“Show’s over,” Fish said as he lowered his M4. He rarely carried his sniping rifle anymore, choosing to have the larger ammo load.
“Everyone, mount up,” Dobson ordered.
I climbed into Big Red. Daniel and Karina were still sitting in the back. Boomer, who was sleeping on the floor, woke up and licked my face after I sat down.
“What’s going on?” Daniel asked impatiently.
“We’re about to move out,” I told him. “The town ahead is crawling with Zulus. They’re trying to take down a scab hive.”
“What’s a hive?” Karina asked.
“Something the Captain came up with,” I said, smiling. “Means there are a lot of scabs.”
Daniel became nervous. “So…where are we going?”
DJ climbed in and shut the door.
“We’re going to drive right up their asses,” DJ said with a chuckle.
“That’s crazy!” Daniel moaned. “We should turn around.”
“It’s actually not a bad plan, Daniel,” I told him reassuringly. “The Major hammered it out pretty well.”
I was surprised by Dobson. He was a control freak, and that didn’t change, but he was also prideful. Pride was dangerous during conflict. I wondered if that time with Campbell between Holopaw and Harmony had changed his mind. The Captain was very diplomatic and he had told Fish to let him handle the Major.
Of course, taking back roads or main thoroughfares didn’t matter worth a damn if we couldn’t survive the next two miles.
“What are our jobs?” Karina asked, bringing my attention back.
“To be quiet and let me drive,” DJ said. “But since you won’t, come up front and be a lookout for me. Pittman is staying in the turret.”
“Shouldn’t I be up there with you?” I asked.
“Sorry, Christian,” DJ said sourly, “Dobson wants you in the back. He said ‘Keep the Package secure.’ Something about a scab spear making it through the windshield.”
“So, we’re going to put Karina up there instead?” I said, horrified. “What if she gets the spear?”
DJ considered a moment. “Sorry, Christian, everybody has to do their part.”
“What about me?” Daniel asked.
“You’re here just in case a spear does come through the windshield,” DJ said with a grin.
Karina gave me a dirty look as she climbed into the front seat.
“Stop treating me like a kid,” the fifteen-year-old whispered as she passed. I grimaced.
“One mike,” Dobson’s voice came over the speaker. “Switch to hand radios.”
Everyone in Big Red’s cab turned on their radios and put in their ear pieces.
“Be nice if we had throat mikes,” DJ stated as he revved up Big Red.
I didn’t know much about throat radios, except that you didn’t have to hit a transmit button when you spoke and you could whisper. I had seen Special Forces wear them when they would come through our camp in Afghanistan. Fish had also mentioned them to me.
“DJ,” Dobson called, “Move out!”
Dobson was driving the CDC bus, and I saw him make a hand gesture forward as he transmitted the order. Campbell was somewhere in the back controlling the UAV. The drone, flying low, took off down the road as it gained altitude.
“Tighten your bra straps,” DJ growled and hit the gas.
CHAPTER 3
The Horde
August 2nd Afternoon
Big Red rumbled forward at twenty-five miles an hour. A dot flew three hundred feet ahead, the small drone barely visible against the overcast sky.
Campbell’s voice came over my earpiece.
“DJ, road traps appear to start well before the turnoff. Dobson wants to know if you can jump the curb.”
Ahead, the road curved and the beginnings of Harmony came into view. Zombies were stretched out directly in front of us, but in the distance, it appeared as if an ant colony had come alive.
Off to the right was a long, white picket fence, protecting the grounds of Harmony Golf Club. Two retention ponds were on the other side of the fence with a hundred-foot-wide gap of dry land between them.
“It will be tricky,” DJ responded. “The shovel may get caught, not to mention the bus is going to have one hell of a time crossing over uneven terrain.”
“Little choice,” Dobson replied. “I’d rather take our chances with the terrain than scab traps. Proceed.”
“Roger that,” DJ said, scowling.
Ahead, the scab traps were just coming into view. Now that we knew what to look for, they were easy to spot.
