Evolution Z (Book 3): Stage Three

by Bourne, David

  “You don’t have to tell me twice. The fireworks are about to start. Better cover your ears down there. Thompson, out.”

  The master sergeant yelled for his troops to take cover and stay away from the windows.

  “Hey, Scott, drop a few of our presents. But not too close to the officers’ mess. The boys and girls in there still have weapons to eliminate any of these fuckers who get too near.”

  Scott nodded and took one of the grenades with a red ring from the crate.

  “Is there something I have to watch out for, guys?”

  “Pull the pin and drop them, Mr. Gerber. Red is explosive. Green is a fragmentation grenade. Yellow is an incendiary grenade.”

  “Then let’s make some rain.” Scott pulled the pin from the first grenade and threw it toward the gate. Josh grabbed an incendiary grenade and aimed it at the area between the main gate and the officers’ mess, which was by now full of zombies. The private at the fixed machine gun also started up and fired as fast as he could. Scott’s grenade landed in a large group of undead near the fences. When the weapon fell among them, they continued their mindless walking, completely oblivious of the threat near them. This situation immediately changed when the grenade exploded. While loud cheers could be heard coming from the officers’ mess, the explosion threw about forty bodies in all directions—including body parts that landed on the roof of the mess hall. Josh’s grenade generated a circle of fire in the middle of an open area full of undead. The heat singed their eyes and limbs, which caused all moisture to evaporate from their bodies.

  Meanwhile, the pre-dawn light made it easier for the helicopter gunner to show off his skills. He mowed down countless numbers of zombies with his machine gun, leaving piles of corpses and body parts along the front gate and grounds of the base. The barrels of the Gatling gun were red-hot by now, and the gunner had to avoid overheating the weapon. Scott and Josh also delivered a serving of exploding treats to the zombies that simply tore apart huge groups of the undead streaming into the base.

  This was the crucial relief Master Sergeant William Pelletier needed. He turned to the dark-haired woman. “You there. Accompany Bourke and McPherson and take as many people with you as you need. I want you to make your way to the storage bunker and get us as much ammo as you can carry–also grenades, if you find any.”

  The woman simply nodded to acknowledge the order and was already moving to follow Bourke and McPherson.

  The helicopter flew one attack after the other. The number of attackers was still immense and threatening, but it was becoming more manageable. After seemingly endless minutes, the troop returned to the officers’ mess with plenty of ammo. Now Pelletier had again regained the confidence that he could win this battle. His two-way radio crackled. It was Ray.

  “We’re almost running low on ammo and grenades, but we still have a little surprise left for these bastards. Close all the windows and doors and make everyone take cover.”

  “What are you planning to do, Thompson?”

  “Well, I‘m not completely sure, since I‘m only a civilian pilot, but we’ve got what looks like a little Hades bomb right under our ass. With best wishes from General Dixon.”

  Pelletier’s eyes widened. “Okay, we will take cover immediately. Detonate it at least fifteen hundred feet away from the officers’ mess.”

  Master Sergeant Pelletier knew the so-called “Hades bomb” well. Fire accelerants with a low viscosity and aerosols were mixed in a sturdy metal barrel, and the whole thing was detonated via remote control. Larger bombs could devastate everything within more than a mile, but he assumed General Dixon had enough military experience to equip the helicopter with a smaller version.

  “We‘re going to drop the barrel and then land. We‘ll detonate it when we’ve reached you.”

  “Roger,” Master Sergeant Pelletier briefly replied

  Ray flow a skillful turn and aimed for the area in front to the main gate, where there was still an impressive number of undead. He descended a few yards, as he did not want the barrel to be damaged by the drop, then he pressed a button on the instrument panel that released the bomb. The barrel fell to the ground and lay there. Ray pulled the control stick and steered the helicopter back to the inside of the base.

  “Once we‘re inside, we run like hell to the officers’ mess. We’ll try to eliminate as many as we can with the Gatling gun, then we land and try to join the others. Our two soldiers and Josh should take the lead. You guys are much better shots. Scott and I will follow you.”

