The Flood

by Michael Stephen Fuchs

  And Wesley knew that what he did right now, in this moment, might decide whether or not she made it through all this, whether she lived or died. Whether any of them did.

  And then, finally, the image of LT Campbell popped back into his mind. She still wasn’t here, she wasn’t in command, and Wesley knew she never would be.

  He was all there was. He was it.

  But now he knew why he had thought of her – because of nearly the last words she said to him, which now played through his mind like a revelation, like the voice of God. When she had busted in on his briefing in the NSF ops room, he’d asked her why they would put a desal plant in the same building as the electrical plant.

  And she had said: Beats the hell out of me. Maybe so if the fuel oil blows up, the water will put it out.

  And suddenly Wesley knew exactly what he had to do.

  * * *

  But he also had one chance at a reprieve – and it was on the other end of his radio. “CIC from Mutant One, come in.”

  “Go ahead, Wesley.” It was Lovell.

  “Isn’t that drone you’ve got up over us the same one that blasted the Marines out of the South African naval base?”

  “That’s affirmative.”

  Hope flared in Wesley. “So it’s got some sort of bombs or missiles on it?”

  “Negative. That weapon system is offline. No more rockets, Wes.”

  “Received,” Wesley said, sagging down again, deflated.

  So that was it, then. There was nothing else for it now – except for him to go out there and do it himself. He was the weapon system. Reaching over his own shoulder, he grabbed the rocket Derwin had forced on him, and pulled it over his back. Then he put it down on the front desk and started stripping off his other kit, starting with his duty belt.

  “What are you doing?” Browning said, rising up from cover and coming over.

  “Getting this stupid suit off,” Wesley said. “So typical – we’ve got all this flash anti-zombie armor. And now I’m probably either going to drown or burn to death…”

  “No,” Browning said, grabbing his hand and physically stopping him. “Don’t you remember? The foam underneath the plates is fire-retardant. I don’t know exactly what you’re planning, but if it’s near that fire, the suit will help protect you.”

  Wesley nodded and buckled his belt back on. When he looked up, the others were gathering around him.

  “I know what the crazy Limey sumbitch is planning,” Burns said. “And that armor might also keep you alive long enough to get there.”

  But Wesley was thinking: Sure – until I unleash the flood. Then it will just drag me under and drown me. Just like it did Melvin. There was no swimming while wearing all that. But he didn’t feel like explaining this, much less arguing, so he just nodded, rebuckled his belt, and slung the missile over his back again.

  “Okay,” Jenson said, obviously totally in the dark. “What the hell’s happening?”

  Burns snorted. “He’s going to blow up that gigantic water tank.”

  Wesley shrugged as he double-checked his weapons. “We’ve got to get to that bloody boat, mate. It’s our only chance, our only way out of here. And right now, both the fire and the dead are right between us and it.”

  Browning squinted at Wesley in disbelief. “And you think you can put out the fire and wash away the dead in one go. But it’ll wash you away, too!”

  Wesley just shrugged again.

  “Moreover, what in God’s name makes you think that will work?”

  Nothing, Wesley thought. I just don’t have any other ideas.

  As he finished double-checking his gear and weapons, he thought of something to say that might be convincing. “It’s downhill all the way to the marina, with the fire and the singularity right between the water tank and the sea – so the water should flood away from us and clear a path. And I think it’ll be channeled by those waterways leading to the docks. I just need to… get close enough to fire this rocket into the opposite side of the tank, the side facing the plant.”

  “Yeah, but the tank and the plant are almost touching,” Burns said. “You get close enough to blast the tank open on that side… what do you think is gonna happen to you? You’ll be too close to the fire, then way too close to the flood.”

  Wesley had time for one last shrug. He only said, “Stay here as long as you can. When you see a path open up to the marina, take the sequencer and run like hell. I’ll meet you there if I can. Whether I’m there or not, get the boat out on the water and call the helo to come pick you up.”

