The sharp crack of gunfire resounded from out of nowhere, and the trunk of the tree next to my head exploded and rained debris and splinters over my face. I shrunk back and shielded my eyes from the offending shower. Holy shit, I thought and nearly screamed with surprise. I brought my weapon up and scanned the area from where I believed the shots had been fired from. Seeing nothing but tree limbs blowing softly in the breeze, I cursed.
“That was a warning, bitch. The next one goes through your forehead,” a voice bellowed seemingly from all directions.
I pinpointed where I thought it was coming from and fired a shot by way of reply. I heard a voice curse and noticed movement off in the distance. I adjusted my position, trying my best to present as small a target as possible.
Richard followed the movement in the trees and peppered the area with a hail of bullets from his 9 mm handgun.
The movement in the woods seemed to pick up pace, and another volley of shots struck out in our direction. The figure in the woods fired as he ran; the movement ceased as I assume he found a suitable area to hide.
“This is a frigging Mexican standoff!” I said aloud to my comrades. At the moment, aside from Marvin only being equipped with a tree branch, we were pretty well even matched. Three highly trained Homeland Security agents against two highly trained armored enforcement officers as well as the MDTA policeman, whose agency was known for their level of training with all they had to deal with on Maryland’s highways and byways. This was going to be interesting, I thought, and for some reason the song “Dueling Banjos” popped in my head. Rolling my eyes at myself, I forced myself to focus; I noticed something strange off to my left.
Pale faces began to appear in the forest all around us. People, or at least what used to be people, began shambling into our area.
I watched in horror as one of them came frighteningly close to Marvin. Fevered hands brushed up against his side and caused him to pitch backward out of his hiding place before I could even call out a warning. Marvin swung his wooden bludgeon and barely nicked the monster’s forehead. A thin ragged line appeared on the monster’s brow. Marvin took a step back and swung again, this time connecting with the beast square in the noggin. His branch snapped with the impact; however, it also managed to end the infected’s existence as it pitched forward and landed in the dirt beneath Marvin’s feet. Blood pooled out of its eyes and mouth mixing in with the dirt and rotted leaves. A barrage of shots arched out of the woods and nearly struck the old man. If it hadn’t been for him tripping over a root buried in the ground behind him, he may have very well been killed.
Marvin immediately rolled over to his knees, wincing in pain as his throbbing knees responded to the movement.
Several more figures began to shamble within view of the trio; Richard shot the first one to enter his kill zone and took him down quickly.
Another, a woman in a torn baby doll dress, stumbled directly in front of me, seeming to materialize out of nowhere. She managed to grab hold of my arm and pull it toward her gaping mouth. I grunted in surprise and smacked the lady in the side of the face with the barrel of my revolver.
She stumbled backward and lunged again. This time I kicked out and struck her in the side, and she pitched forward, landing hard on the ground. I drove the heel of my boot down on the back of her neck, resulting in a resounding crack of her spine. The woman’s head writhed on the ground, unable to move anything aside from her mouth and eyes. Her face stared up at me almost pleadingly. I shuddered, wondering what she must be feeling, if she was able to feel anything at all that is.
More shots caught my attention. This time the rounds were not apparently meant for us. Shouts came out of the distance, and I realized this was perhaps our first opportunity at escape. More faces were appearing in the forest surrounding us; deep guttural moans began sounding throughout the area. I looked frantically from Marvin, and then to Richard.
“We need to find a way out of here now!” I shouted to be heard over the sounds of gunfire and the moans of the infected that were beginning to stumble into view all around us. I could only assume they had been from the area surrounding the gas station. Homes and small businesses littered the expanse in this subdivision of Baltimore County. I wondered briefly just how far this infection had spread, not to mention how it had spread so fast, and why we weren’t affected as well? Questions for another time, I mused and scanned the area, judging our options, looking for an avenue of escape.
The gas station behind us was completely engulfed in flames by this point. The gas in the underground tanks having now ignited and spewing fire forth like the burning oil rigs in Saudi Arabia during desert storm. Fire shot straight upward in a steady stream. Strange, I thought, figuring it would have been a massive explosion; but knowing the properties of gasoline, that was not the case. It would burn but would not explode unless it had been vaporized. So at the moment, it was like a giant Tiki torch extending into the afternoon air.
Several homes nearby began to ignite under the intense heat; clothes that hung on lines outside drying out and catching in the superheated air spread the encroaching inferno.
That left the way back out of the question. I had already almost been roasted today, and I had no desire to revisit that situation. That limited our options; we would have to escape into the surrounding woodland. Problem was, aside from the fact that I had no idea where exactly that would lead us, the location of our attackers was still unknown to us at this time. The sound of a gunshot and or the occasional scream was the only indication that the agents were still in the area. Then there were the infected. Men and women, young and old seemed to pile into the forest. The figures scrambling into the trees looked like something out of horror movies. Most of the approaching figures sporting ragged neck wounds or bits of flesh and muscle torn from exposed appendages. Their skin took on an almost waxy yellowish pallor. Blue veins lightly spanned out across their skin, creating a nightmarish visage. It was their eyes, however, that were the most disturbing.
