“What do you want me to do?” the driver asked.
“Where’s the family you stopped?”
“I don’t know—”
“Dude, listen to me. Things are starting to look a lot like what Diana described them. You don’t tell me where those people are, then you’re suddenly of no value to me. You just become a human shield. Get it?”
“Mister, I don’t know where Frank put them. Really, sir, I don’t know.”
“Where’s the rest of the men?” one of the bearded men at the roadblock yelled.
“Dead,” Hastings called back. “They elected to try to go to guns on an element of the US Army, and that was it for them. Where is the family you captured?”
The bearded man stared at the driver. “Dale, is that true?”
“They shot first,” the driver said. “Look at the front of my truck. There ought to be bullet holes through the grille!”
“Which one of you is Frank?” Hastings asked.
“That’d be me,” the same man said. “Where’s my brother?”
Hastings saw the family resemblance, but where Jerry had been short and narrow-shouldered, Frank was the size of a linebacker. “With the rest of my men,” Hastings responded. “You hand over the family you captured, and you’ll get him and his ponytail back.”
“What family’s that?” Frank smiled, his bright white teeth gleaming in his brownish beard.
“Not here to fuck around with you, Frank,” Hastings said. “I’ve got you outnumbered and outgunned, so you might want to just comply and live.”
Frank called out, “Dale, is Jerry dead?”
The driver said nothing, which was more damning than anything else he might have said. Frank’s smile died in an instant, and he turned to the side. The stock of his assault rifle was tight against his shoulder, and it didn’t take a genius to tell he was getting ready to use it.
“Boy, you made yourself a mistake there,” Frank said, his voice so low that Hastings could barely hear him.
“Think it over, Frank,” Hastings said.
“Already did, ass wipe.”
From behind him, semiautomatic fire suddenly burst out—two different calibers, one high pitched, the other deeper, throatier. Someone cried out, and there was more popping gunfire—5.56 millimeter, definitely. Ballantine had opened up on someone.
“Two down! Two down!” Ballantine called over the radio.
Frank raised his rifle and fired a full automatic burst toward the truck as he lunged to his right, diving for the ground. Several bullets whacked into the open passenger door, and the rest slammed into the driver. He jerked slightly, let out a slight mewling sound, then sank to one knee. Hastings knelt and fired on the other two men, squeezing off three rounds in rapid succession. He hit one center mass as the man started to bring his rifle around, and a startled expression crossed the man’s face when he realized he’d been shot. The 5.56-millimeter rounds were very small, so they didn’t pack an enormous punch, but they tended to corkscrew through the body cavity, banging up internal organs before they either exited the body or wound up lodged in a bone. The man stumbled to the ground, still trying to bring his rifle to bear. He wound up falling onto his face and staying there.
The driver groaned again and wilted as well, his hands moving across the expanse of his belly, feeling his wounds. The second roadblock man scuttled sideways like a crab, firing into the Dodge’s engine compartment, which sent pieces of metal and plastic flying through the air. Then, the .50 caliber opened up, and the man practically exploded as several of the big rounds slammed through his body, blasting his rifle in two and blowing off one arm and one leg. The man was dead before his mutilated body fell to the road.
Hastings stepped around the truck, M4 raised and ready. He heard another exchange of gunfire from the woods behind him and to the left of the road. He couldn’t see Reader, who was supposed to be providing support fire, or Frank. Just as he spotted a small patch of footprints in the soft ground leading up into the woods, gunfire rang out once again. Snap! A bullet whooshed right by his face then buried itself into the Dodge’s fender.
Hastings juked right and returned fire, squeezing off several shots while moving toward the roadblock. Frank was trying to force him back behind the truck, but Hastings planned on advancing instead. He hoped his counterfire was enough to force Frank’s head down. If not, Hastings would be dead pretty soon.
“Target down!” Reader transmitted. “One shooter, down on my side. Over.”
