Then, as if a switch had been flicked, Griffin was in full-on corpsman mode and Cade found himself swept to the wayside. In seconds the SEAL had his rucksack off and was unfurling a rubber tube, tearing packaging with his teeth and spitting the remnants on the floor.
Cade stood up and backed away, giving the man room to work. Watched over Griffin’s shoulder as he expertly inserted a tapered needle into Nadia’s arm and attached a bag full of a clear solution, likely Ringer’s lactate.
Griffin asked, “What’s your name?”
Head lolling side to side, Nadia again said, “Mom?”
With Ari standing by and waiting for word to be passed from Griffin to Lopez that Nadia was stabilized and ready to be moved, Cade pulled Cross aside and detailed the wrinkle that he had alluded to minutes ago.
Cross nodded an affirmative to Cade. He crabbed past Griffin and said, “We’ll be back in a minute with a litter to carry her down the stairs.”
Resting one hand on Nadia’s wrist and checking her radial pulse, Griffin looked up from what he was doing, nodded, and said, “We can move her whenever you’re ready. She looks worse off than she is.”
Hearing this, Nadia lifted her head off the pillow and her eyes went to the floor beside the bed. “Someone please bring my phone. All of my pictures of Brian are on there.”
Lopez looked at Cade. Tilted his head and mouthed, “Brian?”
Cade shrugged.
Chalking the request up to delirium, Lopez said, “Which stairwell you think is best ... east or west?”
Cade thought about it for a second and said, “The Zs in the hall were probably on another floor and heard the commotion ... bodies falling ... us opening and closing doors. I’d be willing to bet they came up the west stairway. The door was hanging open when I got to it.”
“It was open when I cleared the hall,” said, Cross. “I didn’t hear anything down there when I sealed it up.”
Nadia said, “Brian went out that way ten days ago and didn’t come back.”
“Probably why it was unlocked,” Cross said to Cade. “Best to stick with what we know.”
“East it is,” agreed Cade.
“Copy that,” said Lopez. “I’ll have Ari move in for the extraction. South of the parking lot?”
“Gonna have to be,” answered Cade.
“I’ll take care of the west fire escape,” said Cross.
Cade shrugged off his pack and retrieved a pair of flashbangs and an olive-green-colored fragmentation grenade. “Let’s go,” he said, leaving his rifle behind and heading for the door.
“In one mike,” said Cross, looking at his watch.
Cade drew his suppressed Glock 17 and, after consulting his Suunto, said, “One mike. On my mark. Mark.”
Cade closed the door to 610 behind them, peeled off left, and trotted down the hallway.
Meanwhile Cross padded off in the opposite direction, stepping over fallen Z corpses and heading for the fire escape at the far end of the gloomy corridor.
By the time Cade reached the fire escape door he’d already burned forty seconds negotiating the warren of stacked furniture and zippering through the tangle of twice-dead corpses. He shouldered it open and pulled the pin on a cylindrical flashbang stun-grenade. Held the spoon down and picked out a spot on the ground between the palm trees. Once his watch confirmed a minute had passed he let the flashbang fly. Then, in quick succession, he tossed an egg-shaped fragmentation grenade and a second flashbang over the rail.
The zombies below didn’t know what had hit them. First the brilliant light and sharp report given off by the initial flashbang drew them closer to the sidewalk at the foot of the building. Then the frag went off in their midst, sending mostly ineffective shrapnel flying into unfeeling flesh. A millisecond later a concussive blast wave shook the palm fronds and rolled up the building’s side. In the next breath Cade saw the second flashbang produce a sun-like flare of light and hopefully the start to a chain reaction drawing Zs to the site from blocks around.
Near simultaneous with the reports of his grenades going off, Cade heard the muffled pop-whoomph-pop of Cross’s grenades doing their thing on the building’s west side.
Before stepping back inside Cade looked over the fire escape’s safety railing and saw the Zs trickling in from three points of the compass. Mission accomplished, he thought as he turned and pulled the door behind him, nearly squashing the tabby underfoot. He paused for a second in thought and then cracked the door a few more inches and set the furry survivor free.
