“Not a chance, Sergeant.”
“You’re a real heartbreaker, sir.”
McDaniels goosed the accelerator and steered the RG-33L MRAP back toward the line of its sister vehicles. He braked to a jerky halt and took it out of gear, then set the parking brake. So far, there was no secret to how the rig operated. He turned in his seat and faced the maintainer sitting in the front passenger seat.
“I’m going to be sending you a bunch of troops to train up on these things,” he said. “I don’t know how many just yet, but everyone needs to get up to speed on them. Tell them everything you told me and make sure they understand how these things work, what to do, what not to do, so on and so forth.”
“You got it, sir. How long do I have?”
McDaniels shrugged. “I don’t have a clue, so pretend today’s the last day of your life.”
“Sweet.”
15
“I’m sorry to take you all away from your duties. Thank you all for meeting with me on such short notice,” McDaniels told the people seated at the conference room table in the InTerGen main building. Everyone looked totally wiped out. With all the noise—the weapons firing, the bombs falling, the helicopters taking off—no one was getting much sleep, even those who sacked out in the building’s basement. Andrew Kerr looked somewhat stressed, and going by the few meetings McDaniels had attended where the big scientist was present, that was probably an unusual circumstance.
“Is there something wrong?” Bob Blye asked. The company president looked rumpled and haggard, all the officious Ivy League stiffness he had shown in the past having wilted before the onslaught of the zombies.
“Please don’t panic, but the circumstances have changed. I need to inform you of what’s going to happen over the next few days, and tell you the reasons behind it.” McDaniels briefly recounted the issue the Air Force was having with its bomb inventory, then explained why the incendiary weapons were so vital to the existence of the camp. He also went over the fact that the camp was facing literally over ten million zombies. While all of the zeds had not yet arrived, it was estimated that the full force of the necromorphs would be felt in less than a month. “And we don’t have the weaponry available to contain that amount of zeds,” he finished. “Once we run out of our own incendiary mixture for the trenches, we’ll be down to doing it the old-fashioned way—putting bullets in brains. And we just don’t have enough people to do that.”
“So what’s the plan?” Regina asked. She leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms.
“We’re going to start increasing the number of flyouts,” McDaniels said. “As you know, we’ve already started pulling key personnel offsite and delivering them to Fort Carson, in Colorado. We’re going to increase the flights and cram more people aboard the Chinooks.”
“So we’ll be leaving then,” Blye said. “I think that’s good news. I don’t mind telling you, Colonel, but I think Jaworski misrepresented the true character of the threat. He sold us on staying here inside the facility. He told us we’d be safe, as laughable as it sounds now.”
“I think you’re doing much better than the possible alternative, sir.” McDaniels wasn’t in a mood to deal with Blye, especially not when he was hell-bent on coming across as a guy who felt he wasn’t getting his fair share of entitlements.
“But we’ll be safe? At wherever we’re headed, Fort Carson, is it?” Blye ran a hand through has dark hair and looked around the conference room. Regina ignored him, as did Ed Wallace. Doctors Kersey and Kerr kept their attention on McDaniels.
“You’ll be safe,” McDaniels said. “But unfortunately, you’re not going, Mister Blye. Not right away.”
“What?” Blye blinked myopically, and the dark circles under his eyes stood out in the conference room’s florescent lighting. “But you just said—”
“I said we were going to start evacuating the civilians, starting with the senior staff. And by that, I meant the folks who can actually make Safire’s drug, not those who run what remains of his company.” McDaniels raised an eyebrow at the smaller man. “That should have been abundantly clear.”
Blye opened and closed his mouth like a fish. “But… but how long will that take? Until the rest of us can leave?”
“We have two Chinooks and one Black Hawk remaining. The Chinooks can refuel in midair and fly the distance to Colorado without any problem, which is what they’ve been doing. The Black Hawk cannot be refueled while in flight, and will have to set down about three hundred miles out to take on more go-juice. That would take it well past the outer bands of the horde, so we’re trying to arrange for ground transportation to take over from that point. But that’s still in the works. The upshot of it is, we can only transport thirty-five folks at a time, and it takes hours for the helicopters to reach their destination, and hours for them to return—especially the Chinooks, since they have to fly over five hundred miles one way. That’s a haul, and they have to fly to Carson. There is no alternate destination for them.”
