Even Zombie Killers Can Go to Hell

by J. F. Holmes

  I unholstered my own .22 and stood over her, lining up the sight on the side of her head. I aimed at the softer bone just forward of her ear and behind her temple, cocked the hammer back, and gently applied pressure to the trigger. She lay there breathing gently, starved, skinny, her skin the color of rich dark coffee, and her face, despite growing up after the end of the world, innocent in sleep. Innocent to the world.

  Without even being aware of it, lost in my thoughts, I uncocked the gun and slipped it back into its holster. Ziv’s harsh, braying laughter broke through my daze, and I turned to see him smiling.

  “What the hell is your problem?” I asked him, annoyed.

  He took another spoonful of noodles, shoved them in his mouth, and while chewing, said, “Watching you and you moral, how do you say, moral dilemmas? It is better than television soap opera!”

  “Were you born an asshole, or do you work at it?” I shot back, angry. Almost more at myself than at him.

  “Thank you, I work very hard at it, but also comes natural. Do you want me to shoot her, since you are such a pussy? I love that American word, pussy, it means so many things.” He started laughing again, mouth stuffed with food.

  I just shook my head and walked outside, sitting down next to Brit. She went back inside, then came out with a shiny ten dollar gold piece, bit it, and slipped it into her pocket.

  “And that,” she said, kissing me, “is why I love you.”

  “You bet on me?” I asked, astonished.

  She laughed and said, “I do it all the time, and haven’t lost yet. Ziv thinks you’ll crack someday, and he’ll make all his money back. Double or nothing every time.”

  “You’re shitting me.”

  “Nope. Don’t even ask about the pool we have over when you’ll actually stop going out on missions.” She smiled sweetly and walked away. It was kinda nice to watch.

  Chapter 316

  Chattanooga is, or was, a big city. We had no intel more recent than a few years ago, just prior to the second plague, and one single flyover by a Predator the night before we’d jumped. It showed a walled section, typical of post plague towns, north of the actual city, by the dammed-up Tennessee River. I was glad we didn’t have to go over the river; water crossings were a pain in the ass, and bridges were kill zones.

  As we walked through the night, headed up to what had once been Prentice Cooper State Forest, our next objective, I thought about how to do this. We had a few options, each with its pluses and minuses.

  One, we could put on our uniforms and walk in there as United States soldiers, with a warrant for one Jedidiah Holcomb, self-styled “President” of the erstwhile Mountain Republic. That would go over like a fart in church. The people around here were pretty much neutral, just trying to get by, but throwing our weight around was like as not to get us killed. Likewise, a dozen heavily-armed mercs would scream “hit team”, especially if we didn’t start looking for work right away, and the MR people would literally run for the hills.

  No, better to go with a small team posing as travelers. Me and Brit. Maybe Vasquez and Badger, or no, Mary and Jonas. Scratch that, I didn’t know what the racial situation was down here. It seemed that the end of the world had brought out the really bad and the really good in people, leaning more toward the good. We couldn’t chance it though, until we knew the local area better.

  “Shawna,” I asked the little girl as we walked through the night, “Have you been down to the town at all?” She was riding on top of Jonas’ shoulders, tiring out after the first mile. If she was going to be with us, might as well make her useful.

  “Ain’t been since last winter. Brought some deerskins down, help my daddy. But only oncet or twice,” she answered.

  “How do they look at your people down there?” I was curious if she was even aware of color, growing up on the side of a mountain.

  “Your people?” said Brit. “Good thing Jonesy isn’t here to hear you say that.”

  “Maybe he is, for all we know. Afterlife could be anything,” I answered. “Anyway, back to the question. Shawna, people like you and Jonas, with dark skin.”

  She seemed to think about it, then said, “Some people is OK with us, some people ain’t. My daddy, he was a hard man. He was a soldier oncet, like y’all. Ain’t nobody messed wit him.”

  “Sounds like he was a good man, gotta be tough to survive this world. Thanks for telling me, it can help us.”

  “So is we going to Chattanooga?” she asked, sounding sleepy.

  “Yes, we have a bad man to catch.”

