Scratch was about to cheerfully protest that he only took orders from one Sheriff Penelope Jean Miller, but Rolf was already lost in his own little world. He went to a glassed-in box on the wall. He smashed the glass with the butt of his rifle. There was a fire hose inside. Rolf slung his rifle over his shoulder and spun the valve wheel. The hose popped obligingly out of its hangars and filled with water. Holding the leaking nozzle with both hands, Rolf maneuvered the stiff hose toward the door, being very careful to stay clear of the electronics. He stopped near the door, turned off the alarm, and flipped all the dead bolts open.
“Are you ready?”
Scratch smiled. “Albinos, right. Water should kill them.” There were more of the zombies shuffling around outside, probably a small horde by now, grunting unhhh hunhh hunh and scratching and hitting and kicking at the door. Scratch looked at Rolf and silently mouthed the words, One, Two, Three.
Rolf braced himself as Scratch threw open the doors. Rolf turned the nozzle, and a concentrated jet of water hit the first zombie full in the chest. It flew backward into the one behind it and it screamed like a banshee as it began to melt. Rolf played the water left and right, knocking down the cluster of zombies as they came closer. All but a few started to crumble upon being touched by the water. Those still standing began to flank the door. Shit. There was at least one triad of telepathic zombies out there. They needed to think fast.
Scratch raised his rifle to take out the regular zombies, but Rolf said, “No, not yet!” He turned off the water stream and nodded to Scratch to close the door. They locked it and armed the alarm again. “We mustn’t kill the canaries, Scratch.”
Scratch still had no idea what Rolf was talking about. “I sure as hell hope you’re right, Rolf.”
“I am.” Rolf dropped the dripping hose and closed the valve. He left it near the entrance for the next time. “Walter?”
“You have to come see this, Rolf!” McDivitt pointed to the largest monitor, located at the top of the wall. The video was spectacularly clear and crisp. “That’s Anna Lee’s view. The whole base has been overrun. We can see the small pockets of human resistance, and we’re supporting them to the best of our ability with machine gun fire. The kids are already getting pretty good at this. The planes are pinned down for good now, but I’m going to smoke them to be sure.”
“Good, Walter. Good.”
“But I wasn’t kidding earlier about the extra debris on the front end of runway.” McDivitt flipped a switch and brought up another view. “This is from Jimmy’s craft.” They could see the carcasses of three KC-10s scattered across the runway threshold and the long taxiway. The fires inside were burning blue, not yellow. No one commented on that fact, but Scratch immediately had a bad feeling about it.
Scratch pointed to the smaller screen in front of Sunita, the redhead. “What about them?” On the screen some C-17s were getting ready to take off from the middle of the runway, into an area they hadn’t yet destroyed. “Aren’t those the other cargo planes with zombies onboard?”
“You aren’t planning on doing anything to them, are you?” Sunita, who had held her cool up to this point, looked absolutely stricken. “Please don’t. My mom could be flying one of those!”
Rolf came to her side. “Worry not, my love. Your mother is not one of those pilots, I assure you.”
“You can’t know that!” She let go of her controls and turned her chair to face Rolf. Her eyes flashed defiance.
Rolf smiled again, and leaned down to whisper something in her ear. Whatever he said, it calmed Sunita down. Her mood changed right away. Scratch realized the guy was flat out amazing.
Rolf said, “Shall we?”
“Okay,” Sunita said. “I’m ready.”
“Walter,” said Rolf, “you are cleared to fire on those other Globemasters.” Then he returned to the door. “Friend Scratch, I will need you’re full and undivided attention. We are about to be attacked again.”
The door handle rattled a few seconds later. A fist pounded. A man called out. “Open up in there!”
Scratch watched in amazement. Rolf was full of surprises. “You are so going to have to tell me how the hell you do that.”
“I heard them shooting the zombies, Friend Scratch. We had to give our fledglings time to deliver their eggs.” Rolf looked a bit sad now, a strange change of expression. “But don’t worry. All good things must come to an end.”
