"Not good! Not good!" Clarke mumbled in disbelief as he watched forty or more of the deaders trying to get inside the upside-down Humvee. As those flesh-eaters tried to break into the lightly armored vehicle, more were continuing to stumble and roll down the trail. Wickham quickly looked back at the troops in the rear of the Pit Bull and yelled over to Sergeant Newman.
"Alby! Alby! The major’s rig just rolled over."
"No fucking way." Newman pushed his way forward to the cab and took a fast look out of the windshield. "Shit, L-Tee!" Without delay, he spun around and started barking orders to the remaining men in the vehicle. "Cord and Gonzo, get your asses on the roof and take out as many of those undead bastards as you can! L-Tee, you go up top with them. Clarke, stay aboard and keep the engine runnin'. The rest of ya, grab yer weapons and come with me!" The others quickly clutched their rifles and stood up. "As soon as the blokes on top open up, we’re going to make a run on the Hummer and pull their asses out. Jefferson, grab the M-60 from the back locker. Blow any of those dead fucks away when I pop open the doors! Any problem?"
"No, Alby, just open the damn door!" Jefferson grinned as he shoved a wad of gum in his mouth.
"Good." Newman smiled. He could feel the adrenalin starting to kick in again. That was good because he was just starting to feel himself coming down. Wickham, Cord, and Gonzo hurried up the small ladder to the rooftop of the Pit Bull. Suddenly, there was the roar of the men's rifles from above. Newman nodded and gave the door a good shove.
"Fuck!" somebody shouted from behind.
The worn school bus engine hissed angrily as it shut down for the final time. The old transport creaked and groaned as it lay on its side like a bright yellow beached whale. Thick, black smoke escaped from beneath the bus' crumpled hood and exposed undercarriage. It was suddenly very quiet except for the faint growl of the Russians' wagon disappearing in the distance. For a few minutes after the mercenaries drove off, it was dead silent. Then there was a crunching of glass and cursing from inside. One of the parents, a man named Calvin, crawled out of the sideways emergency exit followed by two of the children. The parent stood up and helped the kids out of the broken escape door. Another parent, Marie, crawled out, followed by the rest of the children. All were bruised and bloodied. Calvin made sure the group outside the wreckage was okay then stuck his head back into the open emergency exit.
"Sister Anne!" he called into the smoke-filled interior. "Sister Anne!" He was answered by coughing and the crunch of glass. Calvin couldn’t see much in the darkened bus, but he could feel the heat of a small fire that had started in the engine. "Sister Anne!" he shouted as he climbed back inside. Coughing and trying in vain to fan the smoke away with his hands, Calvin made his way into the rear of the aged bus. Before he was able to take another step, the young nun appeared, dragging the motionless Sergeant Wu behind her.
"Give me a hand, Calvin!" she coughed. He quickly grabbed Wu’s shoulders, and the two of them carried the sergeant out of the ruins of the school bus. They lugged Wu about a hundred feet away from the now-burning vehicle. Marie and the rest of the children ran over to the nun and the parent.
"Anybody else?" Calvin asked as they gently set Wu down in a shady spot on the asphalt.
"No," Sister Anne shook her head sadly. "Smoke was too thick, and the fire …" Her voice trailed off. Calvin grabbed her arm lightly.
"It’s okay, Sister," he said softly. "We need to find the other soldiers."
"I know," she said, thinking about Pietro; Erica Boloiux, who was mother to two of the surviving little girls; and Captain Brooks. All now dead. "Captain Brooks said they had a force and plane at the airport." She glanced down at the unconscious Wu. "We need to see if we can get him to his feet."
Calvin nodded and knelt down beside the unmoving soldier. Wu was breathing normally. The Russian round had grazed his forehead, ringing his bell pretty good but not penetrating his skull. Sister Anne had bandaged his head. She knew he at least had a concussion, but he hadn’t been hit anywhere else. Calvin lightly shook Wu.
"Sergeant," he said in English. "Sergeant, wake up."
Suddenly there was a smashing of glass from the front of the bus. Calvin stood up quickly and spun in that direction. Sister Anne was already running over to the head of the wounded vehicle, followed by Marie.
"Motherfuckers!"
Both women stopped abruptly as the windshield crashed to the ground a few feet ahead of them. More cursing followed as black smoke escaped from the new opening on the bus.
"A little help here!” Lis Brooks coughed as she attempted to drag Pietro through the remains of the windshield. The two women quickly helped the captain pull the wounded bus driver out of the burning wreckage. More coughing came from behind as Erica crawled out after, grabbing her bleeding left arm.
