The Zombie Uprising Series: Books One Through Five

by M. A. Robbins

  Taking a deep breath, she eased her foot off the board and peeked outside. The vehicles stood silent and bloody, the Humvee doors open and the SUVs and bus lying on their sides with smashed and shattered windows. Dried blood stains streaked and spattered the asphalt.

  She turned, and Mark stood beside her. "We should check the other windows," he said. "Don't want one of those things to pop out from around the corner."

  Grant walked out of the room bleary-eyed and looked out a window on the far side, his M4 strapped over his shoulder. "Nothing here."

  Doc joined them, peeled back a poster on another side, and let an array of sunlight hit the floor. He peered out. Shaking his head, he looked back at Mark. "Nothing here either."

  Grant had his hand on the front door. "Wait," Jen said. He paused.

  She continued, "They seem to detect us by either sight or sound. So stay under as much cover you can, and for crying out loud keep quiet."

  "One other thing," Mark said. "Guns are a last resort. If we run into any zombies, we need to try to take them out without firing a shot."

  Grant scoffed. "So we're supposed to box them?"

  Jen glared at Grant. "You shoot when you don't have to and you'll bring a swarm down on us. Or maybe you'd like to go it alone?"

  "A sound tactic, indeed," Doc said.

  "That's OK," Grant said. "Mark and I can knock their skulls in with our rifle butts." He winked at Jen. "We'll protect you."

  Jen propped her hands on her hips. "I've had more than one of these things on top of me, nasty breath and all, and I've survived. How close have you been?"

  Grant mumbled, "Just saying."

  He eased the door open and stepped out of the building. Jen followed, then waited for Mark and Doc. The sun blazed and she had to cover her eyes to see through the glare. Nothing came charging at her. So far, so good.

  Hunched over, Grant slowly stalked toward the lead Humvee, each foot carefully placed onto the gravel in front of the other.

  Jen mimicked his movements. Although she made more noise than him, she surprised herself with how quiet she moved.

  Grant reached the open driver's door and pulled his rifle off his shoulder. He leaned inside and checked the interior. His nose wrinkled, then he coughed, turned away, and puked on the ground.

  I remember the first time I smelled death, not so long ago. Jen patted him on the back. "Deep breaths."

  He straightened and inhaled. "I saw some things in Afghanistan, but nothing like that." He coughed. "And that smell."

  Jen ducked her head into the Humvee. By the looks of it, the interior could've been painted rusty brown. The smell hit her: the death smell she'd first whiffed in the pit by Fear Mountain. It reminded her of the time her freezer went out while she was on vacation. Two weeks the meat had sat in there, and when she got home and opened it the smell knocked her over.

  She backed away from the vehicle and the cloud of flies that hovered over it. "No bodies, just a lot of blood."

  "Any weapons?" Mark asked.

  She shook her head. "Didn't see any. Of course if they were covered in blood, I might've missed them."

  Grant had regained some of his color. "I need to call and check in," he said. "The walkies we have won't reach JBER, but the radios in the Humvees will."

  He leaned into the driver side and ducked back out with the radio mic in his hand. He keyed it.

  "Whiskey One to Command One. Do you read me?"

  Soft static buzzed from the Humvee's speakers. Grant reached in. "Need to turn it up a little and try another channel."

  He straightened and brought the mic to his face. "Whiskey One to Command One. Do you read?"

  A voice blasted over the speakers. "Whiskey One, this is Command One. Where the hell are you?"

  Grant scrambled headfirst into the Humvee, while Jen cringed and pressed herself against the side of the vehicle, expecting to hear a chorus of shrieks at any second. Mark raised his rifle and took a shooter's stance, while Doc's eyes grew big and he froze in place.

  No shrieks came.

  Grant stepped back. "Damn volume was up too high."

  Jen frowned. "What was your first clue?"

  The voice came from the radio. "Command One to Whiskey One. This is Colonel Butler. What is your location?"

  "Two miles north of the labs," Grant said.

  "Repeat, Whiskey One. It sounded like you said two miles from where you started."

  "That is correct, Command One. Two miles north."

  "What is your sit rep, Whiskey One?"

