Nightmare Army

by Don Pendleton

  Sevan pointed at his ear. “Why don’t you call for help, then? I heard you talking to someone else through that thing.”

  “Even if I did, they wouldn’t be here for hours.” Bolan crouched on the wall of the vehicle. “Make yourself comfortable. We’re going to settle in and wait them out. Eventually they’ll find other, easier prey.”

  “You hope.” Sevan grunted as he settled against the back of the rear passenger seat. “Very kind of you, by the way. They will leave us alone to find and kill other defenseless people.”

  Bolan scanned the mass of people surrounding the Range Rover: adults, teenagers, children, men in business suits and women in housedresses. “From what I can tell, most of the town has already been infected.”

  He turned back to Sevan, who was still keeping an eye on the old man. “But not you. Why not?”

  “How should I know? Maybe everyone else has that mad-cow disease, but since I was gone, I didn’t eat the tainted meat.”

  “First, mad cow takes decades to reveal itself,” Bolan replied. “Second, if that were the case, your guards wouldn’t have had it, either, but they were showing the same physical symptoms as these people.”

  “Yeah...I saw that when I was ordering them to get upstairs and kill you.” A rueful grin crossed the Armenian’s face. “If you hadn’t tried to be such a goddamn cowboy, I already would have escaped, and this would all be your problem.”

  “Now who’s being ruthless?” Bolan asked.

  Sevan shrugged. “As you said, it appears that the majority of them are already affected by whatever is going on around here, which makes the choice fairly simple—my survival.” He glanced at the raging mob around them. “I don’t think either of us is getting out of here alive. You ever see Day of the Dead? Or 28 Days Later? World War Z?

  With a frown, Bolan shook his head. “My schedule doesn’t leave a lot of time for movie watching.”

  “You should.” Sevan nodded at the crowd outside. “They remind me of those things. Voracious. Unstoppable. If I could call my men, they could probably get us out...but like you said, they’re probably turned into those things, too. That’s how it happens in the movies. First one, then it spreads to everyone else, until there is no one left—”

  The sound of breaking glass caught both men’s attention, along with the plume of flame that sprouted at the back of the Range Rover, among the struggling, screaming villagers.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  “What the hell are you doing?”

  Gary Alcaster and Siranush had grabbed William Scott and yanked him back inside as the first crazies had barreled at him. They’d slammed the heavy, wooden door closed just in time, locking it as hands beat a frenzied tattoo outside.

  “Jesus, that was close.” Scott looked sheepish under his companions’ glares. “Sorry about that. It won’t happen again.” He listened to the constant pounding outside. “They just won’t stop.”

  “Windows?” Alcaster asked. “Do you think there are any open windows on this floor?”

  “No, it is too cold now,” Siranush replied. “Windows are all locked at night. If no one is up to open them, they will still be closed.”

  “Okay...okay.” The screech of tires down the street made the three all look toward the direction of the sound. “What was that?” Alcaster asked.

  “Someone’s driving something—” William was interrupted by a louder screech this time. “Fast.” A loud crash sounded close to the front door, followed by the scrape of metal on stone for several seconds.

  “What the hell?” Scott started for the window next to the door, but Alcaster grabbed him.

  “No, don’t reveal yourself. We don’t want to make ourselves a target.”

  “Don’t you want to find out what’s happening out there?” Scott asked.

  “Yeah, so come on.” Alcaster started for the stairs, but was stopped by Siranush.

  “Wait! The master key to rooms is behind the desk.”

  “So what?” Scott asked.

  Alcaster’s thoughtful expression was similar to hers. “She means for us to lock all of the doors up there from the outside.”

  The woman nodded, her face pale.

  “But we don’t know who’s turned or who’s alive in them,” Scott said.

  “Right, but we can find out later,” Alcaster said. “Look, if anyone took a...turned one with them last night, they’re as dead as dead by now. If they are okay, they’ll bang on the door, or they can let themselves out with their own key. Either way, they’re safer inside for now.”

