The Zombie Terror War Series (Vol. 6): Where The Vultures Gather

by Spell, David

  Close to Home

  Dacula, Georgia, Friday, 1315 hours

  Elizabeth McCain sat in the back of the ambulance in front of their house as a paramedic worked on her husband. She held Chuck’s powerful hand in between both of hers, the sense of shock starting to wear off. Seeing him and knowing that he was alright had calmed her down. She had seen him hurt before, but it was still hard to look at the dried blood on his face.

  McCain had been shot in the process of rescuing Beth from four armed kidnappers. Fortunately, his body armor had stopped the AK-47 round, leaving a nasty bruise on his chest. Less than a week later, Chuck had stopped another bullet, this time a .44 Magnum slug that tore a six-inch long, half-inch deep gouge out of his hip.

  This second shooting took place on the Northeast Georgia Technical College campus where Beth was living and working at the time. After rescuing her, Chuck had taken her back home but the remnants of the gang of kidnappers that Chuck had killed tracked them to the school. When the gang members burst onto the campus, their plan was to murder McCain and take Elizabeth with them. Chuck had no intention of letting that happen, and although wounded, had killed several of his attackers, along with the help of the campus security team who eliminated the others. The gunshot wound to the hip had taken several weeks to heal, with Beth staying by his side, helping to nurse him back to health.

  The last six months have been almost normal, she thought. She knew that her husband’s job was dangerous, but with the zombie virus starting to wane, she wasn’t living with the sense of fear she had known in the months before, when the infected and gangs of criminals roamed the east coast. Chuck had told her that he could finally see the light at the end of the long tunnel in restoring law and order to the affected areas.

  Beth and Chuck were adjusting to married life, living in two different cities, both with new jobs. The young woman could not remember a time in her life, though, when she had felt more alive and fulfilled. God had blessed her with a wonderful man who had saved her life and really loved her. But then today happened. Men broke into their home and had tried to kill him. She still did not know exactly what had happened, just that her husband had been hurt again.

  Chuck’s laugh broke through the dark cloud of Elizabeth’s thoughts. The paramedic had just told the big man that he needed to go to the hospital to have his head sewn up, eliciting a loud chuckle. A flying piece of wood had caused the ugly gash to his forehead. The wound wasn’t very deep but would leave a long scar if not handled correctly.

  “Have you looked at my face?” he asked the young man. “I don’t think one more scar is going to make a difference. Plus,” he added, conspiratorially, nodding his head at Beth, “this good-looking girl married me in spite of the damage. Just clean it, pull it together with some butterfly bandages, and tape some gauze on it. I’ll be fine.”

  Mrs. McCain smiled and shook her head, knowing his mind was made up. And he was right. One more scar on the ruggedly handsome face of a man who had been a part-time professional MMA fighter just added to the legend. He had amassed a ten win, four loss record, fighting in small venues around the southeast while he was a police officer. Although he had never been knocked out, he still bore the marks of a man who had made some extra money with his fists, elbow, knees, and feet.

  Elizabeth glanced out the open back door of the ambulance. Josh Matthews stood nearby talking with Eddie, Grace Cunningham, and two uniformed police officers. Four marked police cars and a CSI truck were parked on the street.

  Yellow crime scene tape was draped around the front of the house and across the road, closing it off until the CSI team was finished. Chuck told her that the entire area was part of the crime scene. When she asked how the roadway was affected, he had shrugged and said he had been running and shooting at the attackers as they tried to get away. The large number of plastic yellow markers in the street and yard next to spent shell casings testified to how chaotic the shootout had been.

  A gray unmarked Chevrolet Impala turned onto the street and stopped outside the yellow tape. A short, stocky male with thinning hair and a petite blonde woman, both in their late thirties, exited and walked up the street carrying clipboards.

  “Who’s that?” Elizabeth wondered, pointing down the street. “Detectives?”

  The paramedic finished securing a white bandage over a series of butterfly bandages on Chuck’s forehead. He turned to see who his wife was pointing at. Beth watched his countenance cloud over.