“Operation Wrinkle enacted,” said Cross, tongue-in-cheek, over the comms. “Heading back to 610.”
Cade was already at the Great Wall of furniture with the satellite phone out and finishing up the latter of two text messages. He said, “Roger that. I’ll get the sheets for the litter.” He finished tapping out the rest of the message and hit the green button, sending it up into space. Then he collected an armful of sheets from a nearby vacated room and hurried back to 610.
***
After picking their way past the dead girl in the east stairwell the team spent ten minutes at the bottom behind the closed door breathing in the cool, carrion-scented air while they waited for the all clear from Jedi One-One so they could make a run for it.
During that time the medicine flowing into Nadia’s vein and being absorbed into her system was having the desired effect. A little of her normal color had returned and she had become talkative.
In the time it took Cade to check his weapons and cinch up his pack he learned from Nadia that the Brian whom she had asked about was her twenty-year-old boyfriend. After finding out that there was no way for them to get to the FEMA facility at Terminal Island they had to run a gauntlet of undead and looters just to get back here. Their food ran out three weeks ago and Brian started going outside to look for more. Then, choking back tears, she said he went out ten days ago and came back with only a meager amount of food and water with a fresh bite wound on his forearm. And then the tears really flowed and her sobs echoed in the stairwell as she recounted how, to keep from turning in her presence, he left on his own power and she hadn’t seen him since.
***
Still waiting for the ‘Go’ call from the chopper, Lopez asked, “What did you do then?”
“Ate the food sparingly but didn’t do well rationing out the water,” she said, eyes red and watery. “Then four days ago I started drinking my own pee.”
“You did what you had to do. Hell, you were at death’s door,” said Griffin as he discarded the partial and attached a fresh bag of the same solution to the IV line. “And the Pale Rider was just about to usher you in.”
Changing the subject, Lopez said, “Your mom will be so happy to see you. She moved heaven and—” he paused mid-sentence and listened as a call came in over the comms. He squeezed Nadia’s shoulder, gently. “I’ll finish the story for you later. Our freedom bird awaits.”
Cade said, “Lock and load,” and lowered his M4 and shouldered the door open.
Chapter 62
Handing Brook another of the plastic gas cans, Chief said, “That’s the last of them.” He took the empty from her and added, “I noticed you took your time bandaging yourself up. And then filling the truck when you know that it has a pair of reserve tanks. I think you’re stalling. Even if for a minute or five ... you’re consciously or subconsciously delaying the inevitable.”
Sticking the flexible spout into the truck’s filler neck, Brook said, “What do you mean?”
“We’re going to have to move that camo rig and the bodies if we’re going any farther south ... and Jenkins will have to be moved off the road.”
Wilson tossed an empty gas can into the Raptor’s bed and said, “We should take him back and bury him with the others.”
“Who’s going to do that?” said Sasha.
“I will,” replied Wilson.
With no hesitation, Taryn said, “I’ll help you.”
Kicking a pebble off the road with her toe, Sa
sha looked up and said with a measure of reluctance, “I can help too.”
“Sis is growing a pair,” Wilson said. He hugged Sasha around the shoulder and started walking her towards the passenger doors. Along the way he added, “Let’s get going before she has second thoughts.”
With a welling sense of pride, Brook watched the exchange take place. Then she rattled the upside down can, getting every last drop into the Ford’s tank. Looked around and called for Max in a low voice. A second later the Shepherd bolted from the tall grass where Chief had been prone and shooting from earlier and launched himself up and into the F-650 through the open passenger door.
Chief climbed into the truck and said to Brook, “I’ll put the Bronco ... or whatever that camouflage thing is into neutral and you use this rig to push it out of the way.”
Brook tossed the empty can in back and twisted the gas cap closed. Slammed the filler door shut. Climbing behind the wheel, she said, “Works for me. But don’t think I’m trying to get out of helping with the bodies.” She thought: Least I can do since I killed the kid.
