There was something very wrong. His men were expending huge amounts of ammunition and a mere handful of bodies were lying lifeless on the road. Despite their best efforts, they couldn’t stop the rush. At about that moment, thankfully, a pair of Blackhawk gunships roared over their heads. A third helicopter was still approaching from a little farther back. The relief he felt could not be expressed in words. Perhaps they would be able to get through this.
He shouted, trying to encourage his men, “Pour it on! Drive them back! Hold your line! Maintain your fire!” The major moved up and down the line ordering, hoping, helping. He watched the helicopters rain down fire and destruction.
Yellow, orange, and black flowers of fire erupted up and down the highway. Bodies were tossed through the air with each successive explosion. Unfortunately, most of those bodies again lifted themselves onto their feet and continued forward. More than a few victims were engulfed in flames and then they too arose and carried on, smoky contrails in their wake.
This time the major said it, “Christ Almighty.”
His radio began to squawk wildly but he couldn’t understand it. He tried, but he just couldn’t focus on anything but what was unfolding in front of him. There was little more than a football field of space separating him from the monsters still coming at him.
The radio squawked again. This time he concentrated on the voice coming out. It was the colonel, whose voice was crackling. “Sir, I don’t think we can hold!”
“I’m above you right now, Major. Your boys are doing a fine job. Keep it up!”
“We don’t have enough ammunition to keep this up, sir.”
“The engineers just need a few more minutes to prepare the bridge for demolition. Do you understand , Major? We need you to hold for as long as you can. If they get through and that bridge is still intact, I’m not sure where or if we could stop them.”
Banishing the thoughts of escaping from his mind, the major said somberly, “I understand sir. We’ll hold.”
“Thank you, son. If we can keep the fire up from here, maybe you and your boys could save some of your ammunition.”
“I don’t think that is going to work, sir, but we’ll do our jobs. Make sure that bridge gets blown.”
He climbed up into the gunner’s position of the parked Humvee and pulled the hammer back on the heavy machine-gun on the mount. He begged quietly, “Lord have mercy on my soul.”
His machine-gun, loud as it was, was barely audible over the already deafening cacophony. A few of his bullets struck his targets in the head and those targets actually fell and didn’t get back up.
He paused and decided to aim the gun a little higher and intentionally hit his victims’ heads. Again, this seemed to work, permanently knocking down these attackers. That’s it! We need to hit them in the head. That works!
“Shoot them in the head!! Shoot them in the head!!” he shouted to his men, but they couldn’t hear over their own shooting. Just seconds later, the first of those things crested the concrete traffic barricades and came crashing down amongst his men. The major used his own M4 assault rifle to pick off several of those beasts that were even then tearing at some of his men.
These weren’t human beings they were fighting. They were something more preternatural and raw. They attacked primarily with their teeth, using them like predatory cats to latch onto and then tear at their victims.
Again he shouted, “The head!!!! Shoot them in the head!!!!”
Some of his men heard him this time, but it was too late. Soldiers were being dragged down to the ground by two and three of the creatures at a time. The major started to shoot the machine-gun again until he fired all the rounds into the crowd. Another Humvee from the opposite end of the barricade was already overwhelmed by the things and the Stryker vehicles were facing in the wrong direction to make a quick retreat, their open rear doors presenting a very tempting opportunity to several of the beasts. The soldiers inside were trapped and easy prey.
Several of his men broke free from the roadblock and ran toward the major’s Humvee; his vehicle now represented the only real way out of the melee. There were six of them. They moved coolly, if abruptly. Three would shoot while three moved and then they would alternate. The trained soldiers fired conservatively, trying to save their precious ammunition. The major tried to add some degree of support with his own rifle while he remained in the gunner’s position of the Humvee.
The six men were only a few feet from the vehicle when one of their number stumbled and fell behind. The other five continued to fire rounds into the closing mob, but they could not protect their fallen brother. He was overwhelmed, screaming and kicking, his rifle continuing to fire erratically as his legs and torso were viciously assailed...bitten, ripped, chewed, and devoured.
The crowd’s momentary distraction with their latest victim allowed the other soldiers time to retreat to the still idling Humvee and make their escape. No one said a word as they headed for the bridge.
If the engineers had already destroyed the bridge, the sergeant driving the armored sport utility vehicle decided that he would just drive the vehicle as fast as he could off the ledge and hope for a soft water landing from which they could all swim to safety. There was no way in hell that he was going to go down like all those other poor saps back at the roadblock. He’d put a bullet in his brainpan before he’d let that happen.
Chapter 34
No rest for the weary. That was a phrase she’d heard batted around the handful of offices at which she had worked. It could be heard on Monday mornings when co-workers attempted to unhappily shake off the lingering effects of the weekend, or when a reporting time deadline threatened to pass without the successful completion of the assigned work.
No rest for the weary...none of them, not a one, had any clue about weariness or exhaustion. She knew now that for them, it was just about inconvenience and a fleeting sensation that would pass soon enough. There was always the possibility of naps or just slowing down for the day or even finding a delicious double mocha with whipped cream and chocolate sprinkles to chase away the malaise. There was always something on which you could count.
