“Looks like we got a new plan,” Thompson said.
“Let’s hope so.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Gabriel,
Refugee District
“Think they got the idea?” Holland asked over comms.
I keyed the transmit button. “They’re headed east now. If they haven’t figured it out yet, they will soon.”
“You’re sending them straight at a horde.”
“I know. Focus on the task at hand.”
Holland turned his attention back to the minigun and peered through the optic. I picked up my field glasses and scanned the eastern side of the district.
My initial plan had fallen apart as soon as Eric and Thompson had put their feet on the ground. I was hoping they could draw the big Grays’ attention and let Holland take them down from the air, but then a fucking leviathan of a ghoul had come out of nowhere and tried to hitch a ride in the helicopter. By the time I cut the damn thing’s hand off and watched it fall, Eric and Thompson were already being chased by the fastest infected I had ever seen. There was a bad minute when I thought my old friends would be overwhelmed, but they managed to whittle down the horde, eliminate two big Grays, and regroup.
Looking down, I could see things were getting worse. The people still alive on this side of the district had made it to the eastern gate, but no farther. There was a bottleneck of people trying to push through a wall of troops, Humvees, and armored vehicles on the other side. The Army, for their part, were doing their best to evacuate the victims in an orderly fashion, but it wasn’t working. The people trying to escape were terrified and panicked and not terribly interested in being led to trucks so they could be carted off and processed for infection. Instead, those with guns had started shooting at the troops while the rest charged headlong for whatever opening they could find. A solid mass of soldiers in riot gear were taking them down and zip-tying them, but it would not be long before the crowd got big enough to overrun them. If that happened, all bets were off. The Army had their protocol, and they would stick to it. The infection had to be stopped, at any cost, before it spread to the rest of the city. It did not take a genius to figure out what that meant.
There were two things I had to do if I was going to salvage the situation. First, I had to give the civilians down there a safe direction to run and get them running. Doing so would give them a chance to outpace the infected, which would give my infantry guys a chance to do their jobs. Second, I had to eliminate those damned big Grays. From what I could see, there were three left, all of them attracted to the gate by the noise and the smell of fresh blood. The big, relentless horrors were cutting a swath through the people trapped between the hammer of the undead and the anvil of the perimeter fence.
The fence…
Inspiration struck. I switched channels and clicked the mic. “Charlie lead, how copy?”
“Lima Charlie, Eagle One.”
“Charlie, break off and head south. Find a clear spot on the fence and blow a hole in it, then head back this way and wait for orders.”
A second of silence. “Sir, are you sure?”
“Yes, goddammit,” I said. “Fucking go.”
“Yes sir.”
The Humvee rolled to a stop, executed a turn, and headed south. I switched back to the command net and hailed Great Hawk. He answered immediately.
“Eagle Two. Go ahead.”
“I sent Charlie to knock a hole in the fence to the south. The refugees are going to start running that way in less than a minute. Tell Colonel Bryant to take half his men and get ahead of them.”
“Roger, Eagle One. What should I tell him the plan is?”
“Tell him the plan is we’re out of time and he needs to fucking trust me.”
“Copy, Eagle One. Eagle Two out.”
I tapped Holland on the shoulder. “When you see people start running south, be ready to fire.”
He gave a thumbs up, but his eyes told me he thought I was crazy. And maybe I was. But at the moment, I did not see an alternative.
Looking westward, I saw Eric and Thompson had found a stack of containers and climbed to the top. Thompson was on one knee, head swiveling around to look for big Grays. Eric was lying prone, his rifle sitting on its short bipod. I thanked whatever gods were watching out for us that the two men had picked a perfect position for what I had in mind.
“Roark, bring us around. Make sure Holland has a clear line of sight.”
Roark acknowledged and repositioned the Blackhawk, bringing it to a hover a hundred feet off the deck. The wind was gusting hard, and I knew hovering low like this was difficult. But if anyone could pull it off, it was the former Nightstalker from the 160th Special Operations Aviation Regiment.
For a long, grinding minute the whirlwind of chaos below continued to spiral. The infected attacked helpless people and I watched them go down. Armed civilians tried to defend themselves but wound up shooting as many living people as undead ones. Running figures continued to pour out of the gate and throw themselves against the line of troops surrounding the fence. The Army restrained them as best they could but were rapidly being forced to give ground. I could practically feel the tension among the officers in the command vehicles and knew was only a matter of seconds until they gave the order to open fire.
And then, mercifully, an explosion ripped through the air.
For a couple of seconds, everything stopped. Even the infected turned to look in the direction of the blast. It was a small explosion, but at this proximity, any detonation of high-explosive ordnance is incredibly loud and feels like the air just slapped you.
The Blackhawk was equipped with a loudspeaker system. I grabbed the handset and keyed it.
“The perimeter has been breached,” I announced, waving an arm southward through the chopper’s port side door. “Repeat, the outer perimeter has been breached.”
No one needed to be told again. Something more than a thousand people turned and began running for their lives in the direction of the blast. A line of Humvees and troop carriers were already moving to intercept them. Colonel Bryant was going to be pissed, but at the moment, he was the least of my problems.