  Looking down, he could see Judy was on her feet, staring up at him intently – and giving every impression she was going to follow him. Wesley smiled at her with genuine affection and said, “You’re a good swimmer, girl. But you’re too furry and flammable for this one. Stay.” She sat down again – but didn’t look happy about it. “Good girl.”

  Finally, Wesley turned toward the exit – and found Sarah standing in it.

  “I’m coming with you,” she said.

  Wesley shook his head. “No. This is for me to do alone.”

  Sarah popped the chamber on her grenade launcher, pulled out the 40mm round and flashed it, then popped it back in again. “And what happens if your single-shot rocket isn’t enough to bust open the water tank?”

  Wesley exhaled. It has to be enough, he thought. But he said, “I don’t think you understand.” What he meant was he was unlikely to be coming back from this.

  “I understand perfectly,” she said.

  Part of Wesley wanted to fight her – or just order her to stay the hell back. But he also knew he was a lot more likely to make it into position to even try this crazy stunt if she were at his side and shooting to cover him.

  And if he didn’t make it into position, they were all dead anyway.

  “Okay,” he said. “Come on.”

  But he paused at the last second to point a finger at Jenson. “No more with the damned light switches, okay?”

  Then he turned and he and Sarah stepped out into the burning and swarming night.

  Action

  Jizan - Between the Pharma Complex and the Power/Desal Plant

  As the surging night swallowed them up, Wesley realized they had one tiny thing going for them: they were running with the flow of the incoming singularity. So while there were an awful lot of walking and running dead within sight, unless they got really close, the dead tended not to notice them – because they were all moving in the same direction, and mainly because they were fixated on the raging fire and surging toward it.

  Also, the flow of dead coming from the east, which is where they were coming from, was a little lighter – most of the research and industrial complexes were to the north and south, i.e. their left and right, and the housing was to the west, by the water, beyond the plant. Finally, they had the advantage of a road – the one that descended straight through the technology park to the power/desal plant.

  Wesley had kept them off this road earlier because there had been a handful of dead on it. Ha! Now it was like the undead superhighway. But it was at least a flat smooth surface to run on, with few obstacles other than bodies and debris.

  Mainly because he felt he ought to, Wes took the lead. And he was suddenly very grateful Browning had made him keep his zombie armor on – and also grateful for his two years of sixth-form rugby – as he found himself body-checking runners and Zulus who either got in his way, or converged on them from the sides.

  He and Sarah were moving too fast to do much shooting. And Wesley wasn’t a great shot anyway. Hitting runners while on the run himself seemed like more than he could manage. And as they quickly drew closer to the inferno, the brightness of the blaze actually hurt his eyes. He could understand the single-mindedness of the dead; it was hard to focus on anything else. His whole world was turning into that single blazing sun dead ahead – and, to a lesser extent, the writhing dark matter of the dead converging all around it.

  And while he wasn’
t shooting himself, he could hear Sarah taking the odd suppressed shot behind him. She was dropping ones about to grab him from behind, for all he knew. But while he was on his feet, he’d keep running.

  And keep trusting his armor, and his teammate, to keep him alive.

  * * *

  For her part, Sarah liked being in a protective role. She claimed she had tired of protecting her family, but it was something she knew how to do. Hell, being a cop was pretty much all about protecting life – safeguarding the innocent. And running behind Wesley and keeping him alive was stretching her skills to their limits.

  But that wasn’t all, or even the main thing. Because deep down, Sarah knew what she was doing now with Wesley was perfect. It was all, perhaps, happening exactly as it had to be. Because this was maybe the only way she could atone for what she’d done – for having hurt Handon, and risked Alpha’s combat effectiveness, and thus the fate of humanity. Sure, she could apologize if she happened to get back alive. But those would just be words.

  Whereas this would be an act – an act of atonement. And only actions spoke.