“Reader, was it the same guy who shot at the truck? Over.”
“Negative, Six. Different guy altogether. Over.”
“Make your way toward me, Reader. He’s in the woods on your side. I’m after him. Ballantine, keep the area under surveillance, and direct fires from the fifty if you need them. Over.”
Once both soldiers radioed acknowledgement of his orders, Hastings sprinted across the street and took cover behind the car that had been pushed off the road. The footprints led off into the forest, and it wasn’t just one set but several. Clearly, the boys manning the roadblock had some sort of bunker or living quarters nearby, and that was the path they used to get there. Something moved in the brush, and he looked to the south. Reader was slowly pushing through the undergrowth, and he gave an exaggerated wave so that Hastings would be able to identify him, as if it would be tough to figure out who the man in the multicam Army Combat Uniform and facial armor was. Hastings waved back and pointed at the trail. Reader signaled his acknowledgement. They set off up the trail, each covering one side with weapons raised.
“Six to Guerra. Don’t forget to scan the rear,” Hastings said. “With all this gunfire going off, the reekers are going to be drawn to the area. Over.”
“Roger that, Six. Got it covered. Over,” Guerra said.
“Six, Ballantine.”
“Go ahead, Ballantine. Over.”
“Ah, Six… I just found the body of a man on the other side of the roadblock. Looks like he got shot while stepping out of the Explorer. I did a circuit of the perimeter on the right side of the road, and it looks like we’re alone on that side. The pickup is loaded to bear with supplies and ammunition. I wouldn’t count on finding a long-term hide site in this area. I’d bet these guys relocated elsewhere. Over.”
“Roger that, Ballantine. If we can find our pal Frank, I’ll be sure to ask him for his home address. Stay sharp, he might try to double back for that truck. Over.”
“Six, Ballantine. Roger, that’s what I’m hoping. I’ve got a surprise waiting for him when he does. Over.”
Hastings grinned. He had no doubt Ballantine would have something lined up that would leave Frank a little upset when he stepped into the senior NCO’s sights. Then he remembered the girl in the truck.
“Ballantine, Six. Where’s the woman we picked up? Over.”
“Six, she’s still in the truck. I took the opportunity to restrain her with some zip ties. Over.”
All the soldiers had been issued plastic zip ties when they were deployed to New York so they could restrain citizens in the event of civil disorder. Of course, the disorder had happened so fast that, by the time the unruly citizens made it to the sector Hastings and the rest of the Alpha Gators were assigned to, they were flesh-eating zombies. As a result, the surviving Gators had a surfeit of zip ties.
“Roger that.”
Reader’s body language changed minutely, but Hastings read it immediately. Even before the soldier raised his fist, Hastings sank to his haunches and paid close attention to his lane of fire. Reader stepped back and oriented on Hastings’s lane.
“Check that out, sir. I’ve got your lane,” he said.
Hastings turned to his right. Thirty yards away, a naked woman stood with her back to a tree. Rope was crisscrossed across her body. She’d been beaten badly; her eyes were almost swollen shut, and her lips were split open and bleeding. Scrapes, cuts, and swellings dotted her pale body, and her breasts were almost beet-red, as if someone had savagel
y twisted them. Hastings saw them slowly rise and fall. So the woman was still alive. But even if she was still conscious, he doubted she would be able to see through the swollen tissue surrounding her eyes.
Hastings scanned the area thoroughly. If Frank had the time to tie up the woman, he would still be in the area, which meant chances were good that he was setting them up for an ambush.
“What’s the plan, sir?” Reader asked softly.
Hastings saw three places that immediately jumped out as potential hiding places: a clump of bushes, several fallen trees, and a slight ridge in the terrain that could provide an attacker with a good view of the engagement area. The bushes offered conceal-only cover. There, Frank would be susceptible to return fire. Hastings moved that one to the back of the list. The trees offered substantially greater protection, but they weren’t very thick. There wasn’t a lot of room for Frank to remain hidden while keeping the area under observation. That left the small ridge.
