by David Spell
"Are y'all ok? Did either of you get bit?"
Fleming kept his rifle pointed in the direction of the couple but aimed at the floor. He was not taking any chances. The man with the goatee set the fire extinguisher on the floor.
"No, sir," he answered, breathing hard. "We hid in here after everything started. This guy broke in right before you got here. I took him out with the fire extinguisher."
"What are your names?"
"I'm Paul and this is Maggie."
Fleming stepped inside the supply room to look at the dead man with the crushed skull. It looked like it had taken at least two blows to put him down.
"Good work. We'll clear the rest of the offices and be right back."
Suddenly, something grabbed at Andy's leg. Matt was awake again, trying to use his shattered hands to pull Fleming's leg toward his snapping teeth. The woman screamed as Andy kicked the zombie in the face and took a step backwards. He snapped off a shot that drilled through Matt's temple, finally stopping him for good.
"Scotty, let's finish clearing these offices so we don't have any more surprises. What's wrong with your rifle?"
"I've got a double-feed so it's probably a broken extractor. I'll check it after we finish in here," he said, screwing the suppressor onto the threaded barrel of his pistol.
As the two officers moved out of the closet, Maggie and Paul moved with them. Andy stopped and the woman ran into him.
"Sorry," Maggie said.
"I meant for you guys to wait here," said Fleming, "and my partner and I'll check the rest of your offices. We'll be right back."
"I'm not staying in there with the guy who doesn't want to die," Maggie said firmly, motioning to Matt lying on the floor of the closet. "I'm going with you."
Andy sighed but knew he wasn't going to win this one. "Ok. Stay between me and the big guy and we'll try to protect you. Scotty, I'll take point. Put these two between us and let's try to keep them from getting eaten."
A few minutes later, they circled back around. They had not found any other infected people. Andy turned to Paul and Maggie. "In a few minutes, we're going to take you up to the 19th floor. There are some more survivors hiding there in a safe place. We need to keep clearing the building and trying to save people."
Scotty unslung his rifle and pulled the flashlight off of his belt. He removed the magazine and locked the bolt to the rear. A live round fell out but he could see a spent casing lodged in the chamber. He shone his light onto the face of the bolt and confirmed that his extractor was broken. The Colt M4 was now useless.
Without an extractor, the weapon would not eject the empty brass after a shot had been fired. He didn't have any spare parts with him so he couldn't fix it. He did, however, have the Remington 870 pump shotgun that he had brought from the Suburban. He had had it slung over his back, thinking that in a densely packed office building it might come in handy.
"How many rounds do you have for the shotgun?" Fleming asked.
"The bandolier holds fifty-six and I have five in the gun. So, sixty-one if I counted right. I'll use my Glock with the suppressor as my primary, but the shotgun should come in handy."
Smith worked the action on the pump shotgun to put a round in the chamber. He pushed the safety on, pulled a single twelve gauge shotgun shell from the bandolier, and inserted it in the loading tube of the weapon. He was ready.
He and Andy walked over to the shattered windows of the office space and looked down on the scene below them. Cars still burned while smoke hung over the whole area making it hard to see the ground from their height. As the wind shifted the dark smoke around, they could see hundreds of infected moving around. The sound of nearby gunshots from outside carried up to them.
The interstate was a parking lot. No cars were moving in either direction but they could see the zombies shuffling among the vehicles, looking for someone to eat. There was also no traffic moving on the exit ramp or 17th Street. They could see more Zs crossing the bridge over the highway and heading deeper into the city.
More gunshots echoed from behind their building. "I wonder if that's APD's SWAT team?" Scotty wondered. "It would be nice to have a little help here."
"CDC One to Team One Alpha," Chuck's voice transmitted over their radios as if reading their minds.
"Team One Alpha, go ahead CDC One."
"Are you guys ok?" McCain asked, clearly relieved at making contact.
Andy gave him a quick rundown of what they had accomplished so far.
"Sounds good. We're in the air and should be with you in an hour or so. Eddie's guys have been on the go for over twenty-four hours and they're all grabbing an hour nap in the back of the plane. The chopper's going to meet us at PDK airport and bring us to you.
"I finally managed to get someone from APD on the phone and they told me that they have no idea where to start. They weren't able to get any emergency vehicles there after the explosions. Their SWAT is near you guys in two of the high rise apartment buildings doing the same thing you are. The bombs evidently threw a lot of that stuff hundreds of feet and the Zs are running rampant everywhere. SWAT is securing buildings and rescuing people. It sounds like that's gonna be our job for the time being, too."
#
DeKalb-Peachtree Airport, Chamblee, Georgia, Friday, 2010 hours
Eddie and the men of Team Two were exhausted. They had flown to Virginia the previous day and had not slowed down much at all in their pursuit and eventual capture of Terrell Hill. And they had been involved in a shootout. A couple of the guys had grabbed a catnap in the DC offices before all the bombs started going off. Chuck had ordered them to try and get at least an hour's sleep on the plane. He had awakened them fifteen minutes before landing.
