“Everyone know what they are going to do?” Dillon asked.
“Yes.” answered Doc.
“Uh huh.” replied Rick.
Dillon pressed the talk button on the radio. “Talbot, Talbot, this is Dillon. We’re here. We’re going to lure the infected over to a far corner and keep them busy. I’m on my way up, okay?”
“Okay.”
The Ferrari started rolling through the parking lot, occasionally making revving sounds and blinking its headlights. Soon, at least seven infected – including the four that Dillon had spotted, were running after it. According to plan, Rick settled it under a mid-sized sedan and kept the lights flashing. They waited for a minute, and two more infected were attracted by the flashing lights. Then, Dillon quietly exited the vehicle and moved to the closest stairwell. He had a plastic two liter bottle taped to the muzzle of his MP-5. Inside was a small piece of PVC pipe with multiple holes dremel cut into it. The rest of the bottle was full of wet sponges. It was definitely jury-rigged, but Dillon was pretty sure that it would muffle the first few shots if he needed to take them. Hopefully the home made silencer would muffle them enough to make a difference.
Dillon looked around briefly before opening the stairwell door. It was empty, quiet, and not particularly well lit. He moved up, clearing as he went and wishing that he had at least one other guy with him. He laughed softly to himself, realizing that he wasn’t fighting armed men now, and might not need the extra guy. Finally, he reached the third floor, and he quietly opened the door and said, “Blue, Blue.” to let Talbot know that it was him and not someone that needed to be fired upon.
Talbot looked relieved to see him.
“I watched from up here. It looks like the plan is working. What now?”
Dillon let his MP-5 dangle on its sling for a moment, still controlling it with his right hand as he unslung another weapon, identical in all respects, including the homemade silencer.
“The plan is to have you take this and we’re going to knock on each window, one unit at a time, and see who is infected and who isn’t. If they are infected, we put them down. No more games. If they aren’t infected, they pack a small bag and wait at the stairwells while we clear the ones in the parking lot. There are seven down there. Then, we put everyone in as few vehicles as possible, pull the fuses for the lights, and do a slow convoy over to the 505 compound. Once we’re over there, you help me clear the 505, unit by unit. Then we assign everyone rooms as best as we can and wait until Sunday night.”
“Good plan, Dillon. You should have been an officer. You would have made a great captain.”
“Screw that, Talbot, I get pay equal to a colonel working for the State Department.”
“Right. I forgot about that. First thing first. My apartment is clear and there are five other units that have been chatting with me on the radios. I guess some people remembered how to use them.”
“Good. Let’s start on the fourth floor and work our way down, then. Rick told me three units are empty, two because the occupants are out of country. That means we have thirty one units to clear. What could possibly happen…”
“Don’t jinx us, fucker.” Talbot said before checking the condition of his weapon and nodding. After that, they moved up the stairs to begin the grueling process of room clearing.
Dillon had always had a special fondness for Close Quarter Battle. Every room was different, as was every situation. You had to be constantly thinking a step ahead. In this case, he needed to have Talbot covering the front window of each unit as he knocked on the door. He knocked and nothing happened. He waited, then knocked again, then waited some more. Finally, he took the risk of knocking a little louder, and a woman came to the door. Dillon had seen her around but didn’t know her by name. She was thirty something and a bit pear shaped. She had glasses and was wearing a Georgetown sweatshirt and yoga pants.
“Miss, are you the only person living here?”
“No. My husband wasn’t feeling well so he went to bed early. I should have, too. The lights are out.”
“The generator only provides power to the exterior lights. Miss, what’s your name?”
“Ruby Gomez.”
“Ruby, what kind of car do you own?”
“It’s a Ford Explorer. Why?”
“Ruby, I need to come inside with you. We’re going to help you get your purse and keys and then you’re going to quietly walk down to Unit 307. That’s where the Talbot’s live. You wait in there and we will be down as soon as we can.”
“What about George? We need to check on George.”
“Shh…..Ruby, I need to check on your husband. I don’t think you want to be in there, okay? I promise we’ll do everything for him that we can, okay?”