  “OK,” she answered, “and then what?”

  I took too long to answer, because I had no answer. She was asleep before I could say anything.

  After a bitch of a hike up and over another ridge line, we spent the day hiding out in the forest, getting as much rest as we could. We’d have to switch over to daylight ops, and I wanted everyone to be as ready as they could. Brit and I talked over our cover stories; just some people moving to try and find a better place.

  Vasquez and Badger would go in separately, and Ziv would get the rest of the team set into a hide site with overwatch. Close enough to range with a sniper weapon if need be, but we wanted to avoid a fight.

  “Isn’t gonna be easy,” said Brit. It was our turn on watch, and we sat back to back in the pre-dawn.

  “Nothing’s ever easy,” I answered after a moment, ears peeled for the sound of movement. It was the way we talked on guard duty; short, quiet sentences interspersed with long moments of listening.

  “Nick, what’s next?” she said softly. I wasn’t sure if she meant tomorrow, or in our life.

  I started to answer, but then I heard movement. The night was pretty dark, the moon having set long ago and the false dawn not yet appearing in the east. She felt me tense up, and I felt her shift her position in return.

  We both listened more than looked, though our ears weren’t the best after years of gunfire. I tried to make out the telltale signs of either men or undead. Men on patrol made different sounds, less noise but an occasional tap or clink of unsecured equipment. Undead made more of a shuffle, and you could often smell the difference between the two.

  Moving slowly, I switched on my NODs, and the green glow lit up in front of my left eye. Scanning about, nothing on my front or right. To my left, points of light began to appear, pairs of them. First two, then five, then more than I could count. Moving toward us.

  “HORDE!” I hissed, and we both sprang to our feet. I keyed the squad radio, and spoke urgently to the other pair of guards, who were a hundred meters away at the RP, not remembering who they were.

  “Horde, break contact downhill and west. Rally is the house,” I said quickly and got a quick “roger” back from Vasquez. We both took off running, covering the distance back to our camp in a rush, but being careful with our steps. Running in the woods at night was a great way to trip, fall, and die.

  Ahead of us, the team had formed a firing line facing us, half with weapons and the other half shrugging on packs.

  “How many?” asked Shona.

  “Couple hundred,” I answered, “let’s go!”

  We peeled off, an easy drill for half of us, a bit slower for Cahill’s new people. As they passed me, I counted, hitting each on the shoulder. Shona, Elam, Doc, Jonas, Mary, Boz, Vasquez, Badger, Cahill, Ziv, Brit, got it, let’s go.

  Moving through the darkness, I glanced back, and saw the horde crossing an open meadow. They caught our scent as the wind shifted, and that goddamned hellish howl started. Gotta tell you, there isn’t anything like it to put speed into your run.

  “Rope!” I barked, and Cahill stopped, tossed me the end of a thirty-foot quarter-inch line, and we both ran in opposite directions until it was tight. Snap links secured it around the nearest tree at chest height. They would pile into it and get knocked down or strain against it until the pressure was too much. Either way, it would slow the horde down more effectively than gunfire.

  That’s when a high-pit
ched scream rose from back where our camp was, the scream of an abandoned little girl.

  Chapter 317

  Before I could move, Brit passed me by like a bat out of hell. “BRIT, WAIT!” I yelled, cursed, and ran after her, straight toward the horde.

  She stopped to fire her shotgun even as the screams fell away, and I tackled her from behind, knocking her to the ground. Then they were on us, the faster undead, three piling on top, clawing and trying to bite, and Brit screamed brutally under me.

  Hunching my shoulders, I used all my strength to stand, swung my rifle as hard as I could, connecting with one and shoving another away on the back swing. Then I grabbed Brit and, lifting with that superhuman strength that comes to you in times of crisis, slung her over my shoulder, firing desperately and backing up.

  Ziv appeared next to me, emptying his AK full auto at the approaching main group, and screamed “GO!” at the top of his lungs, and I ran. Bullets zipped past me, and I headed toward the flashes.

