Refuge From The Dead (Book 1): Lockdown (18 page)

CHAPTER 29

Shannon Lane wanted to run out the door screaming. Damn the dead, damn the consequences. Her mother was alive, of that she was sure. How long she was going to stay that way remained to be seen. For nearly ten minutes, she’d tried to get her mother back on the phone. It was no use. Whatever miracle that allowed her to hear her mother’s voice was short-lived. The phone made an odd clicking noise now, but no dial tone. No matter how hard she tried to get it to work, it simply would not. In her desperation, she tried her cellphone, but to no avail. The cell towers were still working, but the call would not connect. Most cell towers ran on a propane or natural gas backup of some sort. Maybe they were still functioning, jammed up by the traffic across it.

Lane’s hear ached. She couldn’t get out the door fast enough. She was tired of waiting. Captain Winston wanted her to wait for Caine and Helton to get back, they still weren’t back, and it was going on eight in the morning now. She didn’t have time to wait on them, and now the parking lot and fences were overrun with walking bags of disease.
I should have just left. I could have been there and back by now.

Lane stormed out of Master Control, slamming the door behind her. She was on the verge of tears as she approached the double front doors. Freeman was peering through the small sections of glass, which were covered by cardboard now. The undead were easily excited, so the less they could see, the better. Freeman leaned back from the window, letting the cardboard cover it back up.

Lane wiped away tears, trying not to let Freeman see, but it didn’t work. She didn’t know much about him, other than he was younger than she was – which was saying something in of itself, she was only twenty-one – and he was a bit naïve. Not exactly the smartest person to have watching her back against the droves of zombies waiting outside the doors.

“You all right, Lane?” Freeman asked. There was a genuine kindness in his voice, a softness that Lane hadn’t heard before.

Lane wiped her face once more. “I’m fine. Just nervous is all.”

“Come on, Lane. I heard the phone ring. Who was on the other end?” Freeman asked.

Lane looked up to him, surprised. While the limited conversation lasted only a few seconds, she felt like it had been days. She barely spoke a complete sentence to her mother. She felt like she’d been in a soundproof cage for those few moments, as if the outside world didn’t exist.

Lane looked away. “My mother. She’s sick and I can’t get to her. Winston wanted to wait until Caine and Helton got back to go after her, and now I don’t know if she’s safe or not. She could be dying right now for all I know, and there’s not a damn thing I can do about it. I’m so pissed off at…”

Freeman hugged her. She wasn’t expecting it, but she didn’t try and fight it. She hugged him back. Lane didn’t have a boyfriend and although it wouldn’t be difficult for her to get one, Freeman had never entered her mind as the caring, boyfriend type. Maybe he had a soft side. Maybe she just felt vulnerable enough to need him. Whatever the reason was, she embraced it.

“It’s all right, Lane. As soon as we get these assholes away from the door, I will go out with you and get your mother. You’re gonna need some help, despite what you think. I know you’re tough, but you might just need the help,” Freeman said.

Lane looked up to him and smiled. For the first time since it all began, she felt a rush of joy. Freeman didn’t have to go out of his way to help, but she genuinely believed that he wanted to. The look on his face said it all. There was a goofy grin smeared all over it as she looked up to him. Lane grabbed his face by his cheeks and planted a quick kiss on his lips. Freeman wasn’t expecting it, but he didn’t fight it. He wasn’t trying to get into her pants; she was way out of his league anyway. He just wanted to help.

“Thank you, Freeman. I mean that,” Lane said, trying to compose herself. She cleared her throat and straightened herself. “Now, let’s get cracking.”

Freeman smiled. “Yes ma’am.”

Lane turned to the door. There had been no indication from Grant or Putnam that they were ready to go. Both men had radios, so it wasn’t a matter of communication. The zombies at the door weren’t abating any, still pounding away at the metal doors. Lane tried to peek through the cardboard and get a better look, but she knew that any time they saw her, it would undoubtedly undo any work that the tower officers were doing.

But the tower officers weren’t doing anything yet.

Lane was about to reach for her radio when the first shots began to crack. She breathed a sigh of relief, but that relief was short lived. From the tower position, they could hit most of the targets, but the dead were stubborn and simple-minded. For some reason, the gunfire wasn’t drawing them away from the front doors.

