“Sir, we’re under attack!” the man said frantically, the sharp sounds of gunfire carrying over the radio. Something snarled in the background, and Bishop cursed under his breath. “It’s not the targets, sir. It’s . . . them.” Hooper didn’t need to explain who them were; Bishop already new.
Quickly, Alex punched the keypad, switching the topographical display to include real-time thermal data, a gift from the department of defense, and gasped as he noticed the scores upon scores of hot radiating bodies swarming toward his team’s location. He had to warn them; he had to get them out of there. Fuck, where had they all come from? Bishop wondered. He retrieved the vehicle’s microphone, and just as he was going to depress the talk switch, the radio squelched once more, this time the voice was that of someone he didn’t expect.
“Alpha team, this is Director Hammond. I need a sitrep, over.”
Bishop cursed as he looked at the screen, red and orange blips beginning to swarm into view.
“Not a good time, Don,” Alex hissed into the microphone.
“Bishop, I don’t give a fuck if it’s a good time or not. You need to listen up!” the director barked over the car’s loudspeaker.
Bishop wanted to pull his hair out in frustration. “My men are about to become human chow, sir. So if you don’t mind, fuck off!” Bishop shouted the last part and called up his squad leader.
“Jones, Jones, can you read me? You and the men need to fall back.” Bishop waited with no response. The loudspeaker chirped again.
“You should watch your tone with me, Captain,” the director said menacingly, and then softened. “I can see the pickle you all have gotten yourselves into from here, Alex. That’s why I’m sounding a general retreat for you and your men.” The director let that statement hang in the air.
Bishop stared at the radio in disbelief. A retreat ordered by Hammond. He couldn’t believe it.
Pushing the talk button, he responded, “Why, sir? Have things gotten that bad?” he asked, beginning to worry about his own family. He had no immediate family to speak of, not anymore, not here at least, but he had a brother three states over. If they were calling their forces in, did that mean it had spread there too?
“Alex I’ve been going over the transcripts of your engagement, and the tech heads have pulled up some interesting info on your subjects. Particularly on one, Kyle Walker.” The radio squelched as Hammond released the button.
Bishop noticed his question about the state of things had been completely overlooked or flat-out ignored; Bishop wasn’t surprised that Hammond was made aware of their situation. Every field agent that worked for the DHS was equipped with state-of-the-art communications gear. This equipment not only allowed the men and women in the field to communicate with one another, but it also allowed the powers that be to stay informed of the goings-on of their officers. Bishop assumed that while communications had been down, the cached information was sent automatically upon the connection being reestablished.
“What about him, Hammond?” Bishop asked, annoyance creeping into his voice, although he tried his best to contain it.
“No time for that now, Bishop,” Hammond growled. “Right now I need you to rally the remainder of your squad and head to these coordinates. Your new mission orders will be uploaded while you’re en route.” Hammond let the subject drop. A resounding click followed as the line went silent.
Bishop grimaced, staring at the gray and black dashboard-mounted radio, cursing under his breath. This conversation had already cost him critical time that he could have been directing his men out of harm’s way. Not only was their mission a failure and he had lost half of his men. They were now being pressed into service for yet another mission. This time without even the slightest notion of what it was. Bishop depressed the button on his walkie.
“Hoop, Vindetti, Jones, fall back and regroup to rally point one, over.” Bishop listened to the static that hung in the air. He watched his men onscreen and knew that at least for the moment, they were still alive. At least they were still moving, that is. He wasn’t quite sure as to what state they were in, however. The thought then occurred to him that if they had been bitten and infected . . . He let the thought drop. That wasn’t an option. He was already going to have to explain to the wives of his fallen comrades why their husbands weren’t coming home. Finally after what seemed like an eternity, the radio hissed and popped, and then two clicks.