  On my shoulders, I felt Brit begin to struggle, and I set her down, trying to help her to her feet so she could run. Instead, she lashed out at me, eye blazing red, howling, reaching for my throat. I hit her hard in the face, and she was knocked backward.

  “HELP ME!” I screamed, as the red glow in her eye intensified. I jumped on her, pinning her in a bear hug and rolling over onto my back. Jonas stepped in and grabbed an arm, and Mary grabbed another. I pushed with my feet against her back, and scrabbled for a set of zip ties, slipping them around an outstretched hand, crying as I did so. We managed to get her other hand into the cuff and drew them tight behind her back, avoiding the snapping jaws. I kept babbling “no no no” over and over, even as we cuffed her feet and dragged her away, struggling.

  Ziv and Cahill caught up with us and, with Badger and Vasquez, each took a limb and manhandled her down the side of the mountain. Ahead, a bridge crossed a stream and, as the faint light of dawn started to give some detail, I could see two shapes placing demo charges under it. I shoved a glove into Brit’s mouth, cutting off her howl, and we hammered across the bridge, corrugated metal resounding to our footsteps.

  “CLEAR!” yelled Shona, and then “FIRE IN THE HOLE!” from Elam. With an ear-splitting CRACK CRACK, the bridge blew apart just as the first undead reached it. They gathered at the far bank, howling with rage, and I walked to the opposite edge, screaming my own rage, my blind anger at them, firing until my magazine ran dry, pulling the trigger repeatedly on an empty chamber. Then I sat down on the damp grass and started crying hysterically.

  As I heard someone come up, I pulled my pistol from its holster, opened my mouth, and placed the suppressor far inside, then squeezed hard on the trigger. I heard the CLICK of the hammer falling, then Shona yanked the pistol out of my mouth, tearing my lip, and gripped me around the shoulders. I collapsed on the ground and lay there, senseless, as the light of dawn filled the valley.

  Later, they told me the safety was on. I didn’t care, it was just God fucking with me. Shona held me in her arms as I moaned and damned everything to hell. Doc Swan came over and squatted down in front of me, and I felt a pinch in my arm. Everything seemed to suddenly fall away, and I was there, but I just didn’t care anymore.

  “Major Zivcovic, listen to me,” I heard Cahill say, and I realized he had his gun aimed at the Serbwho stood three feet three feet away. “It wasn’t his fault. She ran past him, I saw it.” Looking up, I saw Ziv staring at me with his knife held in his hand. His nostrils flared as he breathed deeply, and the sweat beaded on his bald head.

  Standing up, I walked to him until the knife pressed against my gut. “Do it, please. Just do it.”

  His cold blue eyes stared into mine from a foot away. I pressed harder, and his burly arms held the knife rock solid as it pieced my skin. Then he pulled it away and shoved me onto the ground. “No,” he said, “it is better this way. You will be in the same hell she is, damn you.”

  I didn’t care. Whatever Doc had shot me with, everything seemed to be happening in a dream. Picking up my pistol, I walked up to where Brit lay, a sand bag over her head, writhing and tossing on the ground. No one came near me as I flicked the safety off and aimed at her face.

  “Colonel…Nick, wait,” said Doc Swan. “Don’t do it. Not yet.”

  My hand shook as I tried to center it on Brit’s forehead. She’d stopped moving and seemed to be listening. Crouching down, I leaned closer. “Brit!” I said harshly, touching a strand of red hair that had slipped out from the bag. Hearing my voice, she howled and snapped at me.

  I untied the bag, still feeling numb, and pulled it off. The glove was still in her mouth and, gripping her by the hair to hold her head still, I pulled it out. “Brit, I know you’re in there, I love you, talk to me!” I said urgently.

  “He’s lost his shit!” said someone, but I ignored it.

  Bending over, I whispered, “Fight it, beautiful girl, fight it!” and just for a moment, I heard her grunt out through clenched teeth, “fighttttttt”.

  Then I sat down, put my head in my hands, and cried.

  Chapter 318

  An hour later I still sat by Brit as she thrashed and moaned on the ground. The sedation was wearing off, and the reality of the situation was sinking in. My wife was infected and turning, but I put it out of my mind. Mission. Mission. Mission.