“Um…okay…” Ruby was crying, but at least she was doing so quietly.
Talbot and Dillon moved into the two bedroom apartment and quickly scanned the open living room and dining room area. Dillon could see some of the kitchen through the small kitchen island, but ducked in briefly to clear it anyway. Then, he watched as Talbot took up a position facing the hallway to the laundry room bathroom, and two bedrooms. Dillon kept his eye on the front door and window while Ruby grabbed her purse and found the house keys.
“I…I…have them.”
“You’re doing great, Ruby. I’m going to make sure it’s safe outside. Then, I want you to immediately go the nearest stairwell, just like in a fire drill. Remember, go to unit 307, okay?”
“Okay…”
Dillon opened the front door, cleared the immediate area, then quickly ushered her out. He watched her until the stairwell door closed behind her, then closed the door and took three long breaths. He was about to make her a widow. He signaled for Talbot to take the first room, knowing that it would mean that Dillon would be the first man to enter the master bedroom at the end of the hall. That was well and good, as he didn’t want to place the burden on Talbot. Both of them clicked on the flashlights mounted on the MP-5s, and moved with surprising fluidity for two men who had never worked together. Finally, Talbot reached for the door handle to the master bedroom, and Dillon squeezed his bicep to let him know he was ready to move.
The door opened and Dillon’s light moved with his muzzle, finding the bed. Ruby’s husband was lying in a mess of tangled covers, and he sat up rapidly when the light hit him. He was definitely infected. Dillon aimed down the sights and fired. Apparently, Ruby’s husband was still rising up, and the round missed the “magic triangle” formed by the eyes and nose, entering the upper lip of the man with a breaking of teeth. The target was dead in an instant, the round taking a sizable chunk of the upper spine with it and violently throwing it against the headboard and bedroom wall.
Dillon spoke one simple word to describe the scene in front of him. “Clear.” He was truly in the zone. He would deal with the emotional consequences later.
It took another hour and a half to clear the upper floors of the apartment complex. Dillon had eliminated four threats, and Talbot had eliminated two. There were roughly sixty people alive and well, and there were eight vehicles designated to transport them to the 505. The silencers had, so far, held the noise down, but that wasn’t going to last. First, they were degrading rapidly. Second, the shots had been muffled by closed doors up until now. When they cleared the parking lot, it would be louder. How much louder was yet to be seen. Talbot looked tired. People who weren’t accustomed to CQB began to fray at the edges after an hour or so. They began to make mistakes. Still, the MP-5 couldn’t make accurate shots past twenty five meters with these jury rigged silencers on, and Dillon didn’t want to try and take down seven targets in the four or five seconds it would take them to travel the distance. He needed Talbot, badly.
Only, right now, he was standing at the bottom of the stairwell, ready to go through the door into the parking lot, and Talbot looked like he was spent.
“Talbot. Captain Talbot, I need you to get back in the game.”
“What game? This isn’t a fu
cking GAME, Dillon. We’re killing people.”
“We’re SAVING people, Sir. We’re taking out targets to save people. Now, we have to go out and take down seven more targets. SEVEN. You start left and sweep right. I start right and sweep left. And we keep placing well-aimed shots until they are all down and we can get out of here. And then we drive to the 505 and we do it again. I’m sorry, sir, but that’s the way it has to be. Are you in or are you out?”
“There’s no out, Dillon, so I’m in.”
“Head in the game, then?”
“Head in the game. Let’s get this over with.”
“Okay. Let’s do this. Ready. Steady. Go.”
Both men moved through the door in one fluid motion. The infected had managed to crawl under the vehicle and get a hold of the remote control Ferrari, but they were still confused as to what they should do with it. Those that couldn’t get underneath were trying to do so. Dillon looked over at the Suburban. Doc and Rick were still inside, looking frayed at the edges as well. He gave them the sign to kill the RC vehicle. The seven infected…he hoped all seven were there…stopped moving almost immediately. Dillon turned on his weapon mounted flashlight and stomped his foot twice. Soon after, the first one started to crawl out from underneath the car. It was an easy shot.
