Rotter World (Book 2): Rotter Nation

by Baker, Scott M.

  A flock of birds took flight from the tree line around the compound, their wings flapping furiously as they made a sudden turn and headed for the safety of the nearby woods. Seconds later, a herd of deer bolted down the road. Price knew what caused the mass panic.

  “Runners!”

  Jimmy had picked up the backpack when he heard Price yell. He stared at Price, confused, and then glanced over his shoulder as five runners broke through the tree line, chasing after the deer. On seeing Jimmy, they veered off the road and rushed the gate. Jimmy dropped the backpack and broke into a run.

  Those inside the Hummer had already climbed out of the vehicle and dashed toward the compound gate. Carter made the first steps in that direction, pausing to check on Price.

  “Come on!” Carter yelled.

  Jimmy slowed down and tried to close the gate. It cost him his life. He had slid it halfway shut when the first runner reached him. Jimmy turned to escape, but from a standstill could not get up enough speed, and made it only a few feet before the runner tackled him to the ground. The second runner fell on him. Jimmy howled in agony as they tore open his abdomen and feasted on his intestines.

  The other three pushed their way through the half-open gate, their attention fixed on Price.

  “Price, move your ass!” yelled Carter, who had retreated to the main gate. The guards were already sliding it shut. “Now!”

  The last yell brought Price back to reality. He didn’t have time to get his M&P15-22LR from the Hummer, so he sprinted for the gate. Around him, everyone tethered to stakes in the security zone screamed or begged for help. With luck, the runners would ignore him and go after the easy prey.

  * * *

  Windows and the rest of the kitchen staff were preparing lunch when all hell broke loose inside the compound. Those gang members milling around waiting to be served dropped their plates and dashed off, their voices joining the fray. Windows could feel the panic spreading through the compound.

  Debra clutched Cindy against her chest.

  “What’s up?” Windows asked.

  “We’re under attack.”

  Windows’ hopes soared. Maybe the others had come to rescue her. “From who?”

  “Not from who. From deaders.”

  Windows dashed out of the kitchen, leaving the other women cowering, and ran off after the men to see if she could be of help.

  * * *

  Price raced as fast as he could, and still the gate seemed too far away. Terrified shrieks came from behind him. Turning his head, he saw two of the runners break away and head into the security zone, each singling out one of the people tethered to stakes. The closest, a woman, yanked so hard against her restraints that blood spurted from her wrist. The other, an older man, screamed and drew his tattered blanket over his head. Both runners ripped into them. The fifth followed behind Price and closed in fast. Christ, if only he hadn’t left his weapon in the Hummer.

  The gate stood partially open, with just enough space for him to slide by. Only a few feet to go. He could hear the footsteps of the runner closing in. Price increased his speed. The gate opened a little wider, allowing Price through. Just as he passed, Carter stepped into the opening, a Model 986 9mm revolver clutched in his hand. He raised the weapon and fired five rounds into the runner’s face, vaporizing its head. The decapitated body crumpled to the ground inches from the gate. Stepping inside, Carter closed it shut and ordered the others to secure it.

  Price leaned against a nearby motorcycle, trying to catch his breath. “Thanks.”

  “No problem. Are you okay?”

  “A little winded.” Taking a deep breath, Price pointed to the gate. “But we need to take care of those things.”

  “I’m on it.” Carter snapped his fingers to get the attention of the closest gang member. “Get my rifle.”

  * * *

  Windows reached the main gate as two of the gang members secured the lock. Carter issued orders while Price leaned against a motorcycle and bent over, panting. With luck, the son of a bitch had been bitten and would die soon. Ignoring them, she made her way to the gate. She hoped to see something, but the gate was closed too securely, leaving less than an inch of space. She placed her eye against the opening and peered out, moving her head from side to side to get a better view until a hand grabbed her shoulder and yanked her away.

  Carter glared at her. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

  “I wanted to see what was going on. Maybe I can help.”

