Daniel took aim with his 9mm.Like mine, it had an oil filter to suppress the discharge. After he took a deep breath of reconciliation, he put the oil filter to the side of the dead man’s head and pulled the trigger.
Though not loud, it was enough to grab everyone’s attention.
General Bolduc shook his head solemnly, but wasted little time on something he could do nothing about.
“Mary, Coleman, and you two,” he said, motioning to me and Daniel, “we’ll take up position on the RV.”
I nodded and noted an RV sitting between the first and second row of storage units.
His voice grew louder.
“Everyone else, form a perimeter! Take cover! Nothing gets passed our line!” he commanded.
Maybe it was the confidence in his voice, but the men and women, now regrouped and properly led, seemed motivated. Confidence is contagious, my father use to tell me. He was right that day.
Boomer and I followed the General to the RV. We were near the edge of the hastily formed perimeter, with only four other people to our right. The rest of the line formed along and on top of the second building.
Shots rang out in small numbers as people saw, or thought they saw, a scab. Smoke was beginning to engulf our area too, which wasn’t helping.
In retrospect, the smoke was a good thing. A scab’s sensory perceptions were enhanced. Their smell, taste, and hearing were better than the average humans’. Smoke clogged those enhanced senses, turning them into more of a burden than an advantage. Hopefully, the supersonic expulsions of our firearms would affect their hearing.
We positioned near the front of the RV. There wasn’t any cover to stand behind. Coleman urged the General to take shelter inside the vehicle.
“No. Every gun counts,” General Bolduc declined, drawing a .45 pistol from its holster.
“Are you good with that thing?” I asked Coleman, nodding to the SAW he carried.
He smirked.
“I’m a horrible shot. Hopefully this increases my chances.”
“Just remember which direction to point it,” I cautioned.
Shots rang out from the southern part of the compound. General Bolduc’s radio began to chatter as Pittman and the men he commanded engaged a group of scabs.
“Some are heading your way, General!” a female voice said through the speaker.
More shots rang out, this time from the perimeter. I couldn’t see more than thirty feet through the smoke, only catching the flashes of gunfire in the distance.
The scabs released horrifying shrieks as they approached. Some of the wails were closer to us than I would have liked.
Boomer snarled, causing me to tense up. The four people to our right began to fire, though I couldn’t see any targets yet.
One of the men screamed as a spear imbedded into his thigh.
Another spear whistled through the air and penetrated the windshield of the RV.
They were coming.
Coleman, on reflex, unleashed the SAW. The ripping of the machinegun literally parted the smoke in front of us.
I knew if he wasn’t careful, he would find himself out of ammo in a minute or two.
Boomer barked as a figure running at full speed emerged from the smoke. It was a woman. Scars lined her face and bare chest. In her hands, she wielded a four-foot-long piece of metal in the shape of a sickle.
Silhouettes darted around in the smoke. I focused on the female scab charging toward me.
Weapons fire filled the air as I took aim and fired six rounds into her before she reached me. Bullet wounds peppered her chest and stomach. It didn’t stop her, even though I had hit some vital organs.
She had charged within five feet of me, raising her sickle while my bullets found purchase.
Boomer didn’t hesitate. As I fired, he leapt forward, snatching her wrist in his maw. The impact and sudden change of weight spun the scab, throwing her balance off. She tumbled to the pavement in front of me. Skin, muscle and tendons shredded as the German Shepherd viciously tore at her wrist.
I paused, only for a second to make sure I wouldn’t hit the canine, and fired another four shots into the scab, this time putting two through her head.
A strange sound caught my attention apart from the constant gunfire. I could barely hear it, but it sounded like the whooshing of a large windmill.
I grabbed Boomer’s handle and pulled him off the dead scab, retreating back to the RV.
Numerous shadows moved through the smoke in front of us, and I shot at any I thought I could hit.
Boomer snarled and barked. He was pointing above us to the first storage unit.
“They’re on the roof!” I cried.
