by J. L. Bourne
Billy exploded from the opening covered in blood, wide-eyed, with a chunk of his left hand missing from an obvious bite. Blood covered his carbine hand guard but he paid no attention to it as he spun to face the opening alongside us. The researcher, on fire, fell through the opening with what looked like a can of shaving cream in his hand. He fell face-first, dropping the canister. It rolled forward, stopping at Doc’s feet. Doc quickly snatched it up and secured it in his cargo pocket.
The burning man came to and began to scream in agony, “They’re coming! They’re coming!”
Billy stamped the fire out with his hands, leaving a charred screaming mess in the doorway.
The undead began their assault on the roof and Billy’s gun barked loudly, holding back the tide. They’d taken the building. Some of them stopped to take a bite out of the charred man. Paying little attention to the inevitable, Billy’s carefully placed shots bought us a few seconds of preparation. I pulled the tablet from my pants and manually called in the GARMR. I flipped on its camera and watched it negotiate through a sea of undead legs and thighs. Through a break in the creatures, I could see our rooftop and the gunfire flashes from Billy’s carbine. The moans of the undead were growing loud in response to the weapons fire, and every creature for miles seemed to converge on us.
I reengaged Checkers’ klaxon with the press of the red button on my wrist, but nothing happened. I thought the machine must have been too far away, but when I got a visual on it and still couldn’t hear its blaring klaxon, I knew something was wrong.
Glancing west, I could see hands reaching up over the lip of the edge. More undead erupted from the access stairs, but Billy’s carbine kept cutting them down. It wasn’t long after this that Billy ran dry and dropped his gun. I was about to toss him another mag when he reached down to his waist, pulling out an axe of some sort. Maybe a tomahawk. He began cutting into the dead with well-placed hacks and slices, sending them back down the stairs on top of the creatures behind them.
“We stay, we’re dead. We jump, we’re dead!” Doc screamed over the sound of the screeching horde below.
I had no choice. I had to make the call. Placing the GARMR in a position I thought would do the most good, I navigated through the skull-and-crossbones–adorned menus to the machine’s RTG self-destruct protocol. After ignoring three warning menus, I entered my thumbprint and set the delay for thirty seconds.
“Get low!” I screamed.
Billy ignored my words and kept slashing at the undead coming up the stairs.
Doc and I huddled close as the thud of Billy’s tomahawk cracking skulls could be heard over the chorus of the creatures.
I closed my eyes tightly, trusting Billy to keep them off us while I waited for my mechanical friend to sacrifice itself for the greater good.
Then the bright flash came, followed by the deafening crack of an unholy thunderclap. The flash temporarily blinded me, even through my eyelids, just before the blast wave hit the building, collapsing half of it in a matter of seconds. Looking over, I saw that the storage container containing the cure was carabinered securely to Doc’s chest harness. Debris filled the air and I pulled my shemagh up over my nose and teary face, attempting to hold my breath.
The building was going over.
My last sight from the roof of the Wachovia Tower was Billy still slashing the undead, even while the building tilted and turned uncontrollably.
“Jump!” I screamed loudly as we tossed our chutes out into the air in front of us.
Then we were airborne, hanging from our risers when the building fell out from under us, pushing an updraft of thick dust and debris into our chutes.
“Guns out!” Doc screamed over the sound of the collapsed building’s wrenching metal and crumbling concrete.
Doc’s gun blasted, popping heads long before his boots hit the scorched earth.
I followed suit, picking out targets through the iron sights of the ancient Commando carbine. I hit the ground first in a dust storm, unable to see five feet ahead of me; I just ran forward blindly, following my wrist compass to our planned rally point at the playground, shooting everything that looked fucked-up. Somewhere between the crumbling building, second-order explosions, and raining rocks and dust, I could hear Doc behind me.
“My optic’s dead; what the fuck was that?” he asked from somewhere over my right shoulder.
“Small nuke!” I yelled over the background noise.
“Small, my ass!”
Doc had the cure and the coolant; now all we had to do was fight our way south, to Goliath and eventually the seaborne safety of Solitude.
We cut our chutes and disappeared into the tree line, leaving Atlanta forever as I held back the tears of the day’s incredible loss and monumental gain.
Solitude
Day 35
The sea is unforgiving but a welcome reprieve from the dead mainland. The trip from Atlanta to Solitude was not filled with conversation. Doc didn’t speak a mention of Billy. Our silence was sometimes punctuated by gunfire as we fought, making our best speed south with the cure container plugged into Goliath’s inverter. Doc did reminisce about BUD/S Class 199, Hell Week, OEF, Afghanistan, and his miraculous escape across Pakistan when the shit hit the fan. I suppose he was just looking for a way to deal with the tragic loss of his friend. I never saw him break down, but I never followed him topside, either. Although I’d only had Checkers for a month, I did miss the loyal machine and felt that it should have been on board Solitude, along with Billy.
We’ll make landfall in the Keys in two days. I didn’t know Billy in person, but his sacrifice on that rooftop was nothing short of heroic. I feel extreme guilt for what he did to save our lives and get us off that building. Reeling from the loss of Billy and Checkers, I haven’t craved meds since the rooftop. Thank you, Mitch.
I’ve already spoken to Tara and Bug. She was pissed! I can’t say whether or not I’ll be sleeping in Solitude’s stateroom for a week after I get back, but news of our cargo may soften the blow. John says that the excitement in the Keys is palpable and celebration planning is already under way. All the kids in the Keys are cutting up paper dollars for a ticker-tape parade.
Phoenix and Hourglass are coming home.
Day 55
KEY WEST TELEGRAPH STATION #001
* * *
DISPATCH TO KIL FROM MITCH
FRIEND OF YOURS SHOWED UP AT THE GATE TODAY.
FOUR LEGS, METAL.
COME GET YOUR DOG.
ALL THE BEST
MITCH SENDS
Acknowledgments
Ghost Run is yours. I’d like to thank each and every one of you who wanted the saga to continue. This was the last Day by Day Armageddon novel written on active duty. As I end that twenty-two-year military chapter, I begin what’s next.
Would you like to come along?
J.L. BOURNE is a commissioned military officer and acclaimed author of the horror series Day by Day Armageddon and the dystopian thriller Tomorrow War. With twenty years of active military and intelligence community service behind him, J.L. brands a realistic and unique style of fiction. He lives on the Gulf Coast but is sometimes spotted toting a rifle and a Bowie knife in the rural hills of Arkansas, where he grew up. Visit him at JLBourne.com before the grid goes dark.
www.facebook.com/OfficialJLBourne
twitter.com/jlbourne
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Also by J.L. Bourne
Tomorrow War
Day by Day Armageddon: Shattered Hourglass
Day by Day Armageddon: Beyond Exile
Day by Day Armageddon
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Gallery Books
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This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2016 by J.L. Bourne
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First Gallery Books trade paperback edition July 2016
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Interior design by Davina Mock-Maniscalco
Cover design by Richard Yoo
Cover image © BraunS/Getty Images
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Names: Bourne, J.L., author.
Title: Ghost run / J.L. Bourne.
Description: First Gallery Books trade paperback edition. | New York : Gallery Books, 2016. | Series: Day by day armageddon ; 4
Identifiers: LCCN 2016006455
Subjects: LCSH: Zombies—Fiction. | Armageddon—Fiction. | BISAC: FICTION / Horror. | GSAFD: Horror fiction.
Classification: LCC PS3602.O89274 G48 2016 | DDC 813/.6—dc23
LC record available at http://lccn.loc.gov/2016006455
ISBN 978-1-5011-1669-8
ISBN 978-1-5011-1671-1 (ebook)
