Caldera | Book 12 | Kingdom Come

by Stallcup, Heath

  Irene huffed and held her hand out. “Something simple to use, please.” She shuddered as Tamara pressed a pistol to her palm.

  “It’s loaded. Safety’s on.”

  Davis glanced to the rear view mirror and watched with more than a degree of worry as David picked up the spare shotgun and stared at it in horrified wonder.

  Tamara patted his shoulder. “Just like the movies. Squeeze the trigger, then move the slide action to chamber another shell. Easy peasy.”

  Davis grunted then added, “And make damned sure there’s nothing behind your target that you don’t want to shoot.”

  David swallowed hard. “Got it.”

  “There!” Carol shouted, her arm pointing to the left. “I see smoke!”

  Davis slowed the SUV and twisted the wheel; his jaw dropped.

  He hadn’t been expecting what he saw next.

  Simon winced at the pain but came to his feet. He propped himself along the doorjamb and opened his eyes when he heard Veronica running back up the hallway.

  She held a pistol in her hand with a spare magazine. “This is all I could find.”

  “You did good, sweetheart.” He pulled her to him and gave her a quick kiss. “You and Captain Poopy Pants over there should come in here and get behind me.” He expelled the magazine and checked the round count before slamming it back into the grip of the pistol.

  “Simon, you can barely stand,” Veronica whispered. “I don’t know what you can do to—”

  “Six and a half pounds,” he said softly. He turned and stared into her confused face. “Six and a half pounds of pressure is all it takes to squeeze the trigger on a Glock.” He gave her a soft smile. “Even as weak as I am, I can pull a trigger.”

  Derek whimpered as the window behind the couch shattered with an errant shot. He was trying to melt into the floor of the house before Veronica stepped into the living room and practically dragged him into the recovery room. “Get your skinny ass in here already!”

  “I don’t wanna die!”

  “You won’t,” Simon deadpanned. “Keep your head down and your mouth shut.” He raised a brow at the man. “It’s my turn to save you.”

  Lana darted from house to house, ducking to keep out of sight and dodging men with guns. She heard the familiar scream of the infected and those of their victims as the two sides clashed. It took only a moment for her to connect two and two and realize Simon’s new friends were under attack.

  She chuckled to herself as she slowly came to her feet. Her mind raced through her options and she decided that whoever won, she could blend in with the victors, maybe be more careful next time. Of course, that idea only worked as long as Simon and his mountain clan were dead and unable to identify her.

  She smiled to herself as she rounded the corner of the house and made her way across a familiar yard. Only a few houses to go and she could ensure that Simon was on the list of casualties.

  She glanced around for a weapon. Anything that could bash a man’s brains out or cut his heart from his chest…. Whatever she found, this time she’d make certain that Simon stayed dead.

  Roger emptied the magazine into the onrush of bodies then quickly slammed a fresh one home. He chambered the first round then began picking off those who were at the head of the pack once more.

  “Fresh mags!” Candy yelled as she slung the burlap pack over her shoulder. She raised her pistol and began firing at the swarm. “I’m sorry!” she yelled.

  “What for?!” Roger screamed back as he slowly worked around and pressed his back to hers, firing into the horde swarming the walls.

  “You said there was a shit ton of them!” She ejected her magazine and slammed a fresh one into her pistol. “I had no idea you were being so literal.”

  Roger slowly dropped to one knee and continued to fire into the crowd. “Trust me, babe! It didn’t look like THIS many when we spotted them!”

  Candy followed a small pack with her pistol and fired at them as they sprinted towards the infirmary. “They’re swarming the houses!” she screamed as the cacophony of gunfire echoed against the buildings.

  Roger groaned as he reached for the bag of magazines. “I hope whoever’s inside has enough ammo!”

  Jedidiah crawled over the bodies of his soldiers, letting those in the rear burst from the bus and distract the men who were guarding the gates. He barely heard the gunfire inside the bus, but the thump-thump-thump of bullets hitting the thin metal walls reminded him that there was plenty to be wary of.

  He ducked behind the last row of seats and glanced through the open rear door. His soldiers were now swarming the walls and the men were distracted by the sheer numbers.

  “God’s will be done!” He thrust himself out of the bus and rolled across the pavement. He came to his feet and bolted to the right, making for the space between the buildings.

  He dove behind a shrub and pulled his long coat in beside him, doing his best to conceal himself from the carnage he had created. He knew that he was not meant to live through this attack…nobody was. But if there was any way that he could prolong his existence, he would do so.

  He slowly came to his feet, his eyes taking in the war going on just yards away. He took a deep breath then bolted between the houses, making his way to the street beyond. He slid to a stop and peered around the corner of a house, watching as his soldiers washed over the walls of the compound like a giant wave of bodies. Men with guns slowly backed from the attackers, their weapons belching fire into the crowd, but barely making a dent.

  Jedidiah smiled to himself. In his mind, it was like attempting to empty the ocean with a tea spoon. There is no real defense in sheer numbers; a divine cause will always win. Raging hunger, helps, he thought.

