The Gathering Dead (30 page)

Finelly brought the van toward the intersection as quickly as he dared. The zombies stumbled toward the white vehicle, their moans overridden by the storm-driven wind. They slapped at the van, their fists bouncing off the reinforced metal. One of them managed to grab the handle on the driver’s door and yanked on it repeatedly, but the door locks had engaged automatically once the van’s speed increased over ten miles per hour. McDaniels told the soldiers in the back to ensure the rear doors were also locked.

Finelly pressed the van’s brush guards against the rear fender of a yellow taxi cab and gunned the engine. The van slowly pushed the taxi to one side, opening up the intersection just enough for the van to squeeze through. Finelly backed up a bit, ignoring the ghoul standing outside the driver’s door with its face pressed against the glass. He cut the wheel and brought the van around, then accelerated through the opening he’d created. The zombies howled as the van slipped away from them, and the one clinging to the driver’s door was torn away from the van as it brushed against the taxi.

“Well, that wasn’t so bad,” Derwitz said, just before a rapid hammering sound came from the rear of the van.

“What was that?” Safire asked, suddenly coming alive now.

McDaniels checked the side view mirror and saw sparking flashes in the murk behind the van. The mirror suddenly exploded into shards of glass and plastic, and he flinched instinctively as debris ricocheted off the bullet-resistant window. The van’s rear end suddenly dipped and bounced on its suspension as one or both of the rear tires failed.

“Small arms fire,” McDaniels said. “Looks like OMEN is onto us.”

“How’re we doing, Finelly?” McDaniels asked.

“Feels like we’ve got a flat,” Finelly said as he goosed the accelerator, pushing the van past another abandoned car. “Having a bit of trouble keeping to a straight line.”

“This crate’s got run-flat tires,” Rittenour said from the back.

“Yeah, but they ain’t designed to drive up on stopped vehicles and provide enough traction to push ‘em out of the way,” Gartrell said. “Major, we’re going to need something else to help us get through. Maybe some of us could dismount and push some vehicles out of the way...?”

“Sergeant Leary, you remember our discussion earlier?”

“Yes, sir.” Leary’s voice was flat and emotionless. “If we can find a fire engine or a snow plow or something, I’ll use it to push through the gridlock. You guys will have to keep the zeds off me long enough to get it done.”

“I think I see an NYPD tow truck up ahead at the next barricade,” Finelly said. “One of those six-by-six deals. There’s a fire truck, too.”

McDaniels leaned forward and saw the vehicles through the rain-swept gloom. He was not surprised to see figures moving among the abandoned vehicles, and they slowly turned toward the van as it bore down on the intersection.

“Second Avenue up ahead. Okay Leary, you’re on. Finelly, stop about fifty yards from the barricade. Leary and I will advance, clear the area as quickly as we can, and secure the tow truck. Leary, I’ll do my damnedest to keep the zeds off you while you do your thing. Don’t fuck around, make it quick and dirty.”

“Hooah,” Leary said, and McDaniels heard him shifting around in the back of the van.

“Rittenour, Gartrell, Derwitz
—
you dismount as well and provide security for the van until it can move again. Exit through the side door, and remember, OMEN’s at our rear. Expect to be engaged, so don’t just stand around and make yourselves a target. Reduce your silhouette as much as possible.”

“I think we all remember our basic soldiering skills, major,” Gartrell said.

“Prove it to me,” McDaniels said as Finelly brought the van to a halt. He unfastened his seat belt and pushed open the passenger door, his M4 at the ready. Behind him, the rest of the troops piled out of the side door and found themselves confronted by two zombies that stumbled toward them from the sidewalk. Leary fired two shots and dropped them in their tracks with practiced efficiency. As Gartrell led the other soldiers to the rear of the van, McDaniels and Leary sprinted toward the barricade. There were six or seven zombies between them and the tow truck. McDaniels shouldered his M4, flipped on the laser designator, and fired on them, taking his time to ensure each shot resulted in a kill. The zombies obviously knew they were there, but the driving rain and the total darkness had them at a disadvantage, whereas McDaniels and the rest of the soldiers had night vision devices that gave them more than just a slight edge. Bodies fell to the wet pavement with almost metronomic regularity. In seconds, the path to the tow truck was clear.

