by Spell, David
“Hey, Boss.”
“What’s the word, Michelle?”
“My best guess is that we’ve taken down over fifty infected so far. That’s the good news.” The young officer dropped her eyes. “The bad news is that it sounds like we’ve had at least five of our people bitten. The SO has lost three. Nobody wants to shoot a fellow officer so the CDC agents have been the ones to take out our guys after they’ve turned.”
“I’m sorry,” Jack said, softly. “I know that nobody wants to do it but I also don’t want to see any more zombies wearing LAPD uniforms. Where’s Terry? Is he in there?”
Peterson did not answer, but slowly nodded her head. Michelle and Terry had been dating for over six months. Her boyfriend was on the SWAT team and had been one of the first on the scene.
“He’s OK,” she finally said. “He’s with some of the CDC officers. Those guys are good, Boss.” Michelle pointed at one of the radios. “I’m monitoring their radio traffic and they’re as cool as can be, dropping one after another of those things.”
“I’m glad Terry is with them,” Grimes said, patting the young woman on the shoulder. “Your boyfriend is a badass. He’ll be fine.”
The corporal locked eyes with her boss. “I can’t believe that you were going to leave me out if you, the LTs, and Sergeant Cummings were going in.”
Earlier, Deputy Chief Xavier had shown up at the CP. The deputy chief was over the Operations Division, overseeing each of the precincts and all of the patrol operations. Michelle had seen the flash of anger in her boss’ eyes as Xavier began issuing random orders, many countermanding instructions that Grimes had already given. Ten minutes later, Peterson watched in fascination as the commander clearly reached his tipping point.
“Chief, since you’ve taken control of the scene and are no longer in need of my services, I’m going to grab my rifle and me, Lieutenants Choi and Diaz, and Sergeant Cummings are going inside the perimeter to kill some Zs.”
Grimes turned to go, Xavier’s mouth agape. The sudden implication that he was now in charge of everything came to rest on his shoulders. If the commander left, every single decision would come back on the deputy chief and that thought terrified him.
“Wait, Jack. I…I don’t want you to go. We can work together here,” Xavier said, trying not to sound like he was pleading with his subordinate.
“Sir, you’ve issued several orders that contradict ones that I’d already given. All that’s doing is confusing the people who need clarity more than ever. You’re the deputy chief so you can do whatever you want. I think I would be of better use dropping zombies.”
“Actually, Commander Grimes, I was thinking that since you obviously have things so well organized here, it might be better if I go check in at the shooting scene at the school.”
“That’s a great idea, sir. I’m sure they could use some leadership there.”
“Of course. Continue on, Jack,” the deputy chief managed a weak smile, patting Grimes on the shoulder. “You and everyone here are doing a great job. The Chief’s going to be very pleased.”
Jack chuckled at Corporal Peterson’s pouty expression. “Sorry, Michelle, but you know you can’t shoot and your boyfriend would be so pissed if I let you get eaten or turned into a zombie.”
“I can shoot!” she protested.
“You always qualify, but just barely. The only thing that brings a Z down is a head shot and those are difficult under the best of circumstances.”
Michelle finally smiled. “You’re right, but I would’ve gone with you. I really liked how you handled that situation with Chief Xavier.”
Grimes sighed. “One of the primary rules of leadership is that you should never promote insecure people, and especially don’t put them over the largest division in the police department. Frank’s actually a good guy but he’s scared of his own shadow. He’s always been a micromanager. So, of course, we promote him to a position where he can paralyze about a third of the PD with his indecisiveness.”
LA CDC team leader Julie Turner, Atlanta CDC team leader Jimmy Jones, and LAPD SWAT Team member Terry George moved quickly but carefully up the side street off of Santa Monica Boulevard. North Wilton Place contained a number of businesses and apartments on the left side of the street. The entire block on the right was surrounded by a chain link fence. It had been cleared and covered in asphalt but there were no structures on the property.
