She reached in, and found the emergency security handle she sought.
“What are you doing, Charlotte?” She could hear a note of concern in Crespi’s voice. The sudden loss of control that he was experiencing felt delicious.
“You want to put an end to the zombies, Miguel? Start with these!”
Williams twisted the emergency release handle, and at once the far wall retracted and opened to the exterior of the building. And precisely the same time, all other zombie containment areas released their contents. Doors clanked open all over the huge base. The zombies that they had spent so many resources keeping under control were simultaneously freed to stumble into the dark of the night. The zombies there in the room turned and wandered toward the exit as if responding to an unspoken command.
“No! Charlotte!” Crespi appeared at once, leaping out from behind a bookcase. He had been hiding at the other end of the room.
Williams pointed the pistol at him. She squeezed the trigger as quickly as she could. BAAM BAAM BAAM BAAM BAAM BAAM!
Crespi howled and grabbed for his arm. Williams had hit him. He vanished back into the shadows. Williams followed with her eyes fixed on the prize. She approached quickly, moving to where she had seen him seconds before. But Crespi was gone.
“Come on out, Miguel.”
Something grabbed at her and Williams narrowly avoided being bitten by a convict missing half of its face. Its teeth snapped at her like a chattering Halloween toy. She slipped away just in time and came to her senses. There were far too many zombies free in the room and now loose all over the base. Time was running out. A golden opportunity was escaping along with Crespi. She had tried her best and lost. At least the traitor was wounded. He wouldn’t last long dripping fresh blood.
The mission came first.
Before Williams could be overrun and bitten by the undead, she retreated into the deserted hallway. She turned and ran down the corridor alone. The fear that gripped her now was not just of the zombies she’d just freed. It was for the future of the program. There could be no more errors. They were already cutting it far too close.
Williams cursed under breath as she jogged away. What could she tell Cecil now? She’d have to think fast.
Chapter Twenty-One
2 hours, 4 minutes to Stage Three (9:56pm)
“So exactly where’s this fucking exit of yours, McDivitt, the Bermuda Triangle?”
Scobee’s head snapped around. He straightened up and stabbed Scratch with an angry glare. “Why don’t you give the Major a break?”
Scratch almost replied, “Which leg?” Shit, it wasn’t the time for a joke like that, not with these men. They didn’t get his sense of humor for some reason, the tight asses. Instead he said, “Fine. But can you at least let us in on the rest of the plan? I don’t like feeling like a puppy on a leash.”
McDivitt turned around. He had been peering out from the corner of a building, studying a triad of zombies in search of their next meal. The area was infested. They moved solo or in threes, but Scratch knew and had informed the others that the single zombies were often just bait for another two, and almost always part of a Triad in hunting formation. The creatures were unusually quiet. They could just barely hear them now and again, chanting unhh hunhhh hunh…
Scratch squatted down on the cement, his eyes on the open area beyond a low brick wall. “Well, Major? We’re waiting. I am, anyway.”
McDivitt sighed and went down on a knee. “The plan, Scratch, is to find a way across the tarmac to that fence.” He pointed and Scratch followed his finger. McDivitt continued. “We’re near the antenna farm, which is one of our primary targets. If we can take that down, we can hamstring the Triad and interrupt their communications. Only problem is, we have zero ordnance with us, and no way to get the job done. I guess we’ll have to figure that out as we go.”
Scratch blew out a long breath. “Awesome plan, Walt. Any reason we’re still sitting here and not, like, out there making it happen?”
“There is a fly in your soup, Walter.”
Everyone turned to look at Rolf, who had been lying on his back staring up at the stars. Frustrated, McDivitt finally said, “What was that, Rolf?”
Scratch figured they didn’t have time for one of Rolf’s paranoid puzzles. He opted to interpret. “I think he means you’re overlooking something, Walter. At least I hope he does, because I tend to agree.”
McDivitt, whatever he might be when he was busy playing Big Man on Campus, was not dumb. “Okay, I’ll bite. What’s the flaw… er, fly, Rolf?”