To my right, I saw Charlie Squad motoring toward us, keeping a twenty-meter standoff from the fleeing swarm of humanity. Within a minute, as I had hoped, most escapees were outdistancing the infected despite the creatures’ enhanced speed.
Fast, I thought, but still not as fast as an able-bodied person. At least over short distances.
The realization gave me a sinking feeling. Outdistancing a horde of the slow ones was difficult enough. But these new ones, and especially the big Grays, would be nearly impossible to outrun on foot over rough terrain. On horseback, chances were better. Problem was, most people did not have horses.
Process it later. Stay focused.
I waited another thirty seconds while the once-tangled mix of ghouls and humans separated into groups. Most of the people I watched were able to flee, putting distance between themselves and the undead, but not all of them. Some were injured, or old, or very young, or exhausted. The big Grays and their faster-than-normal offspring showed no mercy. It was like watching leopards run down exhausted gazelles, except the fleeing figures on the ground were not gazelles. They were innocent people, and at least half of them were children.
As much as I hated it, I knew what I had to do.
“Holland. Target those big Grays and open fire.”
He took aim, but hesitated. “There’s still civilians in the way.”
“I know. We can’t save them all, Derrick. Either do it or move aside.”
A pair of hazel eyes stared daggers at me for a few heartbeats. Then Holland clenched his teeth, swiveled the minigun, and spun up the barrels.
It did not sound like a machine gun. There was no staccato rattle and clank, no rhythmic chattering. The motor of a minigun had always reminded me of a weed-whacker or a small motorcycle revving up. The cone of fire that erupted from the barrel, however,
was unmistakable. Shell casings clattered to the deck in a cascade as red tracers streaked downward and tore holes in the pavement beneath. The rounds being fired were 7.62x51mm NATO, nearly as powerful as the venerable .308 hunting cartridge. If fired one at a time, they would have done little to a ghoul without a headshot. But pouring out at over three thousand rounds per minute, the effect was devastating.
Half a second was all Holland needed to track his fire toward the first big Gray. It had a writhing, screaming man in its clutches and was in the process of tearing him apart. The red line of destruction hit the ghoul and hacked through it like the blade of an angry god. Holland let off the trigger and assessed the damage. What was left of the big ghoul fell to the ground in two pieces. It was not going anywhere, but none of the rounds had hit its head. One of its arms, attached to a quartered section of head and torso, was still trying to claw toward the fleeing people in the distance. The doomed man the thing had been mauling now lay unmoving, not looking much better than his murderer. Some of the minigun rounds had hit him, but considering the circumstances, it had probably been a mercy.
“Two more,” I said.
Holland shook his head as if waking up and scanned the ground below. After a moment, he spotted another Gray and moved the M-134 toward it. But just before he could open fire, the ghoul exploded, making both of us jump in surprise. For a second there I wondered if the bastard had stepped on a mine or something. But then I realized the direction of the blast was wrong. Turning around, I saw Thompson on his tower of shipping containers reloading his grenade launcher.
Nice shot.
Next to him, I could see muzzle flash erupting from Eric’s barrel. He was shooting at something, but I was not sure what. Turning, I looked down and unfocused my eyes, letting them work as motion detectors. A ghoul that was hunched over a struggling woman jerked to one side and went limp, the woman underneath fighting hard to push it away. A couple of seconds later, another ghoul grappling with an older man fell backward with a cone of blood spraying from the side of its head.
Good work, Eric. Keep it up.
“Last one, Holland. Put that fucker down.”
He answered by swiveling the gun to the left, letting out a breath, and firing. Another crimson stream of tracers lanced downward and chewed up the ground ten feet away from the target. Holland adjusted, raising the barrels slightly and wiggling them back and forth. The ghoul was taking bites out of a woman’s head one second, and in the next, its legs were separated from its body. The ghoul fell but kept chomping away at the dead woman. If losing half of its body bothered the hateful thing, it gave no sign.
An instant later the tracers returned and ripped through the ghoul again, this time stopping for a full second on its torso. When Holland released the trigger, only a head, arm, and a puddle of red and black ichor remained. The woman the ghoul had been devouring lay in pieces next to it.
I keyed the radio. “All squads, deploy infantry. Repeat, all squads, deploy infantry. Be careful, these ghouls are faster than normal. SAW gunners, aim for the legs. Knock ‘em down and let the fire teams clean up. Acknowledge.”
The replies started pouring in. Humvees revved and spread out along the perimeter line. When they stopped, doors opened, and Blackthorns poured out with their weapons up. In less than thirty seconds, the tide of the battle had shifted. The living were running away with renewed vigor while the dead shifted their attention to the black-clad operators gunning them down. It was now only a matter of time before the undead were neutralized, regardless of how fast they were.
For a minute or so, I watched my troops work. They were fast, methodical, organized, and deadly efficient. Each squad picked a piece of ground and advanced on it. Each rifleman picked a lane and stayed in it. All movement was carefully coordinated to not only avoid friendly fire but destroy the undead while burning up a bare minimum of ammunition. For a moment I was almost proud, but then I saw one of them come upon a young boy with a huge, bleeding bite wound on his shoulder. The boy reached out with desperate hope in his eyes only to watch the man aim his carbine and fire without hesitation. He was still falling when the Blackthorn stepped over him.
