The Dying of the Light (Book 3): Beginning

by Jason Kristopher

  “He’ll be fine. Look at what he went through all those years ago just to make it to the bunker.”

  “I can’t help but think about it, Daniel. He’s one of the best men I’ve ever known, and I want him to make it back. I have a feeling that clearing Eatonville isn’t going to be as easy as everyone seems to think it will be. There’s a reason I insisted that we wait at the staging area.”

  Daniel took her hand and said nothing more. She knew that he, too, worried for his friend and wanted nothing more than to see him return safe. They both watched until the convoy of heavy equipment and vehicles was out of sight.

  Eatonville, Washington

  Tom Reynolds had been here a long, long time ago. Even back then, the town had never been all that large. With a population of less than three thousand at its peak, there were good schools and lots of single-family homes. A couple of industrial companies and a few small businesses. One or two tourist attractions had brought visitors to the town, including one of the most popular in the area, Northwest Trek Wildlife Park. It had been a popular rest stop for those heading up to Mount Rainier, and he’d bought some trinkets here a couple times. The quintessential small mountain town was everything visitors expected.

  Of course, that was twenty-five years ago. Now, everyone but the undead had abandoned the town, just like its sister city to the northwest, Tacoma. Although in the case of Eatonville, raging fires hadn’t turned it into a blackened ruin, which was, of course, one of the things that made it such a prime location for the first Free Zone in the Pacific Northwest.

  The Strykers and Humvees rolled at a crawl through the streets of the town, heading for the most central location. From there, the soldiers would spread out and secure buildings as they went. It had been quiet so far, with no walkers spotted on the wide streets. It was eerie and reminded Reynolds of other battles against other walkers and of some of the friends he’d lost. Things were always quiet… until you heard the dead moaning as they came for you.

  Reynolds was beginning to wonder if there were any walkers left when he heard the crack of a rifle. It brought him out of his musings, and he searched the monitors in the Stryker for a sign of walkers even as his earpiece came to life.

  “Echo Four, walker down.”

  “Acknowledged, Echo Four,” said his XO and husband, Adrian Masters, who rode in the second Stryker. “Eyes up, weapons hot, everybody.”

  Reynolds was impressed. Echo team was currently in one of the Humvees, meaning Echo Four had not only hit his target but taken it out with a single shot. Headshots weren’t easy at the best of times, much less from a moving, bouncing vehicle. Joshua Barrents hadn’t lost any of his skill over the years.

  “Sir,” Reynold’s crew chief said. “We’re here.” The Stryker slowed and then came to a stop diagonally across the main road. The second Stryker took up a similar position thirty yards farther down the street with the Humvees between for now. They were for fast-response units, with the Strykers held back for more heavy-duty security.

  “How do we look, XO?” Reynolds asked.

  Masters replied over comms. “Multiple targets inbound on our position. Estimate total count at twelve to fifteen.”

  Reynolds turned to his crew chief. “Deploy the REAPRs and let me take a look at them.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  They’d had the REAPRs—Real-time Enemy Assessors and Physiology Readers—for more than twenty years, now, and the twin .50-caliber cannons had taken out many, many zombies while leaving their own AEGIS soldiers untouched. The armbands and recent upgrades to the system had only made them more effective over the years.

  Reynolds heard the big cannon on top of the Stryker begin to rotate, calibrating itself and warming up. He turned to the monitor along the front wall. It displayed a view from the periscope camera attached on top of the vehicle’s hull. At first, Reynolds didn’t see any walkers, but as he rotated the view, several of them came into sight. The walkers’ condition surprised Reynolds. They looked… rotten. “XO, you seeing this?”

  “Yes, sir. It appears time has not been kind to our friends.”

  Exposure over the course of more than twenty years had dried out and desiccated the walkers. Though they lasted much longer than normal dead bodies, even walkers had to succumb to time’s cruelties at some point.

  “Set fire zones to auto, Chief, but make sure to mark the Hummers as friendly.”

  “All set, sir.”