Blye licked his lips and looked around the table again. “But… but there are over seven hundred people inside the office park.”
“Seven hundred forty-four at the moment,” McDaniels said, consulting his iPad. “About twenty-two hops will be needed to clear them out of the camp. Each of the two Chinooks will make four flights a day, two outbound, two return. The Black Hawk, if it can sustain the pace, will make twelve flights a day, six out, six back. And somewhere in the middle of all of this, we have to make sure the pilots get enough rest. But we can do this, Mister Blye. You won’t be first to leave, and you might not be the last, but I guarantee you, you’ll be evacuated.”
“It’s not just me, Colonel.” Blye met McDaniels’s eyes directly. “It’s my family.”
“Everyone here has family,” McDaniels said.
“True. And will your son will be among the first to leave?” Blye asked.
“Hey, Bob? Why don’t you blow it out your ass?” Regina said suddenly.
Blye glared at her. “I’m sure your position is secured as well, Regina. Seeing as how you and Colonel McDaniels have some shared history.”
“Colonel, can’t we get some more helicopters?” Ed asked.
“The Army’s stretched pretty thin right now,” McDaniels explained. “All the services are, especially with rotorcraft. We lost a huge amount in New York City, and what’s left in the inventory is pretty occupied with other missions. We’re not the only concern here, but to that end, we are trying to secure civilian aircraft to supplement the airlift. Again, it’s pretty lean pickings since a lot of agencies are after the same airframes, so we’ll have to see what happens.”
“Are you telling me the entire government can’t get together enough helicopters to take us out of here?” Blye said. “That’s outrageous, given the amount of taxes we pay!”
McDaniels got to his feet and pulled a sheet of paper from the folder he had brought with him. “Mister Blye, it is what it is. I want to assure you that your family will be tended to. In the meantime, please make sure your people are ready to go, in accordance to this evacuation plan.” He handed Blye the paper, which had print on both sides. “That’s all you really need to take away from this little chit-chat.” He looked down the table. “Doctor Kerr, Doctor Kersey, you both will be evacuated on the next flight out. The helicopter is being refueled now, but it should be ready for go in…” He took a moment to consult his iPad again. “…about fourteen minutes. Sorry for the short fuse, but you’d better get your gear together and get moving.”
“I won’t be on the flight, Colonel,” Kerr said mildly. “You can give my space to someone else.”
McDaniels frowned. “Negative. You’re getting on the Chinook.”
Kerr smiled beneath his voluminous beard and shook his head. “I’m not trying to be difficult, Colonel. It’s just that another helicopter is coming to pick me up. My employers want me back in Los Angeles, and they’re pulling me out directly. I was told it was already approved.”
McDaniels raised his brows. “Really?” He thumbed through the pages on his iPad, looking for confirmation.
Kerr nodded. “Yes. There’s a Bell 407 heading our way, and it will be here in forty minutes or so. From here, I’ll be taken to an airport in New Mexico, where I presume I’ll catch a plane out.”
McDaniels found the notice. It had been released by Captain Chase only fifteen minutes earlier, and it had been authorized by Rapier directly. One black Bell 407 executive helicopter, FAA registration N5567D. He nodded and looked back at Kerr. “Yes, I do see the clearance here. Listen, if there’s a chance your organization can maybe help us with the airlift—”
“I’ll certainly ask, Colonel, but I wouldn’t count on anything.”
McDaniels put his hands on his hips. Not what I wanted to hear. “Can you clear that up a bit, sir?”
“The organization I work for has a mission not dissimilar from yours, Colonel. As you already said, helicopters are something of a scarce resource right now, and I’m fairly certain the one coming for me has other missions stacked up waiting for its return. Again, please understand,” Kerr added hastily, “I’m not trying to be difficult. And it’s probably not what you were hoping to hear, but that’s very likely the reality of the situation.”
