I feel a slight swell of relief. I was expecting something much more catastrophic. “That doesn’t sound so bad. This place is a fortress.”
“Dave, how many Rabid do we estimate are still roaming the streets and alleys of America?” Norton keeps his eyes locked on me. He obviously knows the answer. This is for my sake.
“Millions upon millions.”
“You hear that, kid? Millions u—”
“Yeah, I heard it. So what? How long is it going to take to complete the shutdown?”
“It’s hard to say until we start,” Dave replies.
“Okay. No big deal. You said this is a command bunker, meant to protect the President if need be. Surely we can shut the doors and wait out a horde of Rabid.”
Norton nods. “Normally, you’d be right. But in order for the shutdown to work, the signal has to be sent out over a satellite to an even bigger satellite floating in space. Can you guess where that first satellite is located?”
I close my eyes and shake my head. “The roof?”
“Ding-ding-ding! Timmy gets the prize. And can you guess what happens if that satellite goes down?”
“Yeah, I got it, so what’s the plan?”
“We fight. The final battle. All the marbles on the table. We lose and that’s it, mankind can kiss its ass goodbye. We win and we might just have a chance at crawling out of this mess.”
30
I’m sitting in a circle with Momma and Katia. We’ve got an arsenal of weapons between us; rifles, sniper rifles, handguns of every make and model. Norton has decreed that everyone not wearing a white coat will be fighting, which includes Momma. We’ve all been equipped with tactical vests and extra holsters to store weapons and excess ammo.
“So how many Rabid do you think will make it here before the shutdown completes?” It’s a nerves question. An anxiety-riddled line of nothingness that I’m embarrassed about as soon as the final syllable rolls off my tongue.
Katia allows me my dignity and humors the inquiry. “He said there were millions out there, so I’m assuming it’ll be a lot.
“We’ll be fine, honey. I look at how much I’ve had to go through, how much I’ve overcome, and how many times I wanted to…tried to…throw in my chips. But the universe wouldn’t let me. And now, here I am, sitting across from the baby boy I thought I’d never see again and his beautiful girlfriend to boot.” Momma looks at Katia and she blushes as she chambers a .45 cartridge into the pipe of a chrome 1911. “I think it’s for a reason. And I don’t think that reason is for you, or me, or this angel here, to die on the rooftop of this building.”
“This girl is not an angel,” I laugh.
“I’m really not.” Katia is laughing too as she hands Momma a pistol.
“You helped my son get back to me. You’ll always have wings in my eyes.”
Katia is quiet for a long time. She keeps her eyes pointed down and her hands busy. She’s not a girl that does well with forward-facing affection. “Thank you,” she finally whispers.
There’s a group of military boys on the other side of the room, all painted up and ready to go. It’s clear when they look at us that they view us as nothing more than a potential obstacle; cannon fodder at best. I might not have their particular set of skills, but I’d bet my last hot meal that I’ve seen and been through more than a majority of them combined. All I can do is stand up straight behind the trigger and prove them wrong.
Norton is prowling the command center, micromanaging the operation. He finally cuts a circle around to where we’re sitting. “All set over here?”
“Ready as can be,” Momma answers for us.
“Good. We’ll be getting started at oh-one-hundred hours. Get some rest. Once the shit hits the fan, no one closes their eyes until it’s over.”
***
We are lined up across the top of the roof, looking down over the battle-scarred parking lot. I’m squished between Momma and Katia, propped up behind the barrel of a heavy machine gun. We are flanked on either side by twenty of Norton’s soldiers. They’ve got the good stuff: rocket launchers and grenades. They’ve also laid a mine field in the parking lot that runs all the way up to the front door of the building.
We’ve done all we can to prepare for what’s ahead, now all we can do is wait.
A cool breeze blows across my face, watering my eyes, and prodding at my hat. The horizon has taken on a green tint. The stage is being set for the final showdown.
“We’re gonna make it,” I keep whispering. “We’re gonna make it.”