Bishop knew instinctively that the two clicks was a signal from his men. Two clicks meant message received during times when the ability to speak was ill-advised. Paying close attention to the SUV’s computer screen, he noticed the slow deliberate movements of his men. They were doing their best to stay ahead of the horde, all the while keeping silent as they moved. Smart, Bishop thought. At least he’d trained them well.
Chapter 23
One by one, shambling figures stumbled out of the din. Their sheer numbers were mind boggling. Where had they all come from? How had this shit spread so fast? Marvin and Richard walked nervously beside me. I could see their eyes darting from left to right, watching the infected’s advance through the trees. Gunshots sounded in the distance. Well, truth be told, it could be right next to us for all we knew. It was hard to tell with the sounds the infected made as leaves and branches crunched underfoot and they plowed through the trees. They sounded like a heard of bulls running through the woods.
I gripped my weapon, with white knuckles, finger on the trigger, safety off. The infected seemed to take interest in the noise in the distance and began to shamble in that direction. Unfortunately, not all of them followed suit. A good majority of them were still fixated on us. I felt frozen in place, my feet rooted to the ground where I stood. As the horde approached, a vile scent reached my nostrils. The smell was that of fevered body odor and sickness. There was something else that clung there as well. Something I hadn’t smelled in years. Not since my days of working in the private sector. It was the smell of death, decay. Cadaverine and putrescine gasses seemed to escape off some of the more badly injured victims. How could that be? Were these people dead? No, that couldn’t be possible, could it? The thought made my already-goose-pimpled flesh seem to raise even more; my skin felt hypersensitive to the point that it was almost painful.
Our opportunity of escape was closing rapidly as the infected encroached on our position. I eyed my partner, and then Richard, a panicked look crossing over my pale features. The freaks were no more than twenty or thirty paces away.
Marvin held his tree branch up like a pro baseball player ready to strike.
Richard readied his service weapon.
“Go!” I said in a harsh whisper. We began to nervously tread forward.
A figure off to my left lunged at Marv, who, in return, swung out with the tree branch. His swing was instant, like releasing a taut rubber band. The branch slapped the encroaching figure in the sternum and knocked it back a few paces. It stumbled and fell to the ground in a heap. Marvin left it where it lay and quickened his pace.
We didn’t have time to kill them all. There was just too many. All we could hope to accomplish was to possibly put some distance between us and them.
I heard a rustling of leaves off to my right as a young girl, who couldn’t have been older than the age of sixteen, shot out.
Richard instinctively and without hesitation fired, the shot passed through the small girl’s head, entering just around the bridge of her nose. A look of surprise or maybe even relief seemed to settle in her features as she pitched forward and fell to the forest floor.
The gunshot seemed extremely loud. Its effect was immediate. Although it had managed to save Richard from having a chunk removed from his body, it had also seemed to galvanize the advancing figures, even the ones that had seemed confused and wary, distracted by the sounds in the distance, seemed to instantly focus on us. All hell broke loose. They started running toward us.
“Oh shit!” I screamed. “Run, run now!” I bellowed.
We shot of
f into the trees, heedless of the obstacles. Still-damp tree branches whipped me in the face and stung my eyes as we moved. The infected seemed to be closing in all around us. We continued forward. One advantage we had—hell, the only advantage we had—was that we still possessed the cognitive ability to navigate the landscape. The infected seemed to have lost that particular trait, unable to determine a loose rock or a low-hanging tree branch. Several of the figures tripped and fell to the forest floor. I noticed one get caught in between a fork in a tree branch. If I hadn’t been running for my life, it may have been almost comical. Its head wriggled back and forth, neck snagged in between two outcropped branches. It just stood there, too stupid to even back itself out. Its mouth snapped and snarled as drool ran down its face and clung to the tree branch.
I risked a glance behind me, Marvin having fallen behind slightly, his prosthetic leg obviously giving him trouble on the uneven terrain. I went wide eyed as a man of about 6’5” dressed in a torn sweat suit reached out to grab Marvin from behind. I raised my pistol and fired. Flame shot out of the barrel of my .357. The round passed over Marvin’s shoulder and slammed into the approaching figure’s neck.