“Huh. Tell you what, Doctor. I’ll make the request myself, if that’s not a problem.”
“Not a problem at all, Colonel.”
***
Forty minutes later, McDaniels stood with Kerr at the aviation assembly area. The air was tinged with the scent of jet fuel, both from the aircraft and the mixture that still burned in the trenches. Two MRAPs were making laps around the parking lot, dodging around HEMTs that carried fuel or munitions for the helicopters. The special operations forces guarding the camp were getting their training in for the big run.
“Doctor, can I ask you a question?” McDaniels asked. “Maybe you can shed some light on something.”
“Of course,” Kerr said. An overnight bag lay at his feet, and he held a London Fog coat folded over his arm. His breath fogged in the air, made visible by the ring of floodlights that illuminated the airfield. The sun had already gone down.
“The stenches… the necromorphs. I’m told that basically every one of them has turned our way. They’re no longer hunting humans for food. They still eat anyone they come across, but they’re no longer moving westward. They’re coming here, to Texas. To this facility. Any idea why?”
“Species preservation,” Kerr said.
“Say again?”
“Species preservation, Colonel. The zombies obviously know that we’re working on something here that can stop them from spreading. Numbers are their greatest strength, and even though they’ve taken down most of Europe and a sizeable chunk of Asia, they haven’t eclipsed us in total numbers just yet. So in a way, they’re still vulnerable. Once the virus is contained, then the game is essentially up for the zombies.”
McDaniels stared at the bigger man. “Doctor Kerr, are you telling me that all of these zombies can think?”
Kerr looked at him evenly. “I’m only guessing, Colonel. Just theorizing. I have no data or even anecdotal evidence to back me up. But from what I’ve seen on the news, and from what you and my employers have told me, the necromorphs are acting a lot like army ants. They’re demonstrating an almost insect-like response to a threat, a kind of hive mind response, if you will. And no, I’m not suggesting that the necromorphs have some sort of unified intellect. I’m just trying to characterize my guess.” He sighed. “Of course, we’ll probably never know why they’re coming here. But it seems more than merely coincidental to me.”
“That sounds plausible,” McDaniels said. “Also frightening as hell. Earlier today, I was telling some of my men that I thought the smart zeds were driving the stupid ones right at us, so we’d use up our ammunition.”
“I thought the same thing earlier, but I dismissed it,” Kerr said. “I was convinced that the dead can’t possibly be acting in a coordinated manner, especially across such vast numbers. Their dead brains just can’t perpetuate that kind of rational activity in ninety-nine percent of the cases. But there is that small percentage that retains some mental faculties, the ‘super zeds’ as you’ve called them. But one percent of ten million is still one hundred thousand. That’s no laughing matter, and what if it’s actually two percent that can recall special training or knowledge? Or five percent? That changes things remarkably. Drastically, actually.”
A Chinook lifted into a six-foot hover. Its cargo compartment was packed with vaccine and people, and McDaniels watched as one of the 160th’s loadmasters squared away the pallet of more vaccine the helicopter would carry to Fort Carson. It took only a minute to get the big, twin-rotored helicopter squared away, and it soon rose into the night sky. It passed through the cloud of gray-white smoke rising from the burning trenches, then disappeared from view.
“Drastically,” McDaniels repeated finally. “Yeah, that’s the word for it. You’re a comforting guy to talk to, Doctor.”
“They’re still rotting,” Kerr said.
“Pardon?”
“The zombies. They’re still undergoing necrosis. Eventually, their bodies will give out. Have you watched them through night vision devices? Like an infrared scope?”
“I’ve seen them through night vision goggles, but a lot of our aviators and specially-equipped Rangers have thermal imagery devices. Why?”
“How do they show up in those devices?”
“Very well, actually. They still give off heat, even though they’re dead. Why do you ask?”