Rolf stood and winked. Whatever the old fool was up to, he seemed to be having fun. Scratch was not having fun. In fact, he was worrying about Miller and Sheppard and rapidly losing patience.
Rolf cleared his throat. “The datalink is more than a pair of tin cans connected by a string. Do I really need to tell you about the birds and the bees?”
Now even Scratch was getting confused. He got to his feet, reached over and gently tapped two fingers on the other man’s skull. “Rolf, if you’re in there, now would be a good time to come out and play nice with the rest of us.”
“Hold on a moment, Scratch. I think maybe I’ve got this one.” McDivitt pondered for a moment. He rose. He managed a tight smile and nodded. “The data link allows the Triad to run their operations, but it also communicates with our satellites, and we use those same satellites to control military drones stationed all over the globe. Is that what you’re driving at, Rolf?”
Rolf stepped forward to hug McDivitt, who hugged back awkwardly. “You are, indeed, my Walter.”
McDivitt held Rolf by the shoulders at arm’s length. They studied each other as if engaging in telepathy. McDivitt spoke his thoughts aloud. “If we blow up the datalink, we won’t be able to fly those drones, and in the end we’ll need the drones even more than we need to leave. Right, Rolf?”
Rolf moved forward again, but McDivitt stopped him. “Okay, Rolf. I don’t need a kiss. I get your point. Let’s move out.” He did an about-face without explanation and headed back the way they’d come. He went from a brisk walk to a jog and the other two men fell into place at his left and right side, with Scratch following just behind.
They soon came to an open spot between two long buildings. McDivitt waved them to a halt. Scobee stuck his head around the corner and motioned that the coast was clear. They set out again, avoiding the floodlights as best they could. Sirens went off at the far end of the base. Some shots were fired. They saw no other zombies, but knew they were surrounded by the undead. Something was going on, and it wasn’t good.
“Where are we headed?” asked Scratch as they began to run.
Rolf, McDivitt, and Scobee answered as one. “The drone shack.”
When the men came to the end of a long, padlocked warehouse they paused for a second time. They took a short breather, all jammed together on an enclosed porch. Scratch was feeling queasy now, having been in this position so many times before. People were dying. People were rising again. They all listened to the slaughter around them. The faint screams. There was movement everywhere around them in the darkness, but most of it was the groaning, drooling kind. Occasionally they heard some gunfire as those still living began to remember how to cope with the undead. The creatures were on the hunt and, by the sound of it, the humans were losing the battle quick as a jackrabbit in heat.
Without being asked, Scobee crawled away to do some recon and came back to whisper in McDivitt’s ear. Then Scobee leaned against the wall. Scratch waited and watched.
McDivitt nodded to himself a few times, pondering a decision. He looked up and pointed to their left, down a stretch of cracked sidewalk toward a distant parked vehicle. “When I say go, we’re heading for that truck at the end of the block. Scobee reports he just saw the driver jump out and desert his post. He says the engine is still running in that truck. We need wheels.”
“Right.” Scratch planned to keep agreeing until McDivitt started making serious mistakes, which is
when all bets would be off. So far the worst he had done was run them around in circles. He’d managed to get them out of the Triad’s headquarters and acquire them some weapons, which wasn’t too shabby. And now at least McDivitt had a plan, and even though Scratch really didn’t know exactly what they needed a bunch of drones for, he liked the idea of being able to bomb the hell out of somebody. Beat the shit out of getting eaten alive, anyway. Besides, Rolf seemed to think it was important, and that was good enough for him. Rolf had been touched in some magical way. At least Scratch found it comforting to believe that.
McDivitt said, “Scobee, you’re fast and know where we’re going, so you’re on point. Scratch, you watch our rear.”
“Consider me your ass man, Major.”
McDivitt waited until everyone was in position. A new bank of floodlights kicked on just across the tarmac and the resulting glare swallowed up the moonlight. They could see an enormous horde of zombies milling around amongst the buildings, some of them in uniform. They heard a few more gunshots and someone over there screamed for help. Another man wailed in pain, and the horrific sound rose higher and higher but stopped abruptly as he died. The four men exchanged wan looks. They heard more growling as the undead fed on the recently living. The horde turned toward the sounds of feeding and started to move that way. McDivitt slapped Scobee on the back.