  She would sacrifice her life for this mission if she had to, dying to get the others out and to recover and safeguard the DNA sequencer, which would speed Dr. Park’s work on the vaccine – maybe enough to save everyone left on the planet. And by choosing this action, she would be clean again.

  But that was only if they made it to the plant alive.

  She kept taking shots on dead that got too close, or too interested in Wesley or in her – battling to concentrate, to make her shots, and to keep running. She had to keep them both on their feet.

  For just a little longer.

  * * *

  “What the hell are you doing?”

  It was Lovell, back in Wesley’s ear. And he hadn’t picked a great moment. Wesley realized the Marine could probably see every step of their two-person breakaway assault from the overhead drone video. Sucking wind, gritting his teeth, Wesley nevertheless hit his radio button.

  “I’m taking my one shot – to get us out of here.”

  “Oh, no, bad idea, Wesley. You left your team, LT. Not good! Not goo—”

  But Wesley had already switched off the channel. He couldn’t have that argument right now, never mind deal with the tongue-lashing Lovell was giving him. It wasn’t helping. Also, he didn’t have time to explain himself. Hell, he wasn’t sure he could explain it – even to himself.

  And, mainly, he already had way too much other stuff to focus on.

  * * *

  “Wesley! Mutant One, how copy? Goddamnit.”

  In the dim light of the CIC cave, Lovell threw his headset on the desk. “Son of a bitch hung up on me.” When he looked over at Dr. Park, the scientist was giving him an almost amused look.

  “Guess he didn’t need Lieutenant Gorman in his ear right now.”

  Lovell’s mouth was a tight line, but he was stifling a laugh. He’d just been hoist by his own petard. Now he looked back to the drone video on the screen.

  They were just going to have to watch this one play out on TV.

  * * *

  Within seconds of giving Lovell the heave-ho, Wesley was badly overtasked again. They were almost within striking range of the gigantic towering water tank, which was backlit by the raging inferno behind it. It looked to Wesley like the desal part of the plant was still largely intact – while the fire consumed the electrical plant beyond it, closer to the marina. In other words, the inferno was farther away than he thought – which also meant that it was even bigger than it looked.

  And he could already feel the heat on his face.

  “We need to split up!” Sarah shouted, surging forward to run beside him, rifle to her shoulder, held just below level. “I’ll go around the left side, you take the right, and we’ll both blast the shit out of it – that should give us our best chance of busting it open!” They were about out of road anyway, and quickly approaching the tank.

  Wesley just nodded – he didn’t have breath for anything else – and tried to get that missile tube off his back and into his hands without slowing down.

  A runner to his right suddenly fixated on him, hissed, and angled in. Wesley put his right shoulder down and hit it as hard as he could. Neither heavy enough nor dextrous enough to withstand this, the fell creature bounced off him and went down in a tangle of spindly limbs. The two living runners were past it in a flash.

  “You okay?” Sarah asked. He nodded, and she clapped him on the arm, then veered off to the left – as he went right, both of them accelerating toward opposite edges of the monstrous, towering, world-straddling water tank.

  And Wesley was on his own again.

  Alone with his AT-4 anti-tank weapon – and the terrible hope and peril it represented. He managed to get it slung around in front of him, where it bounced and banged on the magazine pouches on his chest. At the same time, he slung his rifle behind him. At the same time as all of that, he damned well kept on running. He was pretty sure only his forward motion was keeping him alive – never mind keeping hope alive for his ill-starred mission.

  And all the time the inferno ahead grew closer and hotter, ravaging the dense darkness that surrounded Jizan. He could feel the running and walking dead starting to converge as they all drew closer to the fire. They were veering in toward him from the right and left now – and he’d swear he could feel them hissing on his neck from behind. On top of all that, crap on the rough open ground now presented hazards – if he went sprawling face down, he was pretty sure he’d never get up again. Certainly not in time to save them all.

