Rotting to the Core (Keep Your Crowbar Handy Book 2)

by Durnin, S. P.

  The pain was a bit easier to bear, now that a big piece of steel wasn't shoved into his arm. At least it wasn't slicing into him with every breath anymore. It was still bad enough to make him want to vomit, though. Jake closed his eyes and concentrated on not puking for a while. The wall was wonderfully cool as he laid his head against its surface, so he used it to keep from dropping to the floor.

  The sound of metal on metal brought him back from the pain, and he opened his eyes to see Tompkins standing wobbly, knife in hand.

  “Nice try,” the skinhead grated thickly. His broken nose turned the man's voice into something like that of a pit bull gargling gravel. Blood ran freely down Milo's mouth and chin from his nostrils, turning him into a shorn-headed, nightmare. “You're the first to put me down in almost fifteen years, boy. You should feel good about that.”

  “Oh, I'm thrilled,” Jake replied.

  Tompkins began advancing on him on unsteady legs. “Don't worry. I'll make sure your friends all hear how you held out when I started cutting pieces off you. I'll make it a point to tell them how brave you were, even when I used this knife to skin your ass alive.”

  “We already know. Thanks!”

  Spinning awkwardly at Kat's voice, the Purifier's second in command turned just in time to catch the thrusting, sidekick she threw, squarely under the point of his jaw. His head snapped up and back with the force of the impact and Jake clearly heard the wet snap of the man's neck breaking. He could even see the imprint Cho's boot's sole left on his chin. She stood before Milo calmly, put a finger in the middle of his blood-splattered, white tee, and gave him a gentle push.

  Tompkins tipped backwards over the railing. His knife clattered to the steel again from nerveless fingers as his feet came up from the floor, and he flipped ass over teakettle towards the ground. The pretty Asian saw the man's eyes were still open and aware on the way down. They filled with a mix of unreasoning hate, disbelief that it was a woman who'd killed him, and finally a flash of utter fear. Then he landed head-first on the concrete surface of the sidewalk.

  There wasn't much of his head left after that.

  Kat wrinkled her nose. “Nasty. Let's see you get back up now, Dick-head.”

  “Why did you do that?” Jake asked weakly as he leaned against the wall, still fighting a nauseating amount of pain. “Had him right where I wanted him.”

  “You can have the next one.” After retrieving his crowbar from the floor and replacing it in the sheath along is back, Kat took a look at his wound. Her expression went from satisfaction to worry.

  “It looks worse than it feels,” he said jokingly and winced.

  “Liar,” she replied, quickly wrapping his shoulder with a roll of gauze then a three-inch wide ACE bandage to provide pressure over the wound. “We need to get help for that.”

  “I'm certain Poole and his crew aren't going to feel like keeping me from bleeding to death,” he said wryly.

  Kat smiled and helped him into the vest. She loaded a Glock for him and took the other for herself, before pulling a maritime flare from the largest of the three packs on her web belt.

  “I had something a little different in mind...” she said.

  * * *

  The Purifiers inside the cafeteria didn't see the flare as it arced four-hundred and fifty feet into the late afternoon air above the roof of the power plant.

  The bored gate guards witnessed the fireball rocketing into the sky but, seeing as how they didn't hear all the shooting over the moans of the infected outside, thought it was just another feeding they were going to miss. There had been eight victims fed to the pack of ghouls Poole kept in the transformer yard so far, and they'd been stuck on gate duty for every one of them.

  It wasn't like the creatures outside could get in, but there did seem to be a lot more of them around than previously in the week. They were everywhere. On the road, in the driveway, thumping ineffectually at the heavy barrier. Their numbers had to be topping a few thousand now. Lifeless yellow eyes, gray skin, and the smell of feces combined with that the reek of old road kill were the only things for maybe two-hundred yards in both directions on Route 52. That wasn't surprising, really. Not since the moron in the Humvee set a damn house on fire down the road. Said fact made the trio of guards very nervous and extremely thankful the first thing Poole had ordered when they'd taken the facility as their headquarters was for some serious reinforcement to the gate.

