Miller grabbed Bean by the arm and spun him around. “The van’s been compromised. Don’t throw yourself on your sword just yet.”
McDivitt took Bean’s sleeve and yanked him back. He pushed Bean harder than he had to in the direction of the warehouse. “Everyone inside, Goddamn it. We’re out of time.”
Scratch winked at Miller. “Never a dull moment in our little soap opera, eh?”
Miller smiled wanly. She held her Mak 90 close to her chest as she sprinted for the warehouse door. Something moved just inside the building. She skidded to a halt, crouched low, and brought the barrel around. Hunched over, she headed for the wall next to the door. “Hostiles!”
A shot rang out just as she shouted her warning. The round came from inside the warehouse. Poor Scobee grunted and went down on his face, his thin body twitching. Bean and Judy reached down and grabbed him while McDivitt and Piper opened fire on the shooter inside.
Miller hit the wall next to the door, with Scratch a half-second behind her. Bullets chewed up the wood over their heads, showering them with splinters and dust and pigeon shit. Miller took stock of their situation and planned their next move. She watched Scobee gain his feet and stumble to safety, obviously in pain but propped up by Bean and Judy. A spent round fell to the ground with a jangling sound, the bullet distorted and crushed, its energy expended on Scobee’s body armor. Miller breathed a sigh of relief that he was only bruised, but the respite wouldn’t last long and thus was of little comfort.
They looked outside. The security forces were pulling up next to the transport they had just abandoned, and the soldiers exited and fanned out professionally. Miller leveled her weapon and fired twice, starring the windshield of their vehicle. A few men crawled behind it for cover. That ought to at least keep them humble for a time.
“Fuck, this piece of shit has the accuracy of one of Terrill Lee’s jokes.” Miller didn’t look to see how Scratch reacted. She set the selector to full auto, and opened up. The bullets went everywhere but home, though they did succeed in keeping the security forces’ heads down. The others were now shooting, too. Miller felt an uncomfortable awareness creep over her. Something was very wrong. The security forces outside, for whatever reason, weren’t returning fire.
That didn’t last long, however. A bullet struck the wall next to Miller’s head. There’s always someone that didn’t get the memo.
McDivitt waved at her. “Inside! Get inside.”
Miller didn’t need to be told twice. She yanked the bayonet off and tossed the Mak-90 on the ground like the useless piece of shit it was. She tucked the blade in her belt and headed through the door behind Scratch and Piper. Inside, she found an airman on the ground, a pistol still gripped in his dead hand. She picked it up, and pulled a reload off his belt. The sidearm would have to do. Besides, she still had the bayonet if it came to that. And it probably would come to that. These fuckers were shipping zombies to uninfected areas. She did not wish to be taken alive. She knew the score. She’d been a lab rat once too often.
Scratch was beside her. “Are you all right?”
Miller wanted to shout a resounding no, but something stopped her. “Sort of. We’ll talk about this later.”
Scratch chuckled. “Yeah, if there is a later.”
Miller patted him on the arm. “Stay with me, cowboy, and you’ll be fine.”
McDivitt was keeping pace with Miller. “Access to the Triad’s escape tunnel is just down here.”
They reached a heavy door at the end of the hall. Scratch sprayed the area behind them with bullets as they left, keeping them safe for a moment. No one fired back. They got to the big door and Miller blinked in surprise. There was no alarm panel, no access control. It was just a big wheel like the door to a giant safe, or maybe the entrance to a nuclear submarine.
Bean and Judy tried to turn the thing, but it wouldn’t budge. A bruised Scobee leant his strength as well, and with his help the wheel did move just a bit. Miller took stock of their situation. She could hear the enemy fast approaching. McDivitt and Piper now guarded their rear.
Miller turned to Scratch. “Go help them out.” She raised her pistol, and went to stand next to McDivitt. They’d just have to hold the bastards off for a time.