  “Great. Just great,” McCain said, dropping his chin to his chest and shaking his head.

  Fifty minutes earlier, Elizabeth had been in a meeting with her boss, Dr. Charles Martin, discussing his calendar for the next two weeks when Eddie Marshall had burst in. Dr. Martin had put a comforting arm around the young woman’s shoulder as Eddie told her of the attack on Chuck. Marshall ushered a shocked Beth downstairs where a tall, attractive African-American woman was waiting for them on the first floor of the CDC’s temporary headquarters.

  After Agent Marshall had told her of the attack on McCain and what he needed, Grace Cunningham had quickly changed out of her polyester security guard uniform and was now wearing gray cargo pants and a black University of Georgia hoodie, covering her soft body armor. Even as a civilian security officer at the Centers for Disease Control, Grace still used the duty belt she had worn during her time as a University of Georgia Campus Police Officer. It contained her 9mm Glock pistol, extra ammunition, handcuffs, a taser, a collapsible baton, and a flashlight.

  Cunningham had been on duty inside Sanford Stadium on the UGA campus for the football home opener a year earlier when the zombie virus was released in Athens. Two pizzas were coated with the bio-terror weapon at a concession stand in the stadium and then sold to unsuspecting fans. The virus was also released at the Tate Student Center across the street from the stadium.

  Grace had been forced to fight for her life, killing a number of infected. Rather than escaping to safety, however, she had stayed inside the war zone of Sanford Stadium, managing to rescue almost thirty survivors. Later in the day, Cunningham was able to link up with the CDC Enforcement Unit, leading her group to safety. Even in the chaos of that day, CDC Agent Jimmy Jones had noticed Grace and the two had talked on the phone regularly until the communications grid had gone down.

  The campus police officer had spent the next several weeks fighting alongside other local cops and National Guard troops trying to retake the city of Athens. After taking a high number of casualties, the National Guard finally pulled out, leaving the town and university to the zombies, Grace had found, to her horror, that her own family had been infected. Her parents had somehow contracted the deadly virus, turning them into murderous monsters who had killed their younger daughter, Hope. Cunningham had been forced to shoot her father and mother, then finding herself trapped in the house with their bodies, unable to escape, the entire area surrounded by hungry Zs.

  Jimmy had fallen in love with Grace during their many phone chats and went on a solo mission to Athens to rescue her. Now, months later, Cunningham still struggled with occasional grief and guilt in regards to her family, but Chuck and Elizabeth McCain had been good to her, helping her climb out of the deep pit of depression that she had found fallen into. Beth had candidly shared how she had been forced to kill her own infected mother and had watched helplessly as the police shot her zombie father. Elizabeth and Grace had become very close, so when Eddie said that Beth might be in danger, the former police officer was ready to do whatever she needed to do to keep her friend safe.

  Cunningham felt that she would eventually become a cop again. Only Grace and one other officer from the UGA Campus Police Department had survived the bio-terror attack in Athens. So many good people had lost their lives and Cunningham was not ready to jump back in yet.

  In the meantime, she was enjoying the armed security position at the CDC. It was much less stressful than police work and protecting the CDC was a very important job. She had wanted to apply to work for
the CDC Enforcement Unit with Jimmy, however, Eddie had made it clear that he did not like the idea of a couple working in such close proximity and had suggested the civilian security position instead.

  Grace and Jimmy were living together in a safe neighborhood outside the city. She knew that her father the pastor would not approve and was probably looking down from Heaven wondering what his little girl was thinking. He had taught her, plus her own reading of the Bible confirmed that sex before marriage was wrong. She felt guilty, understanding that God and her daddy were not pleased with her choices.

  She and Jones were in love, though, and she hoped that he would ask her to marry him. One thing that Cunningham did know, however, was that she didn’t want to live by herself. She still had frequent nightmares and having Jimmy close made her feel secure.

  The two detectives made notes on their clipboards as they spoke with the uniformed officers in front of the residence. A few minutes later, one of the crime scene techs accompanied them inside the house. Neither of the investigators made eye contact with McCain or Matthews. Chuck exited the ambulance and waved over Eddie, Josh, and Grace.