  One of the sentries unzipped his fly and urinated in the faces of the crowd a dozen feet below.

  “I wish you wouldn't do that shit,” his companion said crossly.

  “Why? Like they care?” He continued to relieve himself and adjusted his aim. “I mean, look at that one. He got maggots crawling outta the hole in his throat.”

  “It riles them up, alright?”

  “Who gives a damn?” Empty, the guard shook off and zipped up again. “I swear, you're turning into a little old lady. Try having a little fun once in—”

  That was when the low sound of living human voices reached his disgusted companion's ears.

  “...n-da..!”

  “Wait. What's was that?” he demanded.

  “About a thousand dead fucks out there on the road,” the first replied, looking at him like his friend was suddenly retarded.

  “...un-da..!” The sound was louder this time. And closer.

  The shaken guard was listening intently. “There! There it was again!”

  “...hun-da..!”

  The Purifier with a weak bladder looked decidedly confused. “What the hell?”

  They could all hear it now, even over the moans of the dammed legion outside.

  “...thun-da..!” It sounded like a crowd yelling in time with the low booms of a deep, heavy drum.

  “Where-?” The first sentry began.

  “THUNDER!”

  And the nose of the Screamin' Mimi shot around the corner onto the power plant's driveway, its immense, blade-like prow aimed squarely at the Purifier's front door.

  * * *

  “Really??” Beatrix yelled, as she boosted power to the massive vehicles all-wheel-drive unit. “When, exactly, did you become a fan of AC/DC, Uncle George? Isn't that a little newfangled for you?”

  “Hey, it's music to kick ass by!” Foster bellowed, stomping the pedal to the floor and causing the Mimi to surge forward as it gained speed.

  “Jesus H. Christ, you people are insane!” Penny screamed from her place at the navigation display. She'd strapped herself tightly to the chair in preparation for what was to come. “Let me just go on record for saying this is a bad plan!”

  “Is their signal still coming through?” Laurel demanded.

  Bee checked Rae's tracking unit, then gave her a thumbs-up, and the redhead called back to the second module. “Elle? You and Leo can handle getting to the Hummer, right?”

  The buxom blonde soldier replied without hesitation. “Oh, hell yes! These fuckers don't deserve that amazing machine! That boyfriend of yours better show some appreciation to us for getting it back for him!”

  “Oh, I'm sure he will. If I don't kill him first!” Laurel replied.

  George Foster glanced up to the sentries on the gate, standing there in disbelief, as the enormous, pink behemoth shot towards them. They finally remembered what their weapons were for, but small arms fire had absolutely no chance of penetrating the vehicle's hull.

  “Everybody hold the fuck on!!” George smiled viciously as the Mimi's wedge-shaped nose cut through the rotting mass of creatures outside, like a battle axe through a block of cream cheese just shy of room temperature. “You asshole's are—”

  * * *

  “THUNDERSTRUCK!!!” Brian Johnson's voice roared from the Mimi's external speakers, just as the Pepto-colored behemoth impacted into the Purifier's gate and irresistible force met immovable object.

  Object.

  Lost.

  The gore smeared prow of the Screamin' Mimi hit like the wrath of God and, not only tore the gate from i
ts massive hinges, but split the barrier cleanly in two up the middle as the huge transport smashed it into oblivion.

  The entrance guards were thrown away like rag-dolls, followed closely by the ponderously flipping halves of their previous barrier. The spinning wreckage crushed two of them outright, and another died when he hit the top of the bulldozer cab as he cartwheeled earthward. The guard who'd relieved himself on the zombies outside was thrown thirty feet into the air, and finally came down just outside the wall. His meeting with the roadway smashed both the comedian's legs, his pelvis was shattered, and half of his ribs were broken.

  Then the infected closed over him.