  He slowly came to his full height and stepped from the shadows. He tugged at his lapels, doing his best to straighten them. How better to hide amongst the unwashed than to appear as one of them. He stepped away from the house and noted a lone woman slinking along the periphery.

  His eyes narrowed and he studied her movements. Much like a predator attempting to ambush its prey, she slipped from building to building, her eyes taking in the carnage around her. She closed on a particular house and pressed herself to the side, her eyes gazing up to a lone window.

  Jedidiah felt his intrigue piqued and moved silently toward her. She was no longer concerned with what happened around her, as her attention locked on the interior of the building. She stood slightly and peered over the edge of the window then braced her hands on the outside sill.

  He watched as she hunkered slightly and prepared to launch herself through the glass. Whatever was inside that building must be of great value for her to do this during an all-out attack.

  He ran his hand along the brim of his hat, ensuring it was still straight, and marched toward her just as she jumped and shattered the window, disappearing inside.

  24

  Hatcher and a handful of men attempted to defend the front of a burning house while others fought to thwart the fire inside. Thick billows of black smoke poured from the rear of the house, hindering their vision, and making their efforts nearly impossible.

  Small groups of survivors were banding together, each standing in a circle and defending their angle of attack as the Zulus swarmed like angry hornets. They darted in every direction, some attempting to isolate and attack the uninfected, while others tried full frontal assaults on homes.

  Hatcher tossed his empty magazine to the ground and wrapped his hand around the final one, praying that the tide would soon turn. He slammed the magazine into the well of the rifle and chambered the first round when a large SUV slid to a stop just outside the ruined gates.

  He took aim on the closest of the Zulus but tried to watch the people who exited. He didn’t recognize the truck from their fleet, and could only assume it was more survivors who were coming to their assistance.

  As the new people began to fire at the attacking Zulus, Hatcher turned his full attention back to the battle and the r
eal enemies. Bodies lay strewn across the grounds and more than one house was on fire as his forces were split trying to contain the damage and fight off the infected.

  He spotted Candy and Roger as they made a fast dash across the littered ground and approached his group. “We’re down to our last three mags!” Candy yelled.

  Hatcher ejected his spent magazine and dropped the rifle, pulling his pistol from the drop holster. “I’ve got two pistol mags left.” He gave Roger a knowing look. “We have to stop these bastards if it means bashing their brains in with a hammer.”

  Roger ejected his spent magazine, and Candy slapped a fresh one into his palm. “I’m ready when you are.”

  The trio broke away from the cluster at the front of the house and began marching down the center of the street, picking off the infected as they encountered them. The staccato of gunfire echoed off the buildings, and screams were still lingering in the air as the pair rounded the corner and made their way deeper into the compound.

  Candy stared at the carnage and began, “We should split up and—”

  “Negative!” Roger interrupted. “We stick together.”

  “Strength in numbers, right?” Hatcher added, realizing the irony of the statement.

  “Right.” Roger gave him a half assed smirk. He turned and stared between the houses, his eyes searching for stragglers darting between the buildings.

  The trio rounded the corner and worked their way up the next street, watching survivors defend their homes as the infected attempted to enter. Women and teenagers were dragging the bodies to the stoops, their eyes on a constant vigil for the next wave of attackers as they dumped the invaders unceremoniously into the yard.

  Hatcher felt the tension begin to lift from his neck and shoulders and his arms and legs began to ache as the adrenaline burned off. “I think the worst is over.”

  Roger paused and gave him a worried look. “Unless there’s another wave.”

  Candy groaned. “There can’t be. We don’t have enough ammo to defend ourselves.”

  Roger felt his guts tighten and dread took over as the thought began to consume him. Hatcher reached out and gripped his shoulder. “We’ll deal with whatever happens next.” He locked eyes with the man that had grown to become his best friend. “We will survive. That’s what we do.”

  “But what if…” Roger choked as his chest tightened. He glanced to Candy and his unborn child. “I mean, if they—”

  “Hey,” Hatcher interrupted. “We do what we always do. Keep calm and carry on.” He patted the man’s shoulder then began walking towards the secondary gates.

  Roger and Candy fell into step and quickly caught up to him. “You seem awfully calm, Hatch,” Candy said, her eyes searching him for an emotional response.

  “Doesn’t do anybody any good to panic.” He slowed and peered into a house with the front door kicked in. “Even if it feels like we’re losing it inside, the three of us have to maintain a degree of confidence for the others.” He raised his pistol and dropped a stray Zulu darting between houses.

  Hatcher took a deep breath and faced them both. “They are looking to us to set the tone for this. Regardless of how this turns out, they will look to us to see if this was a victory or a loss.” He lowered his voice and met their gazes. “As long as we destroy the Zulus, then it’s a win. Understood?”

  “Switching mags!” Davis announced as he quickly slammed a fresh magazine into his rifle. He continued to march towards the largest group of infected swarming the housing complex, firing into the group and watching as the targets crumpled and fell to the ground.

  The satisfying crack of weapons fire on either side of him told him that his merry band of misfit researchers were willing to hold their own as he led them into the thick of the battle. He watched from the corner of his eye as David O’Dell learned how to do a tactical reload in the heat of battle, and was even pleasantly surprised at the deadeye accuracy of Dr. McDonald as she picked off the infected from a distance.