“Go!”
Scobee led them out, Rolf and McDivitt behind. They took off at a dead run. Covering the rear, Scratch got his first real look at the entire base and saw exactly what was going on around them. The undead were still fairly sparse but seemed to be almost everywhere. Someone had set the bastards free. They hadn’t established a huge horde yet, the small groups were mostly just triads and strays, perhaps only a few hundred all together, but they were multiplying quickly. As Scratch ran, he noted that the strays were mostly albinos, just wandering around by themselves, though there was a smattering of triads just a ways ahead. He spotted them hunting and out there among the loners.
Scratch didn’t see much of the living left, but he could hear some of them shouting, shooting, and no doubt shitting their pants. Scratch and Miller had firsthand experience with how well the military had trained their soldiers to deal with zombies, which is to say not very fucking well. After so much bullshit from the Select Committee and the corporate news channels, mostly aimed toward hiding the truth from a gullible public, the military was left unprepared and confused and unable to properly respond to the zombie plague, a threat that wasn’t even supposed to be real. Considering how the undead were about to feed on their flesh, Scratch guessed that the soldiers still weren’t learning nearly fast enough. Their civilian commanders had not served them well.
Unhh hunhhh hunh…
Scratch saw a blurry figure appear out of the corner of his eye. He spun around just in time to fend off an albino, a filthy old man in a miner’s outfit with a small helmet and headlight. The vacant eyes rolled back white, and the yellow teeth, stained with fresh blood, snapped at his bare hand. Scratch didn’t want to risk attracting attention. He swung the rifle around and crushed its skull with the butt. It fell to the tarmac. Scratch stomped the brain flat to be sure. He turned and ran to catch up to the others, who had just noticed his absence. The siren on the other side of the base stopped wailing.
A few seconds later, they hit the back of the truck almost as one. Scratch turned around and covered their rear again, just in case they’d been followed. What he saw then scared the living hell out of him.
“Get the fuck inside,” Scratch managed. He licked his lips.
Behind the four men, not more than ten yards away, a genuine horde was forming up. It already consisted of maybe forty or fifty individual creatures, with more emerging from the doorways and alleys to join in, and soon they were all approaching the truck. Scratch shook his head, amazed by how rapidly they seemed to be communicating. But that didn’t bother him enough the start a true panic. He knew how to handle zombies. No, it was the Hummer behind them with the minigun mounted on top that freaked him the hell out. Scratch just hoped they were on the right side.
Uh oh.
The minigun operator swung the gun around. She pointed it at the horde. If she’d seen Scratch and his people, there was no indication of it. That meant the huge rounds would rip right through the line of dead human flesh and roar their way just a millisecond later. Everyone and everything in their path would spring about a hundred leaks.
“Oh, shit!” Scratch called. “McDivitt, clear the Goddamned truck. We’re about to get wiped out.”
Three things happened almost at once. McDivitt turned and saw what Scratch was warning him about, the giant weapon about to fire their way, and shouted for everyone to quickly find cover. Scratch, McDivitt, and Rolf all began running full tilt away from the truck. And just then the minigun operator opened up on the horde as expected, instantly shredding it.
Scobee either hadn’t heard or hadn’t reacted quickly enough. As Scratch rolled on the ground seeking cover, he watched helplessly as Scobee turned, saw the zombie horde, assumed that it was the primary threat, and brought his weapon around to cover his friends escape. His heroism did not go unpunished.
The minigun operator sawed through the horde of zombies, chewing up their heads and necks, and they fell like bowling pins. She knew her job. Scratch shouted for Scobee to get down but knew he couldn’t be heard over the racket, and also knew it was probably way too late. The night was ablaze with tracer rounds, splashing gore and sparks as rounds glanced off metal and pavement.