  The Mimi and her occupants blew onward through the destruction, unscathed. The ugly, cotton-candy colored vehicle's synthesized electric polymer skin performed as advertised. It came through the cloud of dust, steel, and rotten flesh without a scratch. Even the sour, zombie goop streaked all over her nose ran off in thick rivulets, unable to find purchase on the NASA-engineered hull.

  After slowing to a crawl, its clam-shell rear hatch opened smoothly which allowed the team of Elle and Leo to exit, then head for the Quonset hut housing their Humvee.

  “Lock the door and wait in the Hummer!” Laurel called, as the Mimi rolled on. “We don't know exactly where our two missing morons are, so you might either have to pick them up or play rearguard!”

  Elle shot her a thumbs up, then she and the grim-looking young Salizar vanished around the metal building's edge.

  Laurel hurried to the front as George drove on, after she sealed the hatch again. Beatrix was beside him in the naviguesser chair, angry as all hell when Laurel reentered the drive unit.

  “I can’t pinpoint them!” Foster’s green-haired niece exclaimed, hand slapped the tracking unit a few times for good measure. “All the electrical conduit is bouncing the signal!”

  “Can you get a general location?” Foster asked.

  “I think... they should be that way.” Bee pointed in the direction of a building that looked like a block of offices. “But they could be just inside the door, or they could be on the other side of it entirely.”

  “Chances are they took cover in the offices somewhere,” Laurel said hastily, and racked the bolt on her M-4.

  They all again wore tac-vests and were equipped with both primary and secondary firearms, along with the recommended ten mag ammo reserve. The spare magazines were split between their vests, pouches, and web belts, allowing for greater freedom of movement. It was live weight distributed throughout their bodies, as opposed to just dead weight in big bags on their backs or hips. Granted, too much live weight could turn someone into dead weight very quickly, but the extra poundage was workable.

  “Pull up near the entrance so our back door faces the building,” Laurel said. “I'll take Gwen and Donna inside and—”

  “I'm going too.” Rae stood in the hatch, a wicked looking assault rifle in her hands. She'd pulled her hair back and donned a pair of yellow-tinted, shooting glasses.

  “Jesus H. Christ on a flying, fucking, mountain bike! Woman, where the hell did you get and XM-8?

  And with a grenade launcher??” Foster demanded, envy plain in is voice when he saw the weapon in the shapely brunette's hands. “I didn't know they even made those!”

  Rae grinned. “Mail ordered it in pieces from Cheaper Than Dirt. Finally got all the bugs out of the thing about a week before the outbreak.”

  Foster looked pained. “Well. Still, I think it'd be better if you—”

  He fell silent as the beautiful fixer side cocked the damn grenade launcher.

  “You're trying to protect me,” she smiled. “It's sweet.”

  “I suppose I'm in too.” Penny readied another of the M-4s she'd claimed from their stockpile and followed Rae towards the vehicle's aft.

  The five women were waiting at the rear when the hatch began lowering smoothly to the ground. Gwen, along with (surprisingly) Donna, had shown aptitude with AR-15s, so they'd armed the pair of blondes—affectionately dubbed “The Barbie Duo”—and assigned them to cover the left side. The one facing away from both Penny, Laurel, and Rae. Neither of the women had gone through Foster's stress-shooting course yet, and the female fixer had expressed a strong desire not to be shot in her butt-cheek. Jake's red-haired lover and Penny could identify with that sentiment.

  “When we get inside, keep low. There should be turbines on the right to skirt behind, so you can get to the main stairwell.” Rae handed Laurel a bandolier of grenades. Another loop of explosive-based death was clenched around her own waist. “You and Penny go for the doorway at the other end, and we'll insure the home team stays occupied.”

  Laurel took a deep breath then passed the bandolier over her head and one shoulder.

  “Just pull, drop the spoon, count to three, and send it off. Don't throw. Roll them. I've seen grenades bounce back off door-jams, so don't chance it. A particularly dexterous agent of the KGB actually caught one, then threw it back at a friend of mine in Moscow once upon a time.”

  Deputy Carson's eyes widened and, after swallowing audibly, Laurel promised. “I'll keep that in mind.”