  “On my mark, let ‘em rip, then.” He triggered his mic. “All teams, fire on my mark. Mark!” There was a cacophony of small- and large-caliber weapons fire from the Humvees and the Strykers. Reynolds watched as the more rotted walkers disintegrated before his eyes under the withering hail of the REAPR cannons’ .50-caliber shells.

  He and the rest of the first AEGIS teams had helped to design and test the REAPR system just before Z-Day all those years ago. It was an automatic defense mechanism, one that would target walkers. Soldiers wore a simple transceiver that sent their vital signs to the Stryker. The onboard computer then compared them to man-sized movements tracked in the area. Whatever didn’t have a pulse got blown away.

  They’d only lost one test vehicle before realizing they needed a marking system for friendlies. It did no good to send a bullet tearing through a walker if it took out a friendly on the other side. Still, given the height of the Stryker’s top-mounted cannons and the downward angle, there usually wasn’t much to worry about.

  The area became a killing field as they destroyed walker after walker. Reynolds glanced back at the extra ammo they were carrying on racks in the vehicle and hoped they wouldn’t need it.

  “Runners inbound!” the crew chief shouted.

  “Well, well, well, it seems we’ve attracted some young friends,” Reynolds said. “Bravo and Delta teams, move to kite mode.” The Humvees and the soldiers inside were vulnerable to this deadlier class of zombie. The runners could close the distance much faster, so in training they’d developed what Masters had dubbed “kite mode.”

  The Humvees drove around in circles, with the runners following them like the tail of a kite. With high-accuracy mounts and computer-aided targeting, the Strykers picked the monsters off as they straggled after the Humvees. Reynolds had once asked his husband what had inspired the name of the tactic. He’d lost interest as Masters had explained the MMORPGs he’d played as a young man.

  “You know, back when there was still an internet,” Masters had said with a sigh.

  “Targets eliminated, sir. Nothing else showing on our monitors.”

  “Thank you, Chief. All teams, double-check your REAPR modules and dismount. Bravo team, secure a perimeter. Charlie and Delta, take the north and south sides of the street and begin sweep and clear. Echo is designated fast-response for this op. Pick up the secondary REAPR sensors from Stryker One.”

  Echo’s soldiers would remain in their vehicles to respond faster to emergencies. The rest of the soldiers exited the vehicles and took up their assigned positions. Three six-man teams dispersed across the street. There was an occasional rifle shot as they made sure all the walkers and runners were down.

  His XO walked across the street, not bothering to look at the re-deceased. Reynolds marveled again, as always, at the absolute and well-deserved confidence his husband had to handle anything that came his way. It was one of the most attractive things about him.

  “All walkers and runners accounted for, sir,” Masters said. “Teams deployed as ordered, and all REAPR modules are functioning. No one’s gonna have to sit this one out.”

  “Good. I don’t want any repeats of Doralville.”

  Masters snorted. “No, sir. Jones still bitches about that, sir.”

  “I would too if I’d had to sit on my ass in the Stryker for seven hours.”

  “Yes, sir.” Masters held a hand to his ear, then looked at Reynolds. “Sir, Echo reports they’ve deployed the first of the secondary sensors.”

  Reynolds grunted but didn’t otherwise acknowledge
the report. He still wasn’t convinced with this new REAPR upgrade. The techs had designed the “secondary sensors” to extend the range of the REAPRs’ operability. This allowed them to function in a much more expanded support role. With their range increased tenfold, the REAPRs could use mortars, good for long-distance bombardment of targets. Often, they used high-explosive or incendiary rounds to maximize the destruction.

  “Charlie and Delta teams report ready, sir.”

  Reynolds nodded. “Very well, send them in.”

  “Charlie, Delta, go, go, go.”

  Reynolds watched from the back ramp of Stryker One as the closest team, Delta, kicked open the door of a small convenience store. He could just hear them coordinating their sweep as they moved inside, and even that faded. There were a few shots from both sides of the street, and Reynolds poked his head into the Stryker to listen.

  “Charlie Three, walker down.”

  “Delta Two, walker down.”

  “Hey, did you hear that?” one soldier said. “Sounded like a baby crying.”