The security forces could definitely be heard moving around outside, boots scraping cement and battle rattle clanking, but they didn’t show themselves. Miller didn’t like it. The whole thing felt off. They should have been taking positions to seal them in. They weren’t. Miller didn’t like that at all. She turned to see Bean, Scobee, Scratch, and Judy still struggling with the door. They’d be sitting ducks if they didn’t get through the damned thing.
“Come on, come on,” Miller chanted to herself.
“Drop your weapons.” The booming voice came from the building behind them. Their van had been discovered. “There’s no way out. If you don’t comply in ten seconds, we will open fire.”
There was a loud pounding sound from behind her. Miller turned to see Scratch and Scobee kicking at the door like angry kids.
“Well, it’s been fun,” Miller said to no one in particular. “They sound pretty damn serious, Major.”
At the end of the ten seconds, nothing happened. Then there was a clinking sound, and something flew around the corner. A smoking canister of tear gas rolled to a stop a few feet ahead of Miller. She didn’t hesitate. Covering her nose and mouth, she reached down, picked up the canister, and threw it back towards the security forces. It made it all the way back to the entrance to the corridor before it popped open in space and the cloud hung in the air like a milky shroud. Most of the gas was far away, but already Miller’s eyes were watering.
A loud grinding noise echoed through the underground area. Scratch shouted triumphantly. “Who’s the man?”
Miller turned and looked back of her shoulder just in time to see the door swing wide open. At first she thought the room was empty. Then she realized that someone was inside, just beyond the door. People were moving around. Miller jumped to her feet with a warning on her lips. And that’s when she heard it. They all heard it.
Uhh-hunnhh. Huhhh!!
Chapter Eleven
10 hours, 55 minutes to Stage Three (1:05pm)
“Remember, aim for the brain!” The admonition was automatic for her now.
Miller raised her little pistol. She fired quickly and efficiently and placed a trio of rounds directly into the heads of the closest zombies. They dropped obligingly, and the uninitiated members of her group got the idea. The dark was writhing with evil. The horde of the undead seemed insurmountable, a thick, wide cluster of civilians and military personnel. All of their clothing torn to shreds, their bodies all rendered flesh and drooping intestines. Miller barely noticed any of them for what they’d once been. She did not want to think beyond their existence as her immediate enemy. Her senses had long ago been deadened to their identities as human beings.
Miller and her group fought to survive. They killed relentlessly, efficiently, firing and shifting positions and firing again. Miller’s ears rang and her nose burned, fouled by the now all too familiar scent of warfare. She wondered if when this was all over, providing they survived, her hearing would be shot. Perhaps in their senior years she and Scratch would feel like decrepit rock stars who heard a shrill ringing in their ear drums continuously. She just hoped they’d live long enough to find out.
Their enemy was relentless and ugly and vile. The stench twisted their stomachs and all that rage-filled hunger terrified their hearts. Miller had a great deal of experience fighting zombies, but apart from Scratch and Rolf, the others did not. Everything became a blur of deadly violence, with the risk of death omnipresent.
As the fight progressed, McDivitt’s people handled themselves pretty damn well. Bean and Scobee, while clearly frightened, at least had some point of reference to help them stay focused. They were now standing back to back, firing smoothly and carefully. The creatures dropped like poisoned insects. All around them the u
ndead bodies began to pile up. Then the already slaughtered created an inconvenient barrier for the next wave. The executed zombies became a defensive line. As the fight continued, they all were doing Miller proud. Not one cracked. Her example had served its purpose.
It was a child that did it.
A little girl in a pink Disney costume with a golden plastic tiara emerged from the mob. Her black hair was disheveled, little brown eyes rolled back, little mouth and lips attacking the air like sea creature seeking suction on the smeared wall of an unclean fish tank. Miller shot her through the head without a second thought.
McDivitt just stared, his weapon hanging limply at his side. For all of his posturing, the Major turned out to be a few feathers short of a duck when it really counted. Despite all his tough commander rhetoric, he’d become disoriented and scared. He’d probably pictured a very different mission, one in-and-out sabotage job with little or no consequences for his people. It was very clear that he hadn’t been expecting a zombie encounter of this magnitude. Of any magnitude.