  Alcaster ran for the main desk and rummaged around in its drawers until he came up with a ring of keys. “This it?” Siranush nodded, and he hefted his club over his shoulder. “Then let’s go lock some doors.”

  The three crept back up the stairs and began moving down the left hallway, stopping at each door. The men would both hold the door closed, with Siranush turning the key. At three out of the first five, fists began banging on the other side, but there was either silence or frenzied moaning along with it. The other two rooms were dead silent.

  “Got to move faster, they might get others riled up,” Alcaster said.

  “Going as fast as I can.”

  “Be sure to mark the quiet ones. We’ll check them later.”

  “Uh, I think we’ll be able to figure out which ones those are.” Scott nodded toward the other doors, shaking in their frames under the rain of blows.

  “Yeah. Good thing this place was built nice and solid,” Alcaster said as they continued down the hall. They had just locked both doors at the end when they heard a knob rattle near the staircase, followed by a door on the right side swinging open.

  Alcaster started forward, but his friend stopped him. Putting a finger to his lips, he held up his free hand. Wait. The two men stood together in front of Siranush, holding their clubs at the ready.

  A shadow appeared in the hallway, followed by one slender figure, then a shorter, rounder one. They looked around, as if sensing the air, then both heads swiveled toward the three at the other end at the same time.

  “Shit, they’ve spotted us!” Alcaster said.

  The two immediately broke into a run, heading straight for the trio.

  “Stay where you are, Will.” The Canadian stepped forward and raised his club. “I’ve got left, you take right. Siranush, take out whoever’s left if we go down.”

  Then the two were on them. Cocking his club, Alcaster didn’t take his eyes off his target—a balding, portly man in striped pajama bottoms—as he lumbered closer. He felt Scott tense behind him, and heard a small squeak he thought might have come from Siranush, but it might have been the Brit, too.

  When they were only a meter away, Alcaster swung from the shoulder as if he was swinging for the fences back home. The heavy end of the makeshift club smacked into the side of the man’s head and knocked him right off his feet and into the wall. The med student followed up with an overhead swing and crushed the top of the man’s skull, making him stop moving immediately.

  Hearing meaty thwacks from behind him, he looked over to see his friend beating in his attacker’s brains. “Will...Will? Will!”

  Finally the Englishman looked up, gore and bits of bone dropping off the end of his club. “You got him, man.”

  “Oh...right...I did.” Scott stared at the twitching body with its bashed-in head at his feet as Alcaster walked over to inspect his handiwork. “Yup, he’s a goner, all right. You did great.”

  He glanced back at Siranush. “You okay?” Then, at her nod, he added, “All right, let’s lock down the rest of the hallway.”

  They completed their sweep of the right side hallway and moved to the other side. This was much easier, since the young men already had three of the rooms and the two crazies had come out another, leaving it empty. Tha
t left just four others, all of which they locked without incident, save for loud, fast banging on the doors of two of them.

  “Okay, that’s that.” Alcaster ran for the first room, where the two crazies had come out of. “We can see what’s going on in the street from the window.”

  He ran in—and stopped cold in the doorway. The remains of a woman lay on the bed. Her chest had been torn apart and entrails covered the floor. Blood spatter was everywhere, patterning the walls and ceiling in dark red droplets.

  Scott skidded to a stop behind him. “Uh—maybe not this room.”

  “Yeah...” The two backed out and closed the door, then went to their original room, which was right next to it. Throwing the window covers back, they looked out over the street.

  “Look at that!” A large SUV lay on its side, only a few meters from the main door. It was surrounded by villagers, scrabbling against the glass in a vain attempt to get inside. Screams and hoots burst from the crowd, the din drowning out the ones now banging on the hotel room doors.

  “There must be someone trapped inside,” Alcaster said. “Otherwise they’d go off and find someone else to kill.”