As if he were reading her mind at that moment, Chief said, “Don’t beat yourself up about the young man. He shot at us first and deserved what he got.”
Brook turned the key, cranking the motor to life. Her hand went to the blood-dampened swatch of gauze taped over the gashes on her forehead. She said, “Bleeding out on a lonely stretch of highway is a pretty lopsided tradeoff for a couple of lead fragments to the face.”
Chief threw a visible shudder. He coughed and said, “We reap what we sow. Don’t we?”
Chapter 63
While Cade and Lopez grabbed onto the roll-up gate, the other two operators lowered Nadia and the thrown-together litter to the ground and readied their weapons.
The half-dozen die hard flesh-eaters that weren’t fooled by the twin diversions created by Cade and Cross were gripping the metal links and growling and hissing at the fresh meat just a yard away from them.
Adding to the hair-raising din of the dead, the strange harmonic vibrations given off by the stealth helicopter were felt by all and growing stronger with each passing second.
“On three,” said Cade. He set his pistol near his feet, began counting and, on three, working together with Lopez, clean-jerked the gate upward in its tracks.
The resulting clatter seemed to confuse the Zs for a moment. Two of them, still gripping the gate’s articulated link panel, took a brief ride upward before the heavy gauge shroud protecting the motor and moving parts sheared their hands off at the wrists. Oblivious to what would prove to be a fatal bleed-out event to a living, breathing person, the Zs crashed to the ground and at once struggled to rise.
No longer held back by the gate, and propelled forward faster than normal because of the slight grade, the four Zs still on their feet staggered into the underground garage. Eyes filled with purpose and radiating an insatiable hunger, like a single-thinking school of piranha, they angled right and converged on the nearest food source that just so happened to be Lopez.
On one knee and sighting down the barrel of his stubby MP7, Cross let loose with two separate three-round-bursts that pulped the pair of rotters nearest the Delta shooter. Casings were pinging and skittering down the ramp, and before the decaying bodies hit the ground Griffin was in the fight, his carbine jumping subtly and silently as he delivered double-taps to the other two ambulatory corpses.
Meanwhile, Cade had snatched up the suppressed Glock and, while the struggling Zs were leaving wet kisses of crimson on the cement with their bloody stumps, he closed the distance and began delivering efficient, near silent, double-taps of his own.
Propelled by gravity and on a collision course with Nadia, one of the four Zs taken out by the SEALs started a slow log roll down the ramp.
Seeing this, Lopez hustled over and planted a boot on the limp corpse, stopping it rolling, and then waited for Griffin and Cross to get ahold of the litter.
Lopez said, “Good to go?”
Cross said, “Thanks.”
Lopez hopped over the putrid Z and let gravity finish what it started.
Two blocks south of the Four Palms, Ari was holding the Ghost Hawk in a steady hover and watching the parking lot on the monitor centered on his glass cockpit. Suddenly there was movement in the dark rectangle and he saw a pair of shadowy forms approach the gate. A second later the gate was disappearing upward. Then he saw the monsters on the ramp falling in pairs, six in total, and before he could ask for a sit-rep, the operators were moving out into the light, two of them carrying a body in a litter.
“One mike,” said Ari calmly into his boom mic. “You’ve got Zs vectoring in from the north. They’re splitting the building and heading south along both the east and west side. I’m coming in guns hot then setting her down near the white compact car in the parking lot.”
Head on a swivel and trying to locate the target vehicle, Cade answered Ari with a clipped, “Copy that.” In his left side vision he detected the blur of black swooping in, and like he imagined an anxiety attack might start, he felt the bass note from the baffled rotor threatening to steal his breath. But the thought was fleeting because the tearing sound of the minigun started up and set his ears to ringing.
He located the white Honda at about the same time he saw the lick of flame and chain of tracers rip into a throng of Zs rounding the building’s west side. The speeding projectiles cleaved rotted body parts off the shambling mass, and as quickly as the cacophony started, the gun went quiet and the chopped-up corpses were sprawled and sullying the sidewalk.
