by Spriggs, Kal
Carney turned his head and Jack took the opportunity. He stepped forward and kicked the man's feet out from under him. As Carney fell, Jack caught him by the hair and then slammed his face into the edge of the heavy wooden table. Carney went limp and fell to the floor.
“Shit, sir, did you kill him?” McCune asked.
Jack shook his head, he could see the man still breathing. On the one hand, it would probably be doing the world a favor. On the other... well, he didn't want to be trapped in the room with a newly-risen zombie and no weapons to speak of.
Still... Jack reached over and pulled the unconscious man's right hand out and lay it flat on the floor. He slammed the heel of his boot down on Carney's hand and heard the bones crack. Even unconscious, Carney grunted and moaned in pain.
Jack gave him a kick to the head, then a second one. Just for good measure. Probably makes me a bad person, Jack thought, but Carney is a snake.
“Let's go,” Jack said. They moved to the door and Jack opened it. He looked at the nearest guard and gave him a friendly smile, “Hey, uh, Captain Carney wanted to talk with you, I guess he'd like one of you to send a message to the Lord Regent...”
The two guards hurried inside and Jack and McCune jumped them as they froze, staring at Carney's prone form in shock. Jack put the one in a choke-hold, waiting until the man went limp, while McCune cold-cocked the other. The one McCune hit went down in a crash and Jack gave the other man a dark look, but McCune just shrugged.
Jack pulled the rifle off the one man and McCune did the same with the other. They didn't bother to secure either man, they didn't have time. Jack hurried into the corridor, looking left and right. Down the hallway there was the lobby, but in the other direction he saw the broad windows, letting in the afternoon light. That seemed the better route and Jack jogged in that direction. He'd only gone a dozen steps though, when he thought about Doctor Madison in the basement.
She's a doctor... we could really use her, he thought to himself. But she had patients that she couldn't afford to leave. Maybe if he got out, he could figure out some way to come back and kill Nidal and his men, but he didn't have time to rescue her now.
Even so, he turned away from the corridor and ran down the stairs to the basement. At the base of the stairs, he pushed the door open slowly. “What are we doing?” McCune hissed from behind him.
“There's a doctor down here,” Jack whispered back. “I'm going to see if we can get her to come.”
“Great,” McCune muttered. “Had to be a woman doc... women are trouble.”
Jack ignored that as he pushed the door open and moved into the corridor.
***
“Good enough?” Lieutenant Baxter asked.
“I hope so,” Warrant Officer Knighton said as they moved near the corner of the building. They'd gone inside the barracks and retrieved their weapons and then wandered, seemingly aimlessly, Lieutenant Baxter pausing to pretend to key her radio now and then. Their notional escort still stood where they'd been, looking uncertain. The pair of them walked slowly around the corner and then they both broke into a jog.
A couple of the farmers looked up and noticed them, but the two men looked back down quickly. They didn't want any part of armed soldiers. Lieutenant Baxter felt a spike of rage at that. Nidal Malik's soldiers were a disgrace to the uniform and Lieutenant Baxter sincerely hoped that she'd have the chance to come back and kill them all.
They cleared the farmed ground and pushed through a cluster of trees. The two of them paused, staring at the guarded gate. A pair of armed soldiers stood, there, talking and joking, one of them making an obscene gesture. Lieutenant Baxter scowled as she recognized the man who hadn't wanted to take no for an answer.
But that gave her an idea.
“Hold this,” she said, passing her radio set and her shotgun over to Knighton. She did her best to saunter out of the trees, giving both men ahead as genuine a smile as she could manage.
They broke off their conversation, looking both startled and uncertain. “Hey, boys,” Lieutenant Baxter said, “I couldn't help but rethink... it's just been so long since I've seen a pair of real men, you know?”
Their uncertainty melted away and both of them gave her broad grins. “Well,” the one with grabby hands said, “I get off guard duty in four hours...”
“That long?” Lieutenant Baxter continued forward, her hand dropping to her belt, just inches away from the handle of her knife. “I don't think I can wait that long.”