Scratch suddenly didn’t want to know what that meant. Instead, he turned to face the door. Rolf motioned for him to respond. “Nobody here but us chickens, pal. Why don’t you go knock somewhere else?”
“You have ten seconds to open up, sir, or we’ll come in there and take the drone shack back by force.”
Rolf stepped closer to the door. He had a macabre grin plastered across his face. “Not by the hair of our chinny-chin-chins.”
“Look,” Scratch called, “we are doing something urgent here, and you damn well know it. Go away or people are going to die over nothing, and you’re likely to be one of them.”
“Prepare for assault,” someone outside shouted. “Open that fucking door.”
Scratch looked at Rolf. “Here we go. You ready?”
“I’ve been ready for this night for a long time, Scratch.” The crazy grin was gone and now Rolf looked sad, very sad indeed. The weary soldier was back in the saddle.
McDivitt and the kids shouted for joy as they scored another drone hit and crushed the final leg of the runway.
Scratch reached for the door and threw it open. Maybe a dozen military men were gathered outside. They were all heavily armed and panicked and ready to fire RPGs at the building. They were just doing their jobs, but could not be allowed to stop the kids from destroying the remaining craft and eradicating the zombies. Scratch pushed away his guilt and opened up on the soldiers on the right without bothering to choose his shots. He didn’t want to remember their faces for the rest of his life. It turned out that the living were much easier targets. Damn near any shot was a good enough shot and the rifle was set on full auto. The terrified, angry men fell quickly. Rolf was firing on the other side. Scratch felt guilt for wiping these people out, but they were threatening the mission. He had to keep shooting.
Their opponents were caught off guard and the survivors fell back. Scratch did not shoot those who chose to retreat. They had just started to close the door again but as Rolf stepped close to the entrance, one of the wounded attackers got off a clean shot. The round hit Rolf in the gut. He fell backwards, landed on his butt and dropped his rifle with a clatter. Scratch slammed the door shut again and closed the locks. “Walter! We’ve got us a problem here!”
Rolf put his hand on Scratch’s arm. “Let him fly the drone. That’s his destiny, Scratch, and this is mine. Quickly, help me get to my feet. I can feel the transformation taking place, death is almost upon me.”
“Transformation?” Then Scratch remembered. “You’ve been sucking on that zombie bone again, haven’t you? So that when you die, you’ll turn into one of them and be with your wife.”
“That is one reason, yes.” Rolf grunted. “This is the other. Quickly, get me out there. I’ll be able to hold them off for a few more minutes. After that it will be up to you to protect the rest of our tribe.”
Understanding at last, Scratch got Rolf to his feet, and helped him towards the door. The older man stayed bent over, clutching his belly. He was hissing like a snake from the pain. Scratch wanted to say something supportive or wise but found he was at a loss. Rolf, who’d always been tuned into some strange network not of this world, had planned for this death. He’d seen it coming all along. Scratch finally figured out what he wanted to say. It wasn’t elegant, but it was genuine.
“I’m going to miss you, you crazy old fuck!”
Walter and the kids whooped and hollered again. Another plane went up in flames. Rolf staggered away and slapped Scratch on the shoulder. He swallowed dryly and nodded. “Open Sesame.”
And Scratch pul
led the door open. Another shot came through, and this one hit Rolf squarely in the chest. Rolf’s eyes rolled white and he bit at the air. He was dead and gone and had turned. Saddened, Scratch pushed Rolf outside and slammed and locked the door behind him. He could already hear Rolf chanting, Uhhh-hunnn-huhhh. The men outside were screaming and shouting and a few just ran away.
Scratch stared at the closed door. He was on the verge of tears. He stepped turned back to see what was happening over at the pilots’ stations. The screens were all ablaze with activity. Scratch shook off his grief. “Walt? How goes the attack?”
McDivitt didn’t look up. “The kids are doing great. Jimmy is a natural pilot.” He pointed to another screen. “The planes are toast. We’re mostly just taking out clusters of zombies at this point. Every once in a while we manage to hit an armored vehicle. Like that thing on Jimmy’s screen. Wait, what the hell is that?”