  "We were attacked by a swarm. Four survivors. I'm the only military member left."

  The radio went silent.

  Doc tilted his head and leaned toward the Humvee door. "Is the radio still on?"

  As if to answer him the voice came back over the radio. "Please confirm. Is Dr. Wilson one of the survivors?"

  "Roger."

  "Whiskey One, is Captain Lupone KIA?"

  "Roger. This is Specialist Grant. Myself, Dr. Wilson, Mark Colton, and Jen Reed are the only survivors."

  "Whiskey One, your mission is to escort Dr. Wilson safely to the flight line at JBER. The last C-130 is standing by to transport him to Fairchild Air Force Base."

  Doc put his hand out, and Grant gave him the mic. "This is Dr. Wilson. I trust there's room on the plane for the rest of my group."

  "Affirmative."

  He handed it back to Grant.

  Jen nudged Mark. "I guess he's our golden ticket."

  Mark smiled.

  Grant keyed the mic. "Whiskey One to Command One, any chance of getting a chopper?"

  "Negative, Whiskey One. The base has been evacuated and the only asset remaining is the C-130."

  Grant spit on the ground. "Fucking great."

  "Command One to Whiskey One, cell phone coverage is spotty in the Anchorage Bowl. Some towers are operating on backup and some are inoperative. You are expected to call in with your sitrep every hour if you have a signal. Use command cell number Whiskey Tango Foxtrot."

  Grant sighed. "Copy. Out."

  "Good luck, Whiskey One."

  Grant tossed the mic on the driver's seat. "Yeah, good luck."

  Jen glanced up and down the road. "We've been lucky so far, standing out here in the open. Better get a move on."

  "We should scavenge the vehicles for supplies, weapons, and ammo before we go," Mark said.

  Grant puffed his cheeks and blew out a breath. "Can someone else take the Humvees? Don't think I can do them. Those were all my buddies."

  Doc put a hand on his shoulder. "I'll take this one."

  "I'll take the rear one," Jen said.

  "Looks like Grant and I have the bus and SUVs," Mark said.

  Jen walked with Mark and Grant as far as the bus, her eyes moving, looking for any sign of zombies. "I really don't like being out in the open like this."

  "We're right here if you need us," Mark said. He and Grant climbed onto the bus.

  Jen approached the SUVs in a crouch. Don't want one of those things popping out at me like a jack-in-the-box.

  She kept the pistol pointed forward and checked each of the SUVs before passing them. Except for a ringed finger on the dashboard of the second SUV, all that remained was blood and weapons.

  The Humvee stood silent, its open doors seeming to beckon her. She paused and scanned the surrounding area again, but there were no signs of movement. Doc's feet hung out of the other Humvee's door and Mark and Grant looked to be halfway through their sweep of the bus.

  Leaning in and kneeling on the driver's seat, she pointed her pistol at the rear of the vehicle and swept it with her gaze. Empty. While there were splashes of blood and a pile of entrails on the front passenger floorboard that had already drawn flies, the interior wasn't as bad as the first Humvee's. A couple of rifles lay in the back.

  Something yanked her left ankle and she went down, her forehead slamming into the center console. She lost her grip on her pistol and it fell onto the driver's floorboard. Fig
hting the motes swimming in her eyes, she grabbed for the gun, but was jerked clear out of the vehicle. She landed chest down on the asphalt just before her attacker let out a shrill zombie shriek.

  12

  Jen rolled over and pushed herself into a sitting position. A soldier with the nametag Williams, stood over her, half his face missing and an eyeball hanging out.

  Jen scrambled back against the open Humvee door. "Mark!"

  A chorus of muted shrieks came from somewhere behind her. Shit.

  Still wobbly, she pulled her feet in, but was too slow. Williams grabbed her foot.

  "Mark!"

  Where the hell is he?

  She lashed out with her free foot, connecting with Williams' jaw and splattering blood and drool over herself. He released her and stumbled backward, but lurched at her again. Feeling around on the Humvee's floorboard with one hand, Jen kicked at Williams again and missed. The chorus of shrieks became louder.

  "Mark!" She screamed as loud as she could. She had to get the hell out of there. Did they leave me?