  Carter lifted her up by her arm, forcing Windows to stand on her toes. “Maybe you’d like to be bait again and draw those things into the open?”

  The memory of that afternoon cowed her. She averted her gaze and shook her head. Carter shoved her aside with such force she nearly fell over. “Then get back to the kitchen with the other cunts.”

  Someone ran up with a rifle and a satchel of ammunition and handed it to Carter. He swung them over his shoulders and made his way toward where a cherry picker sat against the outer wall. Windows took advantage of the momentary distraction and snuck away, chastising herself. This wasn’t Fort McClary. She’d be dead in no time if she kept on trying to be part of the team. She headed back to the kitchen to check on Debra and Cindy.

  * * *

  “There she is!” DeWitt nearly yelled.

  “Who?” Robson asked, his attention focused on the rotter attack.

  “Windows. Approaching the main gate.”

  Robson swung his binoculars to see inside the compound. Sure enough, Windows was amongst the throng of people racing around the main gate. She didn’t appear to be in the best shape. Then he saw the tall asshole who had been issuing orders grab her by the arms and rough her up. No wonder she looked like she did. Robson studied the asshole’s face. If he had the chance, he would make sure the fucker got some karmic payback. Robson kept his eyes on Windows until she skulked out of the area and disappeared from sight. They needed to get her out as soon as possible.

  “Shit,” Simmons spat.

  “What’s wrong?” asked Robson.

  “Things for us just went from sucks to sucks big time.” Simmons pointed.

  Robson followed his finger, and from the other side of the compound, a cherry picker basket lifted above the opposite side of the wall. In it stood the asshole, a Macmillan TAC-50 sniper rifle clutched in his hands.

  * * *

  Carter scanned the outside perimeter and gauged the situation. Two of the runners had devoured Jimmy, and had his intestines spread out on the pavement around him. The third was still chewing on the woman. Attracted by the panicked screams from the nearby people, the fourth had stopped feeding on the older man and moved on to the next person, a middle-aged woman who pleaded with it for mercy.

  Like that would work, you stupid fucking cunt.

  Shouldering the Macmillan TAC-50, Carter aimed at Jimmy and peered through the scope. The kid’s arms still twitched. Poor bastard. Carter didn’t have a clear shot at Jimmy’s head, so he centered the crosshairs on the back skull of the nearest runner that was bent over Jimmy’s abdomen and shoving intestines into its mouth. Carter took a deep breath and held it, wrapped his finger around the trigger, and squeezed in one fluid motion. The recoil from the rifle pushed against his shoulder. Through the scope, he saw the runner’s head explode in a cloud of blood and gore. It fell forward across Jimmy, covering the gaping wound and startling the other runner. A second later, that one’s head jerked back when a bullet entered its forehead above the bridge of its nose, blowing the entire rear skull against the chain link fence. Carter now had a clear shot at Jimmy. Chambering a third round, he lined up on the kid’s head, steadied himself, and took off Jimmy’s head with a single shot.

  Swinging the rifle to his right, Carter aimed at the first of the other two runners feeding on the woman. It sat hunched forward, dipping its gore-laden hands into her chest. Carter noticed it chewing on something solid, either her heart or liver. He set the crosshairs above its right ear and fired. The conc
ussion from the shot spun the runner around one hundred eighty degrees and propelled it to the other side of the body.

  The last runner had ripped the left arm off of its victim and sat on its haunches, chewing the flesh like a dog on a bone. The middle-aged woman tried crawling away on the stump, getting only so far because of her restraints. Carter finished off the runner with a single shot directly between the eyes, giving a mental fist pump when its head exploded.

  Carter then centered the scope on the middle-aged woman. It dawned on him that he didn’t know a damn thing about the people on the Line. He didn’t know their names, where they came from, or even how long they had been out there. In fact, until now he had not even given these people much thought. Not that it mattered. They meant nothing to him. However, they had served their purpose, providing decoys long enough for the others to make it to safety. Price wouldn’t be alive if it not for them. He owed them something for the service, something humane.

