Lane racked her Glock and put it in her holster. She took a deep breath. I don’t like this, she thought. She didn’t have a lot of practice at working with others. Being stuck in Master Control didn’t give her a lot of time with the other officers. Most of her interactions were over the phone, answering incoming calls and transferring them to other offices in the institution. Matter of fact, she could hear the phone ringing most nights in her sleep.
It rang.
It rang, but not in her sleep. The damn phone was ringing! Lane darted over to the phone, haphazardly grabbing it up and bringing it to her ear. The line crackled, like it had a bad connection. For a moment, all she could hear was static.
“Hello? Hello? Can you hear me?” Lane asked, her heart thundering.
“…Shannon…there?”
Lane’s heart skipped a beat. She couldn’t believe her ears.
“Mom?”
The line went dead.
* * *
Harold Poston ran for his life.
Low on ammo and high on adrenaline, he ran like a madman. The undead had spotted him coming quite a while away. He couldn’t do anything about getting around them, so he’d decided to take them head on, going right through the horde. He didn’t have the energy to keep running at his current pace. With his Glock in one hand and a tomahawk in the other, he shot and swung his way through. His right hand jumped from the recoil of the handgun as his left hand kept chopping away like a mad Apache. As the slide locked back on the Glock, he had the presence of mind to shove the pistol into the holster. He wouldn’t last long without the gun. Hell, he might not last long with it, for that matter.
There were hundreds of zombies roaming the streets of Bluefield right now, and it seemed like they were converging on him all at once.
“Come on, you motherfuckers!” Poston grunted out, swinging the tomahawk into the skull of another zombie. After having his car stolen at Wal-Mart a couple hours ago, he’d ran back inside the store to get what he could. While there had been plenty of clothes available, the sporting goods section had been cleared out. No ammo, no guns, nothing firearm-related remained. The undead outside prompted him to start looking for something else. That’s when he spotted the SOG tomahawk hanging on the rack. Oddly enough, it was one of the few things not taken by looters. He’d grabbed a black SOG backpack and stuffed it with an extra tomahawk and as many protein bars and Gatorade that he could handle. The extra weight slowed him down, but without some food, he was as good as dead. Eventually his calories would run out, and his energy would go with it. He’d scarfed down two bars and a Gatorade before leaving. As he’d exited the store, the undead were waiting. He never did see who took the car, but it really didn’t matter. He should have never stopped at the store, but he was running low on ammo, not just for the Glock, but also for the 870MCS that he’d left in the car. The shotgun was gone now, as were his options. He had to get moving, and he didn’t have time to try and find another vehicle in the parking lot. Unfortunately, he was going to need some wheels soon, but there was a time and a place for that. The dead weren’t going to wait for him to hotwire something.
Which led him to his current situation.
The tomahawk made a satisfying crunch as the spiked end was driven into another zombie. The creature fell to the ground, sliding off the spike. As soon as the hatchet was clear, Poston was looking for another victim, swinging the hawk’s blade end into another zombie. The impact nearly split the creature’s skull in half. As he pulled the hatchet back, he heard a loud snap, followed by a searing pain in his right arm, just below his shoulder.
“Fuck!” Poston screamed, nearly dropping the tomahawk. He stumbled forward, trying to stay mobile. If he stopped right now, he was as good as dead. Searing pain shot through his arm. For a moment, he couldn’t figure out what the source of the pain was. He quickly looked around, praying that one of the undead hadn’t taken a chunk out of his arm. If you got bit, that was it. You were dead. You might not die right away, but you would die nonetheless. The horde was still suffocating, but their attention was drawn elsewhere. For some reason, they didn’t seem that interested in him, they were focused on something else. As he regained his bearings, he figured out what it was.
A gunshot cracked through the air.