“So I was thinking about those boots.” Katia has her right eye pressed to the scope of a black, automatic, sniper rifle.
“Boots?”
“Yeah, you said you were going to get me into a pair of cowboy boots.”
“As I recall it, you wanted a black pair with zippers on the sides.”
“Not anymore.”
“Oh yeah, what is it now? You want to bedazzle it up a little?”
“Nope. I just want a pair of lock-easy leather—”
“Lucchese.”
“What?”
“The brand is Lucchese. Why is your heart suddenly set on a pair of genuine shit-kickers?”
She reaches over and takes my hand. “If I’m going to be your Georgia girl, I figure I need to start dressing the part.”
For a moment, everything else disappears; there’s just her touch and the lump in my throat. “I love you, Katia, more than anything.”
“I love you too, Tim.”
I kiss her and run my fingers through her hair, resting my hand on the back of her head. We remain there, foreheads touching, smiling at each other. I don’t want this moment to end, because that means the next one has to begin.
“Break it up, love birds.” Norton pops the bubble and continues on down the line. “The whiz kids downstairs have started the shutdown sequence. It’s too early to say how long it’s going to take. For the time being, stay alert. Contact could happen at any moment.” Norton disappears back through the rooftop hatch, leaving an impenetrable force field of tension in his wake.
Too early to say.
Any moment.
I need a drink.
I need to sit down before I blackout.
I just got Katia and Momma back, I can’t lose them again.
If we run now, we can probably make it.
Momma takes my hand. “Do you remember elementary school? I think you were eight years old.”
“I don’t know, maybe.”
“You were getting picked on by this older boy. Every day, during recess, he would up the ante. First, it was insults, then it was shoving, then he was knocking your hat off your head and punching you. We told the teacher, they talked to his parents, but at that age, it was written off as boys will be boys. It got to the point where you didn’t even want to go to school.”
“I remember. I was in Mr. Ederton’s class. The boy was Dwayne Dunkin, big as a barn and black as night.”
“Do you remember what your dad told you when he found out you didn’t want to go to school anymore?” Her fingers are thin and cold, blanketed in the warmth of my palm.
“Yeah, I remember.”
“Go on, let’s hear it.”
Momma always knows what I need to hear and when I need to hear it. “He said if I wanted to stop going to school, he’d let me. But if I ran from that boy, I’d never stop running, cause every time things got hard, it’d be easier and easier for me to run away. He gave me two choices: tuck my tail or cowboy up.”
“And what’d you do, son?”
“I cowboyed up and broke his nose the next day; got two weeks of detention. He never picked on me again.”
She squeezes my hand. “I’m proud of you, son. You’ve turned into a man your dad would be proud of too.”
“You had no small part in that.”
“How about we split the credit fifty-fifty?”
“Deal.”
A crackling howl fills the night and cuts our conversa
tion short.
In the distance, across the parking lot, beyond the scorched tree line, eyes appear like headlights emerging from a fog. The white orbs switch on in groups, dozens of them at a time, bobbing up and down like paper lamps caught on the back of a breeze. Soon, there are hundreds, then thousands, and then I stop trying to estimate and focus on controlling the shaking.
They are speeding towards us now, like marbles rolling downhill.
“Hold your fire! Let the mines do their job!” Norton is back and breathing down my neck.
The minefield ignites, one row after the other, a wall of fire charging in our direction, a cacophonous boom that rattles the building beneath our feet.
It’s a drop in the ocean.
Hundreds go down, but legions remain, unperturbed by the sight of their fallen brethren.
“Fire!” Norton yells as the mob crashes against the building.
Everyone lets loose simultaneously. Muzzle flashes ignite along the edge of the rooftop.“Did you feel that?” Katia yells as the building wobbles on its foundation.
“Yep. Standing right here.” I’m bent over the side of the building, firing straight down. Between the muzzle flashes and the darkness below, it’s hard to tell what I’m hitting, but given the density of the Rabid horde, it’s a safe bet that I’m hitting something.