The two men looked around furtively, both of them seeming more afraid than she would have expected. They clearly weren't worried about the undead, not with how they'd barely been paying attention to the perimeter. Are they worried about someone noticing they're not on guard? If they weren't so otherwise undisciplined, the idea would have been laughable.
As it was, she'd drawn close enough. She drew her kukri in a practiced fashion and slashed it across the closest man's throat in a spray of blood. On the back swing she took off grabby-hand's hand. As the man let out a girlish scream and dropped to his knees, she brought her kukri around and cut his throat.
Neither of them had long to live and they'd almost certainly rise in seconds. She laid into both of them with brutal hacks, severing their arms and legs at the joints, then removing their heads. She left the wriggling, undead torsos as Knighton jogged up to her. He gave her a raised eyebrow as she donned her radio set and took her shotgun back.
Her mind went back to the dark days as her unit had fallen apart... and what had happened to her in that chaos. This wasn't the first time she'd had to kill would-be rapists. It probably wouldn't be the last.
“Let's go,” she said, and led the way north.
***
“This is a really bad idea,” McCune muttered as Jack paused at the corner. He could see the two clinic guards, both of them looking bored. Jack didn't know how to best do this, so he decided on surprise. He rushed around the corner and brought his M4 around like a club, smashing the one man in the side of the head.
The other gave a shout of surprise and fumbled with his weapon. Jack brought the rifle around and clocked him, too, but the plastic stock broke in his hands and instead of knocking the man out, he just made him stumble a bit.
Jack caught the other man's rifle and they struggled a bit, before the rifle went off. Jack winced at the noise of the shot and the whine of the bullet in the corridor. They continued to struggle, then Jack heard a moaning behind him. On instinct, he spun the other man and pushed.
The guard gave a scream as the undead hands of his former companion clutched at him, the ragged bullet hole in his forehead leaking brains and blood. Jack didn't spare either guard a second thought, he unlatched the door and opened it, “Doctor Madison!” he shouted.
The woman hurried out, “What is the meaning...”
She seemed more than a little surprised to see Jack. “What are you doing...”
She saw the zombie in the hallway and her face went pale. “It's fine, this is your chance to escape,” Jack said.
“Are you insane?” She demanded with a wave at the guard struggling with the zombie. The guard wasn't doing well, the zombie had dragged him to the floor and was pummeling him.
“We don't have time, we need to go now,” Jack snapped.
She hesitated, “I have a couple patients...”
“McCune!” Jack barked. Upstairs he could hear shouts. They might be able to escape in the confusion, especially if the zombie down here got loose.
McCune bypassed the zombie and hurried in. “Give us a hand,” Jack snapped.
Doctor Madison gestured at the curtained area and Jack helped an older man to his feet, the man clearly terrified, especially as he saw the zombie in the corridor. “Let's go!” Jack snapped.
McCune had picked up an injured woman and the five of them rushed into the corridor. “This way,” Jack said, supporting the old man and dragging Doctor Madison with him. The one zombie stood up from the guard, who also began to shamble to
his feet. At least they should slow any pursuit...
“You don't understand,” she said. “The zombies...”
“I know how quickly they'll rise,” Jack interrupted. They rounded a corner and by Jack's best estimate, this one should lead them to the back of the building, where he'd seen a loading dock that connected to the basement.
“No it's not that—”
They rounded the corner and came into a large room, with big open bay doors and a pair of trucks. Standing in a silent formation were over a hundred undead, their expressions blank, their flesh cold.
Beyond them stood Nidal Malik, a big, ugly pendant drawn out of his robes and prominent on his chest. “Ah, Jack Zamora. This is a bit awkward.”
“What the hell...” Jack looked around, half expecting to see the undead come at them, but they stood there, mute and unmoving.
“Doctor Madison, you disappoint me a bit... not as much as Captain Carney for clearly losing control over the situation, but I thought we had an understanding.” Nidal shook his head, “Clearly I will need to revisit our agreement.”
“No,” Doctor Madison said, “Please, I tried to tell them...”