  “Yeah, but what can we do about it?” Scott asked. “One step out there and we’re crazy food.”

  “We’ll have to find some way to get them away from the vehicle...” Alcaster thought for a bit. “I’ve got an idea. It’s a bit risky, but I think it will work. Come on.”

  He led the other two down toward the bar. No sooner did they hit the bottom step than three men dressed in white came running at them from behind the staircase, where the kitchen was. Alcaster and Scott both took one down, then turned to Siranush, who stood over the spasming body of the busboy who had cleaned their table the previous night. A spike heel jutted from one of his eyes.

  “Damn! Nice job!”

  She reached down and pulled the heel from the body, then ran to the bar door. “Open it.”

  Inside, Alcaster found a box and began to fill it with liquor bottles, mainly vodka. With a nod, Siranush ran to help.

  “I fail to see how getting smashed is going to help anyone,” Scott said.

  Alcaster didn’t stop packing the box, nor did he look at his friend. “Molotov cocktails. We’ll throw them down and the flames should drive them away.”

  “Oh!” Scott grabbed a box and began selecting more bottles from behind the bar, as well as several packs of matches from an ashtray.

  When both boxes were full, they took them back upstairs. “Make wicks from the curtains?” Scott asked.

  His friend nodded. “We’ll stuff them in and just make sure they stay upright. If we knock one over—especially a lit one—we’re screwed.”

  Siranush had already torn down the faded curtain and was ripping it into long strips. The three worked steadily, all trying to ignore the frenzied howls and thumps coming from outside, and soon had a dozen Molotov cocktails ready.

  Alcaster picked up a bottle with a wick hanging from the top. “All right, here’s what’s gonna happen. You two head down to the front door, both to watch each other’s backs as well as help if someone’s injured and can’t move by themselves. When you’re ready, give me a shout and I’ll start dropping bottles. I’ll try to not get too close to the SUV, but I may have to throw one on top to clear them out. The moment it is clear, or you see someone come out, get them over to the doors and inside. We lock it back up and go from there. Any questions?”

  Scott and Siranush exchanged a glance, then both shook their heads.

  “Make sure you have the keys, and holler when you’re in position,” Alcaster said. “Good luck, and be careful.”

  “Damn right about that,” Scott said. “Let’s go.”

  “Close the door on your way out, just in case,” Gary said.

  The two left, closing the door behind them. Alcaster heard their footsteps recede, then nothing for a minute, until Scott’s voice floated up the stairwell. “Okay!”

  “Sure hope there weren’t any floaters on the main level,” the Canadian muttered as he cracked the window open and leaned out. “Jesus Christ...”

  There had to be at least thirty people trying to batter their way into the SUV, making it rock back and forth on the street. After placing four bottles on the windowsill, he studied the scene for a few seconds, figuring out where to place the bottles for both maximum effect and to minimize the risk of someone inside getting hurt.

  Finally he picked up a matchbook. “Okay, here we go.” Striking a match, he held it to the cloth wick of the first bottle until it flamed up. Picking it up, he aimed and tossed it onto the street at the back of the SUV, where a knot of Armenians struggled to claw their way through the back door. The bottle smashed on the ground and the resulting puddle of alcohol immediately bloomed into flames.

  It caught the people at the rear of the group first, the fire rapidly spreading to shoes and pants. At first the crazies didn’t seem to notice, but when the flames spread to the skin of their legs, first one, then more began feeling the heat. They tried to ignore it, slapping clumsily at it with their hands, but soon the heat grew too intense, sending the crazies scampering away, batting at the flames licking up their bodies.

  However that had only cleared a few of them away. But it had worked. Alcaster tossed three more bottles around the vehicle, each one shattering into flames that forced more of the blood-crazed crowd to retreat. But there was still about a dozen left, with half of them on top of the SUV, now ringed in flames. Alcaster noticed the fire at the rear of the SUV was dying down, and a few on the outskirts were already moving closer. He tossed another bottle onto the street to keep them away, then held his breath.