"Thank God you are all alive!" Sister Anne said as she helped Brooks and Marie carry the groaning Pietro over to where Wu was now conscious and sitting up.
"Cake walk!" Brooks grumbled as they set the driver down next to Wu. "He took a round in the side."
"Let me have a look!" The nun crouched down next to Pietro, who was clutching the injury. "Pietro …"
"I’m okay." He smiled weakly up at the young woman. "Just a little wound … that’s all." He sighed, trying to catch his breath. "L'enfants?"
"The children are fine, Pietro." She tore open his shirt to see a bloody hole where the bullet had struck him. Brooks knelt down beside Anne and helped roll Pietro onto his left side. A fist-sized hole where the bullet had exited was ripped out of his upper back.
"Pietro, hold on," Brooks said, reaching in her pant leg pocket for another dressing.
"It’s okay … it’s okay. Sorry, Capitaine …” Pietro said softly. He let out a deep breath, then his whole body went limp.
"Pietro!" Sister Anne shouted. Both women laid the old bus driver down on the ground. The nun started CPR on him, but Lis stopped her.
"Sister! Sister, he’s gone," She said sternly. "He’s gone."
"No, no …" Anne slumped down on her knees and sobbed.
"Motherfuckers!” the captain growled as she looked off in the direction the Russians had taken. Shaking her head, she rested a reassuring hand on Sister Anne's shoulder. "I’m sorry, Sister, but we have to go."
"Captain." She looked up at Brooks. "I know. It’s just …"
"Don’t. I understand." She stood up and helped Sister Anne to her feet. "I liked the old fella, and I just met him."
"He used to be a Legionnaire." She smiled sadly. "He helped keep us all alive at the beginning."
"I knew there was something about him I liked." Brooks looked down at the old soldier. "He got us this far. Now we have to make it the rest of the way."
"Should have kept the bike," Wu said groggily from behind.
"Damn, Sergeant. Thought you’d bit it." Brooks turned to face the NCO, who was standing up and rubbing his injured head.
"Me too." Wu nodded over at Pietro's body. "That really sucks, Captain."
"Yeah," Brooks said quietly. "It does." The captain had started to say something else when she noticed that about a quarter-mile behind them the jungle was on fire. "Oh, shit."
"What?" Wu slowly turned to see what the captain was looking at. "Ah, no, no, no!"
"Looks like the lab fire is finally catching up with us. We gotta move!" She turned to the others. "Everybody able to walk?" she asked in French. The children and parents all nodded. "Fantastic! Let’s play a game and see who can walk the fastest to the airfield," she told the wide-eyed kids. Brooks reached into her tactical vest and pulled out an old power bar. "First one there gets this yummy candy bar!" The kids smiled excitedly and started to run. "Walk!" Brooks shouted. "Walk! No running." She turned to Wu and said quietly, "At least, not yet."
"I am so freakin’ tired," Wu said. "I couldn’t run if you shoved a hot poker up my ass."
"Well, Sergeant, that’s up to you." She stopped and looked at the burning bus. "Oh fuck! My damned rifle is in there!"
"Yep." He shook his head. "Mine is too."
"Crap." She reached down and felt her pistol still snug in the holster. At least she still had that and her machete. Wu also had his sidearm and an edged weapon. "Let’s move, people." Not too far behind them, several charred and still-burning deaders shuffled out onto the road.
***
As soon as Newman pushed open the Pit Bull’s doors, hungry, rotting hands reached in at the soldiers. Jefferson opened up on the undead crowd with the old M-60 machine gun. Hot casings flew all over the interior of the vehicle as Jefferson continued to chop down any of the ravenous dead that were blocking their exit. The former Marine emptied the M-60's ammo belt into the remaining deaders then tossed the heavy gun behind him into the Pit Bull. Satisfied their path out of the armored personnel carrier was clear, Newman waved the rest of the men out. They stepped on the nasty pile of corpses and headed in the Hummer's direction. Wickham, Cord, and Gonzo continued to try and thin out the insatiable group of flesh eaters that were now covering the upside-down Humvee.
"Knock 'em back!" Alby shouted as he stopped in front of the Pit Bull and raised his assault rifle.
"Man, oh man," Washington said, dropping to a kneeling position. "Not enough cash for this shit!"
"It’s not about money now," Jefferson said, firing off a three-round burst into the slow-growing mass of deaders.
"Lucas!" Newman grabbed the soldier by the harness and turned him around to face the rear. "Watch our arses so they don’t sneak up on us!"