“Gibbins! Elise! Concentrate your fire on the back of the lot! Tomas! Locke! Left and right flank! The rest of you fan your fire, front to back!” Norton paces behind us, pistol out, shouting commands.
“They’re climbing the building!”
At first, I’m not sure I heard him correctly. I stop firing and lean around Momma, trying to find the source of the ridiculous proclamation.
He’s a heavyset guy with a black bandanna. “Sir, they’re climbing the damn building!”
I lean forward and look to where he’s pointing. Sure enough, there’s a rapidly rising tower of Rabid snaking up the side of the building, climbing over one another like entitled suburbanites charging through the front gates of a Wal-Mart on Black Friday.
“Don’t just point, shoot those things!” Norton raises his pistol and joins the fray.
“Katia, over there!” I bump her with my shoulder and adjust my fire.
She follows my gaze and starts picking off the tower of the dead through the night scope of her sniper rifle.
As soon as we break it down to its base, there’s another that’s begun rising to our right. And then another beside it. We go on like that for hours. Some of us concentrate on taking down the towers while the others do their best to push back the crowd.
“That one! Get that one!” I’m shouting as I string a fresh belt of ammo across the top of the heavy machine gun. There’s a toddling tower of Rabid that are almost within clawing distance, just a few feet down the line from us.
“I’ve got it!” Momma unloads a burst of ammo into the center of the fleshy structure and sends it toppling over.
“I can see the back of the horde!” Katia trumpets.
She’s right. The horde is about three rows deep. After that, the sea of white eyes blinks out of existence, leaving only pulverized bodies and impact craters.
“Keep pushing, soldiers!” Norton shoves in between me and Momma, sets one foot up on the ledge, and fires three shots into the army of cadavers. “This is where we claim our victory! Die and die again, you sonsofbitches!” I’ve noticed that everyone has their way of dealing with stress; I talk too much, Katia gets quiet and cold, and Norton screams clichéd battle jargon.
Ten minutes later, the last piece of brass clinks against the pavement and the last Rabid falls dead.
“That wasn’t so bad.” I fall back on my butt, leaving my gun propped against the ledge, the barrel still smoking.
“That was just the beginning.” Norton looks out over the horizon warily. “Gibbins and Tomas, on me. We’ve got to get those mines reset.”
***
The minefield is reset, and an hour later, everyone is back behind their weapons, reloaded, and ready for the next surge.
The sun has begun to rise, highlighting the carnage below. The parking lot is covered from end to end with a sheet of fragmented, gray bodies, two layers thick. The only breaks in the surface of torn meat and black blood are the circles Norton and his men cleared to set up the second minefield.
Norton reappears on the roof, breathing heavy, face red. “Everyone, listen up. Our big-brained amigos downstairs are telling me it’ll be over twelve hours from now.”
There’s a series of audible groans.
My discouragement manifests itself as stomach pain and a strong urge to puke.
“Hey, put a cap on that. No bitching. You’re soldiers, every last one of you.” He makes sure to rest his gaze on the three of us as he says that last part. “We cut down their first line and we’ll cut down however many more they feel like sacrificing. Chin up, buttercup. Keep those trigger fingers loose. It’s gonna be a long day.”
***
The next horde comes.
Emaciated ghouls race towards us like they’ve got rockets attached to their heels, arms stretched out and spinning maniacally.
The mines do their job and obliterate a good many of them, sending showers of blood and body parts raining down in every direction. But just like the last horde, more Rabid appear to fill in the ranks. Everyone maintains the same fields of fire, but it seems more difficult to stem the tide.
“Does it seem like there are more of these things than before?” I direct my words towards Katia.
“Yeah.” She’s switched out her sniper rifle for an M16, similar to Momma’s, except that it’s got a short-range scope and a laser attached to the left side.
“Great.”
Three hours into the fight and Towers of Rabid bodies are rising all around us. Norton is walking the line, using his pistol to help bring them down. He’s also switching out and reloading weapons for the men to ensure there’s no gaps in our defense.
