The pod doors were holding, at least for now. No one knew how long that would last, though. We were going to have to deal with them eventually, but we could afford to wait a bit longer. Our first priority was going to be rescuing any trapped officers that we could. I was just going to have to wait until then to go for my family. I hoped and prayed that they were still safe. So long as they stayed on the boat in the middle of the lake, I couldn’t see how any infected could possibly get to them. That left the real danger from other survivors.
I knew that Karen would fight like a tigress to protect those kids. Elliot was my oldest son, and he was a good shot with a shotgun and a deer-rifle, too. He was also a chip off the old block. My wife constantly called him Wylie Junior. I had no doubt whatsoever that he’d fight to his last breath to protect his mom and his brothers. I’d have to make sure that he got one of the M-16’s and teach him to use it. But make no mistake; I was going for my family no matter what anyone thought. Neither Hel on Earth nor high water nor zombie apocalypse was going to stop me, either.
After a quick meal in the break room, I headed upstairs to Master Control to check on the status of all the officers that they were able to contact. I was about half-way up the stairs when the shakes hit me. Nerves, I guess. I stopped at the landing in the middle and tried to get a hold of myself. I shook for almost thirty seconds before they started to subside, leaving me feeling weak and slightly nauseous. Yeah, it had to be nerves.
“Keep it together, old man,’ I whispered to myself. “You don’t have time for this shit.”
Taking a deep breath, I steadied myself and then held out my hands to look at them. Only a slight tremor remained. It would have to do. As I reached the top of the stairs, I could hear the banging coming from the lost pods. The CO in me wanted to gear up, go in and break the riot. To go charging in with riot gear, shields and batons and force them back into their cells. It’s what CO’s refer to as “Hat’s and Bats.” But the problem was that these weren’t just rioting inmates. They were zombies, and yelling “Lockdown” just wouldn’t work. Neither would pepper spray, tasers or tear gas.
Once inside Master Control, I found Lt. Murdock already studying a clipboard. His demeanor was grim as he read the information. I took a moment to steady my voice and control my breathing. I still felt pretty weak, but it was slowly passing. It had subsided enough that I could ignore it, for now. It’s not like I had much choice in the matter, anyway. I couldn’t afford to be out of the fight.
“What’s the situation, L.T.?”
“Not good,” he replied without looking up. “Some of these officers are no longer responding to radio calls.”
“That may not mean anything, sir. My radio died before we even made it to our roadblock. You know as well as I do that our batteries are pure crap.”
“That’s true. But nevertheless, I’d feel better if I could speak to them and let them know we’re coming.”
“I wouldn’t give up on them, sir. It’s worth trying for them, anyway.”
“Agreed, but who’s going to volunteer to go. Most of the officers downstairs are in no shape to fight. Many of them would refuse, anyway. They’re all shaken up, some of them bad enough that they may never recover fully.”
“I’ll go,” I said, without hesitation.
“Are you sure?” he asked, studying me carefully.
“Yes, sir. I won’t leave them to die.”
“Me either,” said Spec-4, walking into the room behind me. “I’m in, too.”
“We can’t take more than the two of us in the Humvee. Otherwise there won’t be any room for anyone we rescue,” I said.
“What about taking a bigger vehicle?” asked the L.T.
“What do we have that’s bigger?” I asked.
“There’s the Prison Transport bus or the jail van.”
“Yeah,” I said. “But they’re not armored or four wheel drive. I think we’re better off using the Humvee and keeping the team smaller.”
“What kind of shape’s the Humvee in?” he asked.
“That’s a good question,” I said.
“I haven’t had a chance to check it out,” said Spec-4, “but it seems pretty sound. The body’s damaged and the paint is scraped up pretty bad. Not to mention more than a few bullet hits, but it still looks solid.”
“Let’s get a good look at it before we decide,” said the L.T. “The last thing we need is to strand more people.”
“I’ll take Southard and go PMCS[9] the Humvee,” said Spec-4 to me. “You get the Intel we need to mount recue op.”
“Alright, but take a radio and let me know if there’re any problems.”
“Got it, Sar-Major,” she said with a smile, and headed out of Master Control.
“Sar-Major?” asked the L.T.
“Long story, sir,” I said. “She says I remind her of an Army Sergeant-Major she once knew.”
“Hmm,” said the L.T.
The L.T. and I took the clipboard and headed for his office down the hall. From the door of his office, I got my first look into Bravo Pod. The window of the inner door was completely filled with zombies. Most were in inmate green, but one was in officer black. It was Mike Boyett. His uniform didn’t look any worse than most days he was at work. That thought made me chuckle as we went inside the office.