There was only a light haze of smoke obscuring the roof. A trio of figures had prowled on top of the building.
My eyes focused on the large one in the middle. He was like no other scab I had seen before. The other two seemed like children next to him. At least six and a half feet tall, the monster was rippling with muscles, reminding me of the former Ultimate Fighter, Brock Lesnar. Lacerations laced his chest and arms. His long, dark hair whipped as he thrashed his right arm in a circular motion above his head.
That was the source of the whooshing sound. He was swinging a chain. There was a bulge on the opposite end, which was the source of the noise. His left arm was wrapped in a similar chain, but remained at his side.
The two other scabs moved to the edge as I changed firing position and took a couple shots at them.
“Daniel!” I screamed, trying to get his attention as my magazine ran dry.
Daniel turned and saw what I was looking at. In a panic, he fired three shots randomly at the scabs above us. Either it was pure luck or Daniel had surpassed me in marksmanship, because he hit one of the flanking scabs in the skull, causing its head to snap backward and the body to fall off the roof.
The Ogre of a scab jumped off the roof, swinging the chain at Mary.
The chain wrapped once around her body before the sharp, eight-inch shard of metal on the end imbedded into her chest.
Her mouth opened in a silent scream, but before she could react, the Ogre spun and ripped the chain away from her, the shard taking a pound of her flesh with it as it left her body.
The other scab flew into the middle of our group. Ignoring Mary who was literally dead on her feet, the scab lurched toward Coleman with a metal, spear-like rod.
Coleman jerked back, releasing a hail of bullets at point blank range into the scab. The recoil was too much, and the rounds worked their way up the scab, ripping off part of its skull.
General Bolduc spun around, stunned by the sudden and violent death of Mary. He raised his pistol, unloading it rapidly. With my AR15 empty of ammunition, I decided to draw my 9mm rather than waste the time reloading.
The Ogre took half the rounds from the General, using his own shoulder as a shield. He brushed them off like mosquito bites.
The scab twirled the chain on his other arm. A cylindrical weight the size of a coffee mug was fixed on the opposite end and was heading directly for the General.
Coleman, in a split-second decision, hurled himself in the way, attempting to use his machinegun to deflect the blow.
The chain enveloped around the SAW and Coleman. The heavy weight wrapped around his back and drove into his rib cage with a thunk. Coleman crumbled to the ground in a ball.
The giant scab growled and charged forward on a direct beeline toward the General. I fired all ten shots from my Glock, but the beast was ducking and dodging the entire time, only taking two rounds in his shoulder and hip.
Boomer leapt forward as I discarded my Glock and reloaded my rifle, positioning himself between us and the Ogre. Both Ogre and canine snarled at each other.
Boomer jumped forward as I slapped a new mag into my rifle and released the bolt.
The Ogre was too close to Boomer to swing his chains. Instead, he pivoted and kicked Boomer, sending Boomer flying into the RV.
Boomer released a sharp
yelp as the canine impacted the radiator.
Boomer’s sacrifice gave me the time I needed. I raised my rifle. Daniel and General Bolduc both positioned themselves next to me, having reloaded their own weapons.
The Ogre recognized the danger, and jumped to the side just as we sent a barrage of lead in his direction.
Multiple rounds ripped through his huge muscles. When he landed, the Ogre spun, swinging the bladed chain at us in an arc.
I instinctively ducked, pulling the General down with me. Daniel dodged, but was just a hair short and the jagged shard of steel ripped across the side of his head.
Daniel screamed in agony.
I pressed forward, finishing off my new magazine as the scab darted around the RV for cover.
Shrieks and howls filled the compound, as did loud, diesel engines. Some of the QRF team was back, heading toward our section of the storage center.
Pittman came out of the smoke just as I slapped another full mag into my rifle.
A loud, deafening roar came from the other side of the RV. It was a scab wail like I had never heard before.
Answering calls reverberated around us, and began to fade.
The scabs were retreating.
“Pittman! Around the RV!” I hissed, pointing my rifle at the vehicle.
