A devilish idea cut the sentence short.
“Gary, you still there?” said Howard.
“Uhhhh—yes,” he said. “I just had an idea.”
“Is it the kind of idea you can execute two minutes ago?” said Larsen.
“Sort of. The plan has literally been in motion for—” Hoenig checked the time stamp on the main video feed “—ninety-three seconds.”
Chapter 21
Roscoe had reservations about his role in the plan. These guys would most likely die anyway once they stepped outside the gate, but Gary had asked him to “seal the deal.” He wasn’t sure how he felt about that. He wasn’t opposed to taking the necessary steps to secure the campus and clear the way for Howard, but he didn’t know anything about the team rapidly approaching the northeast gate. They might not be anything like the crew Howard had run into at Chang’s apartment. Their only goal might be to get to their extraction point alive and get back to their families. Roscoe was one trigger pull away from permanently preventing that—which weighed mightily on his conscience.
“You ready up there?” said Hoenig in his earpiece. “They’ll be at the gate in a few seconds. We don’t know if they’ll wait inside the gate until their extraction is imminent, or if they’ll attempt to move to Virginia Avenue immediately.”
“I’m ready,” said Roscoe. “They’d be fools to step outside those gates without some readily available backup.”
“I agree,” said Hoenig. “But they don’t have access to external security feeds, and the SRF rooftop has no sightlines to the parking lot. They most likely don’t understand the full scope of the threat out there.”
“They’d have to be stupid,” said Roscoe.
“They’ve been tucked away inside the SRF all night—waiting for Chang,” said Hoenig. “Only God knows what they did with the real security team. I can’t imagine it was a nonlethal situation. SRF security is hardcore. Don’t lose sight of that.”
Roscoe knew Hoenig was right. He just wished someone else could pull the trigger.
“I’m good,” said Roscoe.
“Heads-up, they just arrived at the gate.”
Roscoe stood upright from a crouch and rested his sniper rifle on the rooftop parapet, centering the crosshairs of the Schmidt & Bender sniper scope on the northeast gate. Three of the operators kneeled in a formation surrounding the fourth, who pressed a keycard against the card reader.
“Fucking idiots,” muttered Roscoe before swapping his rifle for the multi-canister grenade.
“Looks like they’re going for it. Stand by for my mark,” said Hoenig.
Roscoe nestled the grenade launcher into his shoulder and pointed it in the general direction of the northeast gate. He didn’t have to be precise. Once he had the business end of the launcher roughly lined up with the gate, he raised the barrel to a forty-five-degree angle. Given the approximate distance to the gate, the grenade should either land on East Street or fall short inside the campus fence. Several seconds passed before Hoenig’s voice broke onto the tactical net.
“Fire the first grenade.”
“Firing,” said Roscoe before pressing the trigger.
The launcher barely recoiled, firing a single 40mm grenade in a lazy arc over the pristinely landscaped northern campus gardens. He ducked behind the parapet, confident that the projectile was headed where he intended. A few moments later, the nonlethal grenade detonated—shattering the calm with a cascade of ear-piercing blasts.
The projectile was mostly a noisemaker. Harmless unless it struck you directly or exploded at your feet—until today. Now it was lethal to anyone within a five-hundred-yard radius without a secure place to hide.
“Nice shot,” said Hoenig. “Landed on the street. Already attracted some attention. Fire a second into the main parking lot. Let’s try to draw as many out of hiding as possible.”
“Second round out,” said Roscoe, pointing the launcher due north at the same angle and firing another noisemaker.
Moments after the second chain of sharp detonations, the crack of suppressed gunfire started to fill the air. It started off with sporadic shots, quickly transforming into a desperate crescendo punctuated by bursts of automatic fire. The team outside the gate was fighting for its life.
“How is it looking out there?” said Roscoe, not wanting to look.
