Evolution Z (Book 3): Stage Three

by Bourne, David

  If they kept quiet, they might have a chance to remain undiscovered by any of the zombies. So they waited in silence for a while, to see if anything happened. Han winced with every noise in the forest. He‘s really spooked.

  Minutes turned into hours, and slowly all hope faded for both men that someone would come to rescue them. The alpha zombie had not appeared, but that did not mean they were completely alone. Even though the two soldiers stayed quiet most of the time, a large number of undead gradually began to show up. At first they heard the dull moans carried by the wind through the darkness of the forest. Chad assumed the alpha could not be too far off if there were so many zombies wandering around here, but luckily he was wrong. The majority of these beasts simply staggered past them, as if they had a more definite goal to reach. Even so, a brief careless moment had alerted several of them to human activity inside the vehicle. After remaining cautiously quiet and immobile during the first hour, Chad had assumed Han and himself were both somewhat safe for the time being because so far none of the zombies had been drawn closer to their crashed Humvee. Holding his flashlight, Chad decided to check on the condition of Han’s foot and leaned into the footwell Tsui’s foot was lodged between the accelerator and the brake pedal, and due to the violent impact of the crash, the metal arm of the brake pedal had wrapped itself around his ankle like a noose. When Chad tried to get up again, he slipped in his own blood and dropped the heavy metal flashlight. He anxiously watched as it fell to the metal floor of the vehicle and made a loud sound like a gong. To his ear it sounded like an anvil falling from the fourth floor of building onto a piano.

  From that point on, the menacing sound of incessant scratching of finger nails on metal and glass accompanied the two soldiers. The oppressive feeling of being trapped and unable to flee increased by the second. Both of them discussed their options and concluded that leaving the vehicle might be the most dangerous choice. Chad cautiously stuck his head out of the roof hatch where the machine gun had been and counted. They did not have enough ammo left to kill all the zombies lurking around the Humvee and even if they did, the forest was still crawling with unknown numbers of undead creatures. They had managed to free Tsui’s foot but because his ankle was sprained, he could not walk fast for extended periods. Unfortunately, Chad could not carry him for very long, and if they were to split up it would more than likely be suicidal for Han. Chad did not want to leave Han behind by himself. Also due to the accident, they had no means to radio for help. The only two-way radio lay completely shattered in the back of the vehicle. In his mind, Chad cursed himself for taking off heedlessly to support Bravo Patrol.

  They only could pray that Fort Weeks was actively searching for them, but both knew this could take half an eternity. The two of them had never been in such a dire situation filled with grim uncertainty. This was by far the absolute worst thing for Chad to endure. Here he was with his buddy Han, trapped in this cage while being surrounded by fierce guard dogs that somewhat resembled humans but were just as aggressive as their canine counterparts. After another hour passed, Petersen slapped his thigh. It was supposed to be an encouraging gesture so Tsui wouldn’t worry.

  “Han, my young Padawan, get ready. We‘re going home, dude.”

  Tsui stared at him in apprehensive amazement. “What do you mean? Did you look outside, man? Do you want us to die?”

  Of course I looked outside. The entire area is overrun with these creatures that want to gnaw the flesh off our bones. I don’t want to die in this fucking vehicle. I want to go fishing at our pond in Minnesota. I want to drink cold homemade lemonade with my mom. I want to listen to my dad griping about the football scores. And most of all, I want to watch the sunset with my fiancée from our patio... But getting out of the Humvee is our only fucking chance!

  “No, I don’t want that to happen, but our situation certainly won’t get better in here. Who knows when reinforcements will show up, or if they ever will. We‘ll blast our way out of here. I‘ll support you, and you‘ll cover my rear. That way we can go home to Fort Weeks.” Chad flashed a broad, optimistic smile, even though this required quite a bit of effort. Han believed it nevertheless.

  “How‘re we going to do this?”

  “We have to be quick. Focus our attack. We don’t have to hold fire. There are already enough of those fuckers out there. We have ammo for our rifles and our pistols. That should be doable, don’t you think?” Chad smiled bravely and Tsui accepted it.