  The Team was still gathered at a bit of a distance, pulling security. Doc was speaking furiously on the radio, satcom antenna set up next to her, pointing south. Standing up, I brushed myself off and holstered the pistol.

  “Boz! Shona,” I called, and they trotted over. “Post a two-man guard over her while we figure out what to do.” The former Special Forces soldier just nodded and walked back to the group. Shit happened, and you dealt with it.

  “Nick,” said Shona, once he was out of earshot. “You have to accept what happened and put her out of her misery. I’ll do it if you can’t.”

  I was silent for a long moment, then said, “When you were wounded, did I give up on you? If there’s even a chance, I don’t care how long it takes, we have to give it to her. You heard her speak. She’s in there somewhere.”

  Shona Lowenstein had been with the Team through some pretty rough missions last year, almost bleeding to death in NYC. I trusted her completely, and she was as tough as any soldier I’d ever met. Now, though, however insistent she was, however right she was, didn’t matter.

  “And she’d never, ever give up on either of us. So somewhere, somehow, there has to be a cure, and I’m going to find it no matter how long it takes. Effective now, you’re in command of the team. Take Cahill’s people and kill the Mountain Republic President.”

  She thought about it, then said, “No, you stay in charge. Screw those politicians and their agenda. We’re going with you.”

  “You realize we’re going to have to call in a lot of favors and pretty much desert from the service?” I felt stupid saying that as soon as it left my mouth.

  “I deserted the Big Army a long time ago to follow you.” She smiled, but it was a bitter smile, punctuated by more howling from Brit.

  My next conversation was with Doc Swan, who saw me and stood waiting, a notebook in her hand. Doc and Brit were good friends, often the only two women out on a mission.

  “Talk to me, Bella,” I asked her.

  She shook her head and looked down at her notes. “It doesn’t look good, Nick. She’s been immunized against the original virus, but this is the more virulent strain released a couple of years ago. I give her four, maybe three days until cellular damage is irreparable. As far as getting rid of the infection, well, it hasn’t been done. Lack of resources, mostly, and all the research was destroyed when Morano’s lab was nuked outside Seattle. There’s been some work done at Halifax, but it hasn’t been a budget priority.”

  “So there’s nothing we can do?” I asked, bitterness welling up inside me.

  “Nick, I’m just a medic and a former nurse. This shit is way beyond me.”

&nbs
p; I thought more about it for a bit, then said, “Morano had a formula that she injected herself with each day to prevent infection from spreading. Do you think we could synthesize that?”

  “I couldn’t, but if we get the right chemist or biologist, and can get to her notes…but there’s not enough time, and her old lab was in Fort Detrick, right? Up in Maryland? After ten years, it’s gotta be a wreck.”

  “Let me deal with that. Who were you in contact with over the radio?” Maybe someone with brains could figure this out. I was just a dumb grunt.

  “Couple of doctors at Upstate Hospital in Syracuse, their research division. One or two of them had some ideas. They were talking to the guys up in Halifax.” She didn’t look hopeful at all, and I pushed panic back down in my mind.

  I called the rest of the team over, even those on security, and gathered them around. “OK, listen up,” I said, my voice raw with emotion. “All of you know Brit, some of you for years, others for only a few weeks. You know, though, that she’d give her life for any of you and go to any length to help you in a time of need.”

  I paused, and Ziv interrupted me. “You killed her, you bastard,” he said, anger in his voice.

  “Major Zivcovic, shut the fuck up. You’re free to leave any time you like. You’ll have your reckoning with me someday; until then I expect you to either go or obey orders.”

  He said nothing, just glared at me. I stared back, then dismissed him from my thoughts. “None of you have to go with me, but I’m going to bring her to Doctor Morano’s lab at Fort Detrick. It’s still held by Mountain Republic troops, so far as I know, and there’s a shitload of undead in the suburbs of DC. I doubt this will be sanctioned by JSOC, though we might get some support here and there from friends.” Looking at them, I took a deep breath and waited. I’d carry her alone on my back if I had to, whatever and however long it took.