The Zombie Uprising Series: Books One Through Five

by M. A. Robbins

  Butler shook his head like he hadn't heard correctly. "You want me to leave?"

  "Yes, Colonel. Please."

  Butler stood, tight-lipped, and stalked out the door.

  Cartwright picked a paper up from her desk. "I printed out all of Doc's notes and reports, and this letter jumped out at me. It's addressed to me. Besides other, more personal things, he mentions just what you said. That you should work for me."

  Jen looked at Mark, who raised an eyebrow, then back at Cartwright. "OK. So is there a problem?"

  "How do I know you didn't add that to his letter after he died?"

  Jen shot out of her seat. "What? Why would I do that?"

  Cartwright looked over her glasses at Jen. Jen waited for her to say something, but she just stared. Jen sat down.

  "If you worked for me," Cartwright said, "you'd have resources available to you like food, transportation, and shelter. That's a lot more than most survivors."

  "When would I have changed it? Doc gave it to me right before he died. We were out in the city and on the run."

  Cartwright's eyes never left Jen's. "How do I know that? He could've given it to you before you left the lab. Plenty of computers there to hop on. Or maybe you found one in the city."

  Jen laughed. "Sure. In a totaled city with zombies and asshole humans trying to kill us at every turn, we stopped somewhere that miraculously had power, just so I could see what was on a thumb drive."

  Mark interrupted. "What Jen says is true. I was there when Doc died."

  "Me, too," Grant said.

  Cartwright's unflinching gaze swept over each of them in turn and landed on Zeke, who was examining the ninja hood in his hands. "What about the man in black?"

  "Nope. I was busy with those assholes Jen mentioned."

  "I see." Cartwright adjusted her glasses and sighed. "Until I have more proof than that, I'm afraid I can't honor the request. I therefore must release you to Colonel Butler."

  "Wait," Jen said.

  Cartwright's hand had moved to the bottom of the screen. She pulled it back. "Yes?"

  "Something Doc said. It's on the tip of my tongue."

  "Please don't waste my time, Miss Reed."

  "It's not Miss Reed. It's Jen." She had to remember. What was it Doc said? Think. Bug. Something about a bug.

  "I'll eat a bug if it isn't true," she blurted out.

  Cartwright leaned closer to the camera, her mouth hanging slightly open. "What did you say?"

  "Doc told me to tell you that he'd eat a bug if it isn't true."

  A smile spread across Cartwright's face, and her eyes glistened. "That son of a bitch."

  Cartwright sat back. "I believe you, Jen. There's never been a person on this earth I've trusted more than John Wilson."

  Cartwright's smile faded. "Back to business. Jen, I'd like to offer you that assistant position. Will you take it?"

  Jen glanced at Mark, who grinned and shook his head like he couldn't believe it. Grant sat, nodding at her. Zeke gazed at a wall.

  Jen straightened in her chair. "Yes, Dr. Cartwright. I do accept."

  "Good," Cartwright said. "Young man?"

  Zeke looked around. "Me?"

  "Yes. Please ask the colonel and sergeant to step back in."

  Zeke walked to the door, opened it, and said, "She wants you back."

  Colonel Butler strode in and took a position by the door. Sergeant Howell stood a few feet to his left, his hands clasped behind his back.

  "Colonel."

  "Yes, Doctor."

  "Jen answers only to me, and will receive all cooperation and support needed for her to perform her mission."

  To his credit, Butler didn't strangle on the words, but he looked like he'd just swallowed a shit sandwich. "Yes, Doctor."

  Jen glanced at Mark. What about him? "My first request is to have Mark, Grant, and Zeke assist me."

  Cartwright sighed. "I can authorize the big guy and the skinny ninja. But the president activated the National Guard, and your friend there is under Colonel Butler's command."

  Grant looked at Jen with a hangdog expression. She'd figure a way to spring him.

  "When do we get out of here?" Mark asked.

  Cartwright steepled her fingers. "A week. I need you to go outside the base and record observations of zombie behavior. Dr. Wilson's notes mention a possible mutation and behavior changes. We need current data."

  Butler grunted. "They're just a bunch of dumb meat bags."