  “Okay, Chad, let’s send these bastards straight to hell.” Petersen looked through the windscreen. Beyond forty yards, the forest got denser. If they could make it there, they would have a real chance.

  The two of them looked at each other. “Let’s count to three. One... two... three!” Chad pushed the door open and shot two zombies directly in the face. Their heads splattered in a fan-like pattern on the ground. He pushed himself up and now stood on the side of the rolled-over Humvee. He fired more shots, and from a position below him–with obvious panic– Tsui also shot into the night as his rifle trembled in his arms. Chad pulled his friend up toward him, while kicking another zombie in the face. Now dozens of undead came stumbling out of the forest, heading in their direction. The sound of the shots drew them like moths to a light.

  Chad jumped down from the vehicle. They had gained a small window of opportunity, and he helped Han down and supported him. He looked forward and Han looked backward, as they had mutually agreed. Yard by yard they approached the forest. Many zombies were still left in the clearing, but many had also fallen to their shots. Only a few more steps–they might really make it! Petersen quickly looked over his shoulder to check how near their pursuers were. Suddenly, he hit something hard and stumbled. He jerked his head forward, but he already fell toward the ground. As he was holding Han, he pulled him down as well. Both soldiers lay stunned on the ground and tried to get their bearings. Then they heard a smacking, gargling sound directly above them. An undead had just stepped from the darkness of the undergrowth when Chad had briefly looked backward. The creature had stretched out his arms and Chad had inadvertently run into them and stumbled. Now more zombies came from all directions. They were shuffling along, but were fast enough.

  Chad felt as if he were studying a painting. He looked up to the zombie that had blocked his way. It wore military boots and torn uniform pants. Above this Chad saw the tunic and the insignia of a private. Its left side was totally chewed up and its face mutilated beyond recognition. Must have been one of us when it was still alive. Then Chad saw the large name tag on the zombie’s uniform. NORRET.

  The first of the other creatures had reached Han. Making expectant smacking sounds, they voraciously grabbed for him. Han screamed in terror, madly kicking his legs. In a complete panic, he began to shoot blindly without aiming. The body of Pvt. Norret bent down to bite Chad. Private First Class Chad Petersen whispered reassuringly to his terrified buddy struggling next to him. He even pointed at the forest and told Han the reinforcements from Fort Weeks had finally arrived and they would finally be rescued. Now relieved and filled with anticipation, Han turned his head in the direction that Chad had indicated. A loud BANG immediately followed, and Han Tsui’s body went limp. After shooting his friend in the head at point blank range, Chad then placed his pistol against his temple. He himself would decide how to leave this world. Then he pulled the trigger.

  12Return Flight

  “Damn it, where were you?” Scott said, shifting nervously on the copilot seat.

  “I’ll explain later,” Ray said and climbed into the pilot’s seat. Besides Scott and Josh, the two privates that had previously flown in with them were also on board. Ray started checking the instruments. He noticed the control stick had been replaced, but he attached no immediate importance to this fact.

  While Ray and the others had been occupied during their stay on the carrier, a mechanic from the USS George Washington had made some small changes to the hitherto unarmed Little Bird. He had removed the right row of seats a
nd replaced it by a three-barreled Gatling gun.

  As the rotors started to spin, this grinning mechanic looked into the cockpit and called something to Ray. Due to the deafening noise created by the starting rotors, he had to concentrate to understand what the mechanic was trying to tell him.

  “Captain Thompson. Your guys found out about this already. We have given this bird some more beak to fight with. The machine gun can spit about 3,500 rounds per minute. In addition, you have a lot of grenades on board–and as a special treat we put a nice, fat incendiary bomb below the fuselage. Here’s the remote control for it. For your own safety you shouldn’t push the button until you are at least a thousand feet away from it. Everything clear?” Ray looked at the mechanic with a mixture of confusion and understanding, but he got the gist of what the man was trying to tell him. Push button to unleash hell.