A skinny old woman in a nightgown clambered over the stack of twitching corpses. She had lost her false teeth, but cheerfully did her best to gum Scratch’s leg. He shoved his gun in her mouth and sent the back of her skull flying. He kicked her corpse back into the pile that was fast becoming something of a security wall. Scratch hadn’t even broken a sweat. Meanwhile, McDivitt struggled to remember how to aim and fire his weapon.
Miller got a moment of respite and took stock of their situation. Scratch and Rolf were professionals, just like Miller. Rolf now covered the security forces down the corridor while Scratch used the piece-of-shit Norinco to cut down a shit load of zombies at skull level. He fired from left to right, taking several out in one blaze of glory. Miller almost shouted for him to conserve ammunition, but Scratch never had in the past, so why should this time be any different? She decided not to mess with a good thing. They were somehow holding their own. Miller had briefed the group on anti-zombie tactics when they were crated up for the trip onto base, and the lessons had taken root. They all seemed to be working together. Even the weak-kneed McDivitt hadn’t caved, at least not yet.
The attacking mob had them horseshoed from three sides, leaving only one possible escape route. As usual, that one seemed like the worst possible choice. Miller was in command, it was her call. They all trusted her—they had to, considering the alternative was to follow McDivitt. She wondered if that would stick when things got worse.
“Inside,” Miller shouted. “When I say ‘go,’ move fast!”
“Wait, you want us to go where?” McDivitt was still wide-eyed. Just then a hulking figure in a baggy white outfit and a green belt came out of nowhere and climbed up the pile of bodies to drop down right in front of them. The big zombie flexed and started swinging his arms and kicking at McDivitt as if in the middle of some vaguely recalled karate routine. The major stood and stared, mouth agape, and actually giggled. Miller had to blow the karate guy away. Finally McDivitt snapped out of his panic. He shouted again, “You can’t be serious, Sheriff. You actually want us to charge these motherfuckers?”
“Follow orders, you useless prick,” shouted Scratch. “Check your package and get moving.” Miller grinned at the absurdity of that statement, but there was no time for anything but action. Scratch had gone through his magazine, so he pulled the M-4 out of McDivitt’s hands and fired again, clearly choosing his shots a bit more carefully this time without having been ordered to do so. He knew enough to try to save a last bullet for each of them in case they got bitten.
“Go!” Miller called. She moved, kicking and firing and shoving the enemy back.
“We’ll all die in there,” McDivitt said, though he also started heading for the entrance to the passage, just as directed.
“At least the zombies don’t have guns!” Miller covered McDivitt’s back. “Come on Rolf, let’s move.”
Rolf expended a few more rounds in the general direction of the security forces, to little effect. He appeared at Miller’s side a moment later. His eyes were wide with excitement, but he seemed fully present for a change. Rolf never failed her in a fight. Miller addressed him.
“You doing okay?”
Rolf flashed a tense grin. “This isn’t the test I was talking about, just in case you were wondering.”
“I wasn’t really worrying about that, Rolf.” Miller grabbed Piper and pushed her toward the exit. She caught a quick look through the door. On the other side, the next room was also teeming with zombies, as expected. Stocky, tough Piper was pale but somehow keeping it together. Miller watched as she stuck her weapon in the mouth of a teenaged boy in a baseball uniform and fired without even flinching. Good girl, Miller thought. Guess you’re as tough as you look.
“Keep moving, Piper.” Miller fired and moved back. “Stand tall. You’re going to make it out of here.”
“Maybe,” Rolf called. “But please remember that it won’t do you or us any good if you get killed down here, Sheriff. So don’t get cocky.” Rolf fired a few more rounds down the corridor.
Miller’s head snapped around to watch their backs as they exited the trap. She fired and reloaded. A small squad of dead airmen struggled to make it over the ever growing pile of corpses. Miller picked them off just as their heads appeared, feeling like a kid at a state fair shooting gallery. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Piper vomit on the floor and go back to firing. Miller turned back just in time to kick an old man in the face and shoot him. She ran for the doorway.