Another crouched between the vehicles. Talbot fired twice, hitting it in the chest.
“Try for the one shot kill, these silencers are wearing out.”
Talbot took another shot and one fell. The others were up and running. Dillon fired again, hitting one in the abdomen. He swore under his breath and fired again, downing the man. Talbot began to step backwards as he slowly fired at the oncoming infected. Dillon knew it was a bad idea, and a good way to trip on something behind you, but he found himself stepping back to stay out of Talbot’s line of fire, and out of sheer fear at being bitten.
Dillon fired twice more, and one of the rounds was significantly louder than the others, though still much quieter than it would have been without the silencer. He watched as Talbot put two rounds into the last one, then he turned to check the rear and flanks. Talbot moved forward cautiously, checking for any movement that might suggest the targets were still a threat.
“Clear.” Talbot said after a few moments. Dillon responded with a “Clear.” of his own. Dillon motioned for the Doc to pull the Suburban in, and he moved over with Talbot to close the rolling gate behind them. It took twenty minutes to get everyone quietly downstairs to the parking lot, and another ten minutes to pull the fuses from the cars to disable the headlights and tail lights. Then, he gave instructions to the drivers to stay no more than five feet from the vehicle in front, and keep their radios on. Two people had to go back upstairs to get their radios…
The convoy moved slowly for the block and a half. There were building burning in the distance, and it looked like the local shops and mall had been looted. Gunshots fired in the distance, mostly north Maadi, towards downtown Cairo. Occasionally, Dillon could hear heavy machine gun fire. He wondered how much worse things would be in two days.
Dillon and Talbot hopped out to open up the rolling gate. They immediately had movement from the side street to the left. Talbot raised his weapon to fire. Dillon noticed they were walking, not running. They didn’t seem to be very aggressive if they were infected.
“Stand down!” It was too late. Talbot fired two shots into the lead target, a local Egyptian that worked at a restaurant that frequently delivered to the 505 apartments. The woman went down in a heap. The others scattered, except for a teenage boy, obviously her son, who knelt in front of her. She was rapidly bleeding out, already unconscious.
“Jesus. What have I done….”
“Fuck, Talbot. Don’t worry about it. They came out of nowhere. I was only a second behind you on pulling the trigger. Let’s get everyone inside.”
“They…they probably just wanted help.”
“Maybe. It’s help we can’t give them, though. They aren’t getting on that plane. Hell, we’ll be lucky to get on it.”
“What have I…”
“Talbot, I need you to get inside now. Captain!”
“Moving.” was Talbot’s half-hearted reply.
Dillon was very worried about Talbot’s ability to continue the task at hand. He watched Talbot move towards the gate, then glanced at the convoy of vehicles entering the compound. It was a victory, a major victory, to have everyone in one place; everyone except the Director of USAID, who lived in a private villa. Oh, and he still had Bryce, ten marines, the Ambassador, and the Ambassador’s assistant up at the Embassy. That would have to wait until tomorrow. Tonight they still had to clear THIS compound and make it safe.
Three shots rang out, and Dillon felt like someone hit him in the back with a baseball bat. As he slumped to the ground, he tried to figure out what had happened. Those shots had been loud.
His vision blurred, but he managed to lift his neck off the ground enough to see the teenage boy, pistol in hand, firing in their direction. He couldn’t get to his MP-5 for some reason, so he drew his USP and fired at least once. Did he fire twice? The target went down. There was a crunching noise behind him. What was that all about? Dillon felt his back. Was he bleeding? He didn’t feel any blood, didn’t feel any holes in his back. Dillon tried to get up again, and managed to get up to his knees this time. His vision blurred again at the pain. Talbot had moved up to his right side and had just fired at several infected who were nearby enough to be attracted to the noise of the gunfire.
Talbot was moving his lips. Dillon took a few seconds to realize he was shouting.
“Dillon, get up. Get up, damn it!”
“I’m up. Shit. I’m up.”