Scratch looked. On the big screen sat a long, spiky, heavily armored semi-truck. It looked like something out of a Demolition Derby… or a Mad Max film. Scratch recognized it immediately. “Hold your fire, Jimmy. That’s the Land Shark, it’s one of ours!”
“One of ours?” Jimmy looked back at him. “What the fuck is it?”
“I’ll explain later. Where is that thing going?”
Walter checked Jimmy’s GPS. “That should be headed right at the main Triad building.”
“Penny’s in there!” Scratch shouted. He pumped his fist for joy. “Get the rest of the job done, Walter, we have to go find her.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
0 hours, 52 minutes to Stage Three (11:08pm)
The base was a nightmare of wreckage and gore. Sirens kept wailing and stopping, wailing and stopping. Smoke filled with death was everywhere. As he led them along, Lankford did his best to step daintily through the puddles of blood and clumps of entrails. Miller thought he looked absurd, like a man in a field of cow paddies trying not to sully his brand new boots. If he was in a genuine hurry, he sure as hell didn’t give any indication of it. She was rapidly losing patience.
“Come on,” Sheppard snapped, “pick it up, cutie pie!”
Miller’s head snapped around. His remark was a bit out of character, to say the least.
Sheppard shrugged. “He’s wasting time.” As if to emphasize that point, he poked Lankford with the barrel of his rifle. The two men did not like one another, but there was something else at work. And then Miller caught up. She sighed and shook her head. As usual, Sheppard’s gaydar was working far better than hers. Lankford was batting for the other team.
Lankford grudgingly picked up the pace. They came to a bit of the hallway not as cluttered with battle debris. They walked past the conference room where Miller, Judy, and Piper had once showered. They turned left and walked down a deserted corridor to a set of open elevators. Without looking back, Lankford headed that way.
Sheppard poked Lankford again. “Uh, no. No elevators. We take the stairs. Come on. We don’t have all night.”
Lankford shot Sheppard an unguarded look. Miller watched as something changed in his facial expression. A something that instinctively made her stomach drop. She raised her own rifle. “And don’t even think about betraying us, Lankford. Do what you’re told, and you may live to see the morning. We won’t hesitate to blow you away.”
Lankford turned away and looked down at the ground. He was staring at their pinkish footprints. They were all covered in blood well to their knees. “I won’t betray you, Sheriff.”
“Keep moving.”
Lankford nodded. He walked over to a door set in the wall near the elevators. He tried the knob and opened it. Sheppard moved around behind him to cover the entrance. The stairwell was dark except for some pale emergency lighting, which flickered ominously.
The shouts and screams and gun shots from the survivors had almost faded away, and now they could hear large explosions coming from somewhere outside. Bombs went off one after another. Miller just hoped the planes had been wrecked before takeoff. Lankford cleared his throat. He was sweating heavily. “Here’s the stairwell, Sheriff. You’ll have to go down three flights. Turn right and Crespi’s office is there. If he’s still anywhere in the building, that’s where I’d expect to find him.”
Miller walked up to Lankford. “Just to be clear, cowboy, you’re coming along. We’re not going down there alone just to have you make a phone call and send the goons down there after us.”
Sheppard leaned over. “‘Are you sure about that?”
Miller ignored him. She turned to Lankford. “Get your ass down those stairs.”
Lankford looked stricken. Nevertheless, he put his hands up and went into the stairwell. Judy tracked him with her weapon pointed at his back. She was strangely quiet. Then Sheppard, Neil, Christa, and finally Judy followed. Miller brought up the rear. Miller wanted to make sure nothing came down the stairs after them. She walked turned to the side, watching all the way. The lights flickered and she could smell something burning. Jesus and Mary, we’re going underground again…
“Watch for ambushes,” Miller warned the group. Her voice echoed slightly, bouncing off the cement. “One zombie usually means there’s two more hiding nearby waiting to a spring a trap. Don’t relax until we are very, very far from this place.”