  Rae nodded. “Good. Remember: go straight to the fifth floor. The second and third floors are empty and all the shielding up on four just scrambled our thermal. If they're in here, our friends are up top. You two, ready?”

  The redhead glanced at the Barbie duo. They looked frightened, but both had insisted on being with her when she went for Jake.

  We owe him a rescue, Gwen had told her simply.

  Laurel took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and quickly attempted to center herself.

  He crossed a whole city to save you, girl. It's time to return the favor.

  Opening her eyes, she nodded and readied her M-4.

  Rae pulled the door open and the women ghosted into the half-gloom.

  * * *

  So many targets, JB thought, so little time.

  The burly man ejected the spent 175gr. M118LR shell casing from the chamber of his M40A3 and took a breather.

  As he gazed through the rifles Schmidt and Bender 3-12x50 scope, he could see the other creatures around the one he’d dropped milling around in confusion. He smiled. That last one was number nineteen over the last four days.

  JB had been away from his cabin for almost a week, searching for the perfect spot before he’d found a suitable locale. His current position—a mountainside along Route 13, just north of Hamilton, Colorado—caused the discharge of his shots to bounce from peak to peak, thereby making it nearly impossible for the dead fucks below to orient on his location. With his added facial camouflage and Ghillie suit, he wished them luck in finding him. He’d lay less than five yards from the road on the way up to his cliff-top perch, barely breathing as an even dozen of the creatures had passed him by, totally unaware he’d been so close by. To no avail, the zombies were shambling in all directions, trying vainly to figure out where all the big noise was coming from. JB almost felt sorry for the stupid shits. Almost.

  He smiled and relaxed for almost an hour, sipping from the water bladder in his camel pack and eating one of the dried fruit bars he’d brought along on his trek.

  Mmm. Peaches, dates, and apricots. Way better than an MRE. He chewed contently and continued to wait.

  He began to ready himself at the fifty minute mark. JB looked through the scope again and picked out another maggot-head looking for a likely target. He tracked one wearing only a pair of Sorrel waterproof boots and a silly-looking pair of smiley-face pajama pants. That one would do. He slowed his breathing and lowered his heart rate, calming his body in preparation for the shot. When he was ready, JB put his right index finger against his weapon’s trigger, squeezed ever so slowly, and…

  -Chapter Thirteen-

  “They'd better hurry!” Bee called.

  George had quickly moved a few ammunition boxes full of magazines to the Mimi's back door as the women entered the building. They'd exit again using the same entryway, onc
e they found O'Connor and Kat, so George would know to crack the hatch again. And then? He was going to level this whole goddamn place.

  Foster had seen red when the blue-haired Cho had informed them that young Karen was dead. She'd heard the guards laugh about the fact when they'd come to unload the Hummer, just before she'd taken them out, and George was spoiling for payback.

  After dealing with the Purifier's sentries, Kat had managed to use the Hummer's radio to send a quick message to them. Luckily, they'd been most of the way there anyhow and were able to locate the still-smoldering guest house Jake had set alight. After observing the para-military groups security (what a joke that was), Foster was reasonably certain they could get their friends back in one piece. If they were careful. So they'd all sat in the transport, dead roaming all around outside, and waited for fifty-three, nerve-frazzling minutes.

  “What's up, kiddo?” George asked her, as he ducked though the hatch into the drive module.

  Beatrix just pointed towards the gate.

  Foster's gaze followed her gesture.

  The area was full of zombies already. Maybe an even hundred had already stumbled through the wreckage and, though some clustered around the fallen Purifiers to feed, there were many, many more outside the wall.

  “It was us blowin' in the way we did,” he said, watching the infernal mass slowly closing on the entrance. “Drawin' in every one of 'em for miles. Knew it would happen. Should add to the general chaos an' help them girls get our people back. The grounds will be full of ‘em soon.”

  Bee pulled her eyes away from the horde and looked up at him. “Um. That means...we won't be able to open the hatch, doesn't it?”