Eschaton (The Scott Pfeiffer Story Book 1)

by Shane Woods

  Clara approached as they left.

  “That our cue, boss?” she inquired as she walked up.

  “Yeah, you good? Got a good team?” I asked in return.

  “Mixed bag,” she started. “We got Fred, too, but we have both Katie and Parker.”

  “Yeah,” I grinned, “I got Tony, Wayne, and James, but also Willy.”

  “Could be worse, wanna trade?” she asked, grinning in return.

  “Fuck no,” I shot back, “we drew straws, fair is fair!”

  “Yeah, okay,” she relented, then turning to the mass of people, “Load up, guys! Let’s move, we’re losing daylight!”

  She was right, the sun had touched the horizon, and the temperature was already beginning to drop. Wouldn’t be many more weeks and the cold weather would be upon us. I didn’t even have a spare moment to start contemplating what this meant for us when my earpiece began speaking. The first time hearing a voice through it, and having forgotten I’d put it in, it nearly made me jump out of my skin.

  “West and east teams are Oscar Mike,”sSaid the voice, one of Hashman’s men.

  “Solid copy, let’s get south team gathered and moving now,” I replied.

  I got loaded up in the bed of a full-size Chevy pickup with a half-dozen others, including Tony. Just before we hunkered down and got ready for the ride, Jennifer came up to wish us well and planted a kiss on my cheek.

  “Make sure Gwen’s daddy comes home to her,” she fairly pleaded. I could read the worry on her face, and I replied in kind.

  “Don’t think that’s possible,” I explained. “I think our mailman is long dead, woman.”

  She chuckled and reached out to slap me upside the head for my joking, which I dodged and then waved as the truck pulled away. She returned the wave and Gwen did as well, from her perch in her mother’s arm.

  ***

  We departed through the front gate and began moving southbound in a small convoy. We had moved into the shadows of our own wall, and then crossed the main avenue, taking side streets that I hadn’t seen since we first got to the apartments in what felt like another time ago.

  As we rolled on through damaged and abandoned neighborhoods, I took it all in again, as if it were the first time. The carnage looked much the same as it always had. Some houses had been left wide open, our own scavengers symbols spray painted across walls and garage doors. The basic FEMA scripture, marking them as safe, but empty of any goods.

  The scenes of carnage and devastation had faded in their own ways. Once fresh, maggot-ridden piles of decay from people who had fallen victim to the ravenous infected had turned to bare bone, puddles of blood long washed away with the sporadic rains that came at night in the Ohio summer. Houses and vehicles that had burnt no longer smoldered.

  The only familiarity was the sight of the infected freaks. They seemed to sense that what they were seeing was no longer an easy meal, as they paid attention, and took notice, but mostly just viewed us in passing. A couple here and there in front lawns, some visible between buildings or in open garages, ghostly figures letting us know that we were never truly alone in this world, and never truly safe.

  A few very freshly dead infected passed us as we swerved around them in the streets. They had been taken out either by our lead vehicle, or one of the other groups that had left shortly prior to our departure.

  One of the Marines with us nudged my shoulder.

  “Mike wanted us to give you and a couple of your buddies a gift,” he stated, “should help with this mission.”

  I watched as another Marine kicked the crate he was sitting on into the middle of us. It came to a stop in the middle of the pickup truck’s bed, and the first Marine withdrew a large survival knife and pried the top of it off, tossing it over the edge to clatter to the street.

  As he did this, and the box top came to a rest on the roadway, three infected came running from a two-floor home to one side. They barked and grunted to each other but didn’t screech or scream. Presumably, they didn’t want to share their prize with anyone else. They skidded to a halt, inspected the offering, and one-by-one they turned away from it and left the scene to search for something they could actually eat.

  I leaned forward in anticipation and viewed a handful of very short carbines arranged side-by-side in the crate. The guy pulled one from where it rested and handed it to me. It looked very much like an M4, but much shorter, and lighter, with a suppressor attached. The guns were dressed in a beautiful combination of black and desert tan.