  “No, wait—”

  “Oh, shit! Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck. Get it off me, man, get it—” The transmission ended with a scream of pain, and Reynolds closed his eyes. He knew what was coming and walked around the side of the Stryker with Masters in tow.

  There was a sharp, loud blast. A shotgun, devastating in the confined space of the store. Delta team exited the structure on the south side of the street, and Masters jogged over. He held a whispered conversation with the wounded soldier, who was pale and holding one hand over the other. There was blood everywhere. Masters motioned for the man to follow him and ordered the remaining members of Delta team to continue with their task.

  Reynolds sighed. It hadn’t even been an hour. Not even thirty minutes. He was going to have a chat with the training staff when he returned, and they were not going to enjoy it.

  “Sir, we have a Code White,” Masters said as he brought the wounded soldier forward.

  Reynolds read the name stitched into the man’s uniform. WALLIS. “XO, get me a QC pack from the medkit.”

  “Yes, sir,” Masters said and moved to the rear of the Stryker.

  “Corporal, you have a choice to make,” Reynolds said. The young man was shaking. “I know you know that, and we’ll talk about it in a minute, but first, tell me what happened.”

  “It was a fucking baby, sir!”

  “A baby, Corporal?”

  “Well, a toddler, anyway. I heard what sounded like crying from behind a door, and when I opened it, this little kid came rushing at me, sir. He knocked me off balance, and I fell over. I was trying to push him away and he… He took my finger, sir.”

  Reynolds looked down as the corporal gestured with his hand. “He bit it off?”

  “Yes, sir,” he said, shaking his head in disbelief despite having lived through it.

  Masters returned with a small foil packet marked QuickClot. He ripped it open, grabbed the corporal’s mangled and bloody hand, and thrust it into the packet. True to its name, the clotting agent worked quite fast, sealing off the blood vessels in his ruined hand. But it was by no means pain free.

  “Son a bitch!” the corporal screamed. “Fuck, that hurts!”

  Masters made sure the wound was no longer bleeding, then took his canteen and rinsed the stump. He wound a bandage around what was left of the digit and wondered what had happened to all the stone-cold badasses he used to work with.

  “You’ve taken care of the walker?” Reynolds asked as he looked at Masters.

  His husband nodded. “Wallis here did that for us. Splattered the damn thing all over the wall.”

  “Walkers don’t cry, Corporal,” Reynolds said, crossing his arms. “And there haven’t been any babies in Eatonville since before you were born.”

  “Dammit, I know that. It was just instinct. Might’ve been more of a moan, but it was high-pitched. Weirdest damn thing—”

  “You know the procedure for a Code White.”

  Wallis blanched and took a step back. “But it’s… I don’t even feel…”

  “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry, son.”

  “You’re fucking sorry? You want me to kill myself, and you’re sorry?”

  “I don’t want that, Corporal, and you know it. But it’s that or…”

  Masters unholstered his sidearm. The Velcro closure made a distinct ripping sound as it pulled apart.

  Wallis glanced at the captain and licked his lips. “I see your point.”

  “I thought you might. Do the right thing, son. Get back in the fight for as long as you have.”

  “It’s a bitch, ain’t it? Just too bad for ol’ Wallis that the treatments weren’t ready yet. It wouldn’t have mattered then.” Wallis reached into the top pocket of his ACU and withdrew a small plastic box with two small, white pills. “We wouldn’t even need these anymore.”

  Neither Reynolds nor Masters said anything more, but both looked at the young man with compassion and more than a little sadness.

  Wallis sighed, popped the box open, and swallowed the pills in a single gulp. “I’ve heard it’s like floating, sir. Is that true? You don’t feel anything?”

  Reynolds nodded. “That’s what they tell me, son. You’ll be stronger and faster, and you won’t feel the pain in your hand.”

  “Good. Might as well go out fighting, right?”

  Reynolds nodded and looked at Masters. “Captain, do you have a screamer on you?”

  “Yes, sir,” he said and took one from a pocket to hand to the corporal.

  Reynolds looked back at Wallis. “Set your watch. Give it thirty minutes, then run. Find a good spot and activate it. Take as many of them with you as you can.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Masters took the soldier’s weapon from his back where he’d slung it and held it out for the man to take once more.

