by JE Gurley
He thought Jeb could now do that. He had struggled with his wife’s depression and despondency, and it had eaten at him like cancer, but when faced with a bigger problem, he had set aside his personal responsibilities for the good of the group. In Mace’s eyes, that made Jeb a better man than he was.
Most of the people at Biosphere2 had come hoping for a new life in an attempt to forget the old one. They were survivors and builders. The world needed them. He was a loner by nature who had expanded his tiny world to include Renda and a few others. He was certain Erin Costner and her medical people would wish to continue their research. Their dedication was their salvation. They would have to start over. They would need some place remote but with ample electrical power for the equipment. He had just such a place in mind, a place he had once visited that had impressed him – the Agua Caliente solar panel farm in the desert outside Yuma.
The farm would provide all the power they would require for a new lab. There were a few buildings on site, but if they needed more room, they could bring in trailers. Plenty of FEMA trailers littered abandoned FEMA camps around southern Arizona. They would have to scavenge new equipment and find new resources, but that would be a problem no matter where they went. He would have to approach Erin with his idea soon. Time was quickly running out.
25
Major Corzine eyed the downpour through the open door of the Black Hawk helicopter with an intensifying disgust. He was damp and miserable squatting in the chopper chewing on a tasteless ration bar. He wanted a hot meal and a glass of wine. The battle was at a lull. He had heard no shots in over an hour. Both sides had sought shelter wherever they could find it. Visibility was less than fifty yards and brilliant flashes of lightning made anyone foolish enough to expose himself a perfect target. The parking lot was a shallow lake, the road a raging river. He watched an uprooted Palo Verde plant drift by and cursed. The storm might last hours.
The defenders of Biosphere2 had offered a good defense, but their numbers were rapidly dwindling, and he was tired of the game. When the rains slackened, he would flatten their crystal fort around them. With mortars and his helicopters, he could destroy the enemy without exposing his men to any more fire. Their lives meant nothing to him, but for the sake of morale, a quick victory was necessary.
He tossed the remainder of his protein bar out the door and watched it sink. During an extended flash of lightning, he saw the outline of two people splashing through the shallow water racing toward the edge of the parking lot. The Biosphere2 people had decided to bring the attack to them.
“Get off you asses, you fools,” he shouted to the soldiers huddled inside the Black Hawk with him. “We’re under attack.”
They leaped from the chopper and surrounded it, but the two had disappeared into the downpour.
“Don’t stand there! Fan out. Find them. Tell the others to wake up and get ready to fight. I’m tired of this waiting game.”
They scattered into the night. He knew the helicopter pilots would bitch and moan about flying in this weather, but they didn’t really have to fly. All he required of them was that they lift the choppers and hover high enough to pour fire down onto the enemy, smash their defenses while his men swept forward. When all the enemy was in one place, he would blow the buildings one at a time and be done with this soggy excursion. He had things to do in Phoenix.
The sound of scattered rifle fire, followed by blood-curdling screams, brought him out of his reverie. He forced a half smile to his face.
“So the enemy has decided to bring the fight to me,” he said.
The attack came not from the direction of the buildings, but from the surrounding darkness. Flashes of lightning illuminated the battlefield. Dozens of figures rushed from the desert.
“They’ve flanked us,” he whispered to himself. “Very smart.”
It was several moments before the strangeness of the bold attack imprinted upon his mind. The enemy carried no weapons. As he was trying to digest this information, a figure raced toward him. He pulled his pistol from its holster and fired. The figure did not fall. When it got within ten feet, he saw that it was a zombie. He did not panic or stop to analyze this new information. He fired two quick shots into its head, and then slammed shut the door of the helicopter. The dead creature’s momentum carried it into the door before it collapsed in the water. Around him, more weapons fire and screams erupted from the darkness. Then, the lights atop the poles around the parking lot and every light inside the habitats of Biosphere2 blazed into life, revealing a scene from someone’s twisted nightmare. A hundred or more zombies raced back and forth, leaping upon men facing toward the wrong enemy, ripping them apart before they could raise their weapons. He watched one soldier drop his rifle and run away screaming like a frightened child. He quickly fell under the weight of five zombies. Corzine watched trancelike as the soldier’s head rolled across the parking lot.
More zombies appeared at the edge of the valley. He had lost. Somehow, his enemy had brought the zombies down on him, perfect killing machines. They would hide in their glass house while his men fell under the zombie onslaught. Anger swelled in him like a geyser before erupting. He narrowed his eyes and clamped his jaw tight. He turned to the pilot.
“Take us up.”
There was no argument from the pilot. He had been watching the slaughter with mounting fear. He frantically flipped switches in an effort to bring the chopper to life, staring out the window in near panic as the rotors slowly began to turn. Zombies, drawn by the noise of the turbine, surrounded them, pounding on the door and the glass, rocking the helicopter with their weight. The Apache helicopter followed their lead and began to prepare for lift off. The remaining three Black Hawks remained silent.
“Radio the Apache,” he said to the pilot. “I want it to level that place. I want it gone.”
