A whoosh off to her right caught Ari’s attention. A dozen contrails from twelve rockets from Tango Charlie’s M270 Multiple Launch Rocket System streamed from the northwest, each spaced three seconds apart and converging on the northern end of the airfield. When each rocket was at an altitude of twenty feet, it released its payload of six hundred and forty-four M77 submunitions, each about the size of a hand grenade, over a six-hundred-foot diameter area. The submunitions detonated on impact with the ground, fragmenting the grenade’s steel casing and sending the shards ripping through everything within a twelve foot radius. For half a minute, thousands of explosions burst from the perimeter fence down the runway toward the terminal. When the smoke cleared, Ari saw a killing field. Every rotter, except those on the far edges of the horde, had been ravaged by the barrage, their bodies eviscerated and their legs having been torn out from under them. Where the wounds inflicted by the submunitions would have been fatal to the living, they succeeded only in immobilizing the rotters. The piles of bodies still pulsed as one organism, with torsos thrashing around and arms still clutching at the air. Their moans of hunger could be heard even from this distance.
Barnes’ voice came over the CVC. “Tango Leader, Tango Alpha One. We are running low on ammo. Where is my supply train?”
“Tango Alpha One, it’s about three klicks behind you and is on the way.”
“Tango Leader, copy that.”
The roar of battle diminished as the gunners’ weapons ran low on ammunition and they slowed their rate of fire. The decrease in gunfire allowed the rotters to regain the momentum. An increasing number made it past the line of corpses and shambled toward the Strykers.
“I’m out,” one of the gunners announced.
“Same here,” said another a few seconds later.
One by one, the machineguns on each Stryker went silent. Fifty rotters had closed to within ninety feet of the recon vehicles, with another few hundred following. As the noise of battle faded, the only sound came from the idling of the four Stryker engines and the moaning of the rotters. They had slaughtered most of the living dead, yet a few hundred still remained.
“We’re screwed now,” Reynolds said over the CVC.
“Tango Alpha One, maybe we can help,” said a new voice over the radio.
“Who’s ‘we’?” Barnes asked.
“Tango Delta One.”
From the north, five Bradleys bore down on the Strykers.
“Tango Delta One, we are glad to see you. Tango Alpha has expended its ammo.”
“Then we arrived in the nick of time. You can’t get much more American than that.” The five Bradleys pulled up in a line abreast across Route 101 and stopped two hundred feet from the Strykers. “Tango Alpha, fall back behind our position.”
Barnes didn’t need to pass on the message because the Strykers had already started to withdraw. Once the recon vehicles were out of the way, the five Bradleys opened fire, raking the horde with their 25mm 242 Bushmaster chainguns. The rounds chewed apart the line of living dead, decimating what remained of the horde. A cloud of blood and body parts formed, making it impossible for the Bradleys’ gunners to clearly identify targets. They continued to fire, knowing they would hit something hidden behind the grotesque mist. Even over the heavy staccato of the chaingun motors, Ari could hear the thumping of 25mm shells impacting with bodies. By the time the chainguns went silent, only a few dozen rotters still stood. These staggered into the pile of gore, tripped, fell, and were not able to get back up. Ari almost felt bad for them.
“Tango Leader, Tango Delta One. Hostile activity neutralized.”
“Tango Delta One, copy that. Set up a Forward Area Rearm Point at your location. Your supply train should be there any moment. The rest of Tango Alpha will join you within the hour.”
“Tango Leader, Tango Delta One copies. All Alphas and Deltas, deploy and set up a watch in case any stray hostiles wander into the perimeter.”
As the main hatches on the Strykers and Bradleys opened and the troops poured out, Ari looked around at the devastation. She had experienced some scary moments since the outbreak began, although nothing as intense as today. This was only the second day of the war. She wondered what other horrors were in store for her.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
“Can I pet Walther?” Cindy asked.
Windows continued purifying the bull’s drinking water, hesitating in her response. Given what was going on up north, she wanted to keep Cindy close at all times. On the other hand, she didn’t want to hurt the girl’s feelings or, even worse, alarm her.
For God’s sake, Windows chastised herself. There’s being cautious and there’s being paranoid.
It wasn’t like the situation had changed dramatically in the last twenty-four hours. Sure, they could still see black smoke rising from whatever was burning. They hadn’t had to fight off hordes of rotters or marauders yet, so Cindy would be safe. And Walther was milling around by the fence three hundred feet away.
“Go ahead,” Windows said. “Just keep in my sight at all times.”
Cindy dramatically sighed and spun around. She trudged away, huffing, “Yes, Mother.”
Mother? Windows couldn’t hold back the tear that streamed down her cheek.
She went back to purifying the rain water from last night’s storm, adding a few drops of bleach into the barrel and stirring it before transferring the water into sealed containers to prevent the sunlight from turning it into a Petri dish of diseases. She had used the hand pump to transfer half the rain water into the sealed tank when she heard a soft voice cry, “Help us!”
Windows stopped what she was doing and looked for Cindy. The girl stood in front of the fence by Walther, standing on the middle slats and reaching over, with the bull lifting his head to be petted and swishing his tail. The call hadn’t come from her.
