Rotting to the Core (Keep Your Crowbar Handy Book 2) (34 page)

There wasn't much of his head left after
that.

Kat wrinkled her nose. “Nasty. Let's see you
get back up
now,
Dick-head.”

“Why did you do that?” Jake asked weakly as
he leaned against the wall, still fighting a nauseating amount of
pain. “Had him right where I wanted him.”

“You can have the next one.” After retrieving
his crowbar from the floor and replacing it in the sheath along is
back, Kat took a look at his wound. Her expression went from
satisfaction to worry.

“It looks worse than it feels,” he said
jokingly and winced.

“Liar,” she replied, quickly wrapping his
shoulder with a roll of gauze then a three-inch wide ACE bandage to
provide pressure over the wound. “We need to get help for
that.”

“I'm certain Poole and his crew aren't going
to feel like keeping me from bleeding to death,” he said wryly.

Kat smiled and helped him into the vest. She
loaded a Glock for him and took the other for herself, before
pulling a maritime flare from the largest of the three packs on her
web belt.

“I had something a little different in
mind...” she said.

* * *

The Purifiers inside the cafeteria didn't see
the flare as it arced four-hundred and fifty feet into the late
afternoon air above the roof of the power plant.

The bored gate guards witnessed the fireball
rocketing into the sky but, seeing as how they didn't hear all the
shooting over the moans of the infected outside, thought it was
just another feeding they were going to miss. There had been eight
victims fed to the pack of ghouls Poole kept in the transformer
yard so far, and they'd been stuck on gate duty for every one of
them.

It wasn't like the creatures outside could
get in, but there
did
seem to be a lot more of them around
than previously in the week. They were everywhere. On the road, in
the driveway, thumping ineffectually at the heavy barrier. Their
numbers had to be topping a few thousand now. Lifeless yellow eyes,
gray skin, and the smell of feces combined with that the reek of
old road kill were the only things for maybe two-hundred yards in
both directions on Route 52. That wasn't surprising, really. Not
since the moron in the Humvee set a damn house on fire down the
road. Said fact made the trio of guards
very
nervous and
extremely
thankful the first thing Poole had ordered when
they'd taken the facility as their headquarters was for some
serious reinforcement to the gate.

One of the sentries unzipped his fly and
urinated in the faces of the crowd a dozen feet below.

“I wish you wouldn't do that shit,” his
companion said crossly.

“Why? Like they care?” He continued to
relieve himself and adjusted his aim. “I mean, look at that one. He
got maggots crawling outta the hole in his throat.”

“It riles them up, alright?”

“Who gives a damn?” Empty, the guard shook
off and zipped up again. “I swear, you're turning into a little old
lady. Try having a little fun once in—”

That was when the low sound of living human
voices reached his disgusted companion's ears.

“
...n-da..!”

“Wait. What's was that?” he demanded.

“About a thousand dead fucks out there on the
road,” the first replied, looking at him like his friend was
suddenly retarded.

“
...un-da..!”
The sound was louder
this time. And closer.

The shaken guard was listening intently.
“There! There it was again!”

“
...hun-da..!”

The Purifier with a weak bladder looked
decidedly confused. “What the hell?”

They could all hear it now, even over the
moans of the dammed legion outside.

“
...thun-da..!”
It sounded like a
crowd yelling in time with the low booms of a deep, heavy drum.

“Where-?” The first sentry began.

“
THUNDER!”

And the nose of the Screamin' Mimi shot
around the corner onto the power plant's driveway, its immense,
blade-like prow aimed squarely at the Purifier's front door.

* * *

“Really??” Beatrix yelled, as she boosted
power to the massive vehicles all-wheel-drive unit. “When, exactly,
did you become a fan of AC/DC, Uncle George? Isn't that a little
newfangled for you?”

“Hey, it's music to kick ass by!” Foster
bellowed, stomping the pedal to the floor and causing the Mimi to
surge forward as it gained speed.

“Jesus H. Christ, you people are insane!”
Penny screamed from her place at the navigation display. She'd
strapped herself tightly to the chair in preparation for what was
to come. “Let me just go on record for saying this is a bad
plan!”

