River of Night

by John Ringo

  That was the signal for Kaplan, Robbins and Rune to shoot from concealment, semi-auto only.

  Very deliberate, aimed fire began to crack outwards towards the encroaching forces.

  “What about me?” Jordan Robbins asked, peering through the scope on her rifle. She was located well back in the cramped room, lying prone on a stack of two metal work desks. She’d appropriated a decent hunting rifle from one of the Springers. Tom didn’t even want to know how she’d accomplished that trade. The Savage 111 XP was chambered in three hundred Winchester Magnum, known for its flat trajectory, accuracy and muzzle blast. He had his doubts about her ability to ride the recoil of the famously powerful cartridge. Still, she was positioned competently and for once wasn’t complaining about the teenagers she’d inherited.

  “Only for a VIP, Jordan,” Tom replied. “Look for the firemen’s jackets. You’ve only got so many rounds for that cannon. We’re pretty far back here and Miss Bolgeo recommends allowing them to close a bit because we don’t want to scare them off yet. She has some surprises waiting. Meanwhile, look for blokes that look like they’re in charge.”

  “Shooting officers,” the young woman answered. “Astroga’s gonna be jealous when she hears about it.”

  Tom just smiled and shook his head.

  And then the horizon lit even brighter as bright red and green flares rose into the sky above the dam’s defenses. The new lights outshone the floodlights on the dam itself, and turned night into day across the entire compound and fenceline.

  As if on cue, the previously occasional growls and screams from the infected in view were augmented by a rushing howl that lifted the hairs on the back of Tom’s neck.

  CHAPTER 18

  “That’s a lot of zombies,” remarked the usually taciturn Loki, watching the ground crawl on the far side of the river. “A lot of god-damn zombies.”

  The brilliant incendiaries and noisemakers that Green had deployed to attract the zombies outshone even the electric illumination that the defenders had elected to switch on. Of course, Loki knew that the entire point was for the zombies to mob the Tesla coils and burn them out, compel the bankers to use up their ammunition and distract the defenders from the obvious Gleaner assault to follow. He just hadn’t considered what several thousand zombies might look like. The illuminated area across the river rippled with the movement of more infected than Loki had ever seen.

  “Green’s gonna be pissed. He wanted me save as many of the technicians and related families as we could.”

  Loki registered his batman nodding hurriedly. There was nothing that Loki could say that this moron wouldn’t agree with.

  “Well, maybe some are gonna make it inside the concrete structures,” he went on. “We’ll just have to recruit the rest after we clear out the fucking zombies.”

  Loki could tell that in the days since Khorbish’s men had returned, the dam’s defenders had been busy. In addition to the primary fence, the electrified fence and the Tesla systems the scouts had indicated on their maps, Loki noted a new physical barrier, now revealed by the flares that the Gleaners had fired into the fenced ground surrounding the blockhouse.

  A hundred yards outside the main blockhouse was a short, narrow gauge, almost negligible, circle of pipe, perhaps set to trip the infected. Inside that, defenders had found enough metal drums to create a hip-high stockade around the bottom floor of the building. The barrels were topped with a single row of sandbags, providing them with both weight and some ballistic protection. Little bubbles of fine netting, almost like chicken wire, dotted the central area.

  However, compared to the mob of infected that was flooding into the illuminated area, the fences looked like scant protection. Undamaged Tesla coils began arcing, whether manually controlled or automatically firing. Dozens of infected simply collapsed, but as the mounds of dead began to form, the brilliant streamers of electricity flickered over shorter and shorter distances. In some areas, adjoining coils were already dead, and a stream of zombies poured like a soccer mob charging the field.

  “I don’t think the barriers are going to do more than slow them zombies down,” Loki added. He held a hand out for his binoculars and the flunky promptly slapped them into his palm.