Emma now had an unfortunately firm appreciation for the gravity of the “no rest” sentiment. She couldn’t remember ever having felt this tired; not even during her short stint of all-nighters while she enjoyed her even shorter stint in college. Maybe it was because, back then, it wasn’t a matter of life and death.
As it was, she hadn’t really slept for two solid nights and then had been on the run nonstop during the day. She wondered if this was how it was for prey species such as wildebeests, but then she felt a certain resentment for her animal kingdom example when she realized that even those creatures were granted slight respites for rest and eating.
That was the other nagging distraction. She was hungry. She didn’t just need a snack or trip to a McDonald’s for a quick bite. She hadn’t had anything other than water for a couple of days and her moaning, acid-churning stomach was in full revolt.
She realized after several more minutes that her eyes were indeed open and that she had been staring absently at the crude ceiling of simple, unfinished lumber over her. They weren’t, after all, staying at the Captain Cook Hotel or some other establishment that prided itself on its refinements. The three of them, hunted fugitives in their own city, had taken a hasty refuge in a child’s tree house for the simple reasons that it was up off the ground and the rope ladder could be and was retracted into the structure, rendering them unreachable by any would-be assailants. Once inside, their heart rates could slow slightly and their breathing could relax to a more normal level.
There was at least a fleeting sense of security up off the ground. The comfort was at least enough for them to collect themselves. It was anything but rest; in fact, she felt more tired now than she did before. Her adrenaline had faded from her blood stream and her fatigue was beginning to blunt her senses.
As she stared, she noticed that the boards comprising
the ceiling were damp with moisture. At about the same moment, she registered the fact that her exhaled breath was forming a warm, misty cloud immediately in front of her face.
She tried to wrap herself tighter into the very limited warmth of the threadbare blanket that had previously served as a floor cover of sorts in the tree house. As cold as she felt, she just knew that it would be unbearable without the minimal warmth the blanket provided.
The moment, despite the cold, was almost serene; provided, of course, that she forgot about the fact that she could possibly be in the midst of Armageddon on a truly Biblical scale.
Quietly, almost silently, tears again pooled in her eyes and rolled down the sides of her face. She wasn’t sure why she was crying again. At first, other than the tightness in her chest, she wasn’t even certain that she was crying. And when she did understand and accept that she was surrendering to her emotions, she realized that there wasn’t a shortage of things about which she could cry.
She didn’t fight the tears, fearing it would only lead to the inevitable sobbing. She didn’t want any attention, regardless of how well meaning it would be. Maybe one good cry in the morning would suffice for the entire day.
Dr. Caldwell, lying next to her and sharing the blanket, stirred slightly and began to breathe in short, shallow breaths. Another nightmare she figured. At one point during the night, he was almost whimpering. She wondered to herself if his nightmare even came close to comparing with the hell they had been enduring for the past two days.
Emma looked more closely at the man who was, for all intents and purposes, sharing a bed with her. He had a kind, knowing face with shallow lines of experience cut into the skin near his eyes. His hair was a patchy salt and pepper, primarily comprised of pepper. The dark hair growing in on his cheeks, chin, and neck was even and had the appearance of having been manicured, though she realized that it couldn’t have been.
She placed her hand lightly on his shoulder to comfort him without waking him. She made a motion to lie her head back down and snuggle closer against the doctor when she felt the unmistakable sensation that she was being watched. The feeling slithered up her spine like a cold serpent. She looked up and saw Officer Malachi Ivanoff looking directly at her.
Trying to ignore him and act as if she hadn’t noticed his staring, she cautiously watched him from the corner of her eyes. At first what she thought she was seeing was anger or possibly betrayal but then, looking through her bangs, she could have sworn that his eyes were actually filled with hunger or possibly lust. As a woman, she had seen that leer in the eyes of men at bars and parties, after alcohol had started the blunting effect on their better judgment. Perhaps she was just imagining it, but she was utterly unsettled by it.
She laid her head back down but didn’t dare close her eyes. She waited a few seconds, trying to control her breathing. Feigning adjusting her position to find the elusive comfort on the bare planks of the floor, she chanced a glance over the doctor’s neck. The officer was apparently asleep again. Maybe he’d been asleep all along and she was just imagining it, but she couldn’t shake the unsettling feeling.
No rest for the weary...
Chapter 35
Anchorage was quiet; as quiet as the grave. There was no longer any shooting. There were no longer any echoing screams followed by the rush of desperate footsteps. An uneasy peace had settled over the city.
That’s not to say that there was no activity within the city’s limits. A group of nine of the fiends, separated from the majority of the seemingly aimless specters wandering the city, was meandering in a dead end residential housing court, one way in and one way out on the road. The miserable cold and grey sky very nearly perfectly matched the demons’ skin. Once seething and glimmering red, the horrible wounds that had claimed the lives of the human beings that once inhabited the same skin were now soft and brown and malodorous. If the things wore clothing, most of it was in tattered rags; the remnants of a tie and a sport coat, the last clinging strips of a pink velour exercise suit, brown Carhart coveralls stained a deep rust from top to bottom.