The Black Hawk shuddered as it lifted ponderously from the ground. Several zombies clung to the landing struts, slowing its ascent. Corzine slid open the door and shot two in the head. He watched with satisfaction as they dropped to the ground. He kept the door open. He would personally operate the 30 mm machine gun. He wanted to rip the dome apart with his bare hands, but this would suffice.
On the ground, the last of his men were dead. The zombies were feeding on their grisly remains. The men were of no importance, but he could not afford to lose three Black Hawks. He would have to bring back crews to retrieve them. He had the pilot sweep low over the parking lot and cut loose with the 30 mm, mowing down zombies as they fed. Finally satisfied, he resumed course toward the dome.
* * * *
Mace greeted Vince like a long lost brother as he entered the desert habitat, grabbing him and embracing him in a bear hug, almost crushing his breath out of him. Vince looked at the beds filled with the wounded. Erin and a few others raced back and forth with IVs and bandages attending to their injuries by the glow of low wattage battery lanterns.
“I couldn’t believe it when Antonov told me you were on the radio,” Mace said. He looked at Amanda standing silent beside Vince. “What happened?”
Vince waved him off. “It’s a long story.” He pointed toward the gathered enemy. “That’s Major Corzine out there.”
“The Major?” Mace growled. They had all heard of the Major’s reputation while at San Diego. “That bastard Harris radioed him.”
“Where is he now?”
Mace grinned. “Dead.”
“Good. I was a prisoner of Corzine and the Gray Man for a while.”
“You have been busy. Is the Gray Man out there too?”
Vince smiled and nodded his head at Amanda. “The Gray Man’s dead. You can thank Amanda for that.”
Mace looked at Amanda with admiration. “That should make an interesting story when we have time.”
Vince shook his head. Rainwater flew from his long, black hair. He and Amanda were both drenched to the bone, but he didn’t have time to change into dry clothes. “We don’t have much time. The zombies are right on our he
els.” Just as he spoke, shots rang out. “Maybe closer,” he added.
“How did you do it?” Mace asked.
“I drove around Oracle yelling at the top of my lungs.” He held out his left hand wrapped in a bandage. “I gave them a little sniff of fresh blood to entice them. When I had their attention, we drove slowly, letting them follow us. They were hungry. Just down the road, we abandoned the tuck and sneaked by the Major’s men.”
Mace slapped Vince on the shoulder. “Damn good to see you again.” He faced Amanda. “I would say ‘Welcome to Biosphere2’, but we may be leaving shortly.”
Vince nodded. “They know we’re here now. Even if we kill them all, we won’t be safe.”
“Not to mention the zombies,” Mace reminded him.
“Sorry about that. It’s all I could think of. I saw bodies out there. How many dead?”
The look of guilt on Mace’s face almost broke Vince’s heart. Mace professed no real love for his fellow man, but he had risked his life several times trying to save them. His grief was real.
“Too damn many. Fifteen dead.” He waved a hand at the wounded. “Ten wounded. Two or three of them are dying.”
Vince recognized some of the faces as, if not friends, people with whom he had interacted. He briefly wondered how many of the dead he knew but didn’t dwell on it. Like Mace, he tried not to embroil himself in commune camaraderie, preferring his solitude, but a few people had managed to elicit some spark of friendship from him over the last few months. The best he could do now was to help save the others.
“Do you have a plan?” he asked.
“We split up. I’m sending Antonov and everyone who’s immune to the virus away the chopper. Renda and I, and those needing Blue Juice will accompany Erin and her crew to set up a new lab. I’ll offer the wounded their choice.”
Vince glanced at Amanda. She nodded. “Count us in.”
Mace smiled. “Good.”
“What about Jeb?”
A look of regret washed over Mace’s face. For an instant, Vince thought it was bad news. “He’s leading the group of munies out of here.”
Vince nodded, relieved that Jeb was alive. “Good choice. I’ll miss him though.”
“We might meet again.”
“Not if we don’t move. The blood will attract zombies, but the lights will draw more.”
Mace’s eyes lit up. “Good idea.” He turned to one of the people standing around. “Go switch on all the lights, inside and out.”
The man looked at him with skepticism. “All of them.”
“All of them damn it! Let’s light the place up for our zombie friends.”
The man rushed off. A few minutes later, the lights began to come on, first in the parking lot, then in the habitat. Vince blinked against the sudden glare of lights. Several people looked up at the roof startled.
“Now the zombies can see how to eat,” Mace snarled.
The sound of a turbine starting up interrupted any further conversation.
“They’re trying to get away,” Mace said.
Vince shook his head. “Not Corzine. He’s going to level this place. You round up the others and get them started on their way. Are the Mavericks armed?”
Mace shrugged. “If I did it right. The lights are all green.”
He looked at Amanda. “Stay with Mace.”
Her face became hard again. “No. I’m going with you.”
“We could use some help with the wounded,” Mace said gently.
She continued to stare at Vince for several seconds before finally slumping her shoulders. “All right, but you had better come back.”