After the bombs went off in New York, Washington, and Atlanta, the FAA had grounded all flights except military and law enforcement. DeKalb-Peachtree Airport is normally one of the busiest of the smaller airports in Georgia but was strangely quiet as the Department of Homeland Security Lear jet landed and taxied over to where their Blackhawk helicopter was waiting. The CDC officers were suited up and ready to go back to work, trying to contain the damage from these latest terrorist attacks.
McCain pulled Jimmy aside as they walked to the helicopter. "How you feeling, Jimmy? How are the ribs?"
"I'm fine, Chuck. The doc said nothing was broken so I'm good to go. Hopefully, none of the Zs have learned to use a shotgun. I sure don't want to go through that again!"
Chuck smiled. "As long as you can function."
"No problem. I just popped a couple of those pills he gave me for pain and I'm ready to roll."
As they started to board, Chuck noted Bobby Walsh, the Blackhawk crewman, had already mounted his mini gun in the left doorway of the helicopter. Daniel Campbell was their pilot and Jessica "Jessie" Webb was their co-pilot. McCain assumed they worked for the CIA, even though their cover story was that they flew for the DHS.
The crew's black BDUs did not have any markings but Chuck had seen the small Night Stalkers pin on Campbell's lapel. Night Stalkers was the name of the famous 160th Special Operations Aviation Regiment or SOAR. These were the army's special forces of the air. Their pilots and crews were the best of the best and McCain always felt safe knowing a Night Stalker was flying them into battle.
"Evening, Mr. McCain," Daniel said.
"Were you a captain or a major, Daniel?"
There was a slight pause from the pilot. "I was a major, sir."
"Well, good evening, Major. Let's get going," Chuck said. "First, I'd like to fly over the scene a few times and get a feel for what happened so I'll have something to report to Washington. Then, please insert us on top of the same building where you dropped off Fleming and Smith. Agent García will stay on board and monitor our radio traffic."
"Yes, sir."
Luis wasn't happy at being left behind but he understood. His ankle was still injured and he did not want to slow his teammates down. He was professional enough to know that he would be a liabil
ity on a mission like this.
In less than fifteen minutes, the helicopter was circling the area where the two bombs had detonated. The officers all peered down through the darkness to the burning vehicles that partially illuminated the scene. At a thousand feet, they could smell the smoke.
Co-pilot Webb activated the spotlight and lit up the scene below them. "Whoa!" said Jimmy. "It looks like somebody kicked over an anthill."
The people who had been infected that afternoon and evening in Atlanta now numbered in the thousands. The sound of the helicopter had all of them looking upward, with some even reaching out as if they could grab the flying machine. The area around the bomb blasts was covered with Zs but they could also see groups of them walking in every direction. The Wells Fargo building was surrounded.
Chuck quickly did the math in his head. Three hours after the explosions, it was conceivable that infected people could have walked five or six miles, spreading the virus along their path.
"How do we control this and how do you evacuate a city this size?" McCain wondered out loud.
#
The Wells Fargo Building, Atlanta, Friday, 2015 hours
After speaking with Chuck on the radio, Andy and Scotty cleared three more levels. There were no zombies or survivors on the 17th floor. The 16th contained two businesses. The one on the explosion side had been completely decimated as infected shrapnel had blown through the windows. The remains of a body was lying in the office doorway, blocking it open.
Fleming did a quick peek from the stairwell door and motioned for Smith to follow him. They stepped out into the hallway and started moving towards the open door, thirty yards away. After only moving ten yards, however, the growling sound of a large group came from just inside the business. Andy stopped and raised his rifle and Scotty his pistol. Twenty-two zombies burst into the corridor and rushed towards the two officers.
Andy and Scotty were too far away from the stairwell to retreat and were going to have to stand and fight. Fleming started firing as fast as he could pull the trigger. Smith shoved the Glock into his cargo pocket. With the suppressor attached, it would not fit into the holster.
The big man quickly brought the shotgun up to his shoulder and started firing into the group of infected. The shotgun was loaded with alternating double 00 and number four buckshot. Double 00 buckshot contains eight .30 caliber pellets and number four contains twenty-seven .25 caliber pellets. At twenty yards, the buckshot has around a ten-inch spread pattern.
Scotty sighted in on the closest target, a large white man with his throat ripped open and one of his eyeballs ripped out of the socket, bouncing against his face. The shot took him down along with two others, as the buckshot impacted them, as well. He racked the slide and fired again, killing two more.
He and Andy continued to fire and slowly retreated towards the stairwell. The shotgun took down at least two zombies with each shot and by the time they reached the door, all of the Zs were sprawled on the floor. Fleming fed a full magazine into his rifle.
"That shotgun is so loud," said Andy, raising his voice.
"Huh? My ears are ringing and I can't really hear you," Scotty said, pushing shotgun shells into the feeding tube of the weapon. "That shotgun is really loud. But it sure did a number on those guys. Two and three at a time! How about that?"
"Yeah, pretty impressive."
The offices which the creatures had just exited contained the familiar scenes of bodies ripped apart and blood splatter throughout. There were no survivors on the entire floor. The other business on the 16th level was empty but had clearly been occupied earlier. Andy hoped they hadn't taken the elevator down to the lobby, otherwise those poor people were probably all infected or devoured by now.