He had a huge, bloody wound to his throat and another one on his face. Part of his left cheek was missing, and you cell see the teeth and jaw beneath it. Thankfully, we shut the office door, cutting them off from sight. You could still hear the smacking of their hands on the glass. The image of his milky colored eyes stayed with me, though. I didn’t particularly like Boyett, but he was one of us.
The L.T. turned his computer monitor to where I could see it. Then he pulled up Internet Maps. The internet was still working, but most of the phone lines were down. Go figure. Then he started pulling up the locations of the trapped officers, showing me exactly where they were. I started taking notes on my little pocket notebook. I began scribbling notes and a rough map to show me which buildings I needed to look for.
“It looks like the closest one to us is Cal Sanders,” said the L.T. “He went to the square with four other officers from the jail and two patrol officers. They were supposed to link up with a National Guard unit to secure the City Bus Terminal and prevent looting.”
“I hope that unit was bigger than we got at the roadblock,” I said.
“The last we heard from them, they had encountered a group of rioters and were cut off from the vehicles. They were falling back to the bus terminal. That was over an hour ago.”
“I’ll go there first,” I said. “He’s close to us and I know that Sanders wouldn’t go down without a fight. I’m sure he’s still there.”
Just then, there was a knock on the office door.
“Come in,” said the L.T.
The door opened and Corporal Halsey came in. He looked exhausted. Halsey was a great guy. I’d known him since I was a rookie. He was in his mid fifties, but he looked like he’d aged ten years since I last saw him this morning at briefing. He was about as unflappable as they came. Seeing him look that haggard was a testament to just how bad it was getting out there.
“Lieutenant,” he said, his voice ragged with fatigue. “I just made it in from the Evac-center at the airport. The perimeter fences around the airport are crawling with zombies. The fences are holding for now, but I wouldn’t expect them to hold much longer. I got out just before they blocked the gate. I brought two wounded officers in with me. They’re with Medical, now. It’s MacGreggor and Gorman. Medical says they’re going to make it, but they’ll be out of action for a while.”
MacGreggor and Gorman were from my shift. They were both friends of mine. “Thanks,” said the L.T. “Go get some rest, Will.”
“There’s one more thing, sir,” he added, shaking his head.
The L.T. and I both looked at him questioningly.
“I picked up a garbled radio call on my way in,” he said. �
�It was from Sheriff Hawkins. He was trying to reach some officers who were stranded at the parking garage on MSU. The last I heard from him, he said his SUV was disabled and he was requesting assistance from any available officer. I’d have gone for him but I was out of ammo and had wounded of my own.”
“I can head for him as soon as I grab Sanders,” I said. “The square’s on the way to the campus.”
“Grab whatever you need and go,” said the L.T., a note of urgency in his voice.
I was moving out the door before he finished speaking, almost running over Corporal Halsey in the process. I took the stairs two at a time and reached the bottom quickly. As I rounded the corner and headed for Booking, I saw Spec-4 and Southard coming in through Release.
“We’re good to go,” said Spec-4, smiling.
“Good,” I said. “Grab your gear, we’re moving out right now!”
She nodded and started grabbing her pack and weapons. I put on the Interceptor vest that I’d claimed and started checking the load on all of my weapons. Southard started grabbing his gear, as well.
“Sorry, Chuck,” I said. “You’re sitting this one out.”
“Why?” demanded Southard.
“Because if I take more than two, there won’t be room for anyone we rescue.”
I could tell that it didn’t make him happy, but I knew he understood. Hell, I wanted to take him with me. The more guns the better, but we had to make sure we could actually rescue someone when we got there. That meant that we’d have to keep the backseat clear to accommodate passengers.
“Besides, Chuck,” I said. “I’ve got a job for you. Grab the boys from Fair Grove and head to Reception. I want you to make sure the front doors are secure. That’s our primary weak point.”
“Got it,” said Southard, with little enthusiasm.
“Use whatever you can find, just make sure that the front is secure,” I said.
With that, Spec-4 and I headed out through Release. We unhooked the trailer and pushed it off to the side. Then we loaded several cases of ammo for our weapons. I made sure to snag some of the hand-grenades and rounds for the M-203. Plus a few extra weapons for the survivors to use, just in case.
Then we threw in some basic first aid supplies, a case of MRE’s and a case of water. I looked with yearning at where my much lamented M-60 had been. Oh well, no help for it now. I had a pretty good idea where it was and no desire whatsoever to go back there, at least not in anything short of a tank. I considered the idea of mounting one of the M-249’s up there, but most of the mounting bracket had been sheered away with the M-60.