Pittman, joined by another man, ran around the RV in pursuit. Shots rang out as the two engaged the Ogre. A moment later, Pittman returned, breathing heavily.
“That was one big mother fu—”
“Did you get him?” I cut him off.
Pittman shook his head. “He was running toward the wall. I shot him a couple times, but he cleared it before I could get a kill shot.”
Shrieks echoed in the distance as the scabs fled further into the woods. There was an explosion that came from the brush. One of the scabs had come across the line of claymores. I hoped it was the Ogre.
“Daniel!” Pittman roared as he noticed the medic on the ground. Daniel was holding the side of his head. Blood dripped between his fingers as he moaned from pain.
I didn’t waste another second and raced to the RV where Boomer lay still underneath the front bumper.
General Bolduc began to shout out commands as more people rushed to the area.
I shut them out, focusing on my dog.
Boomer was breathing, thank God, but was unconscious. I cradled him, causing him to slightly stir.
“Christian!” Dobson yelled.
I looked up as Dobson and Fish were running toward us.
“What in the God forsaken hell happened?” Fish growled.
I didn’t bother to answer. I just looked up at him and then glanced around the carnage.
Sheriff Green, Jodi and Sergeant Burghardt reported to the General. Burghardt had a thick, blood-soaked gauze around his arm.
“Sheriff,” the General said, “get a team together. Make sure the perimeter is secure. Jodi, grab Nurses Hammond and Brown and get the triage center up and running.”
“Pittman and I will help,” Dobson said. The Major was tending to Coleman who was holding his side and groaning in agony.
“Thank you, Major,” the General said.
Pittman helped Daniel to his feet and they followed Jodi as she took off, barking orders to all she came in contact with.
“Burghardt!” the General snapped.
“Sir,” Burghardt shook his head, “I don’t know how—”
“We’ll figure that out later,” the General said, as his eyes glossed over the area. “It was Tikel. He led them here.”
“Tikel?” I asked. “Their leader?”
“Yes,” General Bolduc sighed. “He’s a mean son of a bitch.”
“Damnit,” Burghardt swore. “We had a chance to kill him and—”
“I shot him at least a dozen times,” I said. “He…just kept coming.”
“Enough of that for now, we have bigger things to worry about,” General Bolduc said and nodded to Burghardt. “Get a team together, men we can count on. Start with the wounded. Check for bites, some people may try to hide them. Get everyone else together and do a headcount.”
Burghardt nodded with a grimace.
That was a sad reality of the world we now lived in. A bite was almost guaranteed infection. Infection meant turning into a scab. That meant a bite was a death sentence for the victim. A sentence that Burghardt had just been ordered to carry out.
“Be quick about it, Sergeant,” the General said harshly. “And be…humane.”
“Yes, sir,” Burghardt replied, straightening up and walking away. General Bolduc soon left as well, tending to his suffering compound.
“How’s the mutt?” Fish asked me, stealing my attention back to Boomer.
“Hurt,” I mumbled. “Are our people…?”
Fish nodded. “Daniel seems to be the only one who sustained injury. Everyone else is fine.”
Boomer stirred. His head swiveled and he gave me a light lick across my cheek.
“You okay, boy?”
He whimpered softly.
I checked over him, touching his sides, neck and head. It was when I grazed his right hindquarter that he yelped.
“Boomer’s leg,” I said, looking at Fish.
“Might be broken,” Fish grumbled. “That ain’t good.”
I slowly stroked his mane.
“I’ve…never seen anything like him—it,” I began after a moment.
“Who?” Fish asked, raising an eyebrow.
“The one the General called Tikel,” I said, referring to what I had early named “Ogre”.
“That bad, huh?” he chuckled dryly. Fish put his hands on his hips, appearing relaxed.