Lane waited for a lull in the gunfire to contact Grant in the tower. “Grant, come in. What’s it looking like from up there?”

“Damn things aren’t moving from in front of the door. They’re dumb as hell, but stubborn as shit. You guys think you can muscle your way outside? We’ll keep you covered from up here,”
Grant answered.

A pained look crossed Freeman’s face. “Ah, damn. What do you think, Lane?”

Lane smiled, pulled her Glock from the holster, and racked the slide. “I think we have our work cut out for us, don’t we Freeman?”

Freeman pulled his own Glock from its holster and chambered a round. “I guess we do, Lane. What do we reckon?”

Lane held her Glock at low ready. “Unlatch the door and wait. When a couple of those walkers gets close, put your shoulder into it and knock them on their ass. That should give us a few seconds to start shooting. If we start to get overrun, we fall back to the door and get back inside,” Lane nodded at Freeman. “Sound good? You ready?”

Freeman took a deep breath and grabbed the door.

“All right, Lane. Here goes nothing…”

CHAPTER 30

Freeman burst out the front door. As Lane had thought, three infected were waiting behind the big metal door. All three sprawled out on the ground as Freeman ran outside. Working quickly, he got to his feet and took aim at the first walker he saw. Most of the time when he went shooting, it was with both hands firmly on his gun, but now he took aim one-handed. Those people in the movies sure as hell made it look a lot easier to make headshots. They always seemed like they were expert marksmen with years of experience. The truth of the matter was slightly different. While Freeman wasn’t a slouch when it came to shooting, he was by no means winning any competitions with his marksmanship. Like many of the officers at Black Mountain, he ranked somewhere between good and piss-poor.

Firing while moving was another thing entirely, though.

As Freeman steadied himself, he realized that shooting while on the move was going to prove very difficult. Until now, he’d only shot stationary targets while standing still. He sure as hell didn’t want to stand still right now. He fired off three rounds at the closest walker before putting one through its skull. Unfortunately, when the nearest zombie went down, he had plenty of friends to fill the gap. As it fell, others took notice of Freeman’s marksmanship – or lack thereof. It felt like an eternity before he saw Lane step out and take aim.

“Don’t get too far from the door, Freeman!” Lane yelled over the din of gunfire.

Freeman might have said something, but he couldn’t get his brain to focus long enough to notice what it was. He just kept shooting. Off to his left, the infected along the fence line began to take notice as well. It seemed as if the group turned in unison, driven by the uproar of gunfire. The pack mentality of the undead was an interesting sight. They lacked any sort of self-preservation. When one moved, it was only a matter of time before another did. After a while, the distraction of a single zombie could move an entire herd.

“Freeman! Pay attention!” Lane yelled.

Again, Freeman couldn’t bring himself to voice anything. He simply nodded and kept firing. When the Glock ran dry, he dropped the mag and reached for his second gun and continued firing. It was at that point he wished he’d grabbed a shotgun instead. While the scattergun didn’t have the range, it packed plenty of punch in close, and the dead were closing in fast.

The tower officers were firing away. Each .223 round was meant for an infected skull, but not all of them found one. As Putnam and Grant fired away, their ammo was quickly depleting. It was easier to go through a thirty-round magazine than they anticipated. Since they’d only filled four magazines each, they ran out before the undead did. As Grant slammed home his last mag, he had the presence of mind to call Lane on the radio.

“Lane! I’m almost out up here. You guys are going to have to start making them count down there! Putnam, how is your ammo holding out?”

“I’m out, Grant! We gotta get back down there!” Putnam yelled through the tinny speaker.

Lane backpedaled, dropping a magazine as she did. There were still two dozen or more undead slowly shambling towards her and Freeman. She slammed home another mag and racked the slide, the gross motor function of grabbing the top of the slide kicking in. The officers had been taught to use the gross motor function of wide, sweeping moves in times of panic to keep from unnecessary mistakes.

“Last mag, Freeman!”

Freeman hadn’t wandered far from the front door, but it felt like a mile away now. He inched closer to the door as he fired off the last of his rounds. Not expecting any problems, he shoved the empty Glock back into its holster. The dead were determined, but slow. As he tried to relax for a second and clear his mind. Get back inside and reload. That was their best chance at survival.