  He put one eye on his rocket, trying like mad to work the safety rings and catches – and wishing like hell he’d paid better attention during Derwin’s attenuated, and not particularly expert, lecture – while keeping one eye on the dead, who were still running alongside, and behind, and around him, like a pack of velociraptors on the hunt.

  He managed to get the front sight cover off, and then the rear one, and was extremely pleased to see the sights pop into posi— but then a runner was hissing and angling in on him from the left. Before he could react, it grabbed his left arm with both hands and chomped down on his shoulder. This resulted mainly in a spray of teeth off the hard shoulder plate, but the damned thing was still latched on to him. In a blur, one Wesley couldn’t believe worked, he got his side arm free from its holster, brushed the safety up with his thumb, stuck the barrel in the face attached to his shoulder, and triggered off four rapid-fire rounds, causing the contents of its head to exit out the back, and the ravening creature to tumble to the ground.

  And all of this without stopping his own mad, death-defying sprint.

  Yeah, Wesley thought, stealing a look at the bite marks in his shoulder plate. Zombie armor – get in!

  Just a few hours ago, he’d wondered how he would possibly be able to run while covered in all this heavy armor, ammo, and other crap. And the answer turned out to be: because he bloody well had to. Sucking wind, he also mentally added: Lance Corporal Burris, you were absolutely right. If your life depends on your cardio, you will run. Even on four packs a day.

  Anyway, the armor had just saved his life, so he wasn’t trading it.

  He went back to futzing with the rocket, his pistol still clutched in his right hand, glancing up periodically at the growing inferno, which already felt like it was cooking his face, and looking around to spot any more runners that might make a meal on the run out of him…

  “How we doin’?” Sarah asked across the net.

  But Wesley absolutely had no digits or attention free to work the radio. He found the red safety lever on the rocket, as well as the red firing button. Those would be the last two steps. But he wasn’t close enough yet, and the angle wasn’t right. He needed to fire this thing right into the far side of the water tank – basically tucking the rocket into the seam between the tank and the nearly-adjacent plant – so that hopefully the water in the former would come flooding out, ideally in a twenty-foot-hig
h wave, straight over the inferno in the latter.

  Then again, for all he knew, there might be nothing but dust and rat’s nests inside the water tank. As steep as the odds were against him even getting in place to try this crazy stunt, he realized it was all predicated on a complete assumption: that the tank was full of water.

  Oh well, he thought, the hell with it. It was far too late to change this plan, so there was very little point second-guessing it.

  Unexpectedly, he looked up to see a runner – running straight toward him, the opposite direction to all the others. As usual, the dead were fairly predictable – just not predictable enough. And now his and the runner’s combined speed meant he had a half-second to get his pistol up and stiff-armed out and trigger off the rest of the mag, all still at a dead run. The runner jerked and spasmed but didn’t go down, so Wesley clutched the pistol to his chest, tucked in his head and shoulder, and simply bowled the damned thing over and out of his way.

  Another goal for zombie armor.

  He didn’t even have time to smile in satisfaction that this maneuver had worked because now, directly out ahead of him, something, unbelievably, exploded even brighter and hotter and more fatally intense than the inferno that was already dominating his attention and consuming the night. As he craned his neck, following it through the sky… he belatedly worked out it was one of those giant vats of fuel oil from the big room on the power side of the plant… being launched into the sky on a pillar of fire.

  This was nothing short of biblical.

  In the next second, two more launched off right behind it, all three now arcing up and dramatically illuminating the night sky overhead. It was like nothing Wesley had ever seen or imagined – like gala fireworks in Hell, celebrating the end of the world and the beginning of the end. The start of a whole new Apocalypse.

  The sight was intoxicating, Wesley thought, but at least they weren’t goi— no wait, as the three vats started to reach the apex of their flights, he realized he had no idea whatsoever where these things were going to come down. He only knew, and he knew this for sure, he didn’t want to be anywhere near them when they did.