“Is their signal still coming through?”
Laurel demanded.

Bee checked Rae's tracking unit, then gave
her a thumbs-up, and the redhead called back to the second module.
“Elle? You and Leo can handle getting to the Hummer, right?”

The buxom blonde soldier replied without
hesitation. “Oh,
hell
yes! These fuckers don't deserve that
amazing machine! That boyfriend of yours better show some
appreciation to us for getting it back for him!”

“Oh, I'm sure he will. If I don't kill him
first!” Laurel replied.

George Foster glanced up to the sentries on
the gate, standing there in disbelief, as the enormous, pink
behemoth shot towards them. They finally remembered what their
weapons were for, but small arms fire had absolutely no chance of
penetrating the vehicle's hull.

“Everybody hold the fuck on!!” George smiled
viciously as the Mimi's wedge-shaped nose cut through the rotting
mass of creatures outside, like a battle axe through a block of
cream cheese just shy of room temperature. “You asshole's are—”

* * *

“
THUNDERSTRUCK!!!”
Brian Johnson's
voice roared from the Mimi's external speakers, just as the
Pepto-colored behemoth impacted into the Purifier's gate and
irresistible force met immovable object.

Object
.

Lost.

The gore smeared prow of the Screamin' Mimi
hit like the wrath of God and, not only tore the gate from its
massive hinges, but split the barrier cleanly in two up the middle
as the huge transport smashed it into oblivion.

The entrance guards were thrown away like
rag-dolls, followed closely by the ponderously flipping halves of
their previous barrier. The spinning wreckage crushed two of them
outright, and another died when he hit the top of the bulldozer cab
as he cartwheeled earthward. The guard who'd relieved himself on
the zombies outside was thrown thirty feet into the air, and
finally came down just outside the wall. His meeting with the
roadway smashed both the comedian's legs, his pelvis was shattered,
and half of his ribs were broken.

Then the infected closed over him.

The Mimi and her occupants blew onward
through the destruction, unscathed. The ugly, cotton-candy colored
vehicle's synthesized electric polymer skin performed as
advertised. It came through the cloud of dust, steel, and rotten
flesh without a scratch. Even the sour, zombie goop streaked all
over her nose ran off in thick rivulets, unable to find purchase on
the NASA-engineered hull.

After slowing to a crawl, its clam-shell rear
hatch opened smoothly which allowed the team of Elle and Leo to
exit, then head for the Quonset hut housing their Humvee.

“Lock the door and wait in the Hummer!”
Laurel called, as the Mimi rolled on. “We don't know exactly where
our two missing morons are, so you might either have to pick them
up or play rearguard!”

Elle shot her a thumbs up, then she and the
grim-looking young Salizar vanished around the metal building's
edge.

Laurel hurried to the front as George drove
on, after she sealed the hatch again. Beatrix was beside him in the
naviguesser chair, angry as all hell when Laurel reentered the
drive unit.

“I can’t pinpoint them!” Foster’s
green-haired niece exclaimed, hand slapped the tracking unit a few
times for good measure. “All the electrical conduit is bouncing the
signal!”

“Can you get a general location?” Foster
asked.

“I think... they should be that way.” Bee
pointed in the direction of a building that looked like a block of
offices. “But they could be just inside the door, or they could be
on the other side of it entirely.”

“Chances are they took cover in the offices
somewhere,” Laurel said hastily, and racked the bolt on her
M-4.

They all again wore tac-vests and were
equipped with both primary and secondary firearms, along with the
recommended ten mag ammo reserve. The spare magazines were split
between their vests, pouches, and web belts, allowing for greater
freedom of movement. It was live weight distributed throughout
their bodies, as opposed to just dead weight in big bags on their
backs or hips. Granted, too much live weight could turn someone
into
dead weight very quickly, but the extra poundage was
workable.

“Pull up near the entrance so our back door
faces the building,” Laurel said. “I'll take Gwen and Donna inside
and—”

“I'm going too.” Rae stood in the hatch, a
wicked looking assault rifle in her hands. She'd pulled her hair
back and donned a pair of yellow-tinted, shooting glasses.