I closed my eyes and turned away. I knew it was necessary, and I knew it was the protocol I had helped drill into them, but it was still hard to watch. Those poor people knew what was going to happen to them, and they knew why, but it did not stop them from pleading for their lives. I wondered if I would do the same in their situation and decided I would rather not find out.
“Eagle One, Eagle Two,” Great Hawk’s voice said over the headset. “The situation here is contained. Colonel Bryant says reinforcements and medical teams are on the way. What are your orders?”
I took a deep breath and moved to the other side of the Blackhawk. “Finish up here, and then send the men out on patrol. Have them conduct a grid search and put down every ghoul in this district.”
“What about those who have not turned? Should they terminate on sight?”
I gave myself a second before answering. “Yes. But make damn sure there are no mistakes. I don’t want someone’s kid getting shot over a skinned knee. If there’s any doubt, detain and quarantine.”
“Roger. I will pass along the message.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Gabriel,
Airspace Above the Refugee District
“Thomson, Riordan, how copy?”
“Lima Charlie, Eagle One,” Eric responded.
“You two alright? Any injuries?”
“Thompson tried to bust my head open like a damn melon, but other than that we’re fine.”
“If by bust your head open,” Thompson snapped, “you mean saved your life, then yeah, that’s exactly what happened.”
“Pump the brakes there, tough guy,” Eric shot back. “If I hadn’t kick-flipped that big Gray you missed, we’d both be dead.”
“Oh, you mean the one that almost-”
“Enough,” I interrupted. “You two are worse than an old married couple. Get to ground level and stand by. We’re coming to pick you up.”
Thompson gave Eric a one-fingered salute, and then they got moving. The helicopter flew closer and descended, landing in a clearing thirty yards from their position. When we were safely down, the two men ran to the chopper and piled in. Thompson took a seat on the bench next to me while Eric resumed his spot at the starboard side porthole.
“Roark, take us around the northern perimeter, then head west. I want to see what’s going on over there.”
“Roger that,” Roark replied. The engines roared and the Blackhawk lifted off again.
“So can anyone tell me,” Riordan said, “what the actual fuck just happened? What in God’s name were those things?”
“Your guess is as good as mine,” I replied. “But I think more important than figuring out what they are is finding out where they came from. There’s no way they came into the city from the outside.”
Eric absorbed that. “No, they didn’t. They couldn’t have, not without leaving a trail of destruction you could see from space. They were already here.”
“Wait a minute,” Thompson said. “You’re saying someone brought them in from the outside and…what, turned them loose?”
“Yeah, something like that.”
Thompson rubbed his forehead. “Christ, I’m getting a headache.”
Holland moved away from the minigun and turned to face us. “There’s another thing,” he said. “The gates were locked when we got here.”
I looked at him. “How do you know?”
“Checked it out when we flew over. People were trying to get out, but they couldn’t. Someone must have locked the gates from the outside.”
“Where the hell were the guards?” Eric said. “I thought this place was manned twenty-four hours a day.”
Holland shrugged. “Fuck if I know. They weren’t at their posts. Fuckers probably saw what was happening and got the hell out.”
“But why lock the gates?” Eric
said.
“You think maybe someone took them out?” Thompson asked. “You know, killed the guards and then locked the gates?”
“I doubt it,” Holland said. “There were too many of them. You’d need a small army to hit that many men before they could call in the attack. Gabe, you talked to the cops, right? They hear anything from the guards?”
“I don’t think so,” I said. “Cops were as confused as everyone else. But now that I think about it, I didn’t hear anything from the guards in the radio chatter either. Hang on a sec.”
I switched over to Rossi’s channel. “Rossi, it’s Gabe. Got a second?”
“Yes sir,” he replied, his voice thin over the comm link. “What’s up?”
“Your laptop still up and running?”
“Yeah, why?”
“Check our message traffic for the last hour. Let me know if you find anything from the gate guards about what happened.”
“Way ahead of you, boss. Your mysterious friend here had me look into that as soon as we got on station. There’s nothing.”
I paused. “Nothing?”
“Nothing. Not a word.”
“That is highly unusual.”
“Boss, this whole fucking day has been highly unusual.”
“Roger that. Eagle One out.”
“It was the guards,” Eric said. “They had to be the ones who locked the gates.”
“But why would they do that?” Thompson asked.
“Damn good question,” I said. “We find the answer to that, and we’ll be a lot closer to finding out what the hell happened here.”
There was a long moment of silence. Then Eric said, “I don’t like this. Locked gates, bombs, guards abandoning their posts, big fucking ghouls like I’ve never seen. This was an attack. A deliberate, coordinated attack.”
“Attack?” Holland said, laughing bitterly. “No. When the Alliance sent ghouls with bomb vests after us that was an attack. But this? This is a goddamn hate crime.”
Surviving The Dead | Book 9 | War Without End Page 14