  “Name’s Rogers, by the way,” he stated.

  “Hell of a name for a rifle,” I shot back, slightly confused.

  “Rogers is my name,” he corrected, not a drop of humor in his tone.

  “I know,” I informed, “I was being facetious.”

  “We all handle the pre-battle jitters in our own way,” Rogers stated, then continued, “Anyway, this is an Mk18 Mod 1. That’s a basic Surefire SOCOM suppressor, it will be very quiet for you. It’s chambered in 300 Blackout. Basic setup, collapsible, vertical foregrip, EOTECH holographic sight. If you can work an AR15, you can work this, it’s no different.”

  He handed them around to Tony, James, and Wayne. Each man accepting and inspecting his new rifle. Tony eyed his almost adoringly, as if he’d been handed his life’s dream on a street corner.

  Rogers grabbed mine from me, chambered a round, and took aim at an infected who had wandered into the street in our wake. Once the freak drifted to about 75 yards behind us, Rogers squeezed the trigger.

  Typically, a suppressed weapon will not be whisper quiet. In real life, as opposed to movies and video games, you’re looking at a screen door slamming for volume. So, I wasn’t expecting the results we were shown.

  One smooth trigger pull, the rifle jumped, emitted a sound no louder than a soft sneeze, and the freak’s head exploded like a firecracker went off inside of a watermelon. You could fire one of these in your living room and not alert anybody upstairs. I don’t even think it would wake the guy on the couch. I was in love. I was astounded, but I did my level best to remain business like and not show those emotions.

  Rogers safed the weapon and returned it back to my eager hands. I accepted it graciously and spent the rest of the ride speaking with him about the weapon platform. I kept watch on the others out of the corner of my eye, laughing internally at the wonder on Tony’s face. I hoped Hashman wasn’t expecting to get this back. I didn’t want to see Tony cry if he had to hand his in.

  Before too much longer, as we neared the neighborhood that the school was located in, the hushed calls began coming across my earpiece. I took note of Rogers and Tony both looking distracted as they too listened to the voices that only we could hear.

  “West team in position, prepping distractions,” reported Jason.

  A few blocks travel later, and another report came in.

  “East team is settled in and waiting, boss,” Clara stated.

  “Solid copies on all, south team moving in shortly.” I confirmed.

  We all stayed hushed and low as the truck took a right to head west and skirt fairly far away from the main school area. We directed ourselves to the south again, crossed the main throughway, and disappeared back into the neighborhood just southwest of the school.

  The sun had gone down, leaving only a trace of its essence in the western sky as we wound our way through the neighborhood to our destination. I pressed on my earpiece and spoke into it.

  “Rich, what’s your status?”

  “We found what we’re looking for, you ready?” he replied after a moment’s pause, his usually boisterous scratchy voice nearly inaudible on my end.

  “Stay put, we’re moving in now. I’ll advise shortly,” I instructed.

  Rich complied, and our conversation ceased as the vehicles slowed to a stop behind a small strip mall facing the main street directly across from the school. We all quietly and quickly dismounted the vehicles and made our way to the back doors of the businesses. Thankfully,
our adversaries had most likely looted them already, as both back and front doors all stood wide open.

  I let Tony, Wayne, and Jason dispatch the few nearby infected outside of the buildings as we moved, their weapons’ barely audible report still seeming startlingly loud. The rest of our group filed into the businesses on each side of us, and we went straight in through the middle one, a long-abandoned and looted dental office.

  Without a word, we made our way through a small break room. Keeping low, we passed a trio of work rooms, their chairs and overhead lights now long defunct. The whole place seemed incredibly eerie as we made our way up front.

  “Contact,” Tony stated coldly, followed by three spaced out hushed rifle reports as three infected met their quick demise.