“They’re trying frantically to get the gate open,” said Hoenig, pausing for a moment. “Shit. One of them is messing with his vest. They might try to blow the gate open with explosives.”
“That would be a disaster,” said Roscoe. “Do you want me to put a grenade on the gate?”
“If you don’t mind,” said Hoenig.
“Stand by,” said Roscoe.
He rose to his feet, crouching below the top of the parapet to remain hidden. The less time he spent exposed, the better. The team would be looking for him, in between shooting crazies. With his body pointed toward the gate, he rose quickly and sighted in on the turnstile. The figure crouched immediately behind the gate glanced up in his direction and reached for his rifle. Roscoe fired the grenade and dove to his left as several bullets punched through the rooftop wall above him.
The grenade exploded, temporarily stopping the storm of bullets directed at his position. He grabbed the sniper rifle with his free hand and crawled toward the center of the rooftop, where the angle of fire prevented their bullets from reaching him.
“You still with us?” said Hoenig.
“Barely. They got off those rounds really quick,” said Roscoe.
“Well, I don’t think you have to worry about them anymore,” said Hoenig. “They’ve got bigger problems. I count at least a hundred hostiles converging on them from every direction. They’re moving toward the primary pedestrian entrance off the parking lot.”
The rate of suppressed gunfire doubled in the time it took Gary to finish his report.
“Doesn’t sound like they’re going to make it that far,” said Roscoe.
“They’re doing a number on the crazies, but it’s not sustainable,” said Hoenig. “They’ll make it to the gate, but it’ll be their last stand.”
“Unless they try to blow the gate,” said Roscoe flatly.
He’d have to poke his head up again and risk taking a bullet through the cranium. Wonderful.
“We can’t let them do that,” said Hoenig.
Of course not.
“How long until Howard and the rest of them get to the northeast gate?”
“Five minutes maximum,” said Hoenig. “They’re already on the move.”
“And I suppose you’ll want me in position to help them, too?”
“I’m sure they’d appreciate a hand if things get dicey,” said Hoenig. “We made a lot of noise with the grenades. It’s pulling crazies from farther away, which might be a problem.”
“I’ll reload the launcher with smoke grenades,” said Roscoe. “Just let me know what I need to do next.”
“You might want to keep a few bangers loaded up,” said Hoenig. “In case the team out front tries to blow a hole in the fence.”
“I’m done using nonlethal methods,” said Roscoe, glancing at the dozen or more holes in the parapet wall.
“Just watch yourself up there,” said Hoenig.
“Don’t worry. I won’t make the same mistake twice,” he said before slithering toward one of the raised fan units near the front of the roof.
Chapter 22
Dr. Lauren Hale leaned against the cool tile wall, her attention drawn between the heated argument in the lobby and the occasional sight of movement through the apartment building’s rear exit door. She wasn’t entirely sure which of the two posed the most danger, though her experience over the past forty-eight hours told her the argument was insignificant in the grand scheme of things. The guy called Larsen pointed his finger at the scared-shitless young man they had dragged across the lobby and issued a threat that nearly changed her assessment of the situation.
“Jeremy, I’m only
going to say this one more time. You either leave with us right now, or I’m going to shoot you where you stand. Got it?”
“I can’t leave,” said Jeremy. “What if my girlfriend shows up?”
“She’s not showing up,” said Larsen. “I’m counting down from five, and then I’m shooting.”
“What if the National Guard rolls through and gets this under control!” said Jeremy. “When people call down and I don’t answer—goodbye job.”
“Five!” said Larsen.
“Hold on, Larsen,” said David, the police officer.
“Four!”
“Stop the count for a few seconds,” insisted David.
“Shit is going down right now,” said Larsen. “We should have been on the move thirty seconds ago.”
“He’s right,” said Howard, the NevoTech security guy. “We don’t have a very long window of opportunity to get back. There’s only so much my guys can do.”