  The flare-illuminated view had actually grown brighter than the earlier overcast daylight. He studied the target. Outside the metal ring-and-drum combination and a second, presumably electrified, fence, was a third barrier. This was a simple head-high chain-link fence, laid in a rough circle some five hundred feet in diameter. It was centered on the gray, two-story control building. All around the interior the vegetation, tents or anything that could obstruct a sight line or deflect a bullet had been stripped away. What appeared to be four entry-control points, shielded by the thick-masted coil devices, were dispersed evenly about the circumference.

  In the center of the cleared area a large smokestack, festooned with a regular pattern of scaffolding, emerged from the side of the blockhouse.

  “What’s that, sir?” Dragon asked, pointing to the stack.

  “Smokestack,” Loki rumbled. “Probably part of a backup power generation system. Looks like they were trying to repair it before our arrival. These are probably older, stronger buildings that accompany the original construction and the technicians have chosen those for their last stand.”

  Loki recognized the effort that had been invested in protecting the location. Green would approve. Loki knew that the most important next step in Green’s plan was returning reliable power to the immediate area. With enough power, the Gleaners could consolidate their hold on the entire region.

  The defenders’ problem was that enough infected would rapidly overcome the chain-link, electrified or not. The mere three-foot height of the drum barrier was laughable. The blockhouse was sturdy enough, but once trapped inside, the survivors’ options would drop to zero.

  “What if they just hide inside?” asked the former Triad gangster. “They could just block the doors. That smokestack means they can burn something in there, make electricity, even if we cut the lines to the dam.”

  He stabbed a thick finger, clad in his trademark blue gloves, at the tallest of the remaining buildings. What appeared to be a spark arrester perched on top of the scaffold-clad tower.

  “We’ll find their fuel source and isolate it,” promised Loki as he scanned the approaching storm line of zombies. Even at this distance, the building howls and screams were plainly audible, even over the popping of harassing rifle fire. “We only kill as many as we have to. Their boss has to go, of course. Anyone in a leadership role. But we can afford to starve them out. We’ll have plenty to do just on the cleanup. Besides, it’s time. Get back to your team now. Start the push.”

  Dragon nodded and headed for the ladder up to their side of the roadway.

  The defenders were picking up their rate of fire, but so far all they had used were rifles. Hundreds of dead infected were visible, but upwards of fifteen thousand howling zombies were surging towards the outer fenceline. Using just their mass the mob of infected humanity was about to collapse the first barrier.

  This wouldn’t take too long. They might not even have to assault across the bridge. Loki wondered how Green was doing and began to consider the next steps in the plan. His men could clear the dam and use the funnel to kill off such infected as survived the onslaught of the defenses.

  Anyone that survived the infected might actually be glad to see him.

  For a little while.

  * * *

  “Too many to stop!” Kaplan shouted above the gunfire, changing magazines. “Way too many. And we’re burning through ammo!”

  The designated marksmen had been joined by every other trigger puller available, but even the rapid sustained aimed fire wasn’t even making a dent in the onrushing horde. Empty magazines and brass littered the blue tile floor of the blockhouse. The attackers’ fire had also heated up considerably, while most of Smith’s team was compelled to focus on the infected swarming against the fen
ce. At random and decreasing intervals, Gleaner rounds cracked through the windows of the blockhouse. The deadliness of the incoming was manifest.

  Two of their number, including one of their spare engineers as well as one of the volunteers from Spring City had been killed. Their jacket covered bodies were against the wall, away from the remaining survivors.

  “Changing magazines!” Jordan yelled, exactly as her father had trained her. Then she grunted and dropped the AR which she’d swapped for her bolt-gun. She stumbled back, bleeding. Her father immediately went to her aid, further reducing the defenders’ fire.

  Tom looked over to the bridge for another second. The reports on the number of infected were incredible, so he’d rushed forward to see for himself. It was worse than he’d planned. The combination of heavy, but mercifully inaccurate suppressive fire from across the bridge and the close assault by the infected wasn’t something that he’d foreseen. The Gleaners weren’t actually communicating with the infected for coordination, but the effect was the same. He’d have to show his hole card, which wasn’t his first choice.