  His third round exited the head of the obese woman it had entered. As she fell, leaving a dark spray of brain matter and skull fragments, the round continued on. It punched a neat hole through the shop front glass, travelled straight across the street, and embedded itself in the back of a chair next to a tent.

  The woman sitting in the chair jumped, startled, and spun around in her seat to look behind her.

  We all froze, watching with great apprehension, as she scanned the area behind her, then the ground around her, said something to the man next to her, and continued sewing whatever the garment was that she’d held.

  Collectively we all breathed a sigh of relief. I punched Tony in the arm, and he apologized before continuing to the large pane of glass to peer through the hole he made. The other 8 of us took up positions low along the wall under it. Rogers and myself posted near the front door, looking across the street at the scene before us.

  The area with the tent city was nearly pitch black. No lighting, and only a single burning barrel was afforded to the people that these guys held captive. After a few moments of watching, we concluded that there was only a pair of bad guys left to watch over their herd of civilians.

  Nearer the north end of the school, we could hear a mix of rap music, and rock music being played from portable speakers and stereos. Several small fires and burning barrels were scattered about, and we could make out a number of figures moving about them. Some would put a cigarette or other to their lips. Some others could be seen taking swigs from bottles. It was definitely a party of sorts.

  As we watched, it became apparent that a third man was with the prisoners, as the tent flap nearest the fire barrel opened and a middle-aged guy in jeans and a leather biker vest exited. He zipped his fly and nodded to another man on guard duty. I could just make out the form huddled near the back corner of the tent. Her knees drawn to her chin, arms locked protectively around them. My blood boiled at the sight of it. We’ve got to get these people out of there.

  Rogers viewed the scene almost casually, making mental notes of the position of everything. Clearly, he was not a stranger to the ways people can get, having spent time overseas with our armed forces.

  I pressed my earpiece and began to speak.

  “All teams check in.”

  I got okays and positions from everybody with an earpiece almost instantly. All, except for one.

  “Rich,” I called into my earpiece, “Rich, where you at?”

  The tone of Rich’s voice, and the panic, sent a shiver up my spine.

  “We’re going to be early!” he nearly shouted, the sound of Dave’s AK47 cracking in the background. “We got spotted.”

  “Fuck,” I replied. “Okay, how long?”

  “Uhhh,” he began. “Maybe 8 minutes, maybe less?”

  “Copy,” I replied, nothing we could do now but go, “West team let’s move, set those distractions off NOW!”

  “Got it, moving now dude!” Hashman replied.

  I turned to the guys with me, and also spoke into my earpiece so the teams in the adjoining businesses could hear.

  “South team,” I ordered, “shut and block your back doors. As these people get to you, usher them in and get them behind as much wall and protection as you can.”

  The teams on both sides of me replied in the affirmative just as a pair of illumination rounds from our scavenged mortars took to the sky. They glowed brightly against the dark background above and threw everything below them into startling contrast with our night time surroundings. As the shells slowly fell, they cast an alien pulsing glow across all of us.

  In the new man-made daylight, we could clearly see a growing number of figures departing from their small groups to look up at the spectacle. As if to punctuate the point of the distraction, a series of firecrackers and bottle rockets began to take on life and flight, creating a racket right at the northwest corner of the school’s tall chain link fence line.

  Some of the enemy that still had their wits about them began to drop low and find cover, but, thankfully for us, even the three closest to us kept their attention focused near the north end of the school.

  Myself and four more of the south team reached the southern fence at a dead sprint. We all took aim and dropped the three sentries with several body shots each. The civilians began to take notice of our presence.

  “We’re good guys, hang tight,” I said in a voice that I hoped was calming, and barely audible to just my chosen audience. Some of them seemed placated, others began to panic. Wayne and Jason pitched in, trying to calm those closest to us as Rogers and Tony began cutting the fence apart.