“Because it’s the chemical process behind decay that is generating the heat. They’re dead, so they don’t have the ability to generate body heat in the conventional sense. What you’re seeing through your night vision devices is visual evidence of their decay, like leaves in a compost pile releasing steam on a cold day. That doesn’t mean anything in the short term, of course. But it does mean that, eventually, the necromorphs won’t be able to continue moving, and they’ll be much easier to kill.”
“Huh.” McDaniels considered that. “Maybe you’re not such a scary guy to talk to after all, Doctor.”
Kerr smiled. “I should hope not.” He looked up into the sky. “Ah. It appears my helicopter is here.”
McDaniels saw the black Bell 407 executive helicopter emerge from the smoke cloud. It wasn’t a vanilla aircraft. Under its pointed nose, the spherical shape of a forward-looking infrared turret became visible as the helicopter dropped toward the airfield. One of the Army ground team held up a pair of illuminated wands and guided the glossy aircraft to a landing. As soon as the aircraft’s skids touched the surface of the parking lot, two people dismounted. One was a tall man, the other a woman whose light brown hair was pulled back in a ponytail. Both of them wore safety glasses and black utilities, and both were armed. The man held a SPAS 12 automatic shotgun, while the woman held a Heckler & Koch MP7.
“The man looks familiar,” McDaniels said.
“He was one of you a lifetime ago, Colonel. Maybe you served together.” Kerr started toward the helicopter, and McDaniels followed. The man and woman moved to meet them, their eyes on McDaniels.
“Andrew, is this all you have?” the man asked, indicating Kerr’s bag and coat.
“Yes, this is all.” Kerr had to raise his voice above the 407’s whirling rotor system. “Mark, can we take some people with us?”
The man looked at Kerr, then back to McDaniels. “What do you mean?”
McDaniels seized the opportunity to get involved. He held out his hand. “I’m Colonel Cord McDaniels, Army Special Forces and commander of Joint Task Force SPARTA.”
The man let go of his shotgun’s pistol grip and shook hands. “Mark Acheson. This is Julia McGuiness.”
“Miss McGuiness,” McDaniels said, shaking her hand.
“Hello, Colonel. Good to meet you. You’re the one who got Safire out of New York City,” she said. Her tone was complime
ntary.
“You know about that? I didn’t know it was common knowledge.”
“It’s not,” Acheson said. He grabbed one of Kerr’s meaty arms. “Jules, do you mind taking Andrew to the chopper?”
“No problem.” She looked at Kerr. “Ready?”
Kerr nodded and turned to McDaniels. He shook his hand. “Godspeed, Colonel.”
“Thank you for all your work, Doctor. You made a difference.”
Kerr nodded again, then followed Julia to the waiting helicopter.
McDaniels looked at Acheson. “You look familiar, but I can’t quite place where we might have met.”
“Kenya. We met a few times back when I was with 7th Special Forces. I was on my way out, and you were on your way in.”
McDaniels nodded. “That’s right. I remember now.”
Acheson looked around and ran a hand through his short brown hair. “You guys have a hell of an operation here. Have you gone up lately? You’re completely surrounded for miles in every direction.”
“We’ve noticed. Listen, Acheson. How many empty seats do you have in that helicopter? Two, three?”
Acheson frowned. “Why?”
“We need to start moving the civilians out of here. I’ve got two Chinooks and one Black Hawk chopped to me, but the Hooks are flying out the vaccine Kerr helped put together, so there’s not a lot of room left for people. If we can use your bird for a while, it could help—”
“I’ll take three people with me to New Mexico,” Acheson said. “After that, the helicopter has other missions to conduct. Sorry about that, but there’s nothing I can do about it. It belongs to Homeland Security, not me.”
“You don’t have any pull?”
“No. None.” Acheson checked his watch. “We’re leaving now. Pick three people and send them over. If they’re not there in sixty seconds, we pull pitch. We’re on a schedule.” Without waiting for an affirmation, he turned and walked back to the helicopter.
The Rising Horde, Volume Two (Sequel to The Gathering Dead ) Page 17