“Jeremy, if you stay here, you’re a dead man. These people will kill you after they’ve extracted everything you know—about us. If you come with us, we’ll protect you like one of our own. When the National Guard rolls through and secures this part of the city, you can walk right back and pick up where you left off. Nobody upstairs will be the wiser.”
She liked Howard’s approach better than Larsen’s, though she didn’t fully trust any of them. They still hadn’t satisfactorily answered her most basic questions about the bigger picture—and their rather murky connection to it.
“You have my word,” said Larsen. “We’ll get you safely inside the campus. As long as you follow our directions.”
A rapid sequence of sharp explosions resonated inside the hallway, turning all of their heads toward the exit behind her.
“Guys,” said Howard, “time to make a decision.”
“I’ll go,” said Jeremy. “Do I get a gun?”
“No,” said Larsen, turning to Hale and offering her one of the spare rifles. “Can you handle this?”
The question caught her off guard, and she hesitated.
“I need to know right now,” said Larsen, moving toward her. “We’re going to need all of the help we can get out there.”
A figure dashed past the door, startling all of them.
“What the hell was that?” she said.
“That’s why I need more shooters. Have you ever fired something like this?”
“Yes. At an indoor range,” she said. “Kind of a weird date night.”
“Sounds perfect to me,” said Larsen, holding the weapon in front of her. “The safety is disengaged, meaning the rifle will fire if you pull the trigger. Keep your finger away from the trigger unless it’s absolutely necessary to shoot. We’ll help you with reloading if it comes to that. Hopefully, it won’t.”
“What do I shoot at?” she said.
Larsen and David shared a worried glance.
“Anyone directly threatening either you or Jeremy. Immediate self-defense only. We’ll take care of the rest,” said David.
Larsen squeezed past her and crouched at the door, peering through the glass door in both directions before looking over his shoulder. He looked pale, like someone who had lost too much blood, but he was still entirely alert. In fact, he seemed like the most responsive and effective member of the group that had ventured out to rescue her. Still, she’d seen patients go from entirely coherent to unconscious in a matter of seconds. She’d have to keep a close eye on him. His leg wound was probably a lot worse than he let on.
“David, I want you on my left the entire time, covering dead ahead to our left. I have the other side. Jeremy, you tuck in right behind us. Do not touch either of us. Dr. Hale, you fall in right behind Jeremy. Howard brings up the rear. We’re going to take this at a slow jog to start and adjust from there. Everyone clear on what we’re doing?”
“Got it,” she said, backing up to make room for David and Jeremy.
“You okay?” she said to the young man.
“Not really, but I wasn’t given much of a choice,” said Jeremy.
“It’s the only viable choice right now,” she said.
“Keep up and listen up,” said Larsen. “We’ll take care of the rest.”
“I hate that guy,” said Jeremy.
“That’s why we gave her the rifle,” said David, winking at her. “Seriously. Stay right behind us—no matter what happens. We’re bound to hit a few bumps out there.”
“Bumps?” she said. “Define bumps.”
“Crazies,” said David. “Infected. Hopefully not too many at once.”
“How many is too many?” said Jeremy.
“We’ll be fine,” said David.
A second set of distant blasts vibrated the door.
“We’re moving,” said Larsen, taking a few steps back and pressing the panel button on the wall.
The door opened, flooding the hallway with the repetitive crackle of distant gunfire. She assumed it was gunfire, even though it sounded distinctly different than the methodic ripsaw bursts she’d listened to all night. Larsen rushed outside before she could protest, followed by the cop. Jeremy hesitated for a few moments, and she shoved him into the humid morning before he could change his mind. She stepped through the door behind him, her attention immediately drawn to rapid movement to her right. Hale opened her stance and raised the rifle; a shirtless man in khaki cargo pants was barreling down the side of the building toward them.
“Contact right,” said David, followed by a single gunshot.