Scratch was standing at the entrance, motioning for Miller and Rolf to enter. The others were already inside. Rolf went through before Miller, and she stepped through behind him, pulling on the heavy metal door. It got stuck and didn’t want to close. Miller looked down. She saw a heavily-muscled arm in an Army uniform, thick fingers still twitching. She waved everyone back and fired to blow it off at the elbow. The door finally closed with a clang.
The wheel spun, and the door sealed itself. Miller looked around for something to jam it closed. She turned to see McDivitt standing there with Scratch’s empty Mak-90 in hand. Miller shoved it through the spokes of the wheel, and set the barrel under a flange of some sort. The wheel wouldn’t be turning again anytime soon. They had bought some time, but still had a long way to go, and another batch of zombies to fight. One more time, from the proverbial frying pan into the damned fire…
At least there was a moment of respite, and her people panted for air. It took time for the next group of zombies to recognize and adjust to their presence. Miller inhaled desperately. The smell of decomposition finally hit her—she guessed the tear gas had made it hard to smell anything else before. She was quickly recovering from that. Given the strength of the current stench, Miller almost wished the tear gas was still clogging up her sinuses.
“Form up, people,” Miller said.
Bean and Scobee were leaning on the wall, trying to get some air in their lungs. Judy also vomited, but in a lady-like way, and she immediately regained her composure. Miller studied the weary band of survivors and an odd feeling passed through her, a low throb of grief. She was just bone tired of this war. The living people were terrified and sickened, the zombies starving and mindless and depressed. She had not forgotten the experience she’d had sampling the incredible sadness the undead carried within them as a group, the horrific feeling she’d shared with them while drugged up and in captivity. In fact, she could almost sense their suffering now. Miller had that same strange feeling of being repulsed and at home at the same time. She was on the fringes, but she could feel the horde inside her mind. It was not a very welcome feeling.
The zombies were confused and watching the intruders, who were both food and enemy in one. The group mind had not yet made its decision to order them forward. It would not be long.
Miller mentally slapped herself, she had a job to do, and people were depending on her to get them out. “I said form up!”
The humans struggled to come together. Mill
er used her hands to motion for them to form a skirmish line that would also serve as a huddle. It was time to figure out their next step. Miller licked her lips and pushed away a craving for some cold water. They were all thirsty and tired.
Their new prison was a huge room. Miller couldn’t help thinking of it as a holding tank. It was bare and otherwise dimly lit. In the semi-darkness, Miller could see that there were at least forty to fifty zombies clustered near the other end. And they weren’t just wandering around aimlessly now, either. All the shooting and commotion had attracted their attention, and the closed door had lowered the racket, making them feel safer, if that was even possible for a zombie. They had begun to form a simple plan of their own. The confusion had ebbed. Now they were all lining up for the buffet, which in this case meant Miller and her team.
The creatures grunted unhh hunhh hunhhh… They began to mutter and moan, working up to an attack. Miller wondered why they were holding back. She considered the zombies. Sometimes their group mind was scarier than their appearance. Miller studied her enemies carefully. They looked like they’d been underground a long time. Most of them were pale, unfed, and skinny. In fact, many of the creatures were buck naked, their clothes long since torn off or possibly rotted away. How long had they been locked up down here?
Bean slid over to stand next to Judy. They held hands and hugged. Bean swallowed dryly and turned to Miller. “Well, Sheriff. What do we do now?”
“One second,” Miller said, just buying time. The horde of zombies at the other end of the room began to shuffle forward, unhhh hunhh hunhhh….
Piper let out a small sigh that sounded a lot like a sob. Scobee sank down to one knee. He was still trying to catch his breath. McDivitt checked his pistol and Miller realized he already needed to reload. That meant he was down to his last few rounds. Hell, they were all either out of ammunition or close to it.
“Sheriff?” McDivitt said, nervously. “We’re waiting. How the fuck are we going to survive this?”
The Hungry (Book 6): The Rule of Three (The Sheriff Penny Miller Zombie Series) Page 13