Kris Newberry came out to see us off. She brought fresh batteries for the radios and two thermos cups of fresh coffee. She also had a plastic bag slung over her wrist. Despite the danger we were in, she still managed to have a smile for us. It was a welcome sight, in spite of all the carnage that surrounded us.
“You be careful, Wylie,” she said, handing me the coffee and the bag. “Your wife and kids need you alive. Besides that, Karen will kill me if anything happens to you.”
“This isn’t Booking sludge, is it?” I asked, taking the coffee. “I wouldn’t worry too much about Karen. So long as I don’t get turned into zombie kibble, she’ll be happy. What’s in the bag?”
“No, on the coffee,” she replied, smiling. “This comes fresh from Master Control. It’s the good stuff. There are sandwiches in the bag. But don’t kid yourself. If you get bit, Karen will kill you even if the zombies don’t.”
“We’ll be back,” I promised. “Just have Medical standing by in case we bring in wounded.”
“I will,” she said, and headed back inside.
Spec-4 and I climbed into the front seats and fired up the engine. In the storage compartment next to me was my untouched bag of beef jerky. I tore it open and offered some to her. We both munched in silence as we waited for Kris to get back inside. Once the Release door was closed, I backed up and turned around. Then I pulled up to the vehicle gate, with the bumper almost touching. Grabbing my mic, I contacted Master Control.
“829 to 700,” I said. “We are ready to depart. Are we clear?”
“829, be advised, there are three zombies just outside the gate.”
“Copy that,” I said, and nodded to Spec-4.
She grinned as she opened the turret hatch and slid into the seat. Snagging her M-16, she locked and loaded her weapon. As the gate began to rumble open, I heard her click off the safety; just one click to semi-auto fire. The gate was less than two feet open when a zombie tried to force its way through. She shot it in the forehead and it fell back, missing the top of its skull. As the gate slid farther open, she quickly disposed of the other two with a single shot to the face each.
Then I pulled forward, crunching the bodies beneath my wheels as I cleared the gate. We stopped long enough for the gate to close securely behind us, to make sure no zombies got through. Once the gate was secure, I turned right and headed for the stop sign at the end of the block. The intersection was bordered by the old Courthouse on the right and the Utilities Company on the left. Across the street was some office buildings and the county health department.
Fifty or so zombies were milling around in the grass in front of the Old Courthouse. They came charging after us as I turned right and accelerated. I crashed through a knot of about a dozen of them and then braked hard as we approached the next intersection. I had to go up onto the sidewalk to avoid a pair of SUV’s that had collided. One was on its side and the other had the front end completely smashed in.
Once clear of the wreck, I proceeded down the wrong side of the road and headed south for the Expressway. Several zombies caught up with us as I picked my way in between the abandoned cars littering the Expressway. Once I was through the intersection, the road was mostly clear. So I punched the accelerator and shot away down the hill towards the square, scattering the zombies in our wake.
“We’d better make this one quick,” said Spec-4. “It’ll be dark in a couple of hours.”
“It’ll probably be a long night, then. We’ve got a lot of people to rescue. What was it the poet once said about ‘Things to do, promises to keep, and miles to go before I sleep’?”
“What poet was that?”
“Frost, I think,” I replied, dodging an abandoned pick-up in the middle of the road.
“Well, then it’s a good thing we have coffee,” said Spec-4.
“Obviously, you’ve never tried our coffee,” I said, smiling. “Be glad this is from Master Control. Booking is notorious for brewing coffee strong enough to bench press more than most grown men.”
I was crossing the railroad tracks at the bottom of the hill when I saw a crowd of zombies near Founder’s Park. There had to be close to fifty of them. They all seemed to be focused on a vehicle. They were too focused to even notice us as we sped past the intersection. That was good news for us, but not so good for whoever or whatever was in that car.
As we climbed up the hill and approached the square, I could see dozens of zombies scattered around the area. I could see a gray County Charger and one of our old Crown Victoria’s, too. Parked beside them were an SPD cruiser and a pair of Humvees. They were all parked in the middle of the square.
I turned right onto the square and plowed through a group of skater-punk zombies, dressed in their baggy skater clothes. If it weren’t for the blood and ragged wounds, they really wouldn’t have looked all that different. I indulged in a long standing fantasy and drove right through the middle of them.
“You enjoyed that,” said Spec-4, with an evil grin. “Didn’t you?”
Ragnarok Rising: The Awakening (Book One of The Ragnarok Rising Saga) Page 13