  Mark glared at Butler. Yeah, Mark. I'm still pissed he left us in Anchorage, too.

  "Why stay here and study them? Hasn't the virus made it to Atlanta?" Jen asked.

  Cartwright frowned and looked to her side for a moment. Was someone else there with her?

  "It has made it to almost every corner of the globe," Cartwright said. "We lost the west coast before we could do anything. But the government initiated protocols to more closely monitor population deaths to neutralize the deceased before they can turn."

  Mark squinted his eyes. "Protocols?"

  Cartwright ignored him. "So there are very few zombies here to study, while Fairchild is at the front lines." She locked eyes with Jen. "That is why I need you there for now."

  "And then we go to Atlanta," Jen stated. "Makes sense. I'll get the data you need."

  "Good," Cartwright said. She reached for the screen and paused. "Doc didn't give false praise. The way he described you tells me we'll make great strides together. I'll be in touch."

  The screen went blank. Butler crossed his arms. "I expect you'll complete your mission and get the hell off my base. We're in a war zone, and I don't need civilians running around and getting in the way."

  Mark's hands clenched, his knuckles turning white. "You didn't do too well in Afghanistan with your military troops, either."

  Butler glared at him. "Sergeant," he barked. "Show them to their rooms and the dining hall." He pointed at Grant. "Except the specialist. Assign him to a recon unit. He's been in the middle of the shit already. Might as well take advantage of his experience."

  An alarm blared from speakers on the wall. Jen flinched and covered her ears.

  Howell grabbed a phone that had no dial buttons. The alarm stopped, and Howell barked into the mouthpiece, "What direction? How many?"

  He slammed the phone into the cradle. "Sir, attack from the southwest. Estimated strength in the thousands."

  4

  Jen piled into the idling Humvee outside the Headquarters building, sitting between Mark and Zeke. Butler sat up front while Howell jumped into the driver's seat. Looking glum, Grant sat in back.

  Howell put the vehicle in gear and drove like a bat out of hell, arriving at the unfinished southwest wall in minutes.

  Twenty yards past where they parked, the wall ended. Construction equipment sat quiet as soldiers took up firing positions back from the perimeter.

  Butler strode toward a platform against the wall on a hydraulic lift. "Stay with me," he barked.

  When the last of them boarded, Howell hit a button on a control box and the platform rose in the air. Other platforms with armed men were already in the air, just above the wall.

  Howell handed Butler a radio and he keyed the mic. "Where's the damn Apache? And I haven't seen that C-130 take off yet."

  Static burst from the radio, then a voice said, "Hotel Four on the way, sir. Fully loaded. C-130 is taxiing for takeoff."

  They reached the top of the wall and Jen's heart skipped. Zombies raced toward the base, as far as she could see.

  The helicopter swooped behind their platform and hovered, facing the perimeter.

  Jen spoke into Mark's ear. "Is that helicopter the Apache he asked for?"

  Mark nodded. "It's a two-seater that's armed for bear. I saw a Blackhawk parked on the tarmac on the way over here. They carry a punch, too, but are also good for transport."

  Howell yelled over the thumping of the rotor blades. "One of our recon planes spotted them heading this way. Some will hit the wall and
we'll wipe them up, but others will stumble into the gap in the wall."

  The lead wave of zombies crashed against the wall to Jen's right, and the soldiers stationed there opened fire.

  Zombies went down, but more filled their spots faster than the soldiers could keep up.

  Machine gun bursts from her left had Jen ducking and looking that way. A sea of zombies had breached the open perimeter and the helicopter had opened fire, along with a couple hundred soldiers and several Humvee-mounted .50 cal machine guns.

  They were barely keeping up. What the hell would happen when they had to reload?

  Colonel Butler pointed to the sky. "There it is."

  A C-130 gunship appeared and flew high over the distant trees. It banked and spit fire from its side. Hundreds of zombies fell.

  "I've gotta get me one of those," Mark said.

  Grant watched the plane bank and come around for another run. "You're not kidding."

  Jen grinned. "What do you think, Zeke?"

  She glanced behind her, then turned. Zeke wasn't on the platform. "Shit."

  "What?" Howell asked.

  "Zeke is doing his ninja shit again," she said.