  “Before I start giving statements to those two clowns,” he said, nodding at the investigators as they disappeared into his house, “I wanted to tell you something important. This isn’t an isolated incident. They went after Andy’s family in Virginia. Amy and Tyler were both shot and are in surgery.”

  Elizabeth gasped, having become good friends with Amy Fleming. Eddie’s face showed no emotion but Chuck saw the fury in his eyes.

  “How bad are they hurt?” Marshall asked quietly.

  “Andy wasn’t sure. It sounds like Tyler capped two of the bad guys but took a round in the gut. Amy shot and wounded a third one. She was hit in the chest.

  “The cartel also went after Scotty and Emily. Scotty and Andy were both on a mission in DC and Em was working at the hospital on the base so they torched their townhouse. It took out the entire row of homes and killed an innocent woman.

  “Eddie, I’ll let you tell the rest of your guys. I don’t know if the cartel is going after everybody but we need to assume they are. If the PD locates any of the other guys that came after me or if they can find the one that Amy wounded, maybe we can get some information out of them.”

  Marshall nodded, turning for his black SUV. “I’m heading over to her office to pick up Candace. I’ll call the rest of the CDC guys enroute. My offer still stands for you and Beth to stay with us. Let’s talk later, after you finish up with the detectives.”

  Twenty minutes later, Detective Sergeant Jerry Henson and Corporal Eve Saunders walked over to the group of officers. Elizabeth noticed the woman investigator staring hard at Chuck as they strolled across the front yard. As they got closer, the policewoman leaned in and whispered something to her partner, causing them both to laugh.

  McCain noticed their approach, sighed, and pulled away from the group, knowing that it was time for his interview. The male detective spoke first, his voice gravelly. “Well, other than today, how’s retirement, Lieutenant?”

  The woman investigator chuckled at her partner’s wit.

  “Hey, Jerry, Eve,” Chuck answered without smiling. “Where you guys want to do this?”

  “First of all, Mr. McCain,” Eve interjected, putting a strong emphasis on the ‘Mister,’ “we need to secure your weapon for evidence. Of course, you’ll get it back eventually, if no charges are brought against you and after the case is resolved. Is that pistol you’re wearing the one that you used in the shooting?”

  “It is, but you can’t have it,” he said, handing her his Department of Homeland Security credentials. “I’m working a big case right now and I need to keep my guns. I did most of the damage with a shotgun, by the way. It’s leaning against the front porch.”

  Elizabeth was standing close enough to hear the conversation and now it was her turn to suppress a laugh. Why would they want to take his gun away from him anyway? she wondered.

  The detectives studied Chuck’s badge and ID card, eventually giving it back. “So you aren’t really retired after all?” Henson asked, surprised.

  “Not hardly.”

  “Fed or not, we still need your gun. Or guns. We need that shotgun, too,” Saunders persisted, clearly not used to getting pushback on a homicide investigation. “You know the procedure. That shotgun will be Exhibit A. Your pistol will be Exhibit B.”

  “Not gonna happen,” McCain answered calmly. “I’ll ride over to the PD with you and let you guys get a ballistic test to confirm that my guns were the ones that were used. But after that and after you get my statement, I’ll be heading back to DC.”

  Eve stared at her partner, expecting him to back her up but he seemed confused by the way that the events were unfolding. Chuck saw his confusion, as well.

  “Look, Jerry,” he offered, with a conciliatory tone, “I don’t want to make things hard for you guys. I know you’ve got a job to do but so do I. If it’ll help, I can get someone up my chain-of-command at Homeland to give you a call.”

  The sergeant knew McCain well enough from working with him at various points in their respective careers to realize that he probably wasn’t going to win this battle, so he pushed forward.

  “Okay, we’ll talk about the guns later. We’ve still got the small problem of three dead guys in your living room that we need to investigate.”

  Chuck nodded. “And when they find that black van, there may be some more dead guys in it.”