“We’ll have to take it at an angle,” I said, leaning between DJ and Karina. “If not, the blade on the front will get caught on the ditch.”
“No shit!” DJ said just as he cut the massive fire truck to the right, sending us off road.
Big Red dipped and then jumped as we swept into the ditch. DJ turned the fire truck slightly. For a moment we were actually driving in the ditch. Slowly, he turned the wheel, bringing us up the side until we crossed over and onto flat land again. Dirt sprayed up as the shovel caught hold of the ground. The white picket fence broke and splintered as Big Red rammed it without pause.
DJ cut the speed down to fifteen miles an hour.
“You still with us, Major?” he asked. Big Red was bouncing around, sending gear and Boomer to the floor of the cab. I hit my head on the roof as we stumbled over a large mound.
“Barely!” a strained Dobson replied.
“Where the hell did you learn to drive?” Pittman shouted over the comms, his usual calm demeanor shattered by the rollercoaster ride DJ was taking us on.
Pittman was in the turret and was undoubtedly being tossed around like a rag doll. We called it a turret, but in actuality it was just an octagonal shaped steel container without a top. It would stop any spear and most small arms fire and would allow the person inside a decent firing position. The turret wasn’t that tall, but if you took a knee, you would be completely concealed. It was large enough to fit two people comfortably, but with Pittman in the turret, there was little room for anyone short of Karina.
DJ ignored Pittman and focused on driving.
“Fish, Sit-Rep?” Dobson asked.
“We’re…okay,” he said, jittery. “Jenna’s a worse driver than DJ.”
“Kiss my ass,” a distant sounding Jenna retorted.
“Mine, too,” DJ agreed.
“Multiple Zulus coming up,” Pittman said. You could hear the tension in his voice as he tried to keep his balance in the turret.
The clubhouse for the golf course was closely approaching. Zombies were milling around. Not thousands, but there were a couple hundred randomly spaced around the area.
“I have to speed up, sir,” DJ said. His hands around the large steering wheel were balled so tightly that they had gone white. “If I don’t, you can damn sure expect some of these Zulus to start climbing on Big Red.”
“Roger that, just don’t get too far ahead of us,” Dobson replied.
DJ glanced at his side view mirror and nodded.
We sped up and jumped the curb onto the road. I almost flew forward into the front seat from the impact onto the asphalt.
“I owe you an ass whoopin’, DJ!” Pittman growled painfully.
“If we live to make it, I’m all yours, bud,” DJ retorted.
“Clear the channel!” Campbell barked. “DJ, we have road traps up ahead!”
Big Red smashed through dozens of zombies as we raced forward.
“Damnit!” DJ cursed.
“Cut right!” Campbell ordered. “Stay on the fairway and take it all the way to the greens. It cuts between two small ponds and then you can drive into the neighborhood.”
“I don’t speak golf!” DJ snarled.
Even if he could, it would have been difficult. The vegetation had grown out of control and stood at waist level. Luckily, there were different types of grass between the fairway and the rough, and I could make out the difference.
“DJ,” I said, catching myself as he jumped another curb toward the grass. He barely squeezed the large fire engine between two small trees, ripping small branches off as we passed. “The rough grass is shorter and thicker, the greens are smack dab in the middle,” I said, pointing ahead.
“I’ll take your word for it. Golf wasn’t my thing,” he said graciously.
We plunged through the thick grass, passing a sign that said “Hole 10”.
“Stay straight on the fairway, but be careful,” Campbell said over the comms. “Just before the greens are two sand traps. Stay on the left side. It’s smooth sailing after that.”
Campbell continued to give directions for when we hit the housing community, telling us what roads to take. Karina took notes, highlighting the route on the map.
“My God,” Daniel whispered next to me.
We were driving fast through the grass and I could see the greens of Hole 10 were quickly approaching. Just behind that were the large homes of the Harmony subdivisions. Packed tightly around the roads were thousands of zombies. They were not aware of us yet, but that would soon change.
“Don’t worry,” I assured the medic, “Big Red can take it.”