“How long can we keep this up?” one of the men to my right calls out.
“As long as we have to!” Norton fires a round into the face of a Rabid making a leap for the ledge, sending it flipping backwards, taking the pillar of bodies underneath it along for the ride. “RPG’s and frags! I want two men on the RPG’s and one of you bastards throwing frags; Gibbins, Tomas, and Eric, take your pick, spread out, and get to work. I want these motherfuckers doing back flips!”
The little boy in me wants to watch the RPG’s, but there are three more pillars of Rabid rising up around me that stifle my juvenile desires. A few minutes pass before I hear the rockets leave their tubes. It registers as a loud hiss, like the world’s biggest snake warning humanity to back off. The rockets spiral downward at an angle, two of them, leaving thick, white smoke trails in their wake. They impact the center of the horde, creating large dome-shaped explosions.
“Grenade out!” Tomas calls as he lobs a frag over the side of the building. I can’t see where it lands, but four seconds later, a loud concussion splits the air.
My gun clicks empty.
I’m out of ammo belts.
I pick up an AR from the pile behind me and begin going to work with it. “I’ve got a bad feeling.”
Katia doesn’t say anything.
“We’re going to be fine, Tim. Just keep doing what you know to do.” Momma is firing slow, but sure; picking her shots and making them count.
The pack still extends back as far as I can see, like fanatical worshippers on some sacred pilgrimage, trampling one another, eager to throw their bodies upon our altar. But how much more weight can it take before it crumbles beneath the horrid offerings and buries us in its rubble?
***
The force becomes more than we can take. We move back away from the ledge, taking them on as they emerge in packs of two’s and three’s.
Katia drops her gun and takes up her swords. She stays back between me and Momma, ready to go hands on if we need her to.
“You guys okay?”
“Tim, we’re fine and so are you, just chill.” Katia is bouncing back and forth on the balls of her feet, breathing in steady through her nose and out through her mouth.
“We’re almost out of ammo!” Eric announces the bad news.
“But we’re not out of ammo, so shut up and keep firing!” Norton is standing with us, pistol outstretched, picking them off like an expert marksman; one shot, one kill.
The words I’ve been dreading begin making their way down the line
“Out of ammo!”
“Me too! I’m out!”
“All dry!”
“Then go to knives, or pistol-whip the bastards if you like, just keep them away from that satellite!” Norton has not been swayed by our situation, his ferocity has only intensified.
My gun clicks empty. I drop it and pull my tactical knife.
A couple of the guys to the left of me have already started to go hands on, swinging and slamming the butts of their rifles through the soft skulls of the ghastly trespassers.
“Let’s go, Tim. I’ve got your back.” Katia charges in. She twirls around like a windmill as she meets her first opponent and takes its head right off its shoulders.
I pull up next to her as she’s dismembering her next victim from the feet up. The first Rabid that charges me is young—despite the extensive decay they’ve somehow maintained a spark of youth, maybe it’s the skinny jeans and the high-top Converse—I go low and dodge their hungry claws. I swing back up and rake my blade across their belly, opening them up and spilling their organs at my feet. I kick it in the back of the right knee, knocking it down low enough to sink my blade into its skull.
Momma is on the ground next to me, flattening some monstrous old lady’s head with the butt of her rifle. She doesn’t see the two other Rabid that have just appeared over the wall, now charging towards her.
“Momma!” I throw my body at the duo, hitting the first one and knocking it into the second, taking them both down at the same time. I’m overwhelmed immediately. I manage to slide my blade into the temple of the first Rabid, but its friend has gotten a grip on my arms and has managed to roll on top of me. I’m pinned and can’t get the blade up to its head. I’ve got a hand wrapped around its throat and am just able to keep it from sinking its teeth into me. My other hand holds the knife, which I’m using to stab it in the side over and over, with all the vim and vigor of a prison shanking. The skin around its throat begins to slip and tear beneath my fingers as the Rabid presses downward, desperate to taste me.
The Rabid: Fall Page 18