I stared at him. He was…serene. As if this was just another day and it was all par for the course. How could he not be affected by what he saw? There were broken bodies strewn about, cries of pain and agony, friends hurt, God knows how many dead…
I suddenly envied the Reaper. Not for his skills and abilities. But for his numbness. His coldness. His ability to accept death, take lives, and keep his stride like it was just another day.
I glanced over to Mary and the softball-sized hole in her chest. Her face was frozen with her final scream. Her empty eyes stared into the sky, as if looking for her lost soul. But her soul was gone. Ripped away by Tikel the Ogre.
I hoped we never had to face him again.
CHAPTER 14
National Geographic
August 15th Evening
It took hours to secure the camp, dispose of the dead, help the wounded, and for everyone’s adrenaline to fade away.
Doctor Tripp, Dobson, and Pittman assisted as best they could in the triage center. I brought Boomer in and waited for him to be seen. Pittman took a look at his leg and said it was at best a sprain and at worst, a hairline fracture on the Tarsus bone, just below the canine’s knee. Without x-ray or ultrasound equipment, that was the best guess he could give.
We wrapped Boomer’s leg in gauze and gave him a shot for the pain. I asked Karina to care for him while I helped around the compound. Dogs were naturally tough, and Boomer was tougher than most. I was sure he would be fine.
I checked on Daniel while I was there. He was out cold, but one of the nurses told me he was recovering well. The side of his head had been shaved revealing seventeen stitches just above the ear. The scar was jagged and swollen.
Fish and Luke took a few people with them to scout the outside perimeter. They ran across a couple scabs that had fallen behind due to injuries and quickly terminated them.
Jenna, Enrique, Preacher and I spent much of our time trying to rebuild defenses, helping out the wounded, and clearing dead bodies. The latter meant, unfortunately, ensuring they would never reanimate.
By the time the sun disappeared over the horizon, I was ready to call it a night. Unfortunately, General Bolduc called a meeting and personally asked for me to be present.
General Bolduc’s storage unit was full. Besides Burghardt, the Sheriff, and Jodi, there were four o
ther refugees who were responsible for various matters inside the compound. Fish, Dobson, Campbell, and I were the only people present from our group.
“Final numbers, Ms. Leeds?” inquired General Bolduc.
Jodi cleared her throat and frowned.
“Fourteen missing and presumed dead or infected. Thirty-seven confirmed dead from the attack, six of whom died later from their injuries.”
She didn’t say, ‘Six of whom had been infected and were executed,’ though we all knew that was what she meant.
“Eighteen wounded,” she continued. “Two are not expected to make it through the night and another three are critical, but stable. That brings the total to fifty-three dead, if you include the two I mentioned earlier.”
The General did some quick math.
“Two hundred and sixty-two of us left, your group notwithstanding,” he nodded to Dobson.
“Most of the dead came from the surprise attack near the pumping station,” Sheriff Green told him. “Our defense forces focused on the west wall. Never thought they would come from the river.”
I stayed silent. I had suspected the bridge was just a diversion, just not in time to do anything about it.
“Scab casualties?” the General asked.
Burghardt glanced at a piece of paper.
“Twenty-one, sir” he reported. “Maybe another half dozen that fell into the river.”
“That’s a shitty ratio,” Fish grumbled.
General Bolduc must have agreed, but said nothing. Comparing the two would not be good for morale. His face soured and he stood.
“We have to consider that our men and women may not be prepared to take on the Bogdon Mill.”
“Are you scrubbing the move south, sir?” Dobson asked cautiously.
The General strolled over to the large map on the wall.
“It’s not what I want that matters, Major.”
“With all due respect, sir, you’re in command here. I believe that is what matters,” Dobson countered.
The General gave a slight sneer, turning to face the crowd.
“In two months, maybe three, I will be dead. A month from now I may not even be able to piss standing up, such is the villainy of cancer. Ms. Leeds will take command soon. I have done what I could to prepare these people, and it appears it wasn’t enough. I don’t know if I could lead them into combat. I may be taking the entire camp to the grave along with me.”
The Hunt Chronicles (Volume 3): Crusade Page 23