  “Go hot on the belt-feds,” Tom said, referencing the two remaining light machine guns that he’d been saving for the Gleaners. He turned to Stantz. “We’re going to go live on the Big Bad. All right hotshot, here’s your chance.”

  Stantz beamed.

  “Brandy, open gate four!” he said.

  The four gates around the inner perimeter were not designed to let anyone out, but to channel the infected when they approached. Brandy turned a key and hit the gate control, but there was no response. She cursed and repeated the procedure.

  “No response!”

  “What?” Stantz got up from his seat and looked over her shoulder. “Did yo—”

  “I know the system!” she cut him off. “I built it! The generator’s down!”

  She picked up a phone.

  “Damnit, phone’s down!”

  “I’ll run to the generator house and tell Larry—” Stantz began.

  “Nope,” Tom said firmly. “We need you here, and serving as a runner who has to dash through rifle fire is why we have runners. Who’s up?”

  “Hoo-ah, sir,” little Cheryl Blaine said, rising from where she’d been crouched on one knee. “Run to the generator house, tell them to unfuck the motor and return, got it!”

  “Language!” Tom replied. “Otherwise, you got it in one!”

  “Be careful, Cheryl,” Brandy said worriedly.

  “No problem, miss,” Cheryl replied as she skittered out the door. “Specialist Astroga taught us how to channel our inner demon!”

  “I’m going to have a word with Astro when we get back,” Tom said more calmly than he felt. He heard a grunt of pain and looked over to see Robbins packing Celox gauze into a bullet hole in Jordan’s side. “Robbie, I need you on a gun.”

  Robbins looked up angrily.

  “Start thinning the herd with a belt-fed, Rob,” Tom said. “If that fence doesn’t hold, that first aid means nothing! Brandy, take over first aid.”

  “Ah, Boss, looks they’re approaching the middle of the bridge,” Kaplan called, never moving from his cheek weld.

  * * *

  Jason spent the second half of the paddle across the lake marveling at the lights that covered the entire span of the dam and the road above it. He’d seen some electrical equipment in operation back at the Gleaner camp, powered by the portable Honda generators that Green had scrounged. They kept the rec hall lit, and powered the TVs and gaming consoles. But this was magic.

  Several hundred yards of river, almost bank to bank, were lit with golden light, just as though the Fall had never happened.

  Jason’s spirits lifted. Man could still banish the darkness!

  As he watched, some of the lights on the Gleaner side went out. One, two, then a handful all together. The far bank, where they had started, was plunged back into blackness.

  He frowned, and then understood.

  He’d made some choices. He decided to walk away from the Force when there hadn’t seemed to be any point to policing anymore. He’d walked away from other groups that been on the edge of coming apart. He’d thrown his hat in with Green, because he liked cars and ice and showers. He’d chosen to accept that only the strong could regain a measure of civilization.

  He’d chosen to work with monsters. He’d…done things.

  But here was a group that still held back the night.

  And his side was murdering them.

  At once something like scales fell from his eyes. It was as if he was seeing clearly for the first time since he’d given Joe Paterno peace. Since he’d shot his infected partner.

  Above, another light on the bridge shattered. In his mind, Jason could hear the glass tinkle to the cement, just like a single empty nine-millimeter case from a police-issue Glock.

  Then the skies over the far bank were lit like the Fourth of July.

  * * *

  “This bunch might penetrate the perimeter,” Kaplan raised his voice just enough to heard. His trademark toothpick was getting a workout. “You watching this, Boss?”

  “I don’t care if this thing is newer, I miss my own machine gun!” Robbins added, keeping his cheek on the feed tray cover of the hammering M240. “You gotta stop losing shit, Thunder!”

  “Jesus, let it go, Robbie!” Tom yelled, squinting at the scene as he flaked out the next ammo belt. He’d run back with his shooters in order to add their weight to the fight. “That gun is state of the art.”

  “Art—shmart—just feed me!”