“I am not a man with limitless patience... and you are a woman with vulnerabilities, Doctor.”
McCune brought up his rifle. “I think you're forgetting, asshole, I'm the one with a rifle.”
Nidal made a slight gesture and dozens of the zombies moved to stand in front of him, hiding him from sight. “Yes, of course, how could I forget?”
“The zombies,” Doctor Madison gasped, “I was trying to tell you...”
“I am their master,” Nidal's voice echoed through the large room. “Now, Captain Zamora, either you can surrender... or I will forced to be less than a gracious host and have my army rip you limb from limb.”
“Well,” Jack grated, “when you put it that way...”
***
Chapter Eleven
Someone ripped the bag off of Jack's head and then shoved him forward. He stumbled on open air and couldn't help a shout of surprise as he fell.
The bruising impact knocked the air from his lungs, but he still could hear Carney giggling above him. “Didn't like that, did you?”
Jack rolled over. He lay in some kind of darkly lit chamber, almost like a pit. On a platform overlooking the pit, Captain Carney stood, several guards behind him. Carney's expression showed none of his former false pretense at friendliness. He had an expression of sadistic mirth, now, as he spun the sack that had been over Jack's head in his hand.
But what gave Jack pause was that Carney twirled the sack in his right hand. The hand that Jack had broken only an hour or less earlier.
In fact, Carney shouldn't be walking, not after how hard Jack had hit him and then kicked him. At best, he should be laid up with a massive concussion. At worst, the man probably would have suffered some kind of permanent brain damage or even death.
Carney seemed even more amused at Jack's shock. “You've no idea... and that's the best part. You think you're so superior... but you don't even have a clue. Nor will you, not until it's too late. But I'm going to make you watch while I kill that bitch of a doctor, first. And I've been wanting a piece of her for a long time... so thanks for making that possible.”
Jack didn't know what to say to that. Not that Carney gave him much time. The man turned and left, Jack heard a heavy door close behind him and the sound of locks being worked.
Jack looked around. There were a half-dozen other men and women. In the dim light, Jack couldn't make out their features clearly, but the older man looked like the one from the clinic. “Sorry I got you into this,” Jack said.
The old man coughed. It was a racking, painful cough. “Just as well,” he grated. “Was bound to happen as soon as those...” he paused to cough again. “As soon as those bastards figured out I wouldn't be good to work anymore.”
“What do you mean?” Jack asked.
“Chain smoker for sixty years,” the old man went into another coughing fit. When he was able to draw breath again he shrugged. “Damned clinic before all this said the best they could do was make me comfortable. They gave me months to live, and hell, that was five years ago. Don't know why I'm still alive at this point.”
Jack winced. “Sorry.”
The old man bent over to cough, long wracking, and painful to hear. When he straightened, his face was noticeably pale. “These bastards here just thought it was a cold, but working the fields I wasn't able to keep up the pretense.”
“The fields?” one of the others in the pit asked.
“Yeah,” the old man wheezed. “They'll put you lot to work in the fields. If you're lucky, anyway. If you're unlucky, you'll be like...” He started to cough again and Jack didn't have the heart to ask what he meant.
Jack walked around the chamber, noting the false stone appearance and a pool of dank, stinking water at one end. This was probably the bear exhibit from the zoo, then. Apparently Nidal Malik used it to keep his new prisoners.
The walls were too steep to easily climb and he didn't see a way to get out. One wall was thick plastic or glass, where visitors could have watched the bears from safety. Some light came in through some windows near the top of the chamber, but he didn't see a way to get there.
Jack came back to the group. “How long have you been here?” Jack asked.
The woman who'd spoke edged forward. Jack realized that the other figures were teenagers, two boys and a girl. “Ten days, maybe more,” she said. “We were headed through, trying to get out west, my husband heard a transmission from the Free Western States...”
Jack nodded, “We're headed there too. What happened?”
The woman looked down. “Men attacked our camp. My husband...” her voice broke. She stepped back and her kids clung to her. “He tried to fight. They killed him and he... rose. They laughed about it. They dragged us here and...”