“Let’s take that ridge,” Hastings said. “I’ll bet the fucker’s hiding up there, waiting for us to move on the woman.”
“Roger that,” Reader said.
“Just the same, keep your eyes open. This guy might be smart enough to play our training against us. If he’s really a jarhead, then he’s got some tactical skills.”
“Hooah,” Reader agreed.
“On me,” Hastings said as he rose to his feet. He hurried toward the closest part of the ridge, which stood less than three feet high.
Reader followed, hopefully turning every few steps to ensure that Frank wasn’t lining up on them from behind. As they closed on the ridge, Hastings slowed. The leaves and soil there were slightly disturbed. The variation was so subtle that he almost missed it, but it signaled that someone had passed that way only a short time ago. He pointed out the disturbance to Reader, who grunted in response. Cautiously, both men climbed the ridge, easing through the tangled brush, aware that every step generated noise that could give away their positions. The only cover noises were the singing birds, the slight breeze rustling through the tree branches, and the trilling song of cicadas.
Reader touched Hastings’s arm and sank to the ground. Hastings followed suit as Reader pointed at his own eyes then down the ridgeline. The soldier looked scared. Hastings turned and spotted a reeker coming in from the opposite direction. Behind it, three other corpses staggered through the brush.
And a hundred feet behind those were at least a hundred more.
Oh, fuck.
Guerra’s voice crackled over his headset. “Six, this is Guerra. We’ve got reekers coming down the road, maybe five or six dozen. They’re still several hundred meters away, but I think they see the Humvee. Over.”
Hastings kept his voice low as he responded, “Roger. We’ve got a hundred plus moving through the trees. Break. Ballantine, SITREP from you. Over.”
“Six, Ballantine. I’m secure for the time being, sir. Still have my eyes out, but there’s no activity on this side. Over.”
“Roger. Are the keys in that truck? Over.”
“Ah, Six, if you’re talking about the one with the supplies in it, answer is no. And that Dodge we came in isn’t going anywhere. There’s a huge puddle of either oil or fuel beneath it. Over.”
Hastings had no idea what supplies might be in the truck Ballantine had scoped out, but chances were good they weren’t worth the risk. “Roger that. Pull the lady out of the truck and head back to the Humvees. We’ll be joining you momentarily. Over.”
“Roger that. You want me to spike the truck? Over.”
“Your call, Ballantine. Over.”
The lead zombie lurched to its right, the speed of its stiff gait increasing. It moaned and stretched out its arms. Behind it, the other zombies began to moan as well. Hastings recognized the pattern. They had detected a possible meal.
“Holy fuck!” Frank suddenly leaped up from behind a good-sized rock about twenty feet between Hastings and the approaching zombies, leaves falling from his blond hair.
He had obviously covered himself with forest detritus in an attempt at camouflage. He was in a position where he could have opened up on anyone who had gone to assist the woman. But Frank hadn’t planned on the appearance of the dead, much less a mass of them.
Hastings raised his rifle, sensing Reader doing the same beside him. Through his red dot scope, he saw Frank reach down and grab something. It was a naked boy about five or six years old. Like the woman, he had been beaten and, judging by the blood on the insides of his thighs, sodomized as well. The boy’s expression was totally passive, and he made no noise, as if his injuries were of no consequence. Frank suddenly lifted the boy and hurled him toward the approaching zombies. The kid didn’t even scream. Frank then turned and sprinted down the ridge, back toward where the woman was tied to the tree.
“Get the kid then go for the woman,” Hastings told Reader. “I’ve got Frank.” Without waiting for Reader’s response, he stood and fired three shots at Frank, hitting him in the legs and lower back.
Frank cried out as the metal-jacketed rounds tore through him, and he collapsed face-first right in front of the woman.