“Jesus H. Christ on a flying,
fucking
,
mountain bike! Woman, where the
hell
did you get and
XM-8?

And with a
grenade
launcher??” Foster
demanded, envy plain in is voice when he saw the weapon in the
shapely brunette's hands. “I didn't know they even
made
those!”

Rae grinned. “Mail ordered it in pieces from
Cheaper Than Dirt. Finally got all the bugs out of the thing about
a week before the outbreak.”

Foster looked pained. “Well. Still, I think
it'd be better if you—”

He fell silent as the beautiful fixer
side
cocked
the damn grenade launcher.

“You're trying to protect me,” she smiled.
“It's sweet.”

“I suppose I'm in too.” Penny readied another
of the M-4s she'd claimed from their stockpile and followed Rae
towards the vehicle's aft.

The five women were waiting at the rear when
the hatch began lowering smoothly to the ground. Gwen, along with
(surprisingly) Donna, had shown aptitude with AR-15s, so they'd
armed the pair of blondes—affectionately dubbed “The Barbie
Duo”—and assigned them to cover the left side. The one facing away
from both Penny, Laurel, and Rae. Neither of the women had gone
through Foster's stress-shooting course yet, and the female fixer
had expressed a strong desire
not
to be shot in her
butt-cheek. Jake's red-haired lover and Penny could identify with
that sentiment.

“When we get inside, keep low. There should
be turbines on the right to skirt behind, so you can get to the
main stairwell.” Rae handed Laurel a bandolier of grenades. Another
loop of explosive-based death was clenched around her own waist.
“You and Penny go for the doorway at the other end, and we'll
insure the home team stays occupied.”

Laurel took a deep breath then passed the
bandolier over her head and one shoulder.

“Just pull, drop the spoon, count to three,
and send it off. Don't throw.
Roll
them. I've seen grenades
bounce back off door-jams, so don't chance it. A particularly
dexterous agent of the KGB actually
caught
one, then threw
it back at a friend of mine in Moscow once upon a time.”

Deputy Carson's eyes widened and, after
swallowing audibly, Laurel promised. “I'll keep that in mind.”

Rae nodded. “Good. Remember: go straight to
the fifth floor. The second and third floors are empty and all the
shielding up on four just scrambled our thermal. If they're in
here, our friends are up top. You two, ready?”

The redhead glanced at the Barbie duo. They
looked frightened, but both had insisted on being with her when she
went for Jake.

We owe him a rescue,
Gwen had told her
simply.

Laurel took a deep breath, closed her eyes,
and quickly attempted to center herself.

He crossed a whole city to save you, girl.
It's time to return the favor.

Opening her eyes, she nodded and readied her
M-4.

Rae pulled the door open and the women
ghosted into the half-gloom.

* * *

So many targets, JB thought, so little
time.

The burly man ejected the spent 175gr.
M118LR shell casing from the chamber of his M40A3 and took a
breather.

As he gazed through the rifles Schmidt and
Bender 3-12x50 scope, he could see the other creatures around the
one he’d dropped milling around in confusion. He smiled. That last
one was number nineteen over the last four days.

JB had been away from his cabin for almost a
week, searching for the perfect spot before he’d found a suitable
locale. His current position—a mountainside along Route 13, just
north of Hamilton, Colorado—caused the discharge of his shots to
bounce from peak to peak, thereby making it nearly impossible for
the dead fucks below to orient on his location. With his added
facial camouflage and Ghillie suit, he wished them luck in finding
him. He’d lay less than five yards from the road on the way up to
his cliff-top perch, barely breathing as an even dozen of the
creatures had passed him by, totally unaware he’d been so close by.
To no avail, the zombies were shambling in all directions, trying
vainly to figure out where all the big noise was coming from. JB
almost felt sorry for the stupid shits. Almost.

He smiled and relaxed for almost an hour,
sipping from the water bladder in his camel pack and eating one of
the dried fruit bars he’d brought along on his trek.

Mmm. Peaches, dates, and apricots. Way
better than an MRE. He chewed contently and continued to wait.