  Her scrambling hand touched the barrel of her pistol. She felt down to the grip and grasped it just as Williams jerked on her ankles again and pulled her away from the vehicle. Her shirt had come up and her bare back screamed from being dragged across the asphalt, but she brought the pistol around to aim at Williams' face. His yellow eyes locked on hers and a saliva-and-blood mix drooled out the ruined side of his mouth as he bent over her. Gawd. His breath.

  "Do you kiss your mother with that mouth?" Jen squeezed the trigger, smiling at the satisfying kick and the way Williams' nose disappeared. The screeches sounded again.

  She pulled herself up using the Humvee's door and shook her head to clear the fog. No time to screw around.

  Mark was the first to get to her. "What happened? Why'd you fire?"

  Jen gestured at Williams. "Guess he didn't want to leave his post. Where the hell were you while I was getting groped by zombie GI Joe? I called for help."

  Grant ran up and almost tripped over Williams. "Shit." He looked away. "We were pulling supplies out of the back of the SUV and didn't see what was going on."

  "We've got to get back to the video store and hide," Jen said.

  Mark looped her arm over his shoulder and she shook him off. "I'm good."

  Mark frowned, but said nothing.

  "Grant." Jen hitched a thumb over her shoulder at the Humvee. "There's at least one rifle in there. Grab any you find and don't forget ammo."

  Grant jumped into the Humvee while Doc jogged over to them. "As much as I'm a proponent of staying calm, I'd prefer to see a tad more urgency."

  Still a bit dizzy, Jen jogged to the video store with Doc at her side and paused at the doorway. Grant exited the Humvee with two more rifles and handed one to Mark.

  A zombie with a half-eaten leg limped into view between the two SUVs and screeched. The answering calls come without a pause.

  "They're almost on top of us," Jen said.

  Grant raised his rifle and aimed at the zombie. "I've got it."

  Mark pushed the barrel down. "No time. We've got to leave this area."

  "What do you mean?" Grant asked.

  Mark pointed to the lead Humvee. Another slow zombie limped into view. "These were probably the ones too slow to get far away after the last swarm."

  Jen checked the road for more. "Mark's right. If these things see us go into the store, we're toast. Who knows how many are coming? Our best chance is to outrun those two and hide. Follow me."

  She jogged behind the store and into the trees. Her head had almost cleared. Just out of sight of the road, she waited until the others had caught up. Mark handed her his extra rifle and Grant shoved another into Doc's hands, then pushed past her. "Follow me," he said.

  "Why you?" Jen asked.

  "I'm trained. I'm the only military person here."

  "We don't have time for this shit," Mark said. "We need to put some distance between us and them. Jen, get us out of here."

  Jen nodded. She pushed through the trees and tall grass, trying to not make noise, but it was hopeless. They sounded like a stampede.

  The screeches faded a bit behind them, but growls came from ahead. She stopped and held up her hand. The others froze.

  The growling sounds came closer, and Jen ducked into some brush, signaling the others to do the same. Ten seconds later, two zombies rustled through the undergrowth, heading in the direction of the convoy.

  A minute passed. Then two. Mark looked at her and shrugged. She stood and whispered, "Need to be quieter or we won't hear them."

  Doc gave her a thumbs-up, and Mark nodded. Grant looked at her, but didn't react. Guess who's going to be a pain in the ass?

  She led them through the foliage and stopped when it ended at a set of railroad tracks. "Which way?" Doc asked.

  Jen closed her eyes and pictured a map of Anchorage in her mind. "The tracks run north and south, so going north will take us in the right direction. The tracks are mostly out of sight of the roads." She added, "I think."

  She leaned out from the trees and peered up and down the track. Nothing moving. "But we can at least follow them for now. We just need to stay near the trees so we can take cover if we spot any trouble."

  She stepped out of the brush.

  Grant frowned. "Who put you in charge?"

  Jen sighed. Not again. "Are you from Anchorage?"

  "Kodiak," Grant said.

  "Then maybe Jen's the right person to lead us since she knows the city," Mark said.

  Grant frowned. "But I'm the authority here. I'm a solider. I know tactics."

  Jen crossed her arms. "How many zombies have you fought?"