  Carter’s next three shots put each of the victims out of their misery.

  * * *

  Simmons waited until the cherry picker began its descent before placing the binoculars down on the dirt in front of him. He gestured toward the gunman. “That guy is a first-class sniper.”

  “So are you and Wayans,” Robson said.

  “He’s probably military, which puts him in a league way above us.” Simmons rolled to one side to face Robson. “Sorry, man. There’s no way to get your friend out.”

  “Oh, yes there is.”

  “Weren’t you watching? Between those people chained up in the perimeter and that sniper, our chances of taking this place by surprise are damn slim, at best.”

  “Yes, I saw. And you’re right.” Robson smiled. “Who says I’m planning on taking this place by surprise?”

  Simmons stared at him incredulously, and then a huge grin split his lips. “I’ve only known you for a day, but I believe you’re crazy enough to pull this off.”

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  A mile outside of Barnston, Robson pulled his Humvee into the parking lot of a Home Depot. Jennifer and Roberta waited by a well-ransacked Kentucky Fried Chicken. They were to provide back-up available in case anything went wrong while scouting the security storage facility while Allard and Frakes stayed behind in Gilmanton to protect the Ryder housing Dravko and Tibor. Seeing the Humvee approaching, the women stepped through the empty frame of the shattered glass door, each scanning to their right or left to make certain no rotters were nearby. Robson made his way to the rear of the restaurant, pulled up alongside the other Humvee, and shut down the engine. Once certain that nothing had noticed them, Jennifer and Roberta joined the rest of the group.

  “What did you find out?” asked Jennifer when Robson stepped out of the vehicle.

  “Well, we saw Windows. She’s alive, although she’s pretty roughed up. And they’ve set up a cherry picker as a sniper tower inside the compound.”

  “Shit,” cursed Jennifer. “Then we won’t be able to get her out?”

  “I have a plan.”

  “What is it?”

  “He won’t say,” said Simmons as he joined the conversation. “Which concerns me.”

  “Don’t be,” Jennifer said defensively, moving a few inches closer to Robson. “We would never have made it to Site R and back without him. If he has a plan, it’ll work.”

  “Sorry, ma’am.”

  Jennifer patted Robson on the forearm. “I’m going to use the restroom before we go.”

  Robson nodded, and Jennifer walked off.

  “No offense, man,” Simmons said to Robson.

  “None taken.”

  “Your girlfriend is pretty protective of you.”

  “Jennifer?” Robson watched her walk away, and then turned back to Simmons. “We’re not dating.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah.” He didn’t bother explaining his relationship with Natalie.

  “You could be. She has the hots for you.”

  Robson again studied Jennifer, thought about it for a moment, and shook his head. “No way.”

  “Trust me, she’s sweet on you.”

  “I hate to interrupt you girls while you’re talking about who likes who,” Wayans said, walking up to them, “but we have someone keeping an eye on us at Home Depot.”

  “Human or rotter?” Robson asked.

  “Human. When I got out of the Hummer, I noticed something move behind the glass doors. I’ve been keeping an eye on the building without being obvious, and someone is definitely there.”

  “Do you think it’s a gang member?” asked Simmons.

  “Could be, though I doubt it. So far I’ve only seen the one person, and he’s not very friggin’ good at concealing himself.”

  “I don’t want to take any chances,” said Robson. “If he is one of the gang members, I don’t want him tipping off the others. Simmons and I will take a Hummer, circle around in back of Home Depot, and check it out. Wayans, stay here and watch the others. See if you can set up a firing position to cover us, and stay out of sight.”

  Wayans nodded. “If I see this guy again, do you want me to take him down?”

  “Not unless he’s about to shoot first or make a break for it. I’d like to take him alive.”

  “Isn’t that risky?” Simmons asked.

  “If he is a gang member, maybe we can interrogate him and get some insights into the compound before we attack it.”

  “Makes sense.” Simmons headed for their Humvee. “Come on. I’ll drive.”