  “Okay, now’s the time to make your move, guys...” he said as he threw a bottle on top of the SUV. The glass shattered and the entire side was covered in flames, along with the suddenly panicked crazies standing on it.

  He watched for any sign of movement from inside the SUV, but nothing seemed to be happening.

  “Come on...get out of there...come on...”

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Exhausted and unarmed, Dina Finigian stuck to the shadows as much as she could while sneaking through the village toward the main gate. Once outside the walls, she wouldn’t care if she had to walk all the way back to the capital city, she’d find some way to get help. Above all, whatever had happened here, she had to make sure it didn’t spread beyond this place.

  She’d been on the move for about ten minutes and had already hidden twice from roving groups of villagers searching for more prey. She had spotted the telltale signs of each cluster being infected with whatever everyone else had here—sweating, red eyes, jerking movement and shambling walk. Both times she’d been near alleys with garbage cans and had huddled near the refuse, hoping the stink would cover her own scent. It had seemed to work, but she knew she only had to be spotted once for it to be all over.

  After the second group had passed, Finigian crept back out and began heading down the street in the general direction of the main gate. Passing what looked like a bakery, now on fire, with broken windows and overturned shelves littering the floor inside, she smelled burning bread.

  At the corner, she heard glass shatter behind her. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw a large, balding man wearing a white apron and with a face resembling a demented clown—equal parts sweat and gummy flour—look around from the front of the ruined bakery. Spotting her, he broke into a run, snarling and reaching for her.

  Finigian took off around the corner, which was a mistake, as the group she’d just avoided was still in the middle of the road. She skidded to a stop as they all whirled at the same time and began running back toward her.

  Scanning left and right, she saw a narrow alley between the ruined bakery and what looked like a house behind it. She bolted for it, thinking it would either come out on the
other side, or if she had to fight in the tight space, she could take them on one by one.

  A dozen steps in, she encountered a dead end, strewed with more bags of garbage. Approaching footsteps pounded behind Finigian as she searched for a way out. A small window above her head was cracked open, and she leaped for it. Grabbing the sill with her fingers, she pulled herself up with strength fueled by fear.

  With her arm on the sill, she shoved the window higher and hoisted herself into a dark room. The policewoman had just gotten her waist over the windowsill when she felt hands grab her leg, fingernails dig into her skin. With a strangled scream, she spread her arms to anchor herself while wriggling and kicking to get free. Sharper pain flared in her calf as Finigian fought, and she tried not to scream as she felt the back of her leg being savaged.

  Flailing with all her might, she felt her other foot smack into something and lashed out as hard as she could with it, driving off the maniac trying to pull her out. The grip slackened, but she felt other hands trying to grab her, and pulled herself away from them with one last effort.

  Finigian lay on the bare floor, panting with terror. She felt warm blood running down her leg and rolled over to get a look at the injury. A large chunk of flesh had been torn out of the muscle, which was bleeding freely, and hurt like hell.

  About to examine her injury, her attention was drawn to a shadow falling across the window. She looked up to see one of the crazies scrabbling to climb up and through.

  Scrambling to her feet, she looked around to find herself in a small, dark pantry or laundry room, with shelves of canned goods and various items all around her. Grabbing a white plastic container, she unscrewed the cap and splashed the clear liquid at the woman’s face. Screaming as the bleach burned her skin and eyes, she fell back out of sight. Finigian hobbled to the window, slammed it closed and locked it as someone else tried to leap up, but couldn’t get a grip on the narrow ledge and fell to the ground again.

  Leaning on an ancient washing machine, she grabbed a couple of flour sack dish towels, tied them into a large bandage and wrapped it around the wound. The pain was so great when she knotted it that she thought she was going to pass out. Breathing hard, she rested for a minute, then tested her injured leg. It throbbed with agony every time she put any weight on it, but she could manage a limping walk. She was going to have to, if she wanted to survive this.