“Cover me,” Leary said, and he advanced toward the dark rig with his sidearm in both hands. If something went down, he wouldn’t be able to use his assault rifle effectively. McDaniels shadowed him, and took down two more ghouls as they stepped around a police cruiser.

From behind him, more gunfire rang out. A distant assault rifle chattered on full automatic, and McDaniels heard projectiles slam into the idling van.

“Six, OMEN is advancing on us,” Gartrell reported over the radio. “A block back, but they’re using full auto fire to fix us in place. I count four shooters, two of which are using NVGs. I’m popping smoke, but it’s not going to hold them back for long. Move your ass, Leary!”

Leary did not answer as he ran to the tow truck and threw the driver’s door open. McDaniels scanned the area for more targets, his M4 at the ready. He heard a faint moan over the wind, and was surprised to find a zombie had closed to less than three feet from him. As he spun to deal with it, the ghoul lunged forward and grabbed his arm. McDaniels let go his rifle and slammed his gloved fist into its face with all his strength. The sudden burst of adrenaline gave the punch much more authority than he had thought it would have, and the ghoul’s head snapped back as it fell to the street. McDaniels put on boot on its chest and fired a single round through its head, blasting its skull apart. He turned back to the tow truck and saw Leary had hauled himself into its cab. Three zombies advanced upon the vehicle, and McDaniels stepped toward them, firing shot after shot. Two of them went down, but the hit the third zed in the shoulder, an ineffective shot. It came around the truck’s open door and clambered onto the running board as Leary searched about the cab’s interior. McDaniels found he no longer had a clear shot.

“Leary!” McDaniels shouted.

Leary responded immediately. He put his left hand against the zombie’s chest and brought his pistol up in his right. The single round he fired left a deep furrow through the ghoul’s skull, and it toppled off the running board.

“Damn it major, keep these things off me!” Leary said over the radio.

Before McDaniels could reply, the tow truck’s diesel engine chattered, then caught. Even above the storm, it was loud enough to be noticeable. McDaniels knew it would be the next best thing to a dinner bell. The rig’s backup alarm sounded as its reverse lights snapped on, and the truck shuddered into motion, backing up toward the sidewalk. Leary cut the wheel hard to the left, swinging the vehicle back onto the street as its reinforced rear bumper slammed into a mailbox and ripped it off its mounts. The tow truck straightened out on the street, then shuddered to a halt. At the same time, several more zeds shambled toward the vehicle. McDaniels fired on them with his M4, dropped them to the wet street.

“Ready here, major,” Leary said over the radio net.

From behind him, more automatic gunfire broke out, followed by two sharp, loud explosions. Someone was using grenades.

“We gotta boogie, major,” Gartrell reported. “The smoke’s slowing ‘em down a bit, but there’s so many we can’t hold them back for long. And OMEN is hanging back, not engaging us directly. Even dead, they’re still smart bastards.”

“Leary, you’re good to blast open that intersection. Break, Gartrell, you and the rest of the troops fall back to the van and get ready to pull out. Set up a tight perimeter to keep the zeds off it, over.”

“Roger, done that,” Gartrell said.

The NYPD tow truck surged forward, its tires spinning on the rain-slicked street. McDaniels fell back, keeping his eyes on the tow truck as it slammed into the vehicles choking the intersection ahead. Metal crumpled and glass shattered as the rig’s thick bumpers and push bars crashed into the cars and shoved them aside. The backup alarm sounded, and the tow truck reversed up the street, then surged forward again, colliding with the abandoned cars and trucks, shoving them aside as metal screamed and fiberglass fractured.

Something landed on the street off to McDaniels’ right, and he glanced over to see a zombie writhing about on the curb. A moment later, another one slammed to the ground beside it, followed by another, and another. The impacts were horrific, and some of them did not survive the engagement with gravity as their skulls burst open. But many of them did, and even though the plunge splintered their skeletons, they still tried to crawl toward him, mouths open, lifeless lips drawn back, teeth exposed.

“We got window divers on scene,” he told the rest of the team. “Pick it up, Leary, we’re attracting a lot of attention here.”