“Please! Help us!”
Windows grabbed her AK-47 and stepped back from the fence to get a better view down the access road leading to the farm. A woman was stumbling along the road, holding the hands of two children, a boy and a girl, approximately seven and ten, respectively, pulling them along behind her. Nine rotters pursued them, the closest less than a hundred feet distant. Windows raced along the perimeter fence to the pasture and removed the two-way radio from her pocket. “Denning, are you there?”
A few seconds of silence elapsed.
“Denning, can you hear me?”
“Yes. What’s the urgency?”
“We have a woman and two kids heading for the farm followed by a pack of rotters. They’re coming down the access road.”
“Shit. I’ll be there in a few minutes.”
Windows reached Cindy, whose gaze shifted between her and the approaching threat. Fear welled up in her eyes. “Are we going to help them?”
“I am. You’re going back to the house.”
“I want to help.”
“Do as I tell you.”
Windows waited until she saw Cindy heading away, and then focused back on the threat. The woman and kids were still several hundred feet from the compound, and the rotters were closing in. Windows ran to the perimeter fence. The little boy tripped and crashed onto the road, yanking the woman to a halt. The closest rotter, a male in a blue and red flannel shirt with half its neck torn open, moaned and quickened its pace. The woman tried to drag the boy to his feet, but he wouldn’t move. Releasing the girl’s hand, the woman told her to run. The girl refused, so the woman shoved her toward the farm. “Run!” The girl broke into a sprint and headed for Windows, wailing at the top of her lungs. The woman leaned over to protect the boy from the living dead.
Stopping at the fence, Windows unslung the automatic weapon from her right shoulder. She was not a good shot, but she had no choice. The rotter was twenty feet from the woman and boy, and she would never get to them in time. Resting her left elbow on the support post, she focused down the sight on its head and jerked the trigger. The bullet missed its target and thudded into the chest of
a rotter in a fireman’s uniform forty feet to the rear. Readjusting her aim, she slowly squeezed the trigger. This time the bullet hit the flannel-shirted rotter in the sternum, knocking it off balance. Windows aimed again, held her breath, and pulled on the trigger. The rotter’s head exploded. It teetered for a moment and fell forward, its carcass landing on the woman’s back and sliding to the road. The woman screamed in terror and held the boy tighter.
Windows raced down to the gate and opened it. She ushered the little girl inside the compound and pointed to the farmhouse. “Head for that house. You’ll be safe there.”
“What about my mother and brother?”
“I’ll get them.”
Windows didn’t bother to see if the girl obeyed. She rushed toward the woman and boy. “Come this way. Hurry!”
The woman didn’t respond, remaining hunched over the boy.
Windows reached her at the same time as a naked male rotter. She raised her automatic weapon into its face and fired, ducking as the exploding skull splattered her back and shoulders in chunks of brain and bone. Facing the rest of the horde, she lined up a shot on a rotter in a blue down jacket, the lining of which had been torn open so that blood-encrusted feathers covered the front. Windows fired. The bullet thudded into its upper left chest, jerking its shoulder back. She aimed, fired carefully, and took the rotter down with a shot right between the eyes. Switching to the next nearest rotter, the abdomen and chest of which had been torn open leaving a gaping cavity, she brought it down with a headshot. The remainder of the horde was a good thirty feet away.
Windows reached down and grabbed the woman by the arm. The woman screamed and clutched the boy.
“I’m here to get you and your son to safety.” When the woman didn’t respond, Windows yanked her arm. “Come on! We have to get out of here.”
The woman stared up at Windows, gradually registering that the figure above her was human. Her gaze drifted to the left and she screamed again. A rotter in soiled fireman’s gear approached, its arms outstretched and its mouth opening to feed. Windows surged forward, slammed the stock of the automatic weapon into its chest, and pushed it over backwards onto the ground. Lowering the barrel, she fired off three rounds into its head, vaporizing it. The bolt had locked in the open position. Windows did not have a spare magazine with her. The last four rotters moved in.
Windows crouched down and stared the woman in the face. “If you don’t haul ass now, we’re all dead, including your son.”
The woman blinked once, and then understood. Grabbing the boy by the shoulders, she lifted him into a standing position and the two raced for the house. A female rotter in tattered red silk pajamas had closed to within ten feet, its single arm reaching for her. Windows raised her automatic weapon and waited, preparing to slam the stock into its face when it got close enough, concentrating on the forehead where she intended to strike. Suddenly, the forehead blew apart and the rotter dropped to the ground.
“I got this!” Denning yelled from behind her.
Denning stood at the perimeter fence, his rifle against his shoulder. Ducking to be out of the line of fire, Windows dashed toward the fence, keeping herself between the woman and the rest of the horde. Denning continued shooting, and by the time she reached the fence, none of the living dead remained standing. When Denning met Windows at the gate, he was inhaling long, deep breaths.
“Are you okay?” she asked.
“Yeah,” he panted. “I’m winded… from running… from the other end… of the compound.” Denning held his chest and inhaled. After a few seconds, he pointed to her clothes. “You’re covered in blood. Did one of them bite you?”