Marvin, surprised, stared at me for a moment then glanced over his shoulder. His expression changed from determined weariness to sheer terror as the tall man behind him bled from the ragged wound in his throat, mouth hanging agape.
“Duck!” I shouted to the old man. Marvin, using his tree branch as a crutch, ducked low and quickly hobbled out of the way. I fired another round, this time finding the mark just between sweat suit man’s eyes. His body struck the ground hard, his heavy mass landing on the forest floor with a thud. Marvin limped toward me, his eyes full of fear. Come to think of it, as much as we’d seen and been through together over the years, this was the first time I think I’d ever seen the man scared.
“You could have warned me,” he said, nearly out of breath.
“I said duck,” was my reply.
He nodded his head, too worn out to quip back.
“You ready? We need to keep moving,” I asked, and Marvin exhaled sharply and gave me a thumb-up approval.
I heard Richard curse ahead of us and another gunshot. I turned my attention in his direction as he stood over the body of yet another of the infected. Marvin pushed at my shoulder as if to say go. I nodded to the old man, then turned and took off in a run toward the action.
As I neared, I noticed blood coated the side of Richard’s uniform. He must have seen the concern on my face and looked down. He looked back at me and began to speak just as I spotted another two infected approaching him. I quickened my pace and pointed past him, raising my pistol. The closest figure, the one off to Richard’s right, took him by surprise. It grabbed onto him as he tried to backpedal. Richard tripped, and the two of them went down. I took off in a sprint, trying my best to reach my friend. I fired as I ran, striking the second assailant in the shoulder and chest. I cursed as I moved, knowing that a head shot was damn near impossible while moving and at this distance. Richard wrestled with the infected on the ground, struggling to keep its snarling mouth away from his flesh.
“Shoot it!” Richard shouted in near panic as he pushed the thing’s head upward and into view.
It was disgusting. White, waxy, pallid skin stretched out across what I believed to be a female’s face. Thin, blue spider veins added to the horrific visage. I felt my stomach roil upon the sight. I wanted to vomit. My wife could be one of those things, I thought dejectedly. No, there wasn’t time for those kinds of thoughts. I took aim and fired as I moved. The bullet went wide and struck a tree, showering Richard and his attacker with bits of bark. I cursed, knowing that I only had one more shot left in my gun. I had to make it count. I took aim, trying my best to steady myself as I moved. I got the once woman’s rage-filled eyes in my sight and . . . Something shot out from behind a tree off to my left. A blur of movement that caught me off guard as something hard slammed into my chest with a force that lifted me off my feet. Next thing I knew I was falling. I slammed into the forest floor hard, knocking the wind out of me. It was a wonder my gun didn’t go off.
Dazed and startled, something large stepped out from behind the tree. I heard Marvin shout something from my rear, but in my stupor, I wasn’t sure what he was saying. Standing above me was a man, a very, very big man. I blinked my eyes, rapidly trying to force the blurry image into focus. It was one of Homeland’s goons. Jones, I believe, was what their commander had said his name was. He stood above me grinning, blood trickling down his mouth, a deep gash on his forehead. I began to raise my pistol, and he kicked out with a booted foot and knocked it away from my grasp. The Smith & Wesson bounced uselessly into the leaves out of my reach. Jones pointed a menacing-looking MP5 at my face. He glanced at Marvin and then to the still-struggling Richard and grinned even wider.
“You’re mine now, bitches,” he spat out viciously.
Flecks of warm blood and spittle hit me in the face as he spoke. Part of me just wanted to close my eyes and let this be over and done with. I laid my head back on the forest floor and gazed at the upside-down image of my partner hobbling forward.
“You let him go, you ass-hat,” Marvin shouted as he hefted the tree branch in both hands.
“Or what, old man? You gonna hit me with a twig?” Jones seemed to laugh at the notion.