The shot was close enough to take out a shambling walker five feet away. Blood and brains splattered the ground in front of him. Someone was shooting and judging by the sound, it wasn’t far off. Another snap whizzed by his head. Someone was shooting indiscriminately. As far as the shooter knew, Poston was just another zombie shambling through the crowd. He was lucky he hadn’t taken a round to the head yet. As Poston picked up speed, the gunshots frequency picked up. Zombies were falling left and right. As if the stench of death wasn’t bad enough, he had to deal with the miasma of death and brain matter. The smell made him gag, but he kept on, finally clearing the biggest portion of the horde. He didn’t have time to stop and admire his new view, he needed some wheels and how.
Poston rounded the next corner, ducking behind an apartment complex. As he stood panting, the warmth was spreading throughout his torso. As he pulled his shirt down to look, he was surprised how much it was bleeding. The round had torn through a meaty part of his shoulder. A few more inches to the left and he would have a new hole to breathe from. Poston flung the backpack off his back and rooted around until he found the makeshift first aid kit that he’d assembled at Wal-Mart. It wouldn’t be enough to keep him alive if he didn’t get to where he was going, and quickly. Biting the 4x4 gauze pads open, he grabbed and stuffed a handful of them on the wound. He wouldn’t be able to run much further holding the bleeding at bay.
“Shit! Shit! Shit!” Poston hissed.
Gotta find a car.
Poston blew out a long breath, the cool September air fogging in front of him. About a quarter mile ahead, he spotted Cole’s used car lot.
“Hot damn!” he exclaimed. Poston stuffed more gauze pads against the wound, and then pulled his shirt down to hold it in place. It wouldn’t last long, but maybe long enough. He looked over his shoulder and watched as the undead shambled away, still drawn by the sporadic gunfire. He was getting dizzy. God knows how much blood he’d lost already. He bit his lip and forced his legs to carry him onward.
Gotta get outta here.
Gotta get to Black Mountain…
CHAPTER 29
Shannon Lane wanted to run out the door screaming. Damn the dead, damn the consequences. Her mother was alive, of that she was sure. How long she was going to stay that way remained to be seen. For nearly ten minutes, she’d tried to get her mother back on the phone. It was no use. Whatever miracle that allowed her to hear her mother’s voice was short-lived. The phone made an odd clicking noise now, but no dial tone. No matter how hard she tried to get it to work, it simply would not. In her desperation, she tried her cellphone, but to no avail. The cell towers were still working, but the call would not connect. Most cell towers ran on a propane or natural gas backup of some sort. Maybe they were still functioning, jammed up by the traffic across it.
Lane’s hear ached. She couldn’t get out the door fast enough. She was tired of waiting. Captain Winston wanted her to wait for Caine and Helton to get back, they still weren’t back, and it was going on eight in the morning now. She didn’t have time to wait on them, and now the parking lot and fences were overrun with walking bags of disease. I should have just left. I could have been there and back by now.
Lane stormed out of Master Control, slamming the door behind her. She was on the verge of tears as she approached the double front doors. Freeman was peering through the small sections of glass, which were covered by cardboard now. The undead were easily excited, so the less they could see, the better. Freeman leaned back from the window, letting the cardboard cover it back up.
Lane wiped away tears, trying not to let Freeman see, but it didn’t work. She didn’t know much about him, other than he was younger than she was – which was saying somethi
ng in of itself, she was only twenty-one – and he was a bit naïve. Not exactly the smartest person to have watching her back against the droves of zombies waiting outside the doors.
“You all right, Lane?” Freeman asked. There was a genuine kindness in his voice, a softness that Lane hadn’t heard before.
Lane wiped her face once more. “I’m fine. Just nervous is all.”
“Come on, Lane. I heard the phone ring. Who was on the other end?” Freeman asked.
Lane looked up to him, surprised. While the limited conversation lasted only a few seconds, she felt like it had been days. She barely spoke a complete sentence to her mother. She felt like she’d been in a soundproof cage for those few moments, as if the outside world didn’t exist.