"Gotcha!" Lucas didn’t like the idea of not being in the fight, but he understood Newman's reasoning. Deaders, stupid as they were, could be stealthy. That’s how they got you most times. A few seconds later, two of them staggered out of the jungle and moved for the rear of the Pit Bull. Lucas raised his mini-14 to fire and was met with a click. His rifle had jammed. Fumbling with his weapon, he tried to clear it as more deaders poured from the jungle behind them.
As Wickham and his team continued to fire on the crowd of undead, he saw several of the flesh eaters pull someone out of the Humvee and drag them away. The lieutenant couldn’t get a shot at whoever the deaders had a hold of, and they were just too numerous for him to take down. Wickham tried to shoot as many as possible but found it was all in vain. He observed the person being ripped to bloody pieces and devoured by the insatiable mass and could do nothing to stop it. Wickham let out a loud cry then fired angrily at the deaders that were trying to slip inside the rolled vehicle. They had to save whoever was left inside.
Hale could hear the gunfire coming from outside their wrecked vehicle. The major knew that Newman and the others would be able to get them out if they could just hold on a while longer. Hale's rifle had been thrown out of the window when the Humvee rolled. He had been lucky enough to grab the biologic case before it too was tossed free from the wreckage. Hale was bruised and beaten up in the rollover, but he was still ready to fight. The major used the case as a weapon as he smashed the reaching hands, breaking multiple undead fingers. Hale had used it so many times the metal shell was coated in gummy body fluids.
West and the major were positioned back to back. The rollover had dislocated Zoe’s left shoulder, but despite the pain she used the stock of her rifle to bash at the inexhaustible hands that reached through the small, broken window. Sweat clouding her eyes, she cursed and continued to slam the rifle down onto the open palms and knuckles. She too could hear the weapons outside and held onto a slender thread of hope that the others would rescue them. She was still shaken by Mac being dragged out of the rear of the Hummer by those damned things, and there wasn’t anything they could do to help him. It had happened too quickly.
Suddenly, the loud report of a handgun echoed inside the enclosed interior. Ears ringing, Zoe threw a quick glance into the back of the vehicle. Wolf had just fired the handgun that she had given him earlier. A deader lay motionless in the opening they had ripped Mac out of. The German fired again as a second dead man tried to squeeze inside.
"Sorry!" Zagers shouted.
"No worries." Zoe reached into her vest and pulled out a magazine for the pistol. She groaned in pain as she tossed it to the big German. "Fifteen more rounds in that, mate!"
"Thanks." He caught it and shoved it into his pants pocket. Wolf had sustained broken ribs on top of his being shot. Everything hurt like hell, but he knew he didn't want to become those monsters' next meal. Zagers had tried his damndest to hold on to Mac, but the combined strength of the zombies had been overwhelming. If Wolf hadn't been shot up and broken, he probably would have prevailed in saving the sergeant's life. To his credit, Mac had gone out fighting. Wolf fired again as a third zombie tried to slither inside the broken vehicle.
"These fucks have us surrounded, Major!" Zoe said, crushing her boot heel down on a pale hand. The fingers made a crunching sound and spread out at weird angles, unable to grip anything. Hale smiled as he bashed in the skull of a deader that had ripped a hole in the smashed window frame and forced its head inside.
"I know, Sergeant, poor bastards!" Hale winced as Wolf fired again in the cramped space, the loud report echoing above the moans and groans of the insatiable dead.
"Americans! Always the cowboys!" Wolf grabbed a deader by the hair as it poked its snarling head inside the vehicle and furiously smashed it into a bloody mess on the torn metal of the doorframe. Gray brain matter and black blood splattered all over the angry German's face and clothing. Wolf continued to crush the deader's head until there was just a stump of the neck left. Grunting, Zagers reached ahead of him with both of his blood-stained hands and wedged the deader's body into the opening, creating a temporary barricade from the other dead. Wiping his face with a free hand, Zagers looked over to see Hale staring wide-eyed at him.
"Fucking brutal," the major said, shaking his head.
"Sorry, herr Major." The German wiped his hands on his uniform pants. "I thought the gun was a little too loud for in here."
"No, no. That’s fine, Wolf. Brutal but cool." He slapped Zagers on the shoulder. "My guys will get us out. Don’t worry."
"What is to worry about?" Zagers asked as the deaders outside the Hummer tried to pull free Wolf’s corpse barricade.
"Major!" Zoe shouted. "Watch out!”
"Aw, shit!" Hale had several more pairs of hands reaching through his crushed window and grabbing at his legs. Before the officer could stop them, he was jerked down to the roof of the Humvee. Still holding the biologic case tightly in his right hand, he kicked with both his legs at the ravenous undead's hands. Before he could unholster his Beretta, he was yanked forward and smashed against the doorframe by the flesh eaters on the other side.