  Inside the base, Ray descended about fifty yards away from the officers’ mess and put the helicopter into a hover. They were only about a yard above ground. Directly in front of them was a large part of the horde that had squeezed through the gate and was now a serious threat to the officers’ mess. Ray tried to keep the Little Bird as steady as he could and once it hardly shook anymore, the machine gunner opened fire again. It was a total massacre; the remaining ammo killed one zombie after another, which cleared a path to the officers’ mess. Everyone then quickly exited the helicopter and ran toward the building. Ray grasped the remote control for the bomb so firmly he was afraid he might accidentally trigger it. Once they got inside, the tension in the room was almost palpable as the people started at them in anticipation. Then Ray stepped to the door of the officers’ mess and looked out toward where the bomb had been placed. He gazed back at the rooms behind him to make sure everyone had taken cover. Now he quickly nodded to William Pelletier and pressed the button. Even at this distance, the shock wave blew hot air in his face. A two hundred foot high flame climbed and flashed into the morning sky. Many of the soldiers later swore they had never seen anything so beautiful.

  15The Prodigal Son

  Private Dave Stevens pushed the button at the handle of his pistol and let the magazine glide into his hand. He briefly looked at the indicator on the back of the magazine. Three rounds, plus one in the breech.

  He was slowly running out of options. A large group of zombies had been hard on his heels all this time, plus somewhere out there was this giant mutated beast roaming around.

  The private had been wandering through the undergrowth for hours. He had to make it back to the base somehow. Sweat was dripping down his face, and his shoulder hurt–he had no idea how he had injured himself. Just several hours ago, he had been fighting a horde of zombies in the forest–together with Corporal Brady and Private Norret–after a tire on their Humvee had burst during their patrol. However, when that goddamned monster appeared, he’d made a break for it. Norret had bought it early on, but he fervently hoped Brady had been able to escape. Stevens and Tom Brady had been through basic training together and were tight buddies. It had been Brady who gave him that stupid nickname “Geronimo.”

  The last words he heard from his friend was when he ordered a retreat. Since then, the private had stumbled through the forest, eliminated several more zombies and dragged himself onward through the night.

  During his flight Stevens kept hearing explosions and machine gun fire. Due to the absolute darkness he had a hard time determining his direction, and twice his pursuers had forced him to take a detour of several miles. Judging from the noise, Fort Weeks must be in a battle, which spurred him on. He wanted to help his comrades.

  When he focused and listened carefully, he had the impression that the sounds were gradually becoming clearer. Meanwhile dawn was starting to break, and there were only scattered shots but definite signs of continued fighting. Stevens walked on, driven by the desire to help and fulfill his duty as a soldier. He oriented himself by the occasional loud shots.

  Finally, the first rays of the sun that became visible between the dense clouds made it easier for him to find his way. He should reach Fort Weeks soon.

  “Don’t give up, you candy-ass,” Steven mumbled to himself. That’s what his drill sergeant used to tell him whenever he considered a task to be too hard. The sergeant had never been too tough and often winked, but then as now, Stevens did not w
ant to seem weak and kept on going. After a short eternity, the woods became sparser and he could finally see the end of the forest. Stevens walked toward the last line of trees, and bit by bit he could see the clearing around the large military base. He slowed down his pace and stared at the base and its surrounding area, which many zombies were still lurching across. Dark smoke rose from the fire pits that burned in front of Fort Weeks, and he could only guess how many bodies were burning there. In the last few yards he sprinted as fast as he could, while looking to the left and the right. There were corpses scattered everywhere, and he also saw several craters created by explosions. Not only were there corpses of the undead lying around, but there was apparent physical damage to the base itself. Some parts of the fences had been torn down, and the main gate was wide open, with the right wing torn off its hinges. At the entrance, there stood a demolished, burning Humvee, surrounded by undead. Stevens feared the worst once he saw all of this. When he got even closer to the base, he slowed down. To avoid drawing any attention to himself, he moved carefully through the fences and further toward the base. At the perimeter wall, hundreds of corpses were piling up. The zombies must have just stepped over the fallen bodies and thus created a kind of ramp. The piles at the left and right side of the gate were so high that many must have been able to get across the wall.