  The ammo can next to the machine gun was nearly empty and the brass was piling up underneath the mouse-hole of their window shooting position. The noise was ear shattering, fed by chattering weapons fire, the snarl of the remaining Tesla coils and over it all, the roars and hunting screams of a mob of zombies numbering in the thousands. Apart from a rapidly splintering toothpick, Kaplan wasn’t showing any obvious signs that he was nervous, and continued cracking rounds out from his personal weapon, but that the laconic veteran was talkative at all said volumes about his mental state.

  Since normal speech was impossible Mike Stantz leaned closer from his position near the control panel.

  “Even noisier than the crowd at Ozzfest when the band wouldn’t play an encore,” he remarked offhand, sipping one of his remaining Budweisers. “You know, your boy is shooting the shit out of the fence that is all that’s holding them zombies back, right?”

  The entire circumference of the fence was covered in infected, and at the end gate nearest the main door to the blockhouse, the crowd of zombies was packed tightly enough that the sturdy chain-link was literally bowing inwards under their combined weight. This was hard on the zombies up against the wire mesh, some of whom were being squeezed through like Play-Doh. Despite their screams of pain the remainder of the cohort behind them kept up the pressure, gruesomely crushing the individuals in the leading ranks.

  A loud zing from a parting wire was audible over the gunfire. It caught the defenders’ attention and the fence jerked as the reinforcing wire guyline parted.

  “If we don’t move the fence or get the weight off, it is going to drop any second!” Kaplan yelled matter-of-factly, while still snapping out aimed rounds. “Without the coils or the Big Bad, we can’t hold this line and either we retreat inside to be trapped or we run like hell to Spring City, now!”

  “Wait for it,” Tom said. He leaned his head to one side, slowly rolled one shoulder and then adjusted his plate carrier. “Just a little longer.”

  “I’m dry!” Robbins announced, lifting the feed tray on the smoking machine gun. “Tom, we can’t hold back that many—unless you want to meet your Aussie gods, we gotta unass now!”

  Smith stood fast.

  “Tom, we got to go, now!” Robbins repeated, shouting now to be heard over the howling mob of thousands of zombies only a few hundred meters distant.

  The guylines that stabilized the fence had begun to pop with ever greater fr
equency and the chain-link barrier was moments from being knocked over.

  “Just another minute, Robbie,” Tom said, watching the fence quiver under tension. “Just a bit more.”

  “I think we’re fucked, Boss.”

  Tom couldn’t tell who said it, but it didn’t matter.

  Black smoke suddenly burst from the stack on the generator building, causing all of them to jerk their heads to stare at it.

  “Nah, we’re good,” Stantz said, clapping Kaplan on the shoulder and passing him the can of Bud. “Hold my beer and watch this.”

  Tom nodded, and Stantz placed his hand on a series of large switches set into the panel. Eyeballing the growing mob, he deliberately flicked each one in succession while carefully watching the corresponding gauges. A deep, low frequency hum became audible above the already high background noise level. With each switch, it grew louder, resonating a heavy bass note that pulsed through their bones.

  “You’re gonna want your eye pro in a second,” Stantz offered.

  The exhaust had been spurting irregularly from the generator building while the diesel warmed. As it settled into a steady rhythm the exhaust began to change color in the glare of the flares and electric light, gradually thinning from a heavy black cloud into a light gray as the motor that powered the draglines burnt fuel more efficiently. His ear cocked to one side, Stantz considered the exhaust and the dials before him before throwing a single final switch.

  The nearest gate suddenly jerked, not down, but sideways. Metal squealed as the weight of the infected increased the friction against the fence guides, but the aperture opened inexorably, jerking under the weight of the infected clinging to the barrier.

  Precisely like water spurting through the emergency spillway of a dam, the infected began flooding into the open space inside the final fenceline. Hundreds of zombies raced towards the tempting morsels visible through the control window, separated only by distance, a flimsy shin high metal ring and some barrels. They ignored the oddly shaped metal teardrop that rode the short metal ring.

  The shuttlecock of polished aluminum responded to the dial under Mike Stantz’s hand, and it spun to sit between his position and the densest portion of the approaching mob.