  He wouldn’t admit it anytime soon, but he felt a certain degree of pride in the performance of the CDC’s best and brightest. The only complaint he might have would be with Dr. Broussard, who struggled to remember to rack the shotgun between shots. His rechambering of rounds might not have been fluid; it was downright jerky at times, but his accuracy was dead on.

  Of course, it’s hard to miss with a shotgun.

  As the group chiseled down the infected forces, they were met by another group struggling to defend the wall. Davis waved his people forward. “Back ‘em up! Clear that border!”

  He watched as his people spread out along the southern-most section of wall and picked off the stragglers that fought to clear the adobe and rammed earth barrier.

  He felt his intestines twist when Randy tumbled beside him, an infected riding his back as he went to the ground. The thrashing hands and tearing teeth were surpassed only by the amount of blood that sprayed into the air. The scream was enough to turn his own blood cold, but his muscle memory kicked in and he shot the attacker three times before its limbs stopped tearing at the researcher.

  He didn’t have to check the man to know that Randy Carlson had no chance of remaining amongst the living. The arterial spray from the gaping hole in his neck lasted only a few moments longer, but his eyes were glassed over long before his heart gave out.

  A man covered in blood and dirt trotted alongside and held out a spare magazine. “553, right?”

  Davis nodded and gladly accepted the ammunition. “What the hell happened here?” he asked as he reloaded his weapon.

  The man shook his head as he fired upon the wall. “No frikkin’ idea. Some of our people spotted these assholes a few days ago. We’ve been waiting for this shitstorm ever since.”

  Davis groaned as he continued to fire. Movement in his peripheral vision caused him to spin and he dropped two more of the infected attempting to attack their line from the rear. “We’ve got kamikazes hitting from the rear!”

  The blood-covered man turned and gave support as more of the infected poured from between the houses. “Frikkin’ cockroaches!” He dropped to one knee and began picking them off single file as they attempted to cross the street. As the tide ebbed, the man turned to Davis and broke into a toothy grin. “I know I don’t know you, but thanks a lot for jumping in.”

  Davis shook his head as he attempted to reload once more. “Thank the docs. It was their vote that brought us here.”

  “More doctors, eh?” He fired at a lone straggler then paused, waiting for more movement. “After today, we’ll probably need all the medics we can get.”

  Davis shook his head. “Not that kind of docs, unfortunately. These guys found the cure. They’re CDC.”

  The man turned and gave them a surprised look. “You don’t say?” He slowly broke into another toothy grin. “Well, then, we really owe them, don’t we?”

  Davis held his hand out. “Lieutenant Davis. U.S. Army.”

  “Hank Willis. Staff Sergeant. Marine Corps.”

  “Active duty?” Davis asked.

  Hank broke into another grin. “Sorry, LT. Once a Marine, always a Marine.”

  Simon nearly yelled as the window behind him shattered and a dark figure rolled behind his bed. He turned as quickly as he could but the figure kicked the base of the bed into him, knocking the gun from his hand and across the floor.

  As Simon tried to keep from falling, the figure launched itself across the bed and tackled him, riding him to the floor. Both Veronica and Derek screamed and Simon fought to add his own scream to the mix as pain shot through his entire body. His field of view went black and little bursts of light danced in his peripheral vision. He had to fight not to vomit as the figure pressed their weight on his chest, long and jagged nails scraping at his flesh, and a familiar voice echoed in his mind.

  “Hello, lover.”

  Simon shook his head, trying to force his eyes to focus. His stomach nearly lurched as Lana came into view. “You crazy cunt…” he r
asped. “I shoulda killed you in your sleep.”

  “Tsk.” She sat up and ground herself against his groin. “And miss out on all this?” She motioned to herself. “And here I thought we had something special.”

  He saw her hand slip behind her back and reappear with a short piece of broom handle, broken at an angle. “And I made such an effort to come here and finish what I started on that fucking mountain.”

  Simon swatted weakly at her hands. His arms felt like wet spaghetti, unable to fight her off. “You really are batshit crazy.”

  “Please don’t do this!” Veronica yelled from behind them. “I’m the one you want!”

  Lana slowly turned and faced her, the anger in her features palpable. “Don’t you worry your pretty little head, Doc. You’re next.”

  She turned back to Simon and held the broken handle above him. “I’m really going to enjoy this.”

  Simon sucked his breath in, doing his best to prepare for what was about to come when suddenly and violently Lana was pulled from him, her body rolling through the double doors and into the living room. His eyes barely caught the darkly clad figure that had her in its grips.

  He gathered his strength and forced himself over, his hand slapping at the ground for the pistol, but his eyes locked on the two figures fighting in the living room. He froze when he saw Lana slammed to the floor and the infected man straddling her chest, its long, stringy, and filthy white hair draped around the gaunt face snarling at her.

  The creature turned and faced him for a moment then hooted and grunted at him as though he should understand it. Simon’s brain thumped with pain as the sounds struck him. He felt as though he should know the words, but they just weren’t connecting.