The ones closest to me, an older-looking woman dressed in what could only be described as a Moo-moo patterned with light blue flowers now ripped to shreds covered in blood and dirt snarled in my direction. Her eyes were dotted with deep red veins and burned with infection. Her gaze, however, despite the enraged look on her face, showed absolutely no emotion whatsoever. It was as if her mind was completely lost, dead.
Another, a middle-aged man in a gray tattered business suit, stumbled in close from the other side. Richard raised his 9 mm and shot this one in the forehead before I even had a chance to react. He stumbled forward a few steps and collapsed on the ground in front of the old woman, causing her to trip and sprawl onto the forest floor. I gazed over at my friends.
“We have to move forward. It’s the only way,” I exasperated, knowing that we were in for the fight of our lives. In front of us was not only certain death at the hands of Homeland Security’s goons, but also from what I could make out through the breaks in the foliage, were about a hundred or so infected, perhaps drawn to the noise of our exchange—like moths to a flame. Either way it really didn’t matter; the decision was the only one we could make.
Richard racked his slide after inserting a new magazine and nodded at the ready.
I reached down to the forest floor and retrieved a lightweight yet solid-looking branch and handed it to Marv, who took it reluctantly, most likely wondering what good it would do. Something was better than nothing, I thought, and looked the two over.
“Okay, guys, let’s go.” I raised my pistol, Richard and Marvin taking up position on my flanks, and we began heading forward deeper into the forest.
Interlude 5
Director Hammond disembarked the UH-72A Lakota helicopter that had evacuated him from the office building that housed the Department of Homeland Security’s operations center. He stepped out onto a small landing pad located in an obscure military base somewhere in western Maryland, followed by his escorting officer, which he learned midflight was Special Agent Roberts.<
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Roberts was a huge man. He had removed his balaclava during their flight to wipe the sweat away from his face. The man had a total lack of hair. A bald head reflected the sun’s rays, and his face was a set of deep piggish-like features and small yet fierce eyes and virtually no neck to speak of. Upon closer examination, Hammond had come to realize that the officer was actually shorter than he’d originally thought; the heat of battle, adrenaline, and fear caused his perception to skew away from reality.
A U.S. Army jeep pulled up to their position, its hull decorated in the usual style of drab tan, camouflaged for a desert campaign that it had not made it into. Roberts instructed Director Hammond to step inside. Hammond said nothing, but Roberts forced himself to hide a smile as he saw the look of contempt cross Hammond’s features. Apparently, Hammond did not like being told what to do. Oh well, Roberts thought, this was his show at the moment, and the director was just going to have to deal.
The two men boarded the vehicle; a small scrawny corporal greeted them, saluting as they entered. Agent Roberts returned the gesture to the noncom even though the U.S. Army and the department of Homeland had a completely different ranking system.
Hammond simply nodded and took the seat next to the driver.
Roberts climbed in the back, taking notice of Hammond’s choice. Arrogant bastard, Roberts thought.
The rotors on the helicopter they had just flown in on still spun as a fuel truck pulled alongside, taking care not to get too close. A crew of two men dressed in overalls jumped out and began busying themselves with the process of refueling the aircraft.
“Where are they going?” Hammond asked in astonishment, wondering why their ride was disembarking so soon.
“They’re under orders to retrieve other personnel, sir,” Roberts replied. “You didn’t think you were the only one, did you?” The agent allowed himself a slight smirk.
“No, I just . . .” Hammond didn’t finish his sentence as the jeep lurched forward and headed off down the airfield. “Where exactly are you taking me?” Hammond asked.
“There is a bunker here, sir. We would have routed you out to Washington, but that location had already met its maximum capacity. This location was the next logical choice.” Roberts looked out over through the fences. Men ran alongside the fence line, taking up positions at hundred yard intervals. It was then Roberts took notice of the encroaching hordes of infected walking in their direction. People from the adjoining town, he assumed, a town that now burned and smoldered in the distance, the smoke visible above the tree line. “You are to have full operational capabilities in the bunker, along with the protection and assistance of the soldiers stationed at this location.” He paused. “The President and the joint chiefs are awaiting your arrival.”
“What? They’re here?” Hammond gulped hard, notably shaken by the information.
“No, sir, they’re awaiting via satcomm. They’ve requested an update at your earliest convenience.”
“Shit,” Hammond cursed under his breath. It was more than likely just as he feared. The President was on a witch hunt. Probably already pointing fingers in his direction.
Hammond regarded the current situation as he knew. There were six incriminating cases scattered around Maryland, Delaware, and Virginia. All of which had been shipped separately to be compiled in one location at a later time. A preventative measure lest some wayward terrorist group learned the true nature of their existence. Theoretically, they could get their hands on one or two packages and still not know exactly what they had. They chose private couriers and even outsourced to a government contractor to compile and study the data, all in an attempt to keep it off the official books. This type of practice was almost standard in black budget operations, illegal by the public standpoint, but a necessary evil to ensure America’s sovereignty.
He would have to get in touch with his field agents before he could make any kind of report to his superiors. Currently, his teams were in pursuit of one of the said cases, and he was hoping that they had located their objective. That would be at least one off his mind. It then came down to the remaining five cases, all of which in one way or another could possibly be linked in some way back to his department, back to him at least by someone who happened to be in the know.