  One man worked with bolt cutters, the other with heavy wire cutters. Soon, they had the fence split large enough for a man to easily fit through. Each side was peeled back as a flap and secured in place with a padlock for each side, to hold the gap wide open.

  As we spilled through, Wayne, Rogers, and Tony took up watch as Jason and I crept in low and began herding people to the gap.

  We instructed each of them to gather up more people and get everyone corralled and heading to the businesses across the street. We each reassured them that there were more of our guys there and that we were here to help and rescue them.

  Some hesitated, some outright refused and had to be coerced both by us, and their companions.

  “How can we be sure you’re good?” asked one emaciated teenage boy. His clothes hung loosely off of him, and they were so soiled that the smell nearly rolled off him in waves.

  “If you’re not sure,” I explained, “I’m not going to force you. If you think the life you live here is better than what we can offer…”

  I finished with a shrug as he pushed his thick dark hair out of his eyes and viewed me suspiciously.

  “What’s your name, kid?” Rogers questioned as he approached.

  “Colby. Why?” the teenager replied, almost exasperated.

  “Colby, we need to get moving,” Rogers urged. “Help us, or find a tent and-”

  Rogers never finished his sentence as a gunshot sounded from the school, then several more.

  Most of us ducked low, but before Colby could be pulled to safety, a round entered his neck on a path that was nearly jaw to shoulder. He dropped faster than his own blood did. Arterial spray painting an abstract on Rogers’ web gear and my face alike. Colby’s dark eyes went wide as he fell, his hands reaching up to his neck, clawing at his wound as a drinking fountain arc of blood left the ragged hole.

  “Contact! Fuck!” Rogers shouted as more gunshots sounded. “School! Second floor!”

  The three not occupied with saving the teen’s life began firing in a controlled, hushed, staccato of suppressed rifle fire as more unsuppressed shots sounded from the businesses we held as a safe zone.

  More members of our south team met the civilians at the fence and brought them through as Rogers kept pressure on the wound. The poor kid was already pale, his movements and desperate attempts to figure out what happened to himself began to wane. The pool of blood spread out around his pale thin body as more of the life-giving liquid left. Despite his best efforts, Rogers could not stem the flow of liquid escaping the teen. His life was leaving fast, the effort futile, and there were many more people to save. A m
oment later, Rogers abandoned his attempts and began trying to console the kid as he faded away.

  A very short while later, he left him completely and began helping me check and clear the last couple of tents as Tony and the other two moved away from us, trying to draw fire while also trying to lay down suppressing fire. More guns joined in on both sides, but as directed, the east and west teams remained quiet.

  The buzz of a round whizzing past my head forced me to drop as I exited the last tent, pulling a teenage girl in little more than rags by the hand and shoving her in the direction of the hole in the fence that everyone else was funneling through.

  That same round found its mark in the shoulder of a man in an old ratty button up shirt and khakis. It spun him, and he hit the dirt before getting back up and stumbling the rest of the way, only to be helped through the fence by Rob, and then directed to the dental office.

  Several more rounds landed too close to us for comfort as I called the east and west teams into action as well. A couple of more civilians and two metalheads took superficial wounds from the gunfire. As I turned away from emptying a magazine and ducked behind the fire barrel to reload, I witnessed one of our Marines take a round directly through the face and collapse in a heap amid calls of ‘Sanchez!’ and strings of obscenities.

  I began to get reports of more wounded and two more dead from Hashman’s west team, and was just about to put in the call to ream Rich out for not being here yet as a pair of headlights to the west flicked on. I could make out the shape of the dump truck approaching at a bit more than a running pace. He was only maybe a half dozen blocks away.

  “We need to move, NOW, people, clear the area!” I shouted over the cacophony of gunfire and yelling, “Fall back! FALL THE FUCK BACK!”

  The rest of our team and few remaining civilians began fleeing even more panicked through the one-man gap in the fence. People flooded across the street as members of our team covered their departure from the gunfire behind us and a handful of odd infected that came to investigate all the noise.