Vince grabbed her hand and squeezed it. She flung herself on him and kissed him, both surprising and pleasing him. He kissed her back, but reluctantly broke away at Mace’s muffled cough to get his attention. He watched her disappear into one of the tents with Mace, and then glanced around the room at the wet, exhausted and frightened people. They had fought well, better than he had hoped, but they had reached the limits of their endurance. Dismissing their plight from his mind, he went back outside in the rain.
He struggled to untie the ropes holding the camouflages tarp in place, gave up, and cut them free with his knife, allowing the wind to take the trap. To his relief, Mace had followed his instructions to the letter and the battery was ready to fire. He hoped to get off more than one shot before one of the choppers returned fire. Antonov’s Mi17 would need all the help it could get to get away.
He saw the lights of only two helicopters. That was an unexpected break. He assumed the zombies had overwhelmed the crews. Only the occasional burst of gunfire rose above the din of the helicopters. He knew Corzine was still alive in one of the helicopters. Any other man would have fled after such a loss. As he prepared the laser guidance system, two zombies came at him, snarling. He shot both of them with his pistol and continued working. More zombies appeared around the berm. He couldn’t hold them all off. He needed only a few more seconds to target the two helicopters. The Apache made a rapid pass over the dome firing its chain gun, shattering glass and killing some of the lights. On its second pass, it fired a missile at the generator room. As the tank of natural gas ruptured, it sent a fireball a hundred feet into the air. All the lights went out. Now they would fight in the dark. The Apache resumed a position near the Black Hawk.
He checked on the zombie situation. More had joined the first group and they had spotted him. Their howling silenced the thunder and sent a chill rushing up his spine. Trying to shoot them all was impossible. Suddenly, the 30 mm on the roof began to bark death and destruction on the zombies. They did not retreat, but they did split into smaller groups. Some began to encircle the missile battery. Others focused on the lighted dome. He gave a silent thanks to whoever was manning the machine gun and worked feverishly to target the helicopters.
“Done,” he said as the laser chime that it had painted the two choppers.
At that instant, the Apache fired two more Hellfire missiles. They streaked across the night sky looking as if aimed directly at him. He held his breath as he watched them approach, but they veered and crashed through the pyramid dome of the rain forest. Twin explosions erupted inside the dome. A shower of steel and glass began falling all around Vince and back onto the roof of the habitat. He covered his head with his arms for protection. One large section of the dome collapsed and flames shot into the air. The Visitor Center was the Apache’s next target. Concrete and steel became deadly projectiles as two more Hellfires dug craters in the ground where the building had stood. Dozens of zombies were scattered across the grounds by the blast. Most did not get up.
“We can’t take much more of this,” he said to himself.
The Apache rose higher in the air for a better shot at the habitat. He pressed the firing button and offered a quick prayer to Raytheon, local manufacturer of the AGM-65 Mavericks. The missile shot from its launcher, arcing toward the Apache. The pilot saw the plume of fire headed toward him and swerved to avoid it, but the short distance did not allow enough time to complete the maneuver. The missile struck the helicopter in the side just behind the canopy. The explosion rent the air with a giant fireball and streaks of molten metal. The burning Apache dropped to the earth and exploded, creating a second explosion.
“Got it!” he yelled.
At the sound of the explosion, the zombies halted and stared at the fireball in awe. Even his unknown benefactor on the 30 mm stopped firing to watch. Behind him, the big Russian Mi17 that had brought them from San Diego lifted into the sky. The second helicopter saw this and circled to intercept it.
“Oh no you don’t!” he screamed at it and hit the firing button again. A second missile raced toward the Black Hawk. Its pilot was expecting just such an attack and managed quickly to drop below the path of the missile. The missile shot past and hit a ridge half a mile away.
“Damn!”
Vince readied a third missile, praying he had time. The Black Hawk was skimming the ground as it rac
ed for the Mi17. He had only a few seconds before it would open fire. The zombies had come out of their trance and were coming at him again, but he ignored them. The 30 mm opened fire keeping them back, but soon fell silent as it ran out of ammunition. He jabbed the third firing stud with his thumb. The backwash from the missile fried two zombies who had gotten too close. Their hair and flesh burst into flame and sloughed from their bodies like wax from a burning candle. Even with their low high pain threshold, they howled as they staggered around until collapsing to the ground. The rain quickly extinguished the flames, but they were dead, their lungs seared useless and their vital organs cooked. Vince stood transfixed as the missile bore through the night sky toward the Black Hawk. It clipped the helicopter’s tail rotor and exploded a short distance away. The Black Hawk did not crash, but smoke billowed from its tail section where a piece of shrapnel had severed an oil or hydraulic line. The chopper danced in the sky as the pilot fought for control. For a few moments, Vince thought the pilot might recover the craft, but the engine whined to a stop and the Black Hawk nose-dived into the valley, hit a ridge and rolled to the bottom of the valley consumed by a massive ball of fire.
“Yes!” he yelled. He glanced over his shoulder as the Mi17 vanished over the Catalina Mountains. He offered a quick prayer that they found a safe spot.
* * * *
With most of his force dead, Major Corzine’s one thought was revenge, not for the death of his men about whom he cared nothing, but for the humiliation delivered by this bunch of escaped munies. His eyes burned with fury as he stared at the glowing glass dome through sheets of driving rain.