Jimmy hated being in the middle of the stack. He normally took point but this was Julie’s city so he let her have it. If Jones did not have point, he preferred to bring up the rear. Terry, the Los Angeles SWAT guy, had that role so the former Marine captain focused on protecting the agent in front of him.
Turner and Jones had struck up an easy conversation as they had driven around earlier. She was a Southern California girl, having grown up in LA. She had light-brown hair and a great tan. The two CDC agents had discussed their respective careers and how they had come to work for the Centers for Disease Control.
“Are you married?” Julie asked.
Jimmy hesitated before answering.
“Or just taken?” she rephrased her question with a slight smile.
“I am. I had to think about it a minute because I’ve been trying to figure out how to ask her to marry me,” Jones answered honestly.
Turner nodded, a disappointed look crossing her face. To her credit, though, they spent the next hour talking about ways that Jimmy could propose to Grace Cunningham. Jimmy appreciated his fellow agent’s help.
Jones knew that Grace wasn’t happy that they were living together. Her father had been a pastor and Jimmy knew that she felt guilty. Jones, on the other hand, had not been to church in years, having given up on God after his mother had succumbed to cancer. Grace, however, still believed and Jimmy was madly in love with her.
Whenever he got back to Atlanta, he told himself, Jones would ask Cunningham to marry him. He did not want her feeling guilty about their relationship and he really did want to spend the rest of his life with her. When the call for help from LAPD came, all conversation ceased as the two agents raced towards the scene.
The three officers had already taken down twelve Zs between them back on Santa Monica. They had also made contact with a number of people in the area, encouraging them to get inside and off the streets before they, too, became victims. With all the response teams working in the area, friendly fire was a real threat and they kept their heads moving, watching for both threats and other groups of shooters.
Now, Agent Turner led her two companions up North Wilton Place to investigate screaming coming from an area just a hundred feet in front of them. As they got closer, the team could see that a narrow alley ran between a small strip of businesses and a low-income apartment complex. Streetlights lit up the area, but the alley was not illuminated. The response team pulled their NVGs down over their eyes. Most of the other officers in the area were not equipped but the SWAT Team provided them for their members and the CDC was now issuing them to their agents, as well.
Another scream pierced the night, sending a chill down Jimmy’s spine. Whoever it was sounded like they were near the mouth of the alley. An engine roared overhead as one of the helicopters hovered fifteen hundred feet above them.
Terry asked for the chopper to hit the alley with their FLIR. Neither Julie nor Jimmy had access to the PD’s frequency. After a moment, Officer George leaned into his companions.
“He says there’s somebody standing on a dumpster twenty yards down, surrounded by Zs.”
As they got closer to the scene, the unmistakable sound of zombies growling and snapping their teeth together carried down the street.
A woman’s voice screamed towards the helicopter, “Help me! Please, I don’t want to die!”
The ever present pop of gunshots continued throughout the area as the three officers paused at the entrance to the alley, the unseen person inside continuing to yell for help. Julie glanced back at Jimmy and Terry, the two men illuminated in th
e green glow of the NVGs. Satisfied that they were ready, she turned the corner, her M4 at a low ready.
The blood-splattered remains of two men lay in front of them, blocking the walkway, their bodies having been ripped apart. Up ahead, a grimy blue dumpster stood next to a run down apartment building. A group of nine snarling zombies stood around the dumpster, reaching towards a petite brunette wearing a short black skirt and a white blouse with red stains covering it. The woman was barefoot, her face streaked with blood, dirt, and mascara. Her knees were scraped and bleeding.
The officers instinctively moved to give themselves the best shooting position without putting the victim in their line of fire.
“Hey, nasties, you want some dark meat?” Jimmy called out.
As one, the group of Zs turned and stumbled towards the fresh victims. Jones couldn’t help but to feel sorry for these creatures as his suppressed M4 came up and started barking out head shots. These people don’t deserve this. They were just walking home from work, from the bar, or maybe the grocery store. Maybe they were just out for some exercise when they were attacked and infected.