When at your most vulnerable, the undead seemed like they could sense it. Freeman glanced to his left as Lane was firing. God, she was sexy with that gun. He knew he didn’t have a chance in hell at getting a girl like her, but damn, how he wanted to try. The end of the world might have given him the opportunity to do so, had he not been so naïve. The moment that he’d thought that he’d shown her that he was capable of handling himself passed by without notice. Before he knew it, he was stumbling towards the door, knocking Lane sideways and throwing off her last few shots.

“What the hell, Freeman?” Lane yelled, trying to correct herself.

Freeman paid no mind. He dove towards the door, grabbing the handle as he did. He tumbled forth through the door, hitting the floor hard on his left shoulder. The impact knocked the wind from him.

Lane, meanwhile, was unaware that her knight in shining armor was shitting his pants in fear. She again had the presence of mind to put the Glock in the holster, but now she was unarmed. The gunfire from the towers had long since stopped. Lane stepped backwards towards the front door.

“Freeman! You pussy! Open the damn door!” Lane yelled. As her back touched the door, she pounded her fist against it as the undead closed in. “Freeman! Get off your ass and open the door!”

Directly in front of her, a half-dozen zombies slowly shuffled forward. They didn’t look like they had been dead long. All of them were dirty and had pale, grayish skin. There was no doubt that they were recently turned. Take away the thousand-yard stare and the drool, and they might pass for living people.

Lane’s heart pounded away. She’d thought that Freeman might turn out to be a decent guy, even though he was a bit of a fuck-up. Young and impudent wouldn’t get you far in this job; she’d seen that first hand. Lane had been that sassy rookie a couple years ago, but she’d quickly learned her lesson about taking care of others before taking care of herself. It wouldn’t do any good to get backup if that backup didn’t trust you. And she didn’t trust Freeman as far as she could throw him right now.

As the group of infected shuffled forward, Lane closed her eyes. So much for getting her mother taken care of, she couldn’t even take care of herself. How the hell was she going to take care of her cancer-stricken mother? Lane braced herself against the door and shut her eyes as hard as she could, as if smashing them closed would make the monsters go away.

Just make sure Mom doesn’t have to suffer…

Lane’s final thought was interrupted. She couldn’t quite piece together what was happening, but the next thing she knew, she was on her back, the world in slow motion. Putnam and Grant were shoving the door closed, beating at the undead with Monadnock batons. She watched as Grant beat one of the zombies to the point of crushing its skull, only to have the zombie clog up the doorway with its body. Putnam was standing over her, saying something. Maybe it was the shock of landing on her head, maybe it was the overwhelming panic of the situation, but she couldn’t hear him. After a few seconds, the world didn’t sound like she was in a barrel anymore. Putnam shook her for a second.

“Lane! Are you with me?” Putnam asked. She could see the panic in his face.

Lane waved him off. “Yeah, I’m fine. Go help Grant!”

Putnam gently laid her head back down on the cool floor and got to his feet. Grant was at the front door, kicking and flailing away at the half-dozen or so zombies still trying to muscle their way in.

“Grab a gun! Get something! Get these damn things out of here!” Grant yelled.

Putnam scrambled around, desperately looking for something to use against the undead. Several spent magazines were laying on the floor around him, not a round to be found. Suddenly, Putnam had a crazy idea.

“Grant, let go of the door!” Putnam said.

Grant raised an eyebrow that would have made Dwayne Johnson proud. “Do
what?
”

Putnam nodded vehemently. “Let go of the door. When those fuckers start pouring in here, we knock ‘em down and kick the shit outta ‘em!”

Grant shoved his shoulder into the door harder, smashing an infected arm that was swiping at him. “Putnam, I appreciate your enthusiasm, but I don’t think that’s such a good idea. Maybe we should…”

Several pops followed by a sound that mimicked throwing Jell-O onto a concrete floor emanated from the other side of the door. Within a few seconds, the infected assault abated. Grant kept pressure on the door, unknowingly holding help at bay on the other side. The infected arm was still dangling through the door, now limp and useless.

On the other side of the door, Michael, Ryan, Travis, and Thomas Trent gripped their weapons tightly. As they had topped the hill at Black Mountain, the full extent of the infected problem became evident. Desiccated corpses lay all over the place. Whatever transpired before they arrived looked as if it was a hell of a shooting gallery. Over a hundred twice-dead bodies were scattered all over the front of the facility.