  The corporal checked the weapon’s action, then turned to face Reynolds. He came to attention and saluted. “It’s been an honor, sir.”

  Reynolds returned the salute, then shook the man’s good hand. “Go get ‘em, soldier.”

  Masters and Reynolds watched him haul ass to find Delta, where he joined back up with them as they exited another building. Without turning, Reynolds spoke. “Not even an hour, Adrian. Not even one fucking hour.”

  “I know. It was bound to happen, though.”

  “That doesn’t make it any easier.”

  “No, no, it doesn’t.” Masters sighed. “I liked that guy.”

  “Me too,” Reynolds said. “Let’s make sure he’s the last, then.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Staging Area

  Outside Eatonville, Washington

  Wallis wasn’t the last to die that day.

  “Blake, you got anything?” Lieutenant Marquez asked, his voice barely above a whisper in the afternoon quiet. Or what should have been quiet. Except for the noise the civilians were making as they re-cataloged and reorganized the supplies. Even though they’d cataloged and organized it before setting out.

  Eden knew everyone was testy, waiting to hear back from Reynolds and his team. She had every confidence in ExForce’s second-in-command, but even so… Well, patience had never been her strongest virtue.

  “Negative, no contacts,” she replied and clenched her jaw to keep from yawning. She’d been in the same spot for three hours since her squad’s last positional rotation. Same bushes, same trees, same silence. Wait, what? She perked up and paid closer attention. There was no such thing as absolute silence in these ruins unless there was a predator around.

  She listened close and knew something was up. Not a sound coming from the woods encroaching on the old parking lot. All the noise was from the civilians. The rank odor of rotting meat floated to her from out of the lengthening shadows, and she knew what it was. She’d only smelled something that foul one other time.

  She pulled her camouflage facemask up around her nose and mouth. It was more to block the scent than to provide conc
ealment. She sank lower in the seat of the rusted-out SUV she’d chosen as her lookout. Tinted windows let her see out without others seeing in. It was the perfect spot for a Hunter. Eden glanced to either side, her eyes never resting long on any one spot as she looked for anything out of the ordinary. Anything that didn’t belong. Anything that… There. A shadow among shadows.

  She squinted against the setting sunlight, bright enough even through the tint to mask her vision somewhat. She brought her binocs up and shielded them from reflections. Her breath caught in her throat as she saw clearly what she’d only half-glimpsed in the light.

  One of the monsters her parents had warned her of, one of the Drie-somethings. No wonder the birds, insects, and whatever else was out there had gone quiet. This was death walking, evil incarnate. She realized she hadn’t reported in yet and touched her throat mic to turn it on. She subvocalized to avoid being heard.

  “Contact. Driebach, thirty yards and closing.”

  “Come on, Blake. Don’t bullshit us. You know better.”

  “Fine, LT, you can come collect my body when this one kills me.” She raised her rifle and sighted in on the monster as it crept closer to the civilians. She might need two shots if the first was diverted at all by the breaking side window as the bullet blew it out.

  “I have a shot,” she said.

  “Do not take that shot! Wait for backup. Giuliani, Sampson, get over there. Fontana, you’re with me. We need to corral the civs.”

  There was no way she’d let this one bite one of the civs, not when she had the chance to take it out. Fuck Marquez and his bullshit. Eden knew that waiting for backup on one of these things was standard procedure, but she also knew that he’d jump in her shit whether she pulled the trigger or not. The corporal knew what she was looking at, and thirty yards was plenty close enough. She had this thing dead to rights, so to speak. Eden could see the red dot from her scope on the side of its head, glowing against its black hood. It was now or never.

  If she hadn’t braced against the driver’s side door, the recoil from the rifle would’ve killed her shoulder in her reverse-prone position. Firing between her feet wasn’t something she’d learned in Hunter training. As she’d guessed, the first shot was deflected by the glass, though it did rip away the monster’s hood. The second shot followed the first in a matter of a second. It tore off the creature’s jaw in a gruesome shower of gore as it jerked backward from the impact of the first shot.