I hoped Big Red could take it, at any rate.
The golf course wasn’t clear of zombies. There were pockets of two and three along the way. DJ pulverized two just before we hit the greens, sending a blackish blob onto the passenger’s side windshield.
“That was a head,” Karina said, disgusted.
Boomer was whining with anxiety behind me, and I reached back and gave him a scratch behind the ears. My attempt to calm him didn’t work. The rotting smell of the dead was starting to envelope the inside of the cab, regardless of the windows being up.
Big Red shot over the greens and rammed a small tree near the road. The weight of the fire engine splintered the trunk of the sapling, and the blade on the front of the truck brushed it aside.
Within seconds, we were on the road and plowing through the zombie horde. The smell intensified. Even with all my experience around the cities of Palm Bay and Melbourne, I almost retched. It took a few minutes before the feeling passed.
“How are you doing, Major?” DJ asked, wrinkling his nose.
There was a moment of silence before Campbell answered for Dobson.
“We’re behind you, but the Zulus are denser than we thought. You’re going to have to slow down some!” Campbell said impatiently.
DJ eased up on the gas as the big fire truck slowed.
“Scab, 11 o’clock!” Pittman roared. If he fired, we didn’t we didn’t hear it.
I peered out the front windshield and noticed two more houses had scabs on them. They seemed to be sitting out the zombie storm on the middle of the roofs. That is, until they noticed us. Both sets of monsters stood, staring at our vehicles with their heads cocked to the side, intrigued.
Big Red continued to trudge through the zombie mass and turned down a side road. I caught a glimpse of the CDC bus in the side mirror. It must have only been a few feet behind the fire truck, leaving little room for the dead to come in between the vehicles.
“What’s that scab doing?” Karina said in wonder, pointing at one of the roof tops.
I dipped down and saw a scab on the second floor of a home. The male scab wore loose and torn shorts and was carrying what resembled a crude, large axe from some medieval nightmare. The creature was poised awkwardly.
“Major!” Fish bellowed into the radio. “You have a stowaway! A scab just jumped on your roof! Pittman, can you see it?”
“I see it!” Pittman returned. “Engaging!”
My eyes didn’t leave the scab that Karina had pointed out. It, too, seemed as if it was about to jump, just not on the CDC bus.
The fire truck drove past the house and we lost sight of the monster.
“Pittman!” I called, hitting the transmit button. There wasn’t a response.
“I need to get on the back!” I snapped and spun around, seizing my AR15 and locking it to my vest.
“The hell you do!” DJ shot back. “Stay where you are.”
“Pittman is in trouble,” I argued as I grabbed the handle on the hatch.
“Send Daniel– oh, shit!” DJ cursed as we smacked a car on the side of the road.
I glanced at Daniel who was white with fear. I wasn’t even going to ask him.
“Sorry, DJ!” I said, swinging the hatch open and peeking just above the back of the fire engine.
Pittman was standing in the middle of the turret, a broken M4 dangled from his chest. Something had hit it with enough force to smash the magazine well and the chamber above it. The scab with the axe was crouched to the side of the turret, having been knocked over when DJ had rammed into the car. Pittman was digging for his sidearm while the scab jumped up and pressed its attack.
The agility of the scab was terrifying, having no trouble maneuvering while Big Red clamored down the road. Pittman retrieved his pistol just as the scab swung the oversized blade at his head.
Pittman ducked and I raised my rifle. There was no way to shoot at the scab’s head without running the risk of hitting Pittman. I decided to go for the knees, hoping that DJ was right when he said the turret would stop most calibers.
I fired rapidly, knowing that aiming while on a moving vehicle would be a waste of time. The term is spray and pray. With each quick pull of the trigger, hot shell casings bounced off Big Red’s hull. Half of my magazine emptied as bullets riddled the scab’s legs and pinged off the turret. Pittman, sensing danger, ducked, taking cover behind the heavy steel plating.
Rounds hit the right leg of the scab, severely damaging it. The monster almost fell off the side of the fire truck as it lost its balance.