  Everyone in the helicopter put on headphones, and a few moments later Little Bird took off, heading in the direction of Fort Weeks. Ray briefly glanced behind himself and saw there were a few new presents to admire. One of the soldiers was handling the new machine gun, which had an ammo belt box. So this was how Dixon wanted to help them–by increasing their firepower in a useful way. According to what Chris had reported, they would desperately need it at Fort Weeks.

  13Moonlight

  A flood of bodies streamed through the openings that Goliath had torn apart in its destruction of the barriers. With each additional zombie pressing against the fences, they gradually gave way a bit more. These attackers did not mind bruises, abrasions or even broken bones. Their irrepressible desire for human flesh drove them to slaughter the inhabitants of Fort Weeks like cattle. By now, the perimeter walls were only halfway manned. Via radio, Master Sergeant Pelletier had sent the order to retreat into the interior. The soldiers were running low on ammo, and many were exhausted or injured. They retreated in orderly firing lines, though, as they had been trained to do. As soon as the rear row was ready to provide cover fire, the soldiers moved further into the base, protected by their comrades. The civilians also helped as much as they could. Some of the more courageous ones fought alongside the soldiers, stabbing and hitting the undead enemy despite their fear. Chris and Gregory were also back in the fight again, once the connection to the USS George Washington had broken off, while Phil was in the mess hall. There seemed to be no end to it, for with every destroyed undead, five others seemed to appear—their relentless numbers were overwhelming. Finally Pelletier ordered a retreat into the officers’ mess. Most of the wounded had already moved there or had been carried inside. Those who still managed to stay on their feet tried to help as much as they could. The dark-haired woman who has saved Margaret Pelletier’s life was now lying on the roof of the officers’ mess, with her rifle leaning on the parapet. Each of her well-aimed shots made a zombie head burst like a melon. She worked with an almost uncanny precision and calm. She did not fight like Bourke or McPherson, she wasn’t a ruffian or someone who gained a morbid satisfaction from a massacre. She employed her weapon matter-of-factly, as if she were handing out parking tickets or serving a table at a restaurant. Gradually, the group of defenders that were still outside diminished. Most had reached the officers’ mess and were looking for a place where they could take up defensive positions. Pelletier was dragging a young soldier who had a leg injury. While doing this, he occasionally fired off shots to the rear to keep his pursuers at bay. These came closer and closer and were almost within reach. Pelletier gritted his teeth and swore angrily. He pulled the trigger of his gun. Click!

  That had been his last cartridge. He looked around and tried to see how far away they were. Not far enough, fuck it!

  To his surprise, his most persistent pursuer suddenly changed his course by ninety degrees, when Bourke hit his head with the butt of a rifle. McPherson stood with his back to Bourke and started shooting. Then Bourke also started squeezing off short bursts.

  “Would you permit us, Master Sergeant? I have to reload, Chucky! Take over!” Bourke kept the zombies in check with his weapon while McPherson reloaded.

  “I most certainly permit this,” the master sergeant murmured with relief and continued carrying the wounded soldier to the officers’ mess.

  Occasional muzzle flashes became visible from the windows of the officers’ mess and from the stairs, which had been barricaded with everything the soldiers could find. Behind the three men some zombies were hit and crashed to the ground. The three men made it to the entrance area, and the two SEALs helped the master sergeant to get the wounded soldier out of the line of fire. Pelletier wanted to go back to the stairs to take over command, but McPherson stopped him by placing his hand on his chest. What came next surprised William Pelletier.

  “We cannot defend the base this way, Sir. Too many of these fuckers are coming at us. We have to get into the storage area and get ammo and grenades–and we have to defend these stairs at any cost. If we don’t succeed, we lose the officers’ mess, all of the wounded and many defenders will die. You know that...” McPherson said, but Pelletier interrupted him.