Lane looked away. “My mother. She’s sick and I can’t get to her. Winston wanted to wait until Caine and Helton got back to go after her, and now I don’t know if she’s safe or not. She could be dying right now for all I know, and there’s not a damn thing I can do about it. I’m so pissed off at…”
Freeman hugged her. She wasn’t expecting it, but she didn’t try and fight it. She hugged him back. Lane didn’t have a boyfriend and although it wouldn’t be difficult for her to get one, Freeman had never entered her mind as the caring, boyfriend type. Maybe he had a soft side. Maybe she just felt vulnerable enough to need him. Whatever the reason was, she embraced it.
“It’s all right, Lane. As soon as we get these assholes away from the door, I will go out with you and get your mother. You’re gonna need some help, despite what you think. I know you’re tough, but you might just need the help,” Freeman said.
Lane looked up to him and smiled. For the first time since it all began, she felt a rush of joy. Freeman didn’t have to go out of his way to help, but she genuinely believed that he wanted to. The look on his face said it all. There was a goofy grin smeared all over it as she looked up to him. Lane grabbed his face by his cheeks and planted a quick kiss on his lips. Freeman wasn’t expecting it, but he didn’t fight it. He wasn’t trying to get into her pants; she was way out of his league anyway. He just wanted to help.
“Thank you, Freeman. I mean that,” Lane said, trying to compose herself. She cleared her throat and straightened herself. “Now, let’s get cracking.”
Freeman smiled. “Yes ma’am.”
Lane turned to the door. There had been no indication from Grant or Putnam that they were ready to go. Both men had radios, so it wasn’t a matter of communication. The zombies at the door weren’t abating any, still pounding away at the metal doors. Lane tried to peek through the cardboard and get a better look, but she knew that any time they saw her, it would undoubtedly undo any work that the tower officers were doing.
But the tower officers weren’t doing anything yet.
Lane was about to reach for her radio when the first shots began to crack. She breathed a sigh of relief, but that relief was short lived. From the tower position, they could hit most of the targets, but the dead were stubborn and simple-minded. For some reason, the gunfire wasn’t drawing them away from the front doors.
Lane waited for a lull in the gunfire to contact Grant in the tower. “Grant, come in. What’s it looking like from up there?”
“Damn things aren’t moving from in front of the door. They’re dumb as hell, but stubborn as shit. You guys think you can muscle your way outside? We’ll keep you covered from up here,” Grant answered.
A pained look crossed Freeman’s face. “Ah, damn. What do you think, Lane?”
Lane smiled, pulled her Glock from the holster, and racked the slide. “I think we have our work cut out for us, don’t we Freeman?”
Freeman pulled his own Glock from its holster and chambered a round. “I guess we do, Lane. What do we reckon?”
Lane held her Glock at low ready. “Unlatch the door and wait. When a couple of those walkers gets close, put your shoulder into it and knock them on their ass. That should give us a few seconds to start shooting. If we start to get overrun, we fall back to the door and get back inside,” Lane nodded at Freeman. “Sound good? You ready?”
Freeman took a deep breath and grabbed the door.
“All right, Lane. Here goes nothing…”
CHAPTER 30
Freeman burst out the front door. As Lane had thought, three infected were waiting behind the big metal door. All three sprawled out on the ground as Freeman ran outside. Working quickly, he got to his feet and took aim at the first walker he saw. Most of the time when he went shooting, it was with both hands firmly on his gun, but now he took aim one-handed. Those people in the movies sure as hell made it look a lot easier to make headshots. They always seemed like they were expert marksmen with years of experience. The truth of the matter was slightly different. While Freeman wasn’t a slouch when it came to shooting, he was by no means winning any competitions with his marksmanship. Like many of the officers at Black Mountain, he ranked somewhere between good and piss-poor.
Firing while moving was another thing entirely, though.
As Freeman steadied himself, he realized that shooting while on the move was going to prove very difficult. Until now, he’d only shot stationary targets while standing still. He sure as hell didn’t want to stand still right now. He fired off three rounds at the closest walker before putting one through its skull. Unfortunately, when the nearest zombie went down, he had plenty of friends to fill the gap. As it fell, others took notice of Freeman’s marksmanship – or lack thereof. It felt like an eternity before he saw Lane step out and take aim.