Michael moved forward slowly, keeping his knees bent and his rifle raised. While he expected his cohorts to be on the other side of the door, he didn’t rule out the possibility that someone else had taken the prison. If that was the case, they were about to meet a very untimely demise.

“Open the door! Open the door!” Michael yelled. Behind him, Travis, Ryan, and Trent fanned out, keeping their weapons trained on the metal double doors. The door loosened for a moment. The zombie that had his arm caught in the doorjamb let go, falling to the ground. The door closed with a soft metallic click.

Michael’s finger had never left the trigger. He was ready to squeeze when the door slowly opened; not all the way, but enough to where he could hear voices on the other side. Familiar voices.

“Caine? Is that you?”

Michael exhaled forcefully and lowered his rifle. He directed his cohorts to do the same.

“Yeah, it’s me. Open up!” Michael responded.

Grant tried to open the door, but the bodies in front of it wouldn’t let him. “Little help here?”

Michael slung his rifle and started removing bodies from the front of the door. A few moments later, the grimy, bloody door swung open. Grant stood there, smiling.

“How the hell are you, Caine?” Grant asked.

Michael frowned. “I’m fine, Grant. I thought you left?”

Grant’s tone softened some. “Had to get my wife and kids, Caine. I assume you did the same?”

Michael nodded. “Fair enough. How are things holding up here?”

Putnam was helping Lane off the floor. Freeman was huddled in a corner, staring blankly off into the distance. Grant brought his attention back to Michael.

“Kinda looks like shit. Winston’s dead, Henderson is dead, and it’s not even lunchtime yet. So I’d say we are off to a fan-fucking-tastic start to the apocalypse,” Grant said.

Michael looked behind him, gazing out into the parking lot. “Travis, tell the girls to come on inside. We can get settled in and get something to eat.”

Travis spat out a stream of brown tobacco juice at the ground, and then went back to the trucks. Michael turned back to Grant.

“So who all do we have left?” Michael asked.

Putnam snorted. “You’re looking at it, rookie. Everybody ran off.” He looked around rhetorically. “This is all we got.”

“Well, I guess beggars can’t be choosers. We should…”

“Michael!” Travis yelled from outside. “We got incoming!”

Michael spun around and brought his rifle up. More zombies. For an area that wasn’t very populated forty-eight hours ago, there sure were a lot of those damn things roaming around. As Michael hit the door, he could see Travis already stalking forward, not to the undead, but to a wayward vehicle barreling through the parking lot.

“Trent! Get the girls inside, now!” Michael yelled. Trent did as he was told and quickly ushered Lindsey and Betty inside. As soon as they hit the door, Ryan, Putnam, and Lane came out.

“What the hell is goin’ on now?” Putnam complained.

The group turned in unison at the sound of screeching tires. Each one watched as a black pickup truck came tearing across the parking lot at a speed not conducive to stopping in time. Michael watched in horror as the black truck gained momentum, finally smashing into the chain-link fence surrounding the prison. Metal screeched against metal as the truck ground into the razor wire. It finally stopped in No Man’s Land, a rocky area between the fences filled with large, sharp rocks called “ankle breakers.”

“Son of a…” Michael said under his breath. Travis was already stalking forward again, his HK416 raised at the truck. Michael followed, as did Ryan. The three men were less than a hundred feet away from the smoking Chevy, and closed that distance quickly. As they approached the vehicle, Michael started yelling commands to the driver. He couldn’t see inside the cab due to a rather thick coating of window tint.

“Get out of the car! Get out of the car!” Michael yelled. He waited for a few seconds, with no response. Travis turned to Michael and nodded.

“I got you covered. Get that asshole out of there,” Travis said, motioning to the truck.

Michael slung his rifle behind him again and approached the vehicle. Smoke rolled out from the hood, a busted radiator apparently. As he got closer to the vehicle, he could see a figure slumped over the steering wheel. Michael swallowed hard and reached for the door. The truck had taken damage, but the driver’s door was intact. He grabbed the handle and unlatched the door quickly.

A body came falling out.

“Shit!” Michael exclaimed. He caught the man as he fell out of the truck. Although he was bloody and unconscious, Michael could still tell who it was immediately.