The jeep pulled to a stop in front of a small white concrete dome that was housed at the edge of the military base. Hammond frowned a bit at the sight. This was where he was expected to work?
Unbeknown to the director, was the fact that underneath the smallish dome was a massive underground complex comprised of four separate levels. The first and second levels were primarily used for operational departments consisting of offices, control rooms, and security stations. The two remaining floors were designed for storage and housing. With a barracks large enough to house an entire platoon of soldiers as well as enough food and water to last for well over a year, more if properly managed. The area of housing also held some of the creature comforts of living. A movie theater, a gym, and a fully stocked bar were also integrated into the structure, primarily to aid in the dissention of cabin fever that a group housed in the facility for long periods of time would most likely suffer.
The driver cut the engine and stepped out into the tepid air. Hammond and Roberts followed suit. The corporal extended an arm and pointed to a set of stairs that descended down into the earth. They stepped over to them and peered downward. The stairs led to a rather large fortified doorway that sat at the base of the concrete structure. A large wheel attached where a doorknob would normally reside. A keypad set above and blinked red in the pale light below.
The driver of the jeep gingerly walked down the stairs and motioned for the two men to follow. “This way, sir,” he said, producing a key card. He swiped the card through a slot located at the bottom of the keypad and punched in his security ID. The sound of locks turning clanked and shuddered as wheel began to turn on its own. Slowly, the armored door began to swing open on hydraulic-powered motors.
The driver motioned to Hammond and Roberts to step inside. They did as they were asked, and the driver stepped inside with them.
The door, as if on cue, closed and sealed shut with a rush of downward air. The air burst down as if under pressure, blowing any potential contaminates off their clothing. In front of them was yet another steel door, similar to the one they had just entered. The room they stood in was small, entirely composed of white brick and looked to act more or less like an air lock. A light on a camera blipped on and began to track back and forth observing the three men. The second door clanked and popped, and swung open as well.
The three men entered into the facility proper and gazed down a long tunnel. The tunnel itself ran for what seemed like at least a mile downward into the Earth.
Hammond frowned at the fact that they were going to have to walk this pipe until the driver of the jeep stepped off to one side and depressed a button. A hidden door off to the right slid upward and produced a small black painted golf cart.
The driver climbed behind the wheel and beckoned the men to join him.
Hammond smiled. “I may just learn to like this place,” he said as he climbed into the seat next to the driver.
Roberts sat on the rear-facing seat and grunted. The golf cart hummed as they drove downward into the darkness.
Chapter 22
Alex Bishop positioned his cruiser about a mile from the gas station where he had left his men. The steady snore in the back of his SUV assured him that agent Simmons was still indeed alive, having passed out from injuries sustained in the school. Bishop had pumped the man with enough morphine to allow him to sleep for several hours, so he had decided to leave him in the cruiser while he and his men had searched the gas station. Bishop eyed the man’s leg that had been wrapped tight with bandages to help staunch the bleeding from his foolish self-inflicted wound. The bleeding had seemed to slow and merely soaked a small portion of the wrappings. Shaking his head in remembrance, Bishop turned his thoughts to his remaining squad
members who were under orders to take out the armored car crew and retrieve the missing files.
He was fed up with this cat-and-mouse game. This mission should have been a piece of cake, not the holy cluster fuck that it had become. It was time to end it, he thought. Bishop saw that opportunity and took it. His men were well trained, and aside from losing half of them to the infected bastards, he knew they could get the job done.
Infected people roamed around his SUV as if they could see him through the 100 percent tint of the cars exterior windows. Thankfully, the vehicle itself was completely soundproof to any that passed by. Bishop watched the wandering specters, intrigued at how they seemed to just know where prey was. Could they smell him? No, that didn’t make much sense. The human capacity for smell was one of the least impressive traits in the animal kingdom. It could be sight, but that still didn’t explain how they seemed to sense his presence here. Perhaps he was just reading into it too much, and they merely heard the sound of the engine as he cruised to this location. Yes, that had to be it. After all, that was the only sensible explanation.
Bishop turned his attention away from the infected meandering outside and regarded the instruments that inlayed the car’s interior fascia. To most, the panel would look mostly like any other normal dash, gray-textured polyvinyl material. That, however, was where the similarities ended. Upon the push of a button, a small panel hidden atop the dash flipped up, exposing what appeared to be a standard GPS unit, it was anything but. Reaching underneath the center console, Bishop produced a full-sized keyboard that swiveled out to bring it within hand’s reach. He tapped the keys and brought up the systems display.
The display illuminated a dull green at first, and then faded into brilliant color; he tapped the keys, bringing up detailed topographical data. His squad showed up as bright green blips on the screen, courtesy of the personal GPS location devices each one of them wore attached to their tactical vests. Located in red was the last known whereabouts of his targets. Using the system’s built in mapping software, Bishop could then position his men accordingly to effectively box them in. Alex smiled; at this point, they had nowhere to go. They had them. Then the radio squelched. It was Hooper, Bishop realized.
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