Anger flashed across Marvin’s face, and he took a chance and swung the makeshift bat.
Jones stepped into the blow and caught the branch one handed, still clutching his MP5 in the other. He wrenched the stick away from Marvin and flung it into the woods. In a flash of movement, he backhanded the old man, sending him sprawling to the forest floor. Marvin lay there still and unmoving.
I tried to kick out, aiming for Jones’ knee.
Anticipating the maneuver, Jones sidestepped and brought his leg down on mine, pinning it to the ground. “Where’s the file?” he said vehemently.
I shook my head. Jones pushed his boot harder into my leg, grinding my ankle down into the dirt. Pain shot like lightning as he applied steady presser, the earlier wound to my leg causing me intense pain.
“I don’t know!” I cried, feeling tears begin to well up in my eyes. Jones glanced over to Marvin’s still form, and then to the backpack Marvin wore. Jones released my ankle and motioned over to my partner.
“Get the backpack,” Jones stated flatly.
I glanced over at Marvin. I nodded and started to get to my feet.
Jones thrust the gun in my face. “Slowly,” he said.
I acquiesced. Cautiously, I turned over and onto my knees. Instead of standing, I crawled over to where Marvin lay. His old Army-green backpack strapped atop his backside. I reached out for it and grasped hold of its rough canvas-like fabric. I wanted to shake Marvin to rouse him awake. I was relieved to see the steady rise and fall of his chest; at least Jones hadn’t killed the old man, which was a small consolation as I took notice of the dozen or so shambling figures still advancing on our position.
I reached for the zipper and began to fumble with it. I took the clasp hold in my shaking fingertips and began to work it open. As I reached inside, two gunshots resounded behind me. I turned sharply to see Richard pushing the infected off the top of him. He flipped over into a prone position and fired on Jones. The big man cursed and spun out of the way and dove behind a large oak. Richard fired a few more rounds, providing me the chance to get to cover. I grabbed Marvin’s backpack by the strap and began to drag him along with me, struggling to keep my grip.
Jones returned fire, sending a three-round burst downrange toward Richard. Rich grabbed the body of the fallen infected and rolled with it so that it acted as a human shield. The rounds struck the thing in the back and sent pelts of blood flying across the forest floor.
The sweat and dirt on my hands made it hard to keep my grip on Marvin’s backpack as I pulled him along behind me. Another shot fired from Richard’s position and startled me as I entered a copse of trees. I duck
ed down low and pulled Marvin in and leaned him up against a massive black walnut tree. I peered out from my hiding spot to see Richard still taking refuge underneath the dead thing he had just brought down. The body of the second infected lay merely inches from his feet. Jones fired another burst from his hiding spot, and I cursed. Richard was pinned down, and at the moment I was unarmed, not to mention we were still drawing unwanted company.
Time seemed to slow down as I watched the horde of people wandering toward us. It was almost ethereal as the smoke from the gas station fire rolled into the woods, the infected coming closer and closer, seeming to materialize out of the haze. How many were there? I wondered, swallowing hard.
I scanned the leaf-encrusted ground for my sidearm. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, I managed to spot its dull steel frame half buried under freshly fallen leaves. I poked my head out from cover, checking to see if the coast was clear. Jones huddled behind the oak tree, so I took a chance. I darted out from behind the walnut tree and dove for my sidearm. I grasped hold of it just as a series of rounds stitched the ground where my hand had just been. Richard, noticing my dilemma opened fire once more, providing me with cover. I reached my hiding spot and crouched to the ground. Taking a shooter’s stance, I aimed at the oak, waiting for Jones to stick his foul head out.
Something rustled in the leaves at my rear. I turned to see the snarling form of what looked to be an infected senior citizen. Christ, she still clutched on to her walker. A crazy thought passed through my mind, and I had to wonder for a brief moment if the tennis balls attached to the bottom of the granny walker came preinstalled or if they were aftermarket. Instinctively, I opened fire.
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