Zoe tried to pull the major back, but hands grabbed her booted foot and wrenched her backwards. The sergeant brought the butt of her mini-14 down hard on the rotting hands. Zagers started to move over to where West was struggling when the corpse barricade was pulled free, and a hungry deader crawled inside. This time, Zagers wasted no time in putting a bullet in its forehead.
***
Newman and the presidents sustained a steady stream of lethal and accurate fire upon the hungry mass of deaders that were assaulting the Hummer. The Aussie had seen one of the occupants jerked from inside and quickly eaten by the starving corpses. Even with all the guns, they hadn’t been able to save their team member. Newman was in the middle of changing out magazines when he heard the desperate scream from behind. Finishing reloading, he looked over his shoulder to see Lucas struggling with several more deaders. He quickly tapped both of the presidents on the shoulders and motioned for Washington to keep firing while he waved Jefferson to follow him.
Lucas had a hold of his mini-14 with both hands and was using it to try and keep four of the deaders away from him. Three more of them were milling about as if they were trying to decide whether to join in or attack the other soldiers. Newman helped them decide by shooting all three in the head. Jefferson moved in Lucas' direction, firing. One of the deaders reached for Lucas as its neck exploded, dropping its rotting head down by his feet. Jefferson took another step and fired at a second deader, blowing the head into a gooey, black mist. Now, just fighting two of the starving dead, Lucas was able to shove one away from him and onto its back. The remaining attacker lunged at him, tripping over the deader that Lucas had just pushed to the floor. The flesh eater's stumble took Lucas down with it. Caught off guard, he wasn’t able to try and break his fall and struck the ground hard. Both of the undead that were entangled with him wasted no time in biting and tearing at the fallen soldier.
"Lucas!" Newman ran over to where the American was being assaulted by the deaders. He reached down and pulled one of the undead off Lucas. Alby shoved the flesh eater hard to the ground and shot it in the head. Brain matter and dark goo splashed across his boots. Jefferson angrily smashed his rifle butt into the remaining deader's head with such force it caved in its face and partially stuck out of the back of its skull. Jefferson tried to pull his rifle free, but he had jammed it so far into the undead man’s head that it caused his mini-14 to be stuck inside. Cursing, the former Marine gave several violent pulls; each time the deader came forward with him with both arms flopping, hands slapping together like a performing sea lion he’d seen years ago. Grunting, Jefferson placed a booted foot on the deader's shoulder and gave it a good yank, jerking his weapon loose with a sickening pop. Exhaling a wet, nasally sigh, the deader collapsed on top of Lucas. The soldier screamed and frantically rolled the corpse off of him.
"Lucas! Lucas!" Jefferson dropped to his knees next to the wounded sergeant.
"They fucking bit me," he cried, shaking his head back and forth. "I don’t wanna be one of them!"
"It’s okay, mate." Newman rested a hand on Jefferson's shoulder. "You got this, Jeff?" he asked above the noise of the one-sided firefight.
"Yeah, yeah, Alby." Jefferson nodded quickly as he patted down Lucas for his auto-injector. Newman shook his head slowly, drained from the events of the day, and returned to the attack on the Humvee. Jefferson found the injector in Lucas' pants pocket, popped the top, and quickly jabbed it into the wounded man’s right arm. Lucas grimaced as the anti-virus shot into his veins. "Just hold on, pal," Jefferson said, making a quick check of the younger man’s injuries. "Not bad. Not bad." He tried to smile as he pulled out a dressing. "I’ll fix ya up then shove your ass in the truck." He pressed a bandage over the big, bloody tear in Lucas' neck. "I gotcha, buddy."
"Tha-thanks, Jeff," Lucas said weakly. He sat up slowly on his elbows and tried unsuccessfully to get to his feet.
"Here, Luke." Jefferson gently pushed him back down on the grass, all the while wrapping his wounds. "Just sit tight. Almost done." Lucas nodded in exhaustion and closed his eyes. Both men could hear the loud, nightmarish moans of the dead above the constant gunfire from the team. The former Marine speedily finished up his mini-triage and tapped his injured partner on the shoulder. Lucas slowly opened his eyes and smiled. "Ready Luke?"
"Hey … hey, Jeff. I can’t … I can’t get up." Lucas said, almost out of breath, the side effects of the anti-virus kicking in.
