Authors: Arthur Bradley
“It’s time, Lieutenant.”
Tripp swung the weapon over and lined up the bore sight with the headlights shining at the bottom of the ramp. Most of the small arms didn’t have the range to accurately target the car, which was sitting at around five hundred yards. The Browning M2, however, was a beast all its own.
Tripp used his thumbs to depress the butterfly trigger, sending a single slow-fire burst of .50 BMG rounds hurtling toward the headlights. The thunderous sound of the heavy machine gun sent percussion waves that rattled windows and jarred teeth. Almost instantly, the right headlight went out, and sparks flew as the heavy slugs, moving with more than ten thousand foot-pounds of energy, chewed through the front end of the tow truck.
The second .50 caliber gunner joined it, firing a short burst at the remaining light. It hit a little short, but he quickly walked it up on target. With his second firing, metal found metal, and the ramp went dark.
Mason heard the unmistakable sound of an Aug firing down at street level. Was it Nakai? Van Gogh had said that Nakai preferred the Aug. But what was he doing down there? A thought suddenly occurred to him. The lights must have lured Nakai out. Maybe he even thought it was Mason. It had been too good an opportunity for the mercenary to pass up.
More gunfire sounded. This time from an AK-47, the rhythmic pumping of rounds also easily recognizable. Nakai was not alone.
Mason turned back to the on-ramp. The infected had worked their way quietly up the ramp and were gathering at the top. There were easily two hundred of them now, all pressed together as if waiting for someone to give the order to attack.
My Lord, he thought, they’re going to be hard to stop. But if he was right, and Nakai was indeed away from his men, Mason no longer needed to worry about the outcome of the battle. He only needed to find Nakai. The rest of the mercenaries could rot in hell for all he cared. What goes around comes around.
More gunfire sounded, this time from soldiers on the interstate. Assault rifles first, followed by the big .50 caliber machine guns. The barrage of gunfire was apparently the cue that the silent horde had been waiting for because they began rushing across the overpass. With all eyes turned to the firefight, not a single soldier had yet to see them. If that didn’t change soon, what could have been a one-sided shooting match would turn into a medieval bloodbath.
Corporal Finn saw the enemy about three seconds before they broke through the perimeter. For a moment, his mind refused to accept what he was seeing. Hundreds of creatures raced toward him, climbing over cars and leaping onto his fellow soldiers like bloodthirsty savages.
Finn bumped Lieutenant Tripp’s leg.
“Lieutenant!” he yelled. “Incoming!”
Lieutenant Tripp looked first to Finn, and seeing the horror on his face, whirled around to find the madness that was already upon them. He swung the heavy machine gun around and held down the butterfly trigger, letting loose a thunderous volley of lead. Dozens of the infected were torn apart, arms, legs, and heads exploding, drenching everything in huge sheets of blood. He continued to track them even though his own men were caught in the crossfire and being cut in half by the horrific .50 caliber bullets.
Other soldiers joined in, turning their fire in the direction of the infected. But the creatures were relentless, fighting to the death while hacking and clubbing with pipes, sticks, and axes. For every soldier, there were a dozen of the infected, and in less than a minute, only a few of the mercenaries remained.
Corporal Finn was trying to swap rifle magazines when they finally overran his position, clawing and beating him until he was little more than a mound of bloody meat. Tripp held out a few seconds longer, the barrel of his Browning steaming in the night as round after round pelted the relentless army of monsters. But he too was soon pulled down and savagely torn to pieces. As the last mercenary fell, the only sounds that remained were that of the mashing and hammering of bodies.
As soon as Nakai and Jeb opened fire, the infected at the base of the off-ramp turned toward them and charged. The Aug and AK-47 both functioned flawlessly, as did their operators, dropping creature after creature. But the monsters were no longer easily brought down, taking several rounds to stop each one. Within seconds, both men knew that it was a fight they could not win.
“Fire and smoke!” yelled Nakai.
Without hesitation, Jeb ripped an M67 fragmentation grenade from his web gear, pulled the pin, and hurled it toward the creatures. At the same time, Nakai rolled a smoke canister that immediately began spraying a thick gray cloud.
Both men turned and dove in the opposite direction.
The grenade’s explosion rocked the street, lifting the back end of the tow truck off the ground and ripping arms and legs from several of the infected. But it wasn’t nearly enough. In the thick cover of the billowing gray smoke, both men scrambled to their feet and ran.
Nakai’s first inclination was to head back toward his men, but he could already hear their screams. Long strings of gunfire erupted, but what was most telling was the bellowing sound of the .50 caliber as it pounded their own position. Things had already gone to shit. Two extra rifles would not determine the outcome of the battle.
Not knowing which way to go, Nakai and Jeb ran east along Ocean Highway. The four-lane road was lined on both sides by restaurants, hotels, and gas stations. Jeb looked over and saw dozens of the infected survivors pouring out of a Scottish Inn.
“Christ!” he said, pointing. “They’re sleeping in the motel rooms.”
Without pausing to look, Nakai turned right and cut across a long parking lot. Jeb stayed close at his heels, watching their six. They ducked behind a Domino’s Pizza and paused for a moment to get their bearings. Screams and gunfire continued from the overpass a few blocks behind them.
Nakai scanned the street.
“We’ve got to get off this main road. The whole town is nothing but pus pockets.”
“I’m with you,” said Jeb. “But we don’t know which way is which.”
Nakai pointed back the way they had come.
“Well, we know that way is death.” He swung his arm around to point in the opposite direction. “Let’s put a little distance between us and them. Maybe we can find a place to hole up until morning.”