“No. It’s backwash from shooting one of them too close.” Windows patted Denning on the shoulder.
She stepped over to check on the woman and boy. Cindy stood on the other side of the perimeter fence talking to the little girl, who had calmed down considerably now that the crisis had passed, and the two girls were chatting like old friends.
“I thought I told you to go back to the house,” Windows said sternly.
“I was heading there, and then I saw Rebecca running for the fence. I went back to help her.”
The little girl waved at Windows. “I’m Rebecca.”
Despite her motherly instincts telling her to be mad at Cindy, Windows admired her for showing such courage. “I’ll let it slide this time.”
Cindy tried not to grin.
“Are you all right?” Windows asked the woman. “Were you or your son bitten?”
She shook her head. “Th-thank you for saving us.”
“No problem,” said Windows.
“First things first,” said Denning. “Let’s get these people back to the farmhouse, clean them up, and feed them. Then we can chat.”
CHAPTER THIRTY
Denning sat at the end of the kitchen table while the woman and her two children devoured their meals. Between the three of them, they had eaten a dozen scrambled eggs and drank almost a gallon of cold water. No one had spoken much since the incident on the access road, the newcomers being too shaken too talk, and him and Windows agreeing to give them a chance to calm down. Cindy sat across from the little girl, studying her intently. Windows leaned against the sink. The only information Denning had gotten out of the woman was that her name was Miriam and her kids were Rebecca, age eleven, and Philip, age seven.
Fortunately the kids’ clothes were in pretty good shape other than being slightly worn and dirty, nothing a good washing wouldn’t fix. The same couldn’t be said of Miriam’s outfit. By protecting Philip, her blouse and slacks had been splattered with blood, making them impossible to clean. Like with Windows, Denning had lent Miriam a pair of jeans and a sweater from his wife’s closet. The clothes fit her better than they had Windows. In fact, Denning noticed that Miriam and her kids looked to be in pretty decent physical shape.
When their guests had finished eating, Windows collected the dishes and placed them in the sink. As she took Miriam’s plate, the woman placed her right hand on top of Windows’ wrist and squeezed. Her eyes shifted between Windows and Denning. “Thank you both so much for taking us in.”
Windows patted her hand and continued clearing the table. “No need to thank us.”
“We’re glad we could be of help,” Denning said warmly.
“You have no idea how grateful I am. We wouldn’t have lasted much longer. We’d been on the run for a full day.”
“Cindy and I can relate. We were on the road for days before we came across this farm.”
Miriam shook her head. “No, I mean literally we were on the run since yesterday morning. Those things were right behind us the whole time. We tried outrunning them, and when we stopped to rest they’d catch up. Finally we kept on walking, always trying to be a little faster. We haven’t slept, we haven’t rested, and we haven’t even stopped to pee for over a day. We pissed our pants on the run if we had to go. I’d been dragging the kids along with me for the past few miles. If we hadn’t come across….” Miriam broke down in tears.
Windows stepped back over to the table. She placed her hands on the Miriam’s shoulders and squeezed sympathetically. Miriam reached up and clasped the hands.
“Can you tell us what happened?” asked Denning.
Miriam nodded. She snorted back her tears and ran the back of her hand across her nose and eyes. “We lived in the LaSalle neighborhood of Montreal north of the Saint Laurent River in a townhouse complex. When the outbreak occurred, most of the others fled the city. We stayed holed up in our townhouse because we had several months of food and water, and my husband Paul thought we could wait it out.”
“Was he a survivalist?” Denning asked.
“No, just cautious. During that last Ebola scare he began storing food, canned goods, and medicine in the basement in case the virus reached Montreal and officials placed the city under lockdown. He wanted to be able to ride out a three-month crisis, so he bought a solar-powered generator and learned how to purify ra
inwater. When the Zombie Virus reached Montreal, he figured we’d be safer staying put. And he was right. Hundreds of thousands died trying to get out. While the city fell apart around us, we remained safe. We were even lucky enough that when the living dead took over, there were practically none in our neighborhood. We weren’t doing too bad, at least compared to what we heard was going on elsewhere.”
“What you heard?”
“Paul had a ham radio. He kept in touch with others who had survived. They all compared notes. About a month ago, rumors started surfacing that the Canadian and American governments were getting ready to wage war on the revenants. Apparently a vaccine was being prepared that would make people immune from a bite. We didn’t put much stock in them until a few days ago when the Canadian army began pushing its way into northern Montreal. Paul and I were happy. We thought we’d be rescued. That didn’t happen. As far as I can tell, one of the military units used flamethrowers against the revenants and wound up setting fire to one of the neighborhoods. Without a fire department to contain it, the flames spread through the entire city. We barely made it out and to the Mercer Bridge. That was yesterday morning, and we’ve been on the run ever since.”
“I would have thought the rotters would be attracted to the flames,” said Windows.
“Most were. Thousands of those things walked right into the fire. The problem was, any that saw survivors trying to escape went after them. At one point we had fifteen people with us. A few broke off and went on their own, hoping the swarm would follow the larger group. Revenants took down the rest.”
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