So sad, he thought, putting a 5.56mm round through the eye of an attractive African-American girl with blood dripping out of her mouth. One of the zombie’s eyeballs had been ripped out of the socket, hanging down on her cheek. She collapsed and the scene appeared secure. For the moment.
Of the nine Zs, Julie had gotten three, Jimmy had taken out four, and Terry had dropped the last two. They’re really good, the SWAT officer thought, amazed at how fast the CDC agents made those head shots.
They paused to scan the area before moving up to the trapped woman. Something squirmed at their feet and a mangled hand reached for Jones’ leg. One of the two partially devoured corpses had just reanimated. Without hesitation, the former Marine fired two shots into its head. He then performed the same act for the other body, just to be safe.
“And stay dead,” he muttered.
“Don’t shoot them!” the girl screamed, still up on the trash receptacle. “Those are my friends!”
“Sorry, ma’am, your friends were infected,” Officer George told her. “Come on down and we’ll get you out of here. You need to lower your voice or you’re going to attract more of them.”
“You shot my friends, you bastards!” she yelled again at the team standing below her, making no effort to climb down.
“Ma’am, we want to help you,” Terry said, trying to be the compassionate police officer. “Get off the dumpster and we’ll take you some place safe.”
Growling erupted from the far end of the alley and the officers could detect movement through their night vision goggles. The woman’s screams had drawn the attention of other infected.
Jimmy had had enough. “Look, lady, get your ass off that dumpster now, or we’re gonna leave you here for zombie food. There’s plenty of other people that need help. If you want ours, you better start moving.”
The tone of his voice caused something to click inside of her and she began to climb down saying, “No, please don’t leave me. I’m coming.”
Turner moved up past the dumpster, peering deeper into the darkness. Suddenly, her rifle spoke four times, as the two men assisted the woman in getting down. When she got to the ground, Jimmy and Terry both realized that the woman was heavily intoxicated, the smell of the booze on her breath an indication of the kind of night she was having before the zombie virus was released.
“Julie, you OK?” Jones called out.
“Yeah, three more down,” she answered, backing up to their location.
“Can you check her for bites?”
The female agent nodded, turning her attention to the woman. “What’s your name?”
“Ashley.” She swayed from side to side, flashing Terry a bright smile.
“Hi, Ashley, I’m Julie and we’re going to get you out of here but I need to check you first. Did you get bit or scratched tonight?”
“No,” was her indignant reply. “If I got bit wouldn’t I be a zombie?”
“Maybe,” Turner said, patiently. “The virus affects different people in different ways. Where did that blood on your face come from?”
Ashley was unsteady on her feet and raised a hand to feel for the blood that Julie had spoken of. It took her three tries for the hand to touch her face.
“I’m not sure. I fell down when they started chasing us. I lost my heels and got scraped up.”
She held up her hands, abrasions visible on both palms. Julie pulled a flashlight from her belt and checked Ashley thoroughly, looking for any sign of teeth marks.
The young woman glared at Jimmy. “You like that? You like watching her examine me?” she slurred.
Jones didn’t bother answering the drunk woman.
Ashley turned towards Terry as Julie finished looking her over.
“I like you,” she told him. “You were nice to me. I don’t like them,” she pointed to Jones and Turner. “She’s a bitch and he shot my friends and yelled at me. But I like you.”
Jimmy gave the SWAT officer a smile and a wink.
“Well, Officer George, let’s get you and your new friend out of here.”
Hollywood Freeway, Los Angeles, Sunday, 0150 hours
Chuck leaned against their bullet-riddled Durango while Eric held a bloody trauma bandage on Jason’s left trapezius muscle. Gray still had Toney’s dried blood on his face. Jason was clearly hurting after one of Deniz’s rounds had struck him dead center in the body armor. The second 5.56mm projectile had found the unprotected flesh next to the HRT team member’s neck, removing an inch of muscle and then buzzing Eric’s head.