“Don’t get too far from the door, Freeman!” Lane yelled over the din of gunfire.
Freeman might have said something, but he couldn’t get his brain to focus long enough to notice what it was. He just kept shooting. Off to his left, the infected along the fence line began to take notice as well. It seemed as if the group turned in unison, driven by the uproar of gunfire. The pack mentality of the undead was an interesting sight. They lacked any sort of self-preservation. When one moved, it was only a matter of time before another did. After a while, the distraction of a single zombie could move an entire herd.
“Freeman! Pay attention!” Lane yelled.
Again, Freeman couldn’t bring himself to voice anything. He simply nodded and kept firing. When the Glock ran dry, he dropped the mag and reached for his second gun and continued firing. It was at that point he wished he’d grabbed a shotgun instead. While the scattergun didn’t have the range, it packed plenty of punch in close, and the dead were closing in fast.
The tower officers were firing away. Each .223 round was meant for an infected skull, but not all of them found one. As Putnam and Grant fired away, their ammo was quickly depleting. It was easier to go through a thirty-round magazine than they anticipated. Since they’d only filled four magazines each, they ran out before the undead did. As Grant slammed home his last mag, he had the presence of mind to call Lane on the radio.
“Lane! I’m almost out up here. You guys are going to have to start making them count down there! Putnam, how is your ammo holding out?”
“I’m out, Grant! We gotta get back down there!” Putnam yelled through the tinny speaker.
Lane backpedaled, dropping a magazine as she did. There were still two dozen or more undead slowly shambling towards her and Freeman. She slammed home another mag and racked the slide, the gross motor function of grabbing the top of the slide kicking in. The officers had been taught to use the gross motor function of wide, sweeping moves in times of panic to keep from unnecessary mistakes.
“Last mag, Freeman!”
Freeman hadn’t wandered far from the front door, but it felt like a mile away now. He inched closer to the door as he fired off the last of his rounds. Not expecting any problems, he shoved the empty Glock back into its holster. The dead were determined, but slow. As he tried to relax for a second and clear his mind. Get back inside and reload. That was their best chance at survival.
When at your most vulnerable, the undead
seemed like they could sense it. Freeman glanced to his left as Lane was firing. God, she was sexy with that gun. He knew he didn’t have a chance in hell at getting a girl like her, but damn, how he wanted to try. The end of the world might have given him the opportunity to do so, had he not been so naïve. The moment that he’d thought that he’d shown her that he was capable of handling himself passed by without notice. Before he knew it, he was stumbling towards the door, knocking Lane sideways and throwing off her last few shots.
“What the hell, Freeman?” Lane yelled, trying to correct herself.
Freeman paid no mind. He dove towards the door, grabbing the handle as he did. He tumbled forth through the door, hitting the floor hard on his left shoulder. The impact knocked the wind from him.
Lane, meanwhile, was unaware that her knight in shining armor was shitting his pants in fear. She again had the presence of mind to put the Glock in the holster, but now she was unarmed. The gunfire from the towers had long since stopped. Lane stepped backwards towards the front door.
“Freeman! You pussy! Open the damn door!” Lane yelled. As her back touched the door, she pounded her fist against it as the undead closed in. “Freeman! Get off your ass and open the door!”
Directly in front of her, a half-dozen zombies slowly shuffled forward. They didn’t look like they had been dead long. All of them were dirty and had pale, grayish skin. There was no doubt that they were recently turned. Take away the thousand-yard stare and the drool, and they might pass for living people.
Lane’s heart pounded away. She’d thought that Freeman might turn out to be a decent guy, even though he was a bit of a fuck-up. Young and impudent wouldn’t get you far in this job; she’d seen that first hand. Lane had been that sassy rookie a couple years ago, but she’d quickly learned her lesson about taking care of others before taking care of herself. It wouldn’t do any good to get backup if that backup didn’t trust you. And she didn’t trust Freeman as far as she could throw him right now.
Refuge From The Dead (Book 1): Lockdown Page 18