"Just relax, buddy. I got ya." Jefferson glanced around for any deaders, saw none, then slung his rifle and swiftly picked up the smaller man in a fireman's carry. Jefferson had been a volunteer firefighter in the small town of Gold Beach, Oregon before the outbreak. He’d worked a fishing boat to pay the bills, but firefighting was what he loved. Most of that job had entailed helping victims of car wrecks on the 101. He’d seen a lot of death on that job, but nothing the likes of the carnage the undead rising had brought.
"T-thhannkss …" Lucas' voice trailed off. Jefferson easily hauled his teammate over to the Pit Bull and jerked open the side door. He quickly rolled the injured man inside, pushing his legs away from the doorway. Jefferson grabbed a blanket from under a seat, wiped his bloody hands on it, then wrapped it around the wounded man. The Marine threw a quick glance over to the cab of the Pit Bull.
"Clarke, I have Lucas back here!" he shouted. "He’s wounded, but I have him wrapped up real good."
"Okay, mate," the driver shouted back, eyes still fixed on the besieged Humvee. "I’ll take care of him!"
"Take a rest, Luke. I’ll be right back." He shut the truck’s door behind him. Looking around, Jefferson unslung his mini-14 and rejoined the attempt to save the major and the others.
***
More hands and heads were starting to squeeze their way into the wrecked vehicle. Zagers continued to try and clog the opening in the back of the Hummer with every deader corpse he shot, but even that was starting to fail. More of the hungry undead were prying their way inside the cramped quarters looking for flesh. The three soldiers' ears were all ringing from Wolf's frequent gun shots which, thankfully, dulled the ghastly moans of the deaders outside. Sweating profusely, Hale wiped the stinging fluid from his eyes and continued smashing the countless hands that grabbed at him with the black blood-smeared metal case. His arms and shoulders burned as they grew tired at the almost non-stop fighting.
The major still had hope that the others would soon rescue them. Hope was what often kept Hale going. When the first undead outbreak had occurred, he’d been a sergeant with the 441 heavy weather rescue wing. A few of the big cities had fallen, and things had started to look grim. Hale volunteered for a combined Army and Air Force unit whose job it was to deliver the anti-virus and its creators to Cheyenne Mountain, where the U.S government had been relocated. It was an urgent mission filled with thousands and thousands of deaders, crazy survivalists, and bloodthirsty gangs. Dangerous at best. Suicidal at worst. Throughout the whole horrible ordeal, he had held onto the hope that things would get better, and they did. Despite the loss of his wife and two daughters and the loss of eighty percent of the unit, they had delivered the anti-virus and hastily turned the near apocalypse around.
"Major!"
Hale stopped smashing the case on a pair of cold, reaching hands long enough to look behind him. Zoe West lay on her back, kicking at several pairs of arms that were now trying to pull her through a new opening in the driver's side door. Hale tucked the case in next to him, grabbed West by the shoulders, and tried to force her back inside. Straining, the major grunted as he held tightly to the flailing Aussie soldier. He couldn’t hold on much longer. Too many deaders had a grip on her legs. Hale looked over to the German for help, but Zagers had his hands full with the undead trying to get in on both sides of the rear of the Hummer. Heads were popping through the opening, snapping at Zoe’s legs. Behind him, Hale heard the horrible sound of the dead shredding the remains of the passenger side door with their torn, ripped hands. Still holding Zoe, he glanced over his shoulder to see two of the flesh eaters slither inside. Moving at a speed his tired mind couldn’t fathom, they clawed at his back and neck.
"Shit!" Hale still held onto West while trying to move away from the ravenous dead. He angrily batted them away with his right arm, but they continued to grab and bite at him. One gripped his harness and pulled him straight down to the roof of the Hummer. He had to let go of West so they wouldn’t be on her too. Cursing, he tried to reach for his .45, but the assault by the deaders was too much. Another one slithered in behind them.
West kicked madly at the gripping hands, trying to break free. Yelling curses she’d never even heard before, she forcefully countered the deaders' attempts to drag her out of the vehicle. Her thighs were aching as she furiously moved her legs away from the mob of voracious flesh eaters. She tried in vain to help the major, but she just had too much to handle on her own.
"Zagers!" she cried out. The only reply from the rear of the Humvee was the horrifying moans of the undead. West continued to use her rifle butt to bash at the deader hands and faces as the door slowly began to give way. Suddenly, the door was ripped from the frame, and West was forcefully pulled out of the wreckage. The violent motion threw West flat on her back, almost knocking the wind out of her and causing the Australian to nearly lose her mini-14. West quickly looked back to see Hale rolling around with three deaders viciously tearing at him.