Mason and Bowie stayed well inside the tree line, slowly working their way up the steep slope so they could get a better view of the interstate and the town below. The fighting on the overpass was dying down, and it was clear by the lack of gunfire that good old-fashioned sticks and stones had won the day.
Richmond Hill was dark and clear. The infected that had been beating on the tow truck had evidently pursued Nakai and his partner. Most of the rest had gathered at the top of ramp to enjoy the barbaric festivities.
The question at hand was where had Nakai gone? Richmond Hill was not an overly large town, perhaps three miles in each direction, but that would be impossible for Mason to cover on foot. Not to mention the fact that aimlessly wandering the town at night would be pure suicide. His only hope was that Nakai would be forced to open fire and give away his position.
Mason sat on the ground and leaned back against a tree. Bowie circled the tree a couple of times, sniffing squirrel droppings, fermented nuts, and nature’s other interesting odors. When he was satisfied there wasn’t anything to eat nearby, he flopped down and rested his head on Mason’s lap.
“I know this hasn’t quite worked out as planned,” Mason said, rubbing the dog behind its ears. “But at least we’re not down there.”
Bowie scooted closer until half his body was lying across Mason’s lap.
“Let’s watch for a while. If they give up their position, we’ll go in after them. If not, we’ll stay in the trees and search them out in the morning. Sound good?”
Bowie closed his eyes and slid his tongue in and out of his mouth a few times, content to wait as long as necessary.
“There!” Nakai said, pointing to a fenced-in business directly ahead of them.
The
Jack Rabbit Storage
facility consisted of a small manager’s office and two long sheet-metal buildings divided into rental units. The side of the office building had a cartoon painted on it of a rabbit wearing tennis shoes. The entire property was surrounded by an eight-foot-high chain-link fence.
They sprinted to the main entrance and inspected the large motorized gate. It was not only closed up tight; it was also chained shut. Nakai scanned the setup for an easy way in. The gate and fence were both topped with barbed wire, but where they attached, two different height poles had been used. He smiled. The staggering of barbed wire was a mistake frequently made by commercial fencing companies.
He quickly scaled the fence, pulled himself up along the taller pole, and stepped over the barbed wire on the lower fence. Then he carefully climbed down inside the facility. Jeb covered him until he was safely back on the ground, and then he repeated the same method of entry. They quickly walked to the fence line to determine how defensible the compound might be. They stopped when they came to a huge hole cut in the fencing.
“I knew it was too good to be true,” muttered Jeb. “Something’s been coming and going around here.”
Both of them turned to face the small brick office building. The front door was partially ajar, but it was dark and still inside. Nakai held his finger up to his lips, and Jeb nodded. Both men leaned their rifles against the brick wall and drew their blades. Nakai readied a black Ka-bar knife, and Jeb his Kukri machete.
Nakai held his fingers in the air, counting down:
three... two... one!
They rushed the door and split left and right.
A dark shape immediately jumped at Jeb, screaming with bloodthirsty fury. He sliced upward with his machete, cutting the man from groin to gut and sending warm blood and entrails spilling out over his hand. Jeb kicked him away to maintain distance, and swung the blade in a huge figure eight. Twice his Kukri met meat and bone, and both times it came out the other side.
Nakai felt strong hands grab him from behind, trying to pull him down. He spun and stabbed the man’s torso with quick motions. After the fifth stab, the man fell forward against him, blood gurgling from his mouth. Nakai shoved him off and turned, pressing his back against the wall.
A third infected man pushed his way past them and stumbled out into the night. He was bleeding from the hip and shoulder. Nakai darted out after him, and Jeb immediately stepped back and covered his retreat, windmilling his blade to prevent anyone from following.
The infected man only made it about ten feet before Nakai came up from behind, pulled his head back, and cut him from ear to ear. As he lowered the body to the ground, he scanned the night. The air remained quiet and still. When he was satisfied that they hadn’t been detected, he turned and hurried back into the building.
Jeb was about five feet inside the room, fighting with a fourth man. They were struggling for control of the machete. Before Nakai could intervene, Jeb flipped the infected man over his hip and drove the machete deep into his chest. He ripped it free and spun back to face the room. Nothing moved.
They stood for nearly a minute, listening to the sounds of their own heavy breathing.
“I think we’re clear,” whispered Jeb.
“For now.”
They went back outside and dragged the body back into the building.
“What do you think?” Jeb asked, looking around. “Want to hole up here for the night?”
Nakai thought about it a moment, and then shook his head.
“Let’s go find an open storage unit. They’re less likely to stumble upon us if we’re out of the way.”
They went back outside, closed the door, and recovered their rifles. Then they walked slowly down the long row of rental units. About halfway down, they found several that didn’t have locks on them. Nakai went to the middle one, set his rifle down, and prepared to slide the door up.
Three... two... one!
CHAPTER
9
President Glass studied the three men sitting across from her, trying not to let her gaze rest on General Carr longer than on anyone else. Despite her position, she had never considered herself very good at keeping secrets. She liked to lay her cards on the table early and often in order to make the best possible decision. But she had agreed to keep their discussions about the chemical attack private until they knew more, and that was exactly what she intended to do.
She had called the meeting under the guise of having a general discussion on national security, but in truth, she hoped to learn more about who might have the means and inclination to conduct such a heinous crime against the US Marshals.
“Gentlemen,” she started, “I’ve asked you here to have a frank discussion about the security and recovery of our nation. We’ve experienced serious deterioration of every national infrastructure, and I believe it’s more important than ever to remain vigilant against both foreign and domestic threats. General, let’s start with you. Have you had time to assess how secure we are from those outside our borders?”
General Carr had a large stack of folders, all marked with various Secret and Top Secret cover pages, but he refrained from opening any of them.