“Six, what’s up? Over!” Ballantine asked over the radio.
“We’re good to go, Ballantine. Hartman, bring the Humvee. We’ve found a woman and boy. Frank is injured and down for the moment. Hurry it up. We’re going to have to move quick to get away from the reekers coming through the woods.” Hastings checked on Reader, who was already standing over the boy.
The lead zombie was twenty feet away, and Reader didn’t hesitate a moment. He fired a round through the grotesquerie’s skull, dropping it. He then scooped up the silent boy and darted for the ridge.
Heading for Frank, Hastings pushed through a bush and jumped down the face of the ridge. Frank rolled over onto his side with a groan and pushed up on one elbow. He looked down at his legs, an expression of incredulity on his face. As Hastings trotted toward him, he reached for his rifle. Hastings put a round through his arm.
Frank collapsed back to the forest floor. “You fuck!”
Hastings stopped and knelt with his knee directly on Frank’s face. The man made a muffled noise, but Hastings ignored that and kept him pinned.
Hastings nudged the rifle out of Frank’s reach then pulled the matte-black Glock 17 pistol from his belt. Going through Frank’s pants pockets, he found a folding knife, a battered canvas wallet, and a set of truck keys. He tossed the wallet. The GMC logo was on the key fob, so he put the keys and the knife in one of the cargo pockets on his ACU trousers then went through the pockets of Frank’s vest. He pulled out three Magpul magazines filled with what looked like .308 ammunition and two empty mags. Hastings stuffed them all into his knapsack. He looked toward the ridge, and he saw bobbing heads come into view. The zombies were catching up.
“Six, this is Ballantine. Hartman’s in position, and I’m back in my truck. We’ve got a shitload of reekers at the back door. What do you want us to do? You want us to get rid of this roadblock? Over.”
“Ballantine, roger that. I have the keys for Frank’s truck, so I’ll be taking that with us. We’ll be coming out soon, and we have company. Work fast, hooah? Over.”
“Roger that, Six. We’re on it! You need me to send anyone in to help? Over.”
“Negative. If we don’t make it out before the zombies get there, move out. Over.” Hastings got to his feet.
Frank thrashed about on the ground and swung out a hand that held a small blade. Hastings stepped back and stayed just out of range.
“Okay, Frank,” Hastings said. “Get up.”
“I can’t, you fucking asshole! You shot me in the spine. I can’t feel my fucking legs!”
Reader ran up to them, breathing hard. The boy in his arms lay still with his eyes closed. Reader kept his body between the boy and the woman tied to the tree.
“Captain, we gotta get out of here,” Reader said, turning to glance back at the zombies. One of them tumbled down the face
of the ridge, then another, and another. They slowly picked their way to their feet and continued shambling forward. “One runner’s going to ruin our day.”
“Roger that. Move on. I’ll be right with you.” Into his radio, he said, “Ballantine, Reader is coming out with the boy. And release the Asian girl; she was telling the truth. These guys were raiders. Over.”
“Roger, Six.”
Reader whispered, “Sir, I think you should check the woman.”
Hastings looked over and saw her head lolled to one side. “Get going, Reader. I’ve got this.”
“Okay, sir. I’ll drop the kid off and come back for you!” Reader took off, heading back to the road.
Hastings checked the progress of the zombies then went over to the woman. He slashed through the rope, noticing that her hands and feet were blue. She collapsed into his arms, completely limp.
He stretched her out on the ground. “Ma’am? Ma’am, can you hear me?”
“Hey, what are you going to do with me?” Frank asked. He was crawling away, still on his back and using his elbows to pull his body along the ground. His eyes were fixed on the approaching zombie horde.
Hastings ignored him. “Ma’am?” He gently pried open one eyelid. The eyeball was filled with blood, the pupil fully dilated. The other eye was the same. He put his fingers to her neck, checking her carotid. She had no pulse.
These Dead Lands: Immolation Page 7