Their boots clanged down the metal stairs. She’d been through this a half dozen times, but Miller felt surprisingly nervous. She fought back the urge to babble at Sheppard about old times. They’d been in far too many stairwells, gone underground way too many times, and no good had ever come from it. She remembered Crystal Palace, the wine cellar in Colorado, the basement garage at the Two Elks Casino, even the basement of the Home of the Land Shark. All of them had led to more zombies, more death. Hell, losing Rat in the basement of that garage out in the middle of nowhere still haunted Miller at night. Her PTSD flared up, drowning her with adrenaline and a sense of claustrophobia.
Sheppard looked back. “Don’t let it get to you, Penny.”
He understood perfectly. Miller worked to shove the ugly memories away. She gave a passing thought to Brandon, who’d died two days ago in the same basement as Rat. He had only been with them for a day or so. She’d never had a chance to bond with him, though Sheppard had. Damn, Charlie Robinson and that little country singer Shirley were both killed underground. Stop it, girl. Miller quit trying to catalog every death and its elevation relative to ground level. The train of thought was too depressing. She watched the top of Neil’s buzz-cut head as they descended deeper into the earth. That gave her something to focus on other than lost friends. It was one shitty haircut. Neil’s thick neck was red from exertion, boozing, and maybe a touch of high blood pressure.
When they rounded the last corner three floors down, Lankford went to the stairwell door and pulled on it. It didn’t budge this time. He shook it back and forth, but nothing happened except that he’d now made a lot of unfortunate noise. He spun around with a desperate look on his face. The overhead lighting flickered again casting shadows up the wall. Claustrophobia set in.
“I can’t get it open,” Lankford said.
Neil stepped forward with his chest puffed up and pushed Lankford aside. He shoved at the panic bar, his pumped arms bulging, and the huge metal door opened ever so slightly.
“It’s not locked,” Neil said. “It seems to be blocked by something.”
“Careful,” Miller ordered, rather unnecessarily.
Neil frowned and gripped the door with white knuckles. He shoved at it, but it didn’t move a second time. He needed support. “Captain, maybe you should come give me a hand with this.”
Sheppard stepped forward and leaned into the door. The two men braced themselves to try again. Miller watched warily, a breath caught in her throat.
“Wait.” Miller sniffed the scent of decomp in the air. She flinched back with a sickening premonition of doom. “Watch yourself, gentlemen. If there is something on the other side and whatever is out there decides to let go with
you two pushing against it like that…”
“Don’t worry, Penny. Neil and I have this under control.”
Penny rolled her eyes. Men. Sheppard isn’t immune to the whole macho thing either. Well, best to let him be, so long as he didn’t get his country ass killed. Sheppard had been around long enough to know what to do. Still, that odd sense of imminent danger persisted. As the men pushed on the door for a third time, Miller changed position. She shifted to the side to offer them cover.
The door moved, but only a couple of inches further. Sheppard and Neil exchanged a frustrated glance. Together they gave a mighty shove. The door sprung open and Sheppard and Neil flew through it like young boys crashing into an empty room. They were momentarily lost from sight in the darkened area beyond the door. Miller felt her adrenaline surge with alarm. She motioned for Judy and Christa to stay back, away from danger. The lighting flickered again and then briefly went out. Déjà vu all over again…
“Shit! Karl! Where are you?”
But Sheppard didn’t answer. And this time the darkness stayed. Then there was a high-pitched male scream, then Miller heard it, that repetitive chant. Uhhhhhunnn-huhhh-hunnn
“Back!” Miller shoved Judy and Christa away from the door. The last thing she needed was one of them to get hit by crossfire. She wanted to shoot but could not see well enough to choose a target. She mentally begged the lights to come back on. “Karl, where are you?”
“Stay out of here, Penny!” BAAM BAAM BAAM! BAAM BAAM BAAM! The sound of rifle fire tortured their ears in the enclosed stairwell. The muzzle flash offered just a glimpse of what was going on out there. Figures moving around, fighting and thrashing.
“Goddamn it, Karl. If you went and got yourself bit, I’ll…!” Have to shoot you myself. She didn’t want to finish the thought aloud. She knew it to be all too true.
The Hungry (Book 6): The Rule of Three (The Sheriff Penny Miller Zombie Series) Page 29