Their limbs and heads seemingly rippled with an electric current that pulsed through them as regular as a heartbeat. Every movement they made, however small, carried with it a slight tremble, like coiled springs trying in vain to contain their suppressed but eager energy.
They were searching...searching for the one thing that called to them...searching for their own Sirens. Their heightened predatory senses told them that there was prey near. In their own stiff, jerky way, each of them raised a nose every few steps. The intoxicating scent of meat...of soft, salty flesh and firm, aromatic blood basted muscle and the delicate, bitter sweetness of the delicious organs...all of it called to them...bade them to wait and to hunger.
“Are they still out there?”
Jerry peeked through the edge of the curtains, nodded and sighed.
Neil felt the same way and there was no denying it. He wished he could be more confident, at least outwardly so, or able to mask his disappointment in front of Meghan. He just wasn’t a hero, at least in the classic sense of the term. He wasn’t capable of being perpetually upbeat and positive. He didn’t have superhuman strength, extra sensory perception, and he wasn’t a genius. Many people would refer to him as broken or damaged. He wouldn’t necessarily agree with that quick assessment. He would probably argue that he was just not interested anymore. That was probably the main reason why he hadn’t ever spoken to the beautiful Lani in his building. He just wanted to avoid the disappointment and the heartache that caring about something, about another person, or about himself would ultimately bring.
He wasn’t a pessimist for the simple reason that it required more effort than he was willing to put forth. His expectation about life had just been irretrievably altered since his divorce.
He became aware of a low but steady hum that tickled the air with its sound vibrations. The noise was annoying and impossible to ignore.
“What is that noise? Can everyone hear it or is it just me?”
Tony stood up and walked back into the dining room. “No, we can all hear it alright and it’s starting to get on my nerves.”
“I think that the hum has been there all along,” Jerry said, “but there needed to be enough of them there for us to hear them.”
“How many now?”
“Nine, and I think there are some more coming this direction from the road.”
Tony turned as he made his way down the narrow kitchen and asked, “Now there are nine?”
“Yeah, and more coming. I think the moaning is working as a kind of beacon for others.”
Rachel reeled back in her recliner and asked, “What the fuck did you just say? Sorry kids.”
Meghan answered, “It’s okay. They’re back in the bedroom sleeping.”
“Okay, then what the fuck did you just say?”
As usual, Jerry hesitated before he began. It was just difficult for him to commit himself to anything. Sticking his neck out in the past had gotten him nothing but trouble. And he wasn’t an expert. Just because he’d played some games, watched some movies, and read some books didn’t mean that he was some fucking Dr. Van Helsing of zombies. He was just a kid and wanted to go back to that. He always did. He missed not having to make decisions, or at least not having to be held terribly accountable for those decisions.
“I’m guessing that the noise has been there all along,” he said. “It was probably just subsonic because there weren’t enough of them yet. Or maybe it’s because the city is quieter. Whatever. It doesn’t really resemble a sound that I could place. It’s not really a sound at all. It’s more like a vibration than it is a sound. Can everyone else feel it?”
Meghan nodded her head, “Yeah, I think you’re right. It’s actually nauseating me a little.” She leaned toward Neil and rested against him. Tentatively, he raised his hand and wrapped it around her shoulders. She nestled into him in search of comfort.
“Well,” Jerry continued,
“the vibrations were probably always there, it just took more of them to become powerful enough for our ears to detect it.”
Tony asked, already suspecting the answer, “Our ears? Aren’t they just us?”
“Yeah, but they died and came back and all the result of some kind of virus or some other highly transmittable organism. Who knows what all changes took place as a result of the infection? I think it is safe to assume that their senses are probably heightened.”
Kim, coming from the dining room where she had been a silent observer of the conversation thus far, asked, “Why do you say that?”
“Well, they’re predators now in a more primal and animalistic sense. They’re hunters and hunter species have long relied on their senses to detect, track, and ultimately kill their prey.”
“Us,” Meghan said soberly.
Neil asked the room, “What are we gonna do?”
Rachel, virtually melted to the fabric of her recliner so far she was sunken into the chair, answered, “Why the hell are you asking us? You’re the guy who’s had the answers all along. You tell us. What are we going to do?”
“I don’t know for sure, Rachel. I’m new at this too. I guess for the time being we just wait and see. We can afford to stall and not rush into things. Maybe time will work to our advantage.”
“And what do you mean by that?”
Looking up at him and smiling, Meghan asked, “Yeah, what’s runnin’ through that head of yours?”
Neil guided Meghan back into a standing position and stepped away for a second. “These things. They’re just dead bodies, right? Well, dead bodies rot. They decompose. Ashes to ashes and dust to dust. Maybe as that starts to happen, these things will start to slow down or give us some other sort of advantage. Maybe as their muscle tissue becomes tighter with water loss they’ll slow down…start acting like the zombies in the Romero movies. They were slow and usually overwhelmed victims through sheer numbers.”
Infection: Alaskan Undead Apocalypse Page 14