  * * *

  Less than five minutes later, Robson and Simmons pulled up behind Home Depot. Robson stepped out, combing the area for intruders, his AA-12 in firing position.

  Simmons keyed his radio. “Isaac, any change in the situation?”

  “Not a thing,” responded Wayans. “He’s prone by the exit, watching us through the glass.”

  “Where are you?”

  “I’m at the end of the restaurant farthest away from Home Depot. I have a clear shot at our friend. He can’t see me.”

  “Is he armed?”

  “Not with anything I can see.”

  “So if we get close to him, we can surprise him.”

  “Roger that.”

  Simmons motioned to Robson. “You hear that?”

  Robson nodded. “Tell Wayans to let us know if our friend moves.”

  Simmons relayed the message. Robson checked the back door to the building. As he assumed, it was locked. He moved down to the loading dock and grasped the handle to the sliding doors, but they were locked, too. “Shit.”

  “What’s wrong?” Simmons asked.

  “All the doors are bolted from the inside. We have no way of getting in without making so much noise we’ll tip off whoever is out front.”

  “We could circle around.” Simmons moved to the edge of the building and peered around the corner. “Isaac says the guy is inside the building. If we stick close to the walls, we could be on top of him before he knew we were there.”

  “Let’s do it.”

  The two men moved along the right side of the building staying as close to the wall as possible. Every few seconds, Simmons checked behind him to make sure they weren’t about to be ambushed. When they reached the end, Robson peered around the corner. The exit doors were fifty feet down. From this vantage point, they could not see the intruder, which meant he could not see them.

  Robson grabbed his microphone and whispered. “Isaac, we’re about to move toward the doors. I’m going to stop ten feet away. When I wave, fire one round through the glass over the guy’s head.”

  “Roger that.”

  Both men made their way along the front of the building, their backs pressed against the wall. Robson held his AA-12 beside him, and Simmons had his Colt .45 drawn and ready. When ten feet from the exit door, Robson waved.

  A shot rang out. The glass door shattered, and a muffled curse came from inside the building. Robson charged, with Simmons right behind. The two centered the
mselves in the doorway, their weapons aimed. A middle-aged man in jeans and a gray sweatshirt lay on the floor, shaking his head and brushing off shards of glass. When he saw the two men standing in front of him, he gasped and tried to get to his feet.

  Robson stepped toward him. “Move and you’re a dead man.”

  The man’s gaze darted between Robson and Simmons. He raised his arms, his hands shaking as he lifted them above his head. “Come on, guys. Don’t hurt me. Please!”

  Simmons leaned closer to Robson. “I don’t think this guy is with the rape gang.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  The entire group sat around the rectory’s dining room table, all eyes focused on their guest from Home Depot who sat at the far end. “Guest” was the best word to describe him, because this guy posed no danger. He possessed no survival skills. When they confiscated his Smith and Wesson .38 Special and his Heckler and Koch 223 semi-automatic rifle, he had the safety locked on the former and had not chambered a round in the latter. He had barricaded all but one entrance into the store, and had set up his safe room in a corner office with no other way out, trapping himself inside Home Depot. He didn’t even have a bug-out bag in case he had to make a run for it. Robson figured this guy presented more of a danger to himself than to them or the rotters.

  Robson knew nothing about him. He was middle-aged and of average height and looks. His demeanor reeked of cowardice, from the constantly hunched shoulders, the inability to make eye contact, and his avoidance of confrontation. They had not talked to him on the way back to Gilmanton, and the presence of Wayans seated beside him in the Humvee kept their guest silent and sullen. After sunset, when Dravko and Tibor joined them, he freaked out. He perked up only after they offered him something hot to eat. Their guest wolfed down his food as if he had not eaten in weeks, yet he still hadn’t spoken. Robson pitied the guy. If he had been out here this long, he had definitely seen some heavy shit. Unlike the rest of them, he was not prepared psychologically to process what he had experienced.