At least twenty more bullets had ripped into the driver’s door, hood, and windshield of Jason’s issued vehicle. The FBI agent had removed his armor and shirt, revealing a quarter-sized red and purple mark on his sternum. McCain understood his pain, having been shot before, and was grateful that the wounds were not life-threatening.
The shooting on the busy highway had brought traffic to a slow bottleneck as the motorists were forced down to one lane. The unmarked FBI SUV was partially blocking the right lane. Marquette Walters was still lying facedown nearby. Chuck had used some of the duct tape that was in the van to secure his feet.
McCain and Gray had carefully searched the interior of the suspect vehicle, surprised to find Kimani Davis’ dead body inside. The cooler of blood-loaded syringes explained a lot. Of course, they would need to confirm that the blood was infected, but Chuck was reasonably certain this was the means of infecting Los Angeles.
The big man decided to attempt to interview Marquette, hoping to find out what their plans were. He read the terrorist his Miranda warning, explaining his rights. Before he could even start asking him questions, though, the felon launched a mouthful of bloody saliva at him.
McCain was able to avoid the spittle and stood as another black SUV with flashing lights roared down the shoulder of the highway, pulling in behind Toney’s vehicle. Chuck walked away from the thug at his feet to greet the newcomers.
Eric Gray had heard the exchange and knelt beside Walters. Blood continued to ooze from the injuries on the criminal’s face and head, and his right eye was swollen closed. Eric also suspected that his left knee was broken.
“Let me tell you something, boy,” the African-American, former Marine gunnery sergeant growled. “That white cop kicked your ass a little while ago. He could’ve killed you and nobody would’ve said a word.”
“I want a lawyer and I need to go to the hospital. I’m gonna sue you pigs!”
Gray laughed. “Yeah, he messed you up pretty good, but there’s no doctor for you right now. You ever had your fortune told, punk? I’m gonna tell you what your future is. You’re gonna be charged at the federal level for multiple counts of murder and they’ll go through the motions of giving you a fair trial. You’re gonna be found guilty and sentenced to death. After a few years of appeals that’ll be denied, they’ll strap you to a gurney and put you down like a sic
k dog.
“Yep, that’s your future. Now, if you want to cooperate, you might just avoid that needle. Maybe. If it was me, I’d just as soon shoot your sorry ass in the back of the head and be done with it.”
Kevin Clark and Scotty Smith exited the Suburban and approached Chuck, glancing over as Eric continued his discussion with the suspect. Kevin had stopped by the other crime scene to pick up Scotty. Officer Malloy had been transported to the hospital and Smith felt that his chances for survival were good. Scotty immediately began to treat Jason’s wounds until he, too, could be seen by a doctor.
After walking Kevin through the scene and explaining how everything had transpired, Chuck again leaned wearily against the Durango, just as another SUV pulled up, disgorging Joe O’Reilly and three additional FBI agents. McCain pushed himself off the vehicle, the adrenaline dump of the previous couple of hours leaving him weak.
“Hey, Joe, we got him.”
The agents eyed the bloodied, muscular man handcuffed, duct taped, and lying on the shoulder, being interrogated by the hard-eyed DHS agent. O’Reilly surveyed the scene, taking it all in. The Durango with the shattered windshield and front-end damage. Agent Toney, shirtless, his torso bloody, being ministered to by the huge bearded man. The white GMC van, its right front corner crumpled, resting against the guard rail. The blanket-covered body lying on the shoulder beside the van.
“Yeah, that’s what I heard,” Joe answered. “Is that him under the blanket?”
McCain didn’t answer but walked over to the corpse and lifted the blanket for O’Reilly to see. The G-Man flicked on his flashlight and stared down at the body, nodding his head. One of Gray’s rounds had caught him under the nose, the other had struck him between the eyes. His face was distorted in death but recognizable.
“That’s him. Sucks for you, Omer. That’s good shooting. Was that you, McCain?”