Scobee’s eyes went wide at the last second as he realized his mistake. He stopped firing before the stream of bullets blew through the horde and neatly cut his torso in half. Then the gun chewed through the back of the truck, and some of the tracer rounds ignited the gas tank. Scratch covered his head with his hands and shrank down and away. The whole truck exploded, tearing what was left of Scobee to pieces before his corpse could fall over. Though time had seemed to slow down, all of this had taken place within a matter of seconds. The fire roared high, brightening every dark corner on that section of the base, making the men easy targets. McDivitt seemed paralyzed and the other men were stricken because of the senseless death of their friend.
Scratch watched the fire and struggled to form a plan of action. Something touched his arm, and he turned to see Rolf there. “Friend Scratch, now is not the time to lose concentration. We still have much to do.”
Scratch could only nod. Together, Scratch, Rolf, and McDivitt turned and ran and kept on running. They did not see what happened to the gun operator and her crew, but Scratch heard the large engine fading away. She’d done her job as best she could. He wished her well. The woman and her team would be out of ammo soon, and then what?
The men ran, panting and sweating and shaken to the core. The horde of zombies seemed confused and intimidated by the fire and did not pursue at first. Scratch knew the respite was temporary. As they moved on, they came to another small outbuilding, and stopped for a quick breather.
“How much farther?” asked Scratch.
McDivitt was bent over and gasping. “There are some residential buildings here, and on the other side is the drone shack. It’s maybe another half a mile.”
“Another half a mile?” Scratch kicked at something that lay twitching on the ground. It turned out to be a human hand. It flopped into the gutter, wiggling like a fish. “We aren’t going to last that long.”
“If we can get to the drone shack, we will have eyes in the sky, weapons to blow up anything that needs killing, a roof over our heads, and something like safety for at least a few minutes. We can at least keep the flights from taking off tonight. I know you’re tired and scared, so am I, but right now that’s our best bet.”
“Okay,” said Scratch. “Fine, you’re probably right.”
McDivitt straightened up. “Rolf, are you good?”
“Yes, Walter.”
Scratch nodded. “Then let’s stop standing around and
get going.”
Again they ran.
They came to the end of the storage areas and jogged into a housing block with a flagpole out front. Most of the residences were dark, and those that had lights seemed empty. Perhaps someone had thought to evacuate. Either that or they were all already dead. Had there been any survivors? How had this started, on purpose or by accident? Scratch figured on purpose, though he doubted they would ever know for sure. Still, once these creatures spread off the base, all bets were off for the next three states over. Someone wanted some bad shit to happen. All Scratch knew was that this hideous experience just kept on happening, and that it had to stop once and for all.
Pausing only every hundred feet or so, the three survivors made their way through the maze of residential buildings. Windows were open to the night, with lights on inside, but all of the rooms stood empty. Some suitcases lay abandoned on a lawn. Sprinklers were running. An open space with kids’ play equipment offered very sparse cover, but Scratch didn’t argue when McDivitt led them that way. It looked like a short cut. Anything to cut down on the distance they had to run was a good thing.
As they ran, Scratch began to hear something that sounded a lot like a small, noisy gas motor, like some kind of a golf cart on steroids. Or maybe a chain saw. At first, Scratch could barely make it out over the sound of his own raspy breathing and the clump of their boots on the sidewalk. He waved for the others to stop on the edge of the playground and hunker down. McDivitt okayed the move, a question in his eyes.
“Hold up a second,” Scratch said with his voice husky. “Listen.”
“What is it?” McDivitt was also huffing for breath. He was a bit more out of shape than Scratch or Rolf, but not by a country mile. They were all feeling pretty tuckered right about then. McDivitt seemed overwhelmed by their situation. He was sticking to a decent plan, but might crack if he lost another man, or some terrible new obstacle appeared. Scratch held up his hand, listening intently. The sound was gone. All he heard now was sporadic gunfire and a few screams and the persistent unhh hunhh hunhh of the undead.
The Hungry (Book 6): The Rule of Three (The Sheriff Penny Miller Zombie Series) Page 25