  He reached for his pistol and gripped it in shooting position as he approached the gate. He walked over the corpses and cautiously glanced into the base. When he saw the large parade ground, he caught his breath. The scene was much worse than he had expected. This is where the actual battle had raged. Thousands of dead bodies were strewn all over the area, and the ground was littered with human remains. He saw scores of corpses–many wearing a uniform–and he immediately recognized some of his comrades. A huge lump formed in his throat.

  A single shot interrupted his thoughts. Several groups of three, consisting of both soldiers and civilians, stood among the undead, some of which were still moving. One member of the nearest group had attached a bayonet to his rifle and was stabbing a zombie in the head whose distorted body lay before him. Another soldier, who was older, had a pistol in his hand and must have fired the shot. His left arm hung limply at his side. All the men were quite dirty and bled from numerous wounds.

  The third member of the group used his M14 to secure the area and was just turning in the direction of Stevens. Stevens reacted quickly and raised his arms in surrender. Then pain shot through his shoulder, and he quickly dropped his right arm again.

  “DON’T SHOOT!” he yelled. “I‘m Private Dave Stevens–I‘m from this base!” He put his weapon in its holster and slowly walked toward the group. He held his empty hands in front of his body to prevent them from a rash reaction. The closer he got, the more he recognized them. It was Master Sergeant Pelletier and one of the Navy SEALS. The third man, the one with the bayonet, looked like a civilian.

  “Private Stevens, is that you? We thought you were dead. What happened to Bravo Patrol?” Pelletier spoke in an unusually loud voice. Stevens could not blame him for this, after a night of constant gunfights and explosions.

  The master sergeant looked rather worn-out. His two fellow fighters also appeared very exhausted. What they all shared in common, though, was a battleworn expression mixed with elation. The hard-fought struggle had been won, and mankind had once again proved its will to live.

  Pelletier and Stevens talked briefly and updated each other: Bravo Patrol had been destroyed, and Fort Weeks had also suffered many casualties. After the gigantic alpha zombie had destroyed the gate and hordes of undead flooded toward the base, the main gate and the perimeter wall could no longer be defended. The soldiers had formed a moving firing line and moved across the parade grounds, alternately shooting and reloading. The advance of the undead was slowly but surely halted, and finally they established a last line of defense between the communications center and the hangar. Due to the heroic efforts of a few fighters, this line held. When asked why so few groups were active within the base, Master Sergeant Pelletier told Stevens, that he had sent small groups to clear the surroundings of the undead. Also, many people were still in the officers’ mess.

  “...even if we’re are all exhausted, we have to pull ourselves together. It seems there was a second detonation at the rear of the base, and some fences were destroyed there. The base must be completely cleared of zombies before we let people out of the officers’ mess. Still I think we are going to make it. We were lucky the majority of them did not come out of the forest there”, Master Sergeant Pelletier concluded his summary. “Now it is time to clean up.”

  16A Meeting

  The sun had risen over 30 minutes ago and it was almost 8:00 a. m. After luring the zombie horde to attack Fort Weeks, Reese Taylor had flown his Bell helicopter to the mountains. During this evacuation mission he was supposed to cause a diversion, so a leading scientist of his company, Vita Invicta, could escape unnoticed from the base.

  Since landing on this remote plateau in the mountains, he had been observing the forest in the distance. Once upon a time this must have been a scenic lookout. This was indicated by a low wooden fence and a bench, and the compacted sand in front of it. Visitors must have come up here via a dirt path he had seen, but he detected no further roads leading here when he came in for a landing. From this height one could see the entire forest down in the valley.

  Taylor seemed to hear the occasional sound of machine gun fire, carried by the wind from far away. Since the sun had risen he also noticed a few columns of smoke rising from the forest. He had a pretty good guess this is where Fort Weeks must be located. The soldiers there were probably still trying to fight off the army of undead he had sent their way. He could not suppress a sardonic grin.