No sooner had she spoke than Jack heard a thump. It came from the thick glass that formed the far wall. Jack saw motion there. With shock, he realized it was a zombie. One undead stood on the other side of the glass and as it noticed them, it battered at the thick glass, and kept battering. The woman began to cry and her children clutched close to her.
Jack didn't need to ask if the zombie had been her husband.
The old man began to cough again.
“You going to be okay?” Jack asked, more to talk over the thumping of the zombie than anything else.
“What kind of stupid question is that?” the old man wheezed. “I'm zombie chow. Worse than that, as soon as I'm dead, the damned Lord Protector will have my body dancing around like some kind of puppet.” He went into another fit and it was all that Jack could do to watch. “I hate this,” the old man grunted. “Even twenty years ago I could have snapped that bastard's neck with my bare hands. Now I'm...” he couldn't finish.
“I won't let him take you,” Jack said.
“Don't promise me that,” the old man gasped. “Just promise me you'll survive and kill the bastard. You're like I used to be. Tough, mean, strong... just don't take up smoking like the damned fool I was...” He shook his head, “Four tours in Nam. I got a silver star, dammit, and now I can't even walk right! I should have died there... I wish I'd died there.”
“You'll be fine, sir,” Jack insisted. Something about the irritating man reminded him a bit of his own dad.
“Don't call me sir, I worked for a living,” the old man spat. “You're an officer, I can see that, I know how to read rank, still, even if I can't see straight. Stupid new uniforms, if you ask me. Looks like a set of pajamas. In my day, we had proper uniforms.”
“What's your name, old timer?” Jack asked respectfully.
The old man spat, “Kevin Drake. The name is Kevin Drake. Don't you forget it.”
“I won't,” Jack replied. “And—”
The doors to the upper chamber opened and Nidal Malik and his retinue appeared on the platform above them. He stared down at them, his
expression neutral. His dark eyes lingered on Jack and there was a coldness there that bothered him. At the far end of the chamber, the thumping on the glass had stopped.
“You are presented with a choice,” Nidal Malik rasped. “To live in the light of our one true God... or to die and serve him in death.”
“Muslim?” Jack asked softly.
Drake snorted, “If only...”
“I have renounced my former faith,” Malik hissed. “False gods cannot save you. Only bowing before true power will save you.”
“Just get this over with,” Drake coughed.
Malik glared at the old man, but it seemed that he was immune. “Very well,” Malik gestured. A moment later, the zombie walked up on the platform and then off and over into the pit. Everyone backed away as far as they could, but there wasn't anywhere to go. We're going to die, Jack realized. He'd thought that before, back in Cincinnati and then before that, fighting the undead as they overran the Third Infantry Division near New York.
The zombie rose to its feet. Above it, Malik gave a gesture and it shambled towards Drake. Jack gave a shout and stepped forward. He drove his foot downwards and shattered the zombie's knee. As it toppled to the side, he brought his heel down on the zombie's other knee and heard the bone shatter.
The zombie swung an arm at him and Jack sidestepped the clutching, dead fingers. If those caught him, he was as good as dead, he knew.
The zombie dragged itself towards him, but Jack circled to the side. He jumped and then brought his boots down on the zombie's forearm, hearing the bones shatter. It grabbed at him with its other arm and this time Jack wasn't quite quick enough to escape. Dead fingers wrapped around his leg like a vise and the dead jaws bit at him. Jack stumbled and nearly fell, feeling coldness seep into his leg. He brought back his other foot and kicked as hard as he could, shattering the undead's' jaw, breaking it's neck, and leaving its head flopping.
The grip didn't loosen, though, and the other arm, broken and flopping, pawed at him, fingers trying to grip. Jack stomped on the hand, shattering the bones in it, then brought his boot down on the elbow of the hand that gripped at him. He slammed his heel down again and again until there weren't enough bones or ligaments for it to grip him. He kicked the zombie away, then jumped up and down on its chest until the ribs shattered and the entire thing couldn't manage to do more than twitch.