Evidently Doctor Silence wasn’t finished. The Dillon came alive again above and behind Cade to the east, and for two long seconds as he ran toward the LZ the sickening sounds of bullets slapping flesh and splintering bone and hundreds of shell casings pinging off the cars and asphalt seemed to be following him. But he didn’t look back. He kept pace with Griffin and Cross, felt rotor wash blasting him from directly overhead, and then breathed in a lungful of air lightly scented with kerosene.
Cade saw the SEALs place the litter on the asphalt and each take a knee and place a gloved hand on their helmets. The white Honda was parked sitting on the periphery of what looked to be eight empty spaces.
Then the helo cut the air overhead and made a high-speed turn to the right. As it flared and the engine whine ratcheted up, a pair of footlocker-sized panels opened below the cabin doors and the landing gear emerged and locked into place.
Cade saw the minigun protruding from its port fore of the open starboard side cabin door. The wicked death-dealing snout was still smoking and probing the air in tight little circles, searching for any threats to the chopper or team.
Cade watched the SEALs rise and hustle toward the helo as it touched down and bounced lightly on its bulbous tires. Then he turned to cover Lopez, who had just stopped in his tracks and was looking up at the building, oblivious of the Zs flanking him from the driveway to the south. The Delta operator was shielding his eyes against the mirrored glare and pointing at a person waving a pink towel from a freshly broken-out window four stories up. Then, to be heard over the rotor wash buffeting all of them, Lopez said loudly over the comms, “There’s a survivor on the fifth floor.”
With the images of withered geriatrics jumping to their deaths from the roof of the old folk’s home in Atlanta and then being forced to loiter while mercy kills were delivered still fresh in his mind, Ari broke in over the comms and bellowed, “Get your asses into the helo. I have an idea.”
The Delta operators made it to the chopper just as Skipper let loose another quick burst with the Dillon. With the heat from the still-whirring barrel warming the right side of his face, Cade hopped aboard and spun around on one knee. He took one quick glance up at the building and then grabbed ahold of Lopez’s gloved hand and pulled him aboard. A beat later Cade was being pressed down by g-forces; his stomach entered his throat and the ground began falling away rapidly outside the open door.
There was a d
eafening silence when the minigun stopped whirring. Cade spun around and planted his backside on his usual seat and felt the helicopter tilt on axis as it rolled back around towards the building. He felt a pang of remorse when he glanced at Lasseigne, whose flag-draped body was still strapped into the seat he died in. The corners of the flag not tucked under his thighs or between his helmet and the bulkhead fluttered in the invasive slipstream.
Then over the comms he heard Ari: “What do you see, Haynes?”
The other pilot, apparently controlling the FLIR camera and watching on the glass display, said, “One body. Female. She looks to be alone. Selecting infrared.” A second passed and anyone looking at a monitor could see, judging by the reddish yellow glow emanating from the form, that the woman was a breather and alone in the room.
“We’re all volunteers here,” Ari said over the comms. “May I have five more minutes of your collective time?”
Lopez looked a question at Griffin, who was attaching the IV bottle to a slot in the airframe with a small carabineer.
Griffin said, “Nadia’s stable, for now.”
Remembering the women and kids he was unable to save from the capsized party barge weeks ago, Cade said, “I’m in.”
Cross nodded.
***
With Ari piloting the chopper like only a Night Stalker could and Skipper guiding a rope and attached sling towards the window, Cade watched the delicate dance taking place via the cabin monitor.
Twice, the young woman, who was canted forward with a curtain wrapped around one hand and swiping away with the free one, nearly snared the wildly spinning nylon sling. And twice she almost plummeted to her death through the jagged opening. But on the third try the brunette snared the sling with a finger and dragged it inside the room with her.
Also watching the drama on the monitor, Griffin asked, “Won’t the glass cut the sling?”
Skipper, who was guiding the rope, shook his head. Said, “Negative.”
Ghosts: Surviving the Zombie Apocalypse Page 34