  Then a faint engine sound drew Taylor’s attention. The package must be arriving.

  Reese Taylor wasn’t taking any chances. He pulled out his pistol and positioned himself behind a tree at the edge of the plateau, so that he could watch the approaching vehicle without being seen.

  A few minutes later a tan Humvee drove to the makeshift parking lot of the scenic spot and stopped a few yards away from the helicopter. The doors opened and several people got out: Two men wearing a mixture of civilian and military clothing, two soldiers and an older man with grey hair and glasses.

  The first two carried assault rifles. Taylor had the impression he had already met one of them at company headquarters. The old guy must be the scientist. Everything had gone according to plan. Taylor put his pistol in its holster and walked toward the group, while showing his hands.

  The first one to notice him was a man with longer hair and shades. He wore a black baseball cap backwards and had a long, black beard, as military veterans often do. He seemed alert and Taylor heard the faint click of a safety switched to the firing position. However, the man held the weapon in a relaxed stance and aimed downward when he talked to the pilot while sporting a crooked smile.

  “Well, you must be the fan of Wagner’s music.”

  “Reese Taylor. I‘m your pilot for the day,” he said and made an exaggerated bow.

  “Someone really should pay for that music selection,” the bearded man said drily.

  “Well, Fort Weeks is paying right now–and quite dearly,” Taylor replied with a laugh.

  “It definitely fulfilled its purpose, Taylor,” Jonah said and grinned.

  “Very true. But can we continue this meaningless flattery at a later date?” the older man interjected with a scratchy voice. “They’re waiting for me.”

  “Don’t worry, doc, I‘m going to start up this crate. Now who are those two guys? I was told I would fly three people to headquarters.” Taylor nodded his head in the direction of Weasel and Jordan.

  “Well, they were our ticket to get out of Dodge. But our plans have not changed. Moses?”

  Before Weasel and Jordan could protest, two shots from a silenced Beretta were fired, which Special Agent Moses already had in his hand. The two c
lueless soldiers fell into the sand with mortal head wounds. Taylor winced and then briefly stopped.

  “What a waste. Well, shall we go?” Shaking his head, he walked to the helicopter and sat down behind the control stick. Blood and brain fluid seeped from Weasel’s head into the sand, while his lifeless eyes seemed to give Taylor a reproachful stare.

  Jonah sat down next to him and put on the copilot headset, while the rotors started spinning up slowly but loudly. Doctor Schaefer and Moses sat in the back.

  Jonah looked at Taylor, who was still silently shaking his head.

  “Traitors remain traitors. Whether they betray us or them doesn‘t matter. We have no use for backstabbers.”

  Taylor looked at him but decided to keep silent. Looks like anyone can be replaced. Those were the last words spoken during the flight back to headquarters.

  At the corporate headquarters of Vita Invicta many miles away, there was a knock on a large door and an attractive dark-haired woman entered an office. A man sat in a high-backed chair, facing away from the door and looking out of the floor-to-ceiling window of the tall office building.

  “Sir, I am supposed to tell you that the helicopter with Doctor Schaefer on board is on its way and should arrive here in an hour.”

  “Thank you, Marie. Please prepare the conference room and invite the board of directors for noon.”

  “Very well, Sir. Anything else I can do for you?”

  “No, thanks, that would be all for now.”

  Satisfied, the man leaned back once the young woman had left the room. The doctor is on his way. Very good.

  17Briefing

  That evening, they all sat in front of the tent with Chris and Gregory and discussed how to proceed in the aftermath of the battle. Josh was needed at the hospital to take care of the wounded. After an earlier confrontation, Ray had the feeling that Josh was actually glad about not being here for the meeting. Josh apparently was shaken by the astounding news about his father’s covert knowledge. He abhorred the notion that the others might suspect he had known about this all along. Even Ray and Scott were not completely convinced of Josh’s ignorance of his father’s machinations. Yesterday they had really criticized him, even though Ray thought Josh’s reaction seemed to be honest.