I fired off the rest of my rounds, hitting the scab a half a dozen times. With Pittman now taking cover, I focused most of my rounds at the scab’s body.
If the wounds were life threatening, I couldn’t tell. The scab spun its head seeing the new threat, meaning me.
Its hand still on the axe handle, he rolled toward me and flung the weapon at my head. I’m pretty sure I lost a few hairs as I ducked down out of sight. The axe hit the cab behind me, deflecting off into the crowd of zombies below.
I changed magazines as quickly as my hands would allow and stood back up, ready to shoot again.
Pittman was standing up, the oil filter on the end of his pistol poised at the unmoving scab on the back of the fire truck. Its face was staring blankly at me. Blood oozed from the creature’s mouth and I saw that the side of its head had been opened up.
Pittman hit his transmit button. “Christian, get over here. My rifle is toast!”
“That’s a negative, Sergeant!” Dobson barked. “Keep him in the cab!”
“Sorry, sir,” I said with an evil grin, “the Package is already moving.”
A barrage of curses followed, but I ignored them while I climbed on the back of the fire truck.
I noticed the walls that would protect from climbing zombies were never deployed, and that was bad. Below we had zombies grabbing at the sides of Big Red. Unlike our trek in downtown Melbourne, we had lots of things for them to hold onto now. The fire truck was the toughest vehicle we had, so we loaded our protective fencing on the sides of Big Red. The heavy fencing made easy grips for zombies. At least a dozen were clinging to the side attempting to climb onto the truck.
I made it to Pittman who was now shooting at the scab on top of the CDC bus with his pistol.
“Here!” I shouted over the moans of the dead while detaching my AR15. He grabbed it and turned back to the bus.
Around me, I saw the houses disappear as we made it to a road devoid of any scab traps. Dobson stopped cursing long enough for Campbell to give more directions.
“DJ,” the Captain said, “we still have one more neighborhood to go through before we get to 192. It’s up ahead.”
While he gave instructions, I pulled out my Glock. We had made more user-f
riendly holsters for the handguns with oil filters. One flick of a button strap and they were easy to draw.
Numerous wails from the scabs we left behind filled the air, drowning out the moans of the zombies.
“What the hell was that?” Fish asked.
“I’d say that was the scabs warning the next neighborhood of our presence,” Campbell said dryly. As if on cue, returning wails came from ahead.
“I ever tell you how much I hate Intelligence Officers?” Fish grumbled.
I checked on Pittman. He was taking careful aim as he shot at the scab surfing the CDC bus. It was a naked female wielding an iron rod as a spear. She was using it in an attempt to pry open the hatch on the roof of the vehicle.
Pittman shot several times, taking a few seconds between each trigger pull to adjust his aim. It had to be difficult, even if we were only going twenty miles an hour. Big Red was still pulverizing zombies, causing the big fire engine to bump and sway.
I grabbed a strap and connected it to my vest, ensuring I wouldn’t be thrown off the back of the truck and into the horde of zombies lining the sides of our vehicle.
“Why is Christian still out there?” Dobson shouted over the radio. “Get your ass back in Big Red!”
“We never put the walls down, sir!” I called back as I maneuvered to undo the first latch holding the wall in place. With the noise of the vehicles and the moans of the zombies, I couldn’t hear Pittman shooting my suppressed rifle, but I heard his shout of success once he killed the scab.
“God damn, FINALLY!” he roared. “Sir,” he said, changing to a calmer tone while transmitting, “Scab is down.”
“Roger that, Sergeant,” Dobson replied. I could feel the irritation in his voice. “Now get Christian back in the cab!”
Pittman glared at me.
“Help me get the walls down first, Pittman, or this is going to be a short trip for you,” I said, undoing the latch and moving to the next.
Pittman glanced over the side of the truck as he climbed out of the turret. He shook his head and moved to the opposite side of Big Red.
“Two minutes, sir. We have Zulus trying to catch a ride,” Pittman said, ignoring the curses that followed.
The Hunt Chronicles (Volume 3): Crusade Page 5