  “I am quite aware of our situation, McPherson. I already considered giving an evacuation order via radio, but the soldiers are putting up a courageous fight. If this courage turns into panic, not a single person will escape. I’m going to carry on and try to do all I can to save as many people as possible.”

  Pelletier had expected some resistance, even though the chain of command was clear. McPherson was absolutely right, of course, and he would not have resented it if McPherson had told him off because of this decision. It could have turned into a chewing out for a duty-conscious old man unable to think in new ways, but it didn’t happen. Instead, McPherson merely nodded.

  “Okay. The only easy day was yesterday. So, to the stairs, Master Sergeant?”

  “To the stairs, men. And thank you. It was an honor for me.”

  McPherson and Bourke briefly nodded and went to the stairs without a word. Pelletier took a short breath and then followed behind them.

  14Good Things from Above

  The battle was still raging near the windows and doors of the officers’ mess. Any opening left was used as a firing port. Crying, frightened women and children were huddled in the upstairs rooms. No one knew of any other place to keep them safe since there were zombies lurking everywhere on the base. Now the rest of the able-bodied survivors swore to fight to the death to defend the weak and sick. Pelletier stood in the doorway and fired. A zombie was hit and collapsed, then followed by the next one. A window pane broke in a loud CRASH, and two zombies jumped inside the mess. A civilian swiftly used a wooden board to smash their skulls to a pulp. Still more undead reached their arms inside and tried to grab people.

  The master sergeant gazed at the main gate. The fences now resembled a broken dam, with more and more undead creatures streaming through the breach. He then looked around and saw the grim, angry and desperate expressions on the faces of his heroically fighting soldiers. He turned around and muttered to himself: “This is the end...”

  “Maybe not, Master Sergeant.” William Pelletier’s heart almost stopped. Directly behind him was a dark-haired woman carrying a sniper rifle. Who the hell is this?

  “I ran out of ammo and had a bit of time to look around. Go to the eastern window. The view is really worth it. ”

  “Was is all this nonsense?”

  “Please go and see, Master Sergeant. You can already hear it. Just listen.”

  William Pelletier listened intently. What did he have to lose? Really... I know this sound.

  He ran to one of the eastern windows and realized he was correct. In the moonlight he saw a Little Bird helicopter flying toward Fort Weeks. Pelletier immediately recognized it as a military helicopter and fervently hoped the USS George Washington was sending help. Renewed with a sense of relief, he urged his fighters to hang in there. He yelled that help was on the way. Even though he saw surprised faces, his men believed him and fought even more passionately than before.


  “There they are, guys, Fort Weeks is directly ahead of us,” Ray said over the radio.

  “Circle low above the horde, Captain, and we‘ll get the presents ready,” one of the privates replied.

  “Roger wilco.” Ray lowered the nose of the helicopter and went into a shallow dive. From above he had a perfect view of the chaos and destruction caused by the swarming zombie horde at Fort Weeks. Scott and Josh helped the two soldiers open the crates, and the contents looked like a colorful mixture of Easter eggs: Olive-colored grenades with yellow, red and green rings on them. Ray switched the two-way radio to the frequency Fort Weeks usually employed.

  “This is Captain Raymond Thompson. Can anyone down there hear me?”

  “Ray? You old son of a bitch, I should have known!” Chris almost yelled into his handset. “I‘m here at the radio, together with Greg and Phil. I hope Pelletier can receive you. The soldiers really have their hands full.”

  “Captain Thompson, this is William Pelletier. You must have been sent by heaven,” the commander of Fort Weeks interjected. Josh, who also wore a headset, consciously did not announce his presence to his father.

  “Master Sergeant, we have enough explosives on board to erase a small town from the map. Plus, the two privates on board would like to introduce their machine gun to your unwelcome guests.”

  William Pelletier enjoyed this brief moment of calm. The tension and the fear had temporarily disappeared. He radioed all soldiers to find out whether any stray fighters were still outside the officers’ mess. He received no answer.

  “We have retreated into the officers’ mess. Whoever of us is not inside now, is dead. Give these bastards hell.”