The man catapulted forward and smacked headfirst into the concrete sidewalk, his blood-encrusted kitchen knife clattering along the service road pavement next to him. She stood frozen in place, her rifle still aimed at the empty space above the man’s twitching corpse. A hand squeezed her left shoulder, startling her.
“You good?” said David.
“I’m fine,” she said, slowly lowering the rifle.
“Good instinct coming through the door. I think we’re in good hands,” said David.
“I don’t know,” she said. “I froze after that.”
“Your finger went right into the trigger well. I think you’ll be fine.”
“Keep it moving,” said Howard, sliding past her with his rifle aimed down the side of the building.
She sprinted behind David to catch up with Larsen and Jeremy, who jogged slowly down the service road passing behind the parking garage. A staggered group of three people appeared in the distance, running toward the continuous gunfire to the west. The ragged, partially dressed trio disappeared behind a building on the road ahead of them without glancing in their direction.
Larsen guided them to the right, toward an unfenced backyard, picking up the pace as they crossed the parking lot behind Chang’s building. A third set of tightly spaced explosions rattled in the distance, booming like industrial-grade fireworks.
“Contact right,” said Howard, his rifle already snapping rounds toward an unseen threat.
She turned her head in time to see a woman crash down the dilapidated stairs of a paint-chipped deck, followed immediately by a skinny teenager aiming a pistol. Several bullets struck him at once, knocking him backward into a pair of rusted folding chairs. The pistol discharged as he toppled over the chairs, echoing across the neighborhood and momentarily drowning out the distant gun battle at NevoTech.
A man holding an upside-down beer bottle appeared in the doorway attached to the deck, vanishing just as quickly in a hail of bullets from their rifles.
“Contact front,” said David.
Larsen and the cop turned their rifles toward a group of several infected that scrambled in their direction from an empty, dirt-covered lot to their left. Behind them, Howard fired twice, hitting an unseen target deep inside one of the yards. They were coming from every direction. Before she could turn her head to check on Larsen and David, she bumped into Jeremy, who had stopped dead in his tracks.
“This is out of control,” he hissed, shaking his head. “We need to go ba
ck.”
Hale pushed him aside and rushed forward into the firing line, pointing her rifle at the bloodstained gang of human ghouls pushing uncomfortably close to their perimeter. She repeatedly pressed the trigger, not sure if she was helping or hurting the situation. It didn’t matter. She couldn’t sit back and do nothing. Not if these things kept coming out of the woodwork like this.
Chapter 23
Larsen stopped firing when the last crazy took a bullet through the forehead, but the doctor continued to pull her trigger until the rifle was empty, drawing another glitchy lunatic off the street visible between the two houses. He let it take several steps down the path before firing a single shot through its head, dropping it like a ragdoll.
“Get Rambo over there squared away,” said Larsen. “A little trigger discipline goes a long way.”
“A little thank-you might go a long way, too,” said Hale.
“Thank you for bringing one more crazy at us,” said Larsen. “And you’re welcome for the rescue.”
“I’ll thank you when the rescue is complete.”
“You’re free to head back,” said Larsen, nodding at Chang’s apartment building.
“That’s no longer an option thanks to you,” said Hale.
“It was never an option,” said Larsen. “Do I have to explain why?”
“Cut the chatter,” said David. “We need to focus.”
Another figure appeared on the street, pausing for a second to look at them before moving on—unable to resist the sound of a pitched battle to the west. A few more people ran past the opening, heading in the same direction.
“This might be harder than we thought,” said Larsen, changing rifle magazines. “Those pyrotechnic devices caught the attention of every crazy within a two-mile radius.”
“We should wait here until the streets clear,” said David.
“We don’t have that kind of time,” said Larsen, checking his watch. “Eight minutes. And you can bet your ass that the team fighting for its life out there has reported its situation. We need to be tucked away inside NevoTech’s campus when the recovery mission gets here.”
The Zulu Virus Chronicles Boxset (Books 1-3) Page 44