open and ran out of the room and found herself in a corridor that had doors leading from it at regular intervals. Afraid that she would be seen if she didn’t pick one of the closer ones, she took the third and closed it behind her just as the pack spilled out into the hall.

  “Where she, Jammee?”

  Jaimee Lynn walked into the hall, naked as ever, blood dripping down from her slick jaw. “She’s hidin’ I reckon. You hidin’ missus? I like it when y’all hide. Because, it’s more funner. I’s gonna find youuuu! And I’s gonna eat youuuu!” She screamed this and the words echoed throughout the silent building.

  A floor above them Anna and Eng heard her scream. Anna cringed behind her riot shield, while Eng felt a queer sensation slip through his bones. When he had been locked away in the trooper’s station, he had heard stories about the little ones with their little rat-teeth and their cunning little minds. He had only half believed it then.