“Almost done,” Leary said. “Tough to get traction on the wet ground.” As he spoke, the tow truck rammed into the mass of vehicles again. Its engine roared as its tires spun, and McDaniels smell the diesel exhaust despite the wind. More corpses slammed to the ground, and McDaniels backed away from them, moving back to the van. A group of zombies came around the corner, their attention fixated on the roaring tow truck. One of them must have caught sight of McDaniels moving in the gloom, and it shuffled toward him on stiff legs. The rest of the group followed. McDaniels fired his last two rounds and dropped two of them in their tracks, then busied himself with changing out his spent magazine.

Something slammed into him from behind and knocked him sprawling across the rain-slicked street. McDaniels tried to roll with the impact, but his back pack got in the way, leaving him lying on his side. His night vision goggles were knocked askew, rendering him effectively blind as he blinked against the rain and the wind. The darkness of the city street worked against him now; he couldn’t see his attacker, but he certainly felt it as it gripped him with strong, cold hands. McDaniels responded immediately and lashed out at his assailant. His left hand closed around a human wrist, and before he could stop himself, he yanked it toward him as his combat training took over.

It was a female zombie, a black woman with close-cropped hair. Instead of fighting against McDaniels, the zombie lunged toward him, jaws spread wide. McDaniels barely had enough time to get his hand around the zed’s neck to hold it at bay. There was no way he could use his rifle in such close quarters, so he pulled his pistol instead. He thumbed off the safety while wrestling with the moving corpse, then placed the weapon under its chin and fired. The sound and fury of the gunshot left him momentarily dazzled, but he recovered quickly and shoved the now-motionless corpse off him.

“Six, we’ve got a problem back here,” Gartrell said over the radio.

“On my way. Break. Leary, do you need me to provide security? Over.”

“Negative, major. I’m almost through here, you guys should have a pathway in just a second,” Leary said, over the crashing of metal and the squeal of tires spinning out on wet pavement.

McDaniels grabbed his rifle, charged it, and ran to the rear of the van. As he came around the vehicle’s rear, a bullet slashed through the upper surface of the sheet metal, tearing a long gouge through the white paint, before flattening against the armor underneath. McDaniels didn’t bother to inspect the damage as he adjusted his NVGs, but there were several such impact points all along the rear of the van.

He found Derwitz was down with a bullet wound to the thigh. He was being tended to by Rittenour, and the Night Stalker continued to fire his MP5 at the approaching zombies, backing up Gartrell by zeroing any which happened to get through his field of fire. For his part, Gartrell wasn’t playing nice, nor was he wasting time trying to line up the AA-12 for head shots. He was firing low, blasting the legs off the zombies as they stumbled through the windblown smoke emitted by the smoke grenades he had thrown.

“Gartrell, hit them in the head!” McDaniels shouted.

“Negative, major. If I can blow their pelvises to jelly, they won’t be able to make up that much ground before we’re out of here!” Gartrell didn’t look up when he spoke. He remained focused on the mission at hand, and kept blowing the legs off the zombies. There was already a good amount of them down on the ground, slowly crawling toward them on their bellies.

And in the near distance, muzzle flashes lit up the night. McDaniels automatically returned fire, trying to zero the OMEN zombies before they could advance further. It didn’t work; they moved just enough to prevent him from lining up for head shots, and the rounds that struck their bodies didn’t slow them at all. Not only were they wearing ballistic armor, they also happened to be dead. 5.56mm bullets to the body were no longer effective.

“Ritt, how’s Derwitz?” he asked.

“Busted femur, losing a hell of a lot of blood,” Rittenour said. “Can’t really treat it well. Bad shot, combat gauze isn’t really doing what it should.”

“I can still fight, sir!” Derwitz’s voice was pinched from the pain, but he continued pumping rounds downrange, killing stenches that got too close to Gartrell’s position from outside his field of fire. McDaniels admired the small soldier’s chutzpah, but enough was enough.

“Let’s fall back! Leary’s almost got a path made for us, so let’s load Derwitz into the van and get ready to get the hell out of here.”

“Roger,” Rittenour said, and without further comment he scooped up Derwitz and ran back to the idling van that sat twenty feet away. Derwitz made a complaining noise, but there was nothing else he could do. As McDaniels assumed the guard duty and kept the zeds off Gartrell, he caught a glimpse of Derwitz’s face as Rittenour carried him past. Even through the night vision goggles, he didn’t like what he saw. Derwitz must have been in a remarkable amount of pain.