  Mark pointed down to the line of soldiers holding back the horde. Zeke stood behind them, his hood on and his katana ready. When the soldiers in front of him reloaded, Zeke jumped out and sliced through the lead zombies, felling several and keeping the others back. When the next shots fired, he ducked behind the line.

  They stopped to reload again, and like a dancer, Zeke sprung forward, his katana singing through the air and into undead flesh. Sunlight glinted off the blade as he stepped forward, sliced, spun, and beheaded another zombie. Then he ducked and stepped back to take out another.

  Entranced, Jen could only watch. That little shit really is a ninja.

  The C-130 burped another storm of death, and hundreds more zombies bit the big one.

  Butler put his hands on his hips. "Damn good job." He keyed the radio mic. "Order ground units forward on mop-up. Have Hotel One fly cover and the gunship return home."

  "Yes, sir," came from the radio.

  "And transition to cleanup operations as soon as the all clear is reported."

  "Yes, Colonel."

  The Humvees and ground troops pushed past the perimeter. The occasional gunshot barked, but it seemed as if the horde had been destroyed.

  More troops moved forward with flamethrower tanks on their backs.

  Mark pointed at them. "Clean up?"

  Howell nodded. "Too many to bury. Too many to stack and burn. Who knows what other diseases they're carrying?"

  "Sergeant, take us down and back to Headquarters," Butler said.

  Howell pushed a button and the platform lowered to the ground. Zeke stood off to the side, talking with a soldier. He'd cleaned off his katana blade, but his costume was splattered with blood and innards.

  Jen waved to him as she walked to the Humvee. "Come on, Zeke. We're heading back."

  Zeke was the last to get in. He pulled his hood off and had the biggest shit-eating grin Jen had seen on his face.

  "That was a blast," he said.

  "You did a hell of a job," Grant said.

  Zeke shrugged. "That was only the first level. Can't wait to move up to the second level."

  "What does that even mean?" Grant asked.

  Jen grinned. "It's a nerd thing."

  Zeke winked. "Damn straight."

  Howell parked at the Headquarters building and Butler stepped out. "Show them to their rooms and the chow hall, then get Specialist Grant to his new unit. I want them done with their mission and out of my hair." He strode into the building.

  Howell guided them inside and down a long hallway to a T intersection. A sign in front of them pointed left to the dining facility.

  "Dining facility?" Jen said. "Sounds fancy."

  Mark shrugged. "It's a chow hall with a fancy name."

  Howell pointed down the hallway to the right. "Rooms are down here."

  He led them past two more hallways, and they came to lobby with a soldier behind a desk.

  "Smitty," Howell said. "You have the keys for those rooms?"

  The soldier reached under the counter and handed Howell three sets of keys. "Fresh linen, cleaned, and aired out."

  "Thanks." Howell handed the keys out. "I suggest the first thing you do is go get some chow. You never know when the shit'll hit the fan around here and you'll go without until it's over."

  "Specialist Grant, you're with me." Howell strode away, Grant by his side.

  Zeke sniffed. "I'm starving."

  Jen looked at Mark and raised her eyebrows. "I could eat," he said.

  Ten minutes later, they sat in the empty chow hall, a tray of food in front of each of them.

  Jen cut her roast beef and gave Mark a sidelong glance. "What's with you and Butler? I mean, other than him leaving us high and dry in Anchorage, the asshole."

  Mark paused mid-chew, then swallowed. He took a sip of coffee. "Was it that obvious?"

  "It was obvious you don't like him." Zeke slurped soup off his spoon.

  Jen shrugged. "You said something about Afghanistan."

  Mark put his coffee cup down and wiped his mouth with a napkin. He looked around and dropped his voice. "I'll tell you what I know. But you have to keep it to yourself."

  Jen nodded. Mark turned to Zeke. He'd given up on the spoon and had picked up the bowl and slurped even louder from there.

  "How about you?" Mark asked.

  Zeke put the bowl down and wiped his mouth with his sleeve. "I can keep a secret."

  "I didn't make the connection when we heard his name back in Anchorage," Mark said. "But the minute I saw that flat-top carrot head, I had no doubt it was him."