“Someone get into that car and pull the driver out! Back it up and get it inside. We can’t have it blocking the entrance. Dillon found his MP-5 laying on the ground nearby. He holstered his USP before picking it up and checking its condition. Captain Talbot was doing whatever needed to be done behind Dillon, so he concentrated on keeping this area secure. Occasionally, he braved a quick glance to the rear for situational awareness. One of the cars had come to rest against the compound wall. Talbot was opening the driver’s side door. Apparently, the driver was dead and Talbot unceremoniously dumped him in the dirt before hopping in the car and backing it up. After that, the rest of the convoy began to enter the compound. Dillon saw shadows moving in, but wasn’t yet sure if it was his vision blurring or one – or more – infected moving in for the kill.
Dillon fired at a threat as it ran out of the dark, a mere twenty feet from him. “That answers my question, doesn’t it.”
Talbot moved up to his right side again, reaching down with his left hand to pull Dillon to a standing position. “Can you walk, Sergeant?”
“I’m not a fucking Sergeant, Captain, and I can walk just fine.” Dillon said as his knee buckled a bit, causing him to stagger.
“Well, I’m going to help you anyways. Let’s get you inside so the Doc can check you out.”
“That sounds good. Do you think I can get some ice cream?” was the last thing that Dillon said before he passed out.
Luckily for Dillon, he regained consciousness as he clattered to the ground.
“Doc! Over here.”
“Fuck. I’m up. I’m up.” Dillon said in protest. He found that he could only sit up.
“Dillon’s been shot, Doc. I think he took one in the side or back.”
Doc began to assess Dillon immediately. After about a minute of checking him over, Doc looked at Talbot. “His vest stopped the round, but there’s some blunt force trauma and one hell of a bruise. Let’s get him up and help him inside. I’ll have Hannah monitor him throughout the night, just in case there’s internal bleeding.”
“Shit. Hannah’s going to kill me.” Dillon said.
“I’m sure she will be happy you were wearing your vest. Come on, let’s get you inside.”
Dillon felt stupid. Years in the field had taught him not to turn his back on a
possible threat, and he had failed. Maybe he had just been too tired to maintain HIS concentration. How arrogant was he that he had worried so much about Talbot unraveling and not looked at his own mental condition.
Hannah was pissed. Well, pissed and crying and glad that he was alive. Mikey looked a bit shattered. Apparently, he had built his father up as someone who was unstoppable. It took ten minutes of light conversation to convince everyone that he was okay. He clinched it by standing up at the end and going to get a glass of water. It hurt to do so, but it made everyone feel better.
“Even superheroes wear armor, Mikey.”
Dillon allowed himself another 30 minutes rest, during which time he grabbed a sandwich, another glass of water, and a cocktail of over-the-counter pain meds to take the edge off. He was going to have one hell of a bruise. It would be ugly, multi-colored, and lightly shaded directly over the impact point. As a joke, he used to call bruises like this “The Eye of Sauron.” Today he only had one. Once, in Afghanistan, he had ended up with two on his chest and a cracked rib.
Afterward, Dillon thought about sleeping, but he knew that he couldn’t sleep until the compound was secured. Dillon did what he could to repair the silencers on the two MP-5s, only to find Mikey making one from scratch. The only thing that Mikey had wrong about the design was the interior piece of PVC piping. Mikey’s didn’t have any openings in it for the sound to dissipate into the wet sponges.
Dillon complimented Mikey on his work, even pointing out that Mikey’s design was a bit better than his in some respects. Then, he took a few minutes to take one of the working models apart and showed Mikey how the entire thing worked. Mikey’s eyes lit up in understanding, and he immediately asked if he could use the dremel. Dillon told Mikey that he thought it was a better idea to have Rick do the dremeling, and have Mikey do the rest. Then, Dillon asked Mikey to build two more. He made sure Mikey understood that he was under no circumstances allowed to place them on the spare MP-5s or touch a weapon for any reason whatsoever.
Land of the Dead (Book 1): The Infected Page 5