As Smith and Fleming walked down the stairs to the 15th floor, they could hear the growling and snarling outside the stairwell door. They could see through the window that the corridor was packed. The two officers backed up the stairs to the 16th floor and walked the length of the hallway and went down the other set of stairs.
It was no better on that end of the building. The infected were congregated in this corridor as well. They could see three standing motionless five feet away. Two white men wearing dark suits and a black woman in a blue dress. The officers could see the open wounds on their arms, faces, and torsos. Fleming and Smith looked at each other and smiled. They were both tired but knew that there could be survivors hiding on the floor who needed to be rescued.
"What do you think?" Andy whispered.
"Crack the door and I'll pop those with the pistol. That should be loud enough to get the attention of the ones down the hall and bring them down here. Then we can go to the other end. I don't really want to shoot the shotgun in this small place. We'll both go deaf."
"Ok, sounds good."
Andy eased the door open. Scotty raised the suppressed 9mm Glock and fired three quick shots into the heads of the three professionally dressed zombies. Fleming quickly pushed the door closed as a body slammed against it. Sure enough, the crowd from the other end of the corridor rushed down to see what was going on.
The officers retreated up the stairs and quickly retraced their steps to the other end of the building. They could not see any infected now when they peered out the window onto the 15th floor. Smith opened the door slightly and looked out.
After closing the door, he said, "The good news is that they are all on the other end of the hall. The bad news is that there are a lot of them."
"Define a lot."
"I wasn't real good in math but I'd figure close to forty."
"Same drill. Let's thin out as many as we can and then duck back into here and go to the other end and do the same thing."
They stepped into the corridor to start their attack. Most of the infected were clustered around the stairwell door on the far end, close to seventy-five yards away. This was beyond the effective range for Scotty's shotgun or pistol.
Andy quickly shot four before they realized what was happening. The remaining thirty-seven rushed down the corridor for the two men. Scotty began firing the shotgun when they were fifty yards away. The shot pattern was very wide at this distance and his first blast knocked four to the floor. The number four buckshot was especially devastating as the twenty-seven pellets spread out taking down multiple zombies at a time.
"Back inside!" Fleming ordered when they advancing Zs got to within twenty yards.
"Really nice," Andy commented. "You're knocking them down in waves."
When they got back over to the other end of the building and peered out into the corridor, there were only eleven zombies remaining upright. Fleming dropped three before they turned and started running at them. The bodies of their comrades created an obstacle, however, and they all tripped in their haste for a meal of fresh flesh.
The blast of the shotgun began to take its toll as the Zs tried to get back to their feet. Within a minute, the hallway was clear. Both men reloaded their weapons and prepared to check the offices. Smith let the shotgun hang from its sling, pulling his pistol out and loading it with a full magazine.
Something was smacking the other side of the door. It wasn't hitting it hard but it was clear they needed to be cautious as they made entry. Andy pulled the door open while Scotty covered the opening with his Glock. On the floor just inside the doorway, a woman in a skirt reached up for them from where she was lying. Her left leg was missing from the knee down, the stump bloody and jagged. She tried to push herself up with her hands and almost managed to get up on her one leg. A 9mm hollow point hit her in the face and she collapsed to the carpet.
As they cleared the business, the familiar scenes of death were all around them. They killed two more infected that had been so mangled they could only crawl. There were two closed offices that they saved until last. After the officers were certain they had eliminated all the Zs, Andy tapped on one of the doors.
"CDC Police. Anybody in there?"
The door opened to seven people who had managed
to survive the onslaught. As they were describing how they all thought they were going to die, the other office door opened and a stocky, middle-aged man came out. He was wearing a tan suit and a brown tie.
"Thank God you're here. I need you to get me out of here right now," he said.
Scotty turned his back on the man and spoke to one of the other survivors, a hipster in his twenties. "Who's this guy?"
"That's our manager, Stanley Poole."
Andy addressed the eight survivors. "We'll take you up to one of the top floors that has already been cleared. There are other survivors there. After we secure the rest of the building, we'll figure out a way to get everyone out of here. The lower floors are supposed to be even worse than what we've seen so far. The area outside, around the building, isn't even close to being safe. The rest of our team will be inserting by helicopter in a little while and then we'll be able to clear the other floors."
"A helicopter?" said Stanley. "That's wonderful. You can fly us out when they arrive. I demand that you get us out of here."
Scotty stepped over to the manager, looming over the smaller man, placing a meaty palm on his shoulder. "Stanley. Is it ok if I call you, 'Stanley,' Stanley? My partner and I've had a long day. We dealt with suicide bombers this morning and we've been shooting zombies in the head for the last two hours. I'm really not in the mood to listen to a little short, fat man telling us what to do."
Poole's face grew red but the nearness of the big bearded man kept him from saying anything.
"So," Smith continued, "let's have a little understanding. You're not in charge here. We'll take you upstairs to a safe place where you can wait with all these other wonderful people. But, if you get on my nerves again, Stanley, I'll feed you to the zombies."
Scotty patted Poole on the shoulder. "It was nice having this little chat, Stanley."