  Grant looked away. "None."

  "Then I think we should let Jen lead, son," Doc said. "We're wasting time here."

  Grant kept his mouth shut.

  We need him, so take it easy, Jen. Don't say something smartass and piss him off more. "We can't do this without you, Grant," she said.

  Grant adjusted the rifle in his arms. "I'm good. Let's go."

  "We can't keep using guns," Mark said. "We need weapons that don't make noise and bring swarms."

  "Melee weapons," Grant added.

  "Right," Mark said. "Melee weapons. Car jacks, bats, anything that can bash a head."

  Jen smiled. "Just so happens these tracks run behind one of those big box hardware stores. Think we can find what you want in there?"

  "Now you're talking," Mark said.

  Grant stood off by himself, not saying anything. Jen walked over to him. "How do you think we should travel down the tracks?"

  Grant straightened, his features hard. "Single file. Makes a smaller profile. I'll take point. The rear guard needs to keep an eye behind us." He nodded at Mark. "How about you?"

  Mark shot Jen an amused look. "Happy to take the rear."

  "Good," Grant said. "Jen, you're behind me since you know the city. Doc is behind her."

  They followed the tracks, pausing at every muffled screech or branch snap, but they remained unseen. Thirty minutes later, Grant raised his hand and they came to a halt. He took a knee and gestured for everyone to join him. "The trees are thinning out up ahead."

  Jen knelt next to Grant. The back of a strip mall peeked through a break in the trees. "The hardware store is next to a strip mall. I think that's the one."

  Mark took a couple of steps toward the track and craned his neck. "Our concealment thins out quite a bit before we get to the store, but there's a train wreck on the tracks that will give us some cover—"

  Grant stood. "Follow my lead." He crept forward.

  Jen and Mark exchanged a glance. When was Mark going to let Grant know who the real soldier in the group was?

  They crept to the edge of the trees. A few zombies wandered on the far side of the parking lot, too far away to be attracted by anything but a loud noise.

  "Only ten yards to that wreckage," Doc said. "Best we get going."

  Grant nodded. "I'll go
first."

  "Can we quit playing G.I. Joe and just all go?" Jen asked.

  "That's not standard procedure," Grant said. "You have no idea what—"

  Jen sprinted to the train. She didn't look back to see if the others were coming and didn't really give a shit.

  Reaching the train, she pressed her back against it. Mark and Doc darted across the open space, with Grant on their heels.

  "Dammit, Jen," Grant said when he arrived. "This isn't a fucking game. I'm OK with you taking charge when it comes to navigating the city, but I'm more qualified in combat."

  Jen opened her mouth to reply, but caught Mark's expression. He gave her a slight shake of his head.

  I'll bet he doesn't want me spilling the beans on him. Nodding, Jen said, "OK. What do we do next?"

  Grant peered around the wreckage, toward the back of the store. "We'll go in the same order as we did on the tracks."

  He led them past the wreckage and through a broken section of fence. The loading dock's overhead door stood open like a giant mouth. They stopped in front of it.

  "Can't say it looks welcoming," Doc said.

  Grant pulled a flashlight from his belt and turned it on. "Anyone else have one?" The others shook their heads.

  "That's the first thing we should find," Mark said. "That, and batteries."

  Jen nodded at Grant. "Looks like you're still the lead."

  Grant shouldered his rifle and took out his pistol. Shining the light into the loading bay, he swept the beam from one side to the other. "All clear. Stay close."

  He led them between stacked boxes and a forklift to a door. Looking back to the others, he shined the light on his face and put a finger to his lips.

  The door opened outward without making a sound. The light shined up and down the back aisle. Nothing stirred, undead or alive.

  Grant led them down the aisle that lay in front of them, its shelves stacked with cables and electrical gear. He swung the light back and forth in front of him. Jen clasped him on the shoulder and he stopped. "Back to the right," she whispered.

  The beam swung to the right and rested on a display of flashlights next to a rack of batteries.

  Jen took three flashlights and handed one each to Mark and Doc, then gave them each batteries. Loading her flashlight, she strained to hear anything in the huge store, but it remained quiet. She turned the flashlight on. Perfect.