  "What about him?" Jen asked.

  Mark leaned on the table and clasped his hands together. "I never served directly with him, but did serve with some that did. Butler had a reputation of risking his men's lives for a mission."

  "Isn't that what all commanders do?" Jen asked. "Isn't it a risk any time they go out?"

  Mark scowled. "Not like this guy. He'd send them out when he could've waited for more troops and kept the death count down. No, all he cared about was the objective."

  "Kinda like the Joker," Zeke said.

  Mark ignored him and continued. "It wasn't just the grunts. He had a major who pushed back and argued with him. The major stuck up for his men and Butler didn't like it.”

  "So they're out on a mission, and when it came time for extraction, the major and three of his men stayed in the rear to cover everyone else."

  Mark paused and took a drink. "The Taliban attacked, but the colonel and his men made it to the helicopters. All he had to do was have his men lay down cover fire while the major and his men beat feet to join them. Instead he ordered the helicopters to leave."

  Jen clenched her teeth. The same damn thing he'd done to them in Anchorage. "What happened to the major?"

  Mark faced her, his upper lip curled back as he spat out the words. "Remember those four soldiers that were kept hostage by the Taliban and were beheaded one at a time over six months?"

  Jen's stomach soured. "No telling what that asshole would do to us."

  Zeke finished his soup and put the bowl down. He let out an exaggerated sigh. "Lucky for us we'll be gone in a week." His face clouded. "But not Grant."

  "Don't you worry about that," Jen said. "I've got leverage with Cartwright and I'm going to use it. I'll get Grant out of here."

  Howell strode into the chow hall. "I'm glad you took my advice."

  Jen caught Mark's eyes. They'd have to be more careful where they talked freely. Howell could've walked in during their conversation.

  Mark gestured to an empty chair pulled up to the table. "Join us, Sergeant?"

  Howell put his hands on his hips. "Not this time. You're going to join me and Colonel Butler."

  "What for?" Jen asked.

  "Colonel's taking you on a mission. We're to
meet him at the helipad in ten minutes."

  "We get to ride in a chopper?" Zeke asked.

  Jen winced. Yeah, we'll ride out in it, but will we come back in it?

  5

  Howell stopped at a metal door just inside the lobby. He banged his fist on it and yelled, "Howell here. Need ammo loads now."

  A small door opened and closed, then the metal door swung open. A shirtless soldier stepped to the side and let them in. "Whatcha lookin' for, Sarge?"

  Howell positioned himself at the center of the room and Jen stopped next to him. Weapons lined every wall. Racks of M4 Carbines against one wall, with pistols and machine guns along another.

  "Need M4 and 9mm loads for each of these folks," Howell said. "Going shopping in the city."

  Jen walked over to the machine guns. "These look pretty nice."

  "M60s," Howell said. "Sorry, but you're not authorized."

  The armorer stacked the ammo on a desk. "Here ya go."

  Zeke stood across the room admiring the flamethrowers. He glanced back and jerked a thumb at the rack in front of him. "Mind if I take one of these instead?"

  The armorer looked at Howell.

  "Fuck, no," Howell said. "You all get standard load out. Get your ass over here and grab your rounds."

  Zeke shrugged. "Can't blame me for trying." He took a sling of 5.56 ammo for his rifle.

  "You know how to handle that weapon?" the armorer asked.

  "I have a master badge on my M4 Carbine. I love this gun."

  "Master badge?" The armorer squinted. "Never heard of that before. Where'd you get it?"

  "FPS," Zeke said.

  "FPS?"

  Zeke slung the rifle over his shoulder. "First Person Shooter."

  Mark took pistol ammo from the armorer. "You don't want to know."

  "Load it all up," Howell said.

  Jen followed Howell outside. It had cooled and dark clouds had rolled in, covering the base in a dusk-like shadow.

  Howell climbed into the driver's seat of an extended cab pickup. Jen and the others joined him.

  As much as it was an understatement, Zeke looked awkward—a skinny kid with a rifle, pistol, and sword. "How are you going to manage all of those weapons?" she asked.

  Zeke winked at her and lowered his voice. "Once we get into any real action, I'll hide the rifle and take out Betty." He patted the scabbard.