  The two detectives seem surprised by this revelation and it started to become evident that they were in over their heads.

  “A black van?” the sergeant asked.

  By this time, Josh had wandered over, eliciting a nasty glare from the corporal.

  “Did dispatch not give you the lookout on the van? They almost hit me head-on trying to get away,” the off-duty sergeant told them. “Zone cars are out looking for it but black work vans are a dime a dozen.”

  “Yeah, but this one has a bunch of bullet holes in it,” Chuck commented.

  “What’s your role in this, Sergeant?” Corporal Saunders asked. “Did you fire your weapon as well?”

  “No, I was just on my way over here to pick up Chuck. We were going to train at the shoot house with some of the SWAT guys. When I pulled into the neighborhood, that van just missed smashing into me. They turned left out of the subdivision.”

  “You guys ever work a police-involved shooting before?” McCain asked, ready to get things moving.

  “You don’t worry about us, Mr. McCain. We will handle this the way it needs to be handled,” Eve answered defensively. “Why don’t we go over to the police department so we can get this interview over with?”

  Henson nodded. “Good idea. You can ride with us, Chuck. This shouldn’t take but an hour or two.”

  “Thanks, but I’ll follow you down. My wife and our friend, Grace, will want to come along,” McCain informed them, pointing over to the two women.

  At the mention of ‘wife,’ Eve’s head snapped around and she locked eyes with Beth, disbelief etched across the detective’s face. Jerry glanced over at Elizabeth, slowly appraising her, his gaze traveling the length of her body. Saunders wanted to lash out at her partner, who was also her supervisor and lover, but instead she stomped towards her car.

  Sergeant Henson realized that he had been caught staring at Chuck’s wife and cleared his throat. He quickly started after Saunders, speaking to McCain over his shoulder. “Follow us down to HQ and let’s get this done.”

  Henson stopped and gave some instructions to the uniformed sergeant standing nearby. After a few minutes, he glanced back at Elizabeth and then continued towards the vehicle.

  Josh and Chuck watched the pair retreating to their Impala, both men shaking their heads.

  “Some things never change,” Matthews commented.

  FBI Temporary Headquarters, Andrews Air Force Base, Maryland, Friday, 1410 hours

  Special Agent Maria Sanchez of the F
ederal Bureau of Investigation felt the nervous energy flowing through her, wiping sweaty palms on her khaki cargo pants. While the communications grid was, for the most part, up and running, there were still some glitches in the system. The internet was slow and cellular service was not always dependable.

  Uncle Pepe would probably know before her whether or not the attacks had succeeded. Her job had been to provide the identity and the addresses for the three CDC agents. Jose ‘Pepe’ Corona had sent the hit teams to go after them. It was probably better that Maria check the news on her personal computer at home, rather than on her work PC. She knew that it was easy to track her internet searches and the young agent did not want to do anything to attract attention.

  Sanchez’s Uncle Pepe was the leader of the Tijuana Cartel and who had masterminded the invasion of Atlanta eight months earlier, at the height of the zombie virus crisis. Corona had sent his nephew and almost two hundred cartel soldiers to set up shop in Buckhead, one of the most upscale neighborhoods in the entire city. Antonio “Tony el Tigre” Fernando Corona had captured over six blocks of prime real estate by murdering, plundering, and enslaving those who had not been able to escape the city when the bio-terror weapon had been released. Tony the Tiger’s headquarters had been the massive, fifty-story Peachtree Summit Luxury Condominiums. When the Mexican cartel moved into Atlanta, a number of other street gangs approached the younger Corona, pledging their allegiance to him.

  Pepe’s little sister, Rosalita, had been sent to America over twenty years earlier. Rosalita had married, changed her name, and created a new identity over time in San Antonio, Texas, distancing herself from her notorious criminal brother. This was all part of Tio Jose and his brother Juan’s plan. The Tijuana Cartel was still Rosalita’s family and she knew that one day her brothers would need her to help them. To her dismay, Juan had been killed a few years earlier, gunned down by the Mexican Federales. Rosalita had not even been able to attend the funeral.