She took a foot to the face as she hefted the doctor up and through the small hatch. The RV rocked as the dead surrounded it. The door dented inward, bending in the frame, the weight of the bodies pressing into it.
Dr. Thatcher’s face peered down at her. “Here,” she shouted, handing up her M4.
The door weakened, gaps widening. The door gave way and they stumbled inside the RV. Without looking, she jumped up, grabbing Dr. Thatcher’s fleshy arms. Ben grunted as he helped Thatcher pull her up. The sharp sting of fingernails raking across her butt cheeks and into her thighs seared through her pants as they pulled her up from below. The dead moaned below her, almost as if they were saddened by her departure.
She collapsed on top of the RV for a moment, breathing hard. She squeezed her eyes tight, catching her breath.
When she cracked open her eyes, the kids, on their hands and knees, looked at her. She almost relaxed. Max. Her eyes shot open as she remembered the teenager was still below.
“Max?” she shouted. She stood up, ignoring the burning down her backside. She circled the roof, leaning backward to balance and keep from sliding off the top.
“Gwen,” mumbled a voice. Max stood wedged between trees near the front of the RV. He had weaseled his way through the tightly grown trees. She raced to the front end of the RV and dove down onto the roof.
“Grab my gun. I’ll pull you up,” she said. She held the M4 by the stock, reaching it out. Grabbing the barrel of her weapon, he jumped on the hood of the RV. Fear encased his eyes. The dead pushed through the trees, stretching out their wicked fingers for him.
“I gotcha,” she said. Both hands on the gun, she heaved. His feet scrambled, trying to get a grip up the windshield. He wasn’t the only one. Dead hands gripped around his legs. He kicked wildly trying to get them away. More arms reached for him.
“Don’t look down,” she said. His hands grasped the gun tight, and the barrel started to slip through her fingers. His eyes locked onto hers, frantic.
“Don’t let go,” he squeaked. His freckles were almost white in the headlights. His hands slowly slipped off the stock of the gun. Inch by inch, he was overpowered. She was thrown backward onto her rear.
“Gwen. Gwen. No,” he shouted. She flipped the gun around and leaned over the edge of the RV.
Max’s screams penetrated the night. “Ah. Ahh. Ahhhhh!” The infected tore into him. Their fingers penetrated his body, sawing through flesh and muscle alike. They scooped out his insides until his lungs gave out, and he twitched as they ate his body. Headlights revealed the whole gut-wrenching episode like an old drive-in horror movie.
Gwen stared in shock, her mouth partially open until she could tear her eyes away from their kill. More white eyes stared back at her, their arms grasping for her like she was a rockstar onstage playing a guitar solo. She stood up. The children looked at her through scared eyes. She slung her M4 on her back. She only had two full mags. Not enough bullets to even thin them out.
“Come here,” she said to them, kneeling on the RV for balance. It rocked as the horde below tried to get on top. Banging into the seats and tables, they fumbled around causing the large vehicle to shake.
“All the kids, come to me.” The children crawled to her on their hands and knees, sliding over the roof. She brought them in close and hugged as many of them as she could tight.
“Shhh,” she whispered. She sniffled back tears. “We must be quiet.”
Little Lacy snuggled into her and wrapped her arms around Gwen.
“Will they go away?” Lacy asked, looking up at Gwen.
“If we are very quiet, they will leave us alone. Which means no crying.” She wiped a tear from Lacy’s eye. “There, there.” She stroked her cheek for a moment.
The older adults scooted in closer, sliding over the roof.
She put her arms around more of them. “Now, we can’t cry or they won’t leave. Okay?” She made sure to eye the adults as well then back to the children. “We’re going to use our imaginations to make up a story about going to your most favorite place in the whole entire world. Then when they’re gone, everyone gets to tell their story, okay?” She wrapped her arms around more of the children, shushing them. “Be quiet and think really, really hard…ready? Go.”
She held as many of the children of Little Sable Point as she could manage while the infected clambered below. After thirty minutes had passed, she stared off into the distance, watching one child who hadn’t joined her.
The blond boy sat on the edge of the roof. His feet dangled off the edge. He giggled and pointed at the dead below. He turned, staring at her with a smile on his face as if he were watching the monkeys at the zoo. She bit her lip, holding back her tears. He turned back around, wiggling with mirth. I am bringing him into a world populated by only monsters.
STEELE
Little Sable Point, MI
Steele rounded the bend in the road to Little Sable Point, taking it too fast. The back end of his pickup truck spun out, fishtailing across the road. He corrected the wheel with a sharp jerk of his hand and it begrudgingly straightened out. He sped for the pickup-made entrance of Little Sable. When he got close enough, he slammed on the brakes. The pickup screeched, sliding to a halt on the sandy road. He snapped the driver’s side door open and hopped out. As he walked for the entrance, no one challenged him.
He climbed over the car blocking the entrance. A small feminine shadow ran from her RV. She jumped on him, wrapping her arms around him. He hugged her for only a moment before he pushed her away.
“I thought they would murder you like cowards,” Tess said.
“They would have, but they didn’t have the opportunity.” He handed her the explosive clacker.
She spun the remote around in her fingers. Her eyes questioned him, looking for an answer. “What does this do?”
The sun was beginning its daily rise over the land, emerging in the east and settling upon the west. He dug around near the tire of a camper, kicking sand away with his foot from the back of the tire. After a few moments, he bent down, using his hands to scoop away the sand.
She waved the clacker at him. “What does it do?”
He uncovered a bag and picked it up, throwing it over his shoulder.
He smiled at her. “It detonates explosives.”
An unsettled look fell upon her as she set it on the hood of a car very gently.
“Where did you get explosives?” she said.
Steele marched away from her. Time was against them. As seconds seeped away, the pastor would realize he had been duped. Then it was a race to mobilize his forces. He walked over to the lighthouse, Tess lagging behind. Opening the door, he grabbed his tactical vest and checked his mags.
“Thunder had them.”
Her eyes searched for answers in his. “He gave them to you?”
He ignored her and he scooped up magazines and placed them into his pockets. He made sure the hawk was secure on his belt. He ran a hand down the blade. A few chips had been taken out of it, but it was still a killer in a close-quarters fight. He glanced up at her.
“No. I stole them and hid them because I knew we’d need them for something.”
She watched him. “Why did they let you go?”
“I made it look like Peter was wearing a bomb. It was believable enough, but it won’t be long before they figure out I was lying.” He stood up, meeting her eyes. “The pastor admitted to murdering my mother.” The words stung his mouth like he spit fire.
Her dark eyes spoke of only vengeance. “They’re rotten to the core, but mark my words, Steele, we will have our vengeance.” Her eyes blazed then softened. She squeezed his arm. “I’m so sorry. You’re sure? He had proof?”
Steele sighed, allowing himself to grasp her words. It was fact that his mother was gone. Not missing. Murdered. “He knew too much about us.”
“He’s an evil man,” she said, nodding.
“If I was here, that wouldn’t have happened. She would still be aliv
e.” He stared at the ground in anguish.
“No, you would have been murdered too. You have been given a chance to save people from that fate.”
Steele nodded and pushed his emotions deep inside. “He will pay and then we will mourn.”
He put his arms through his tactical vest and strapped it tight. He checked his magazines inside his vest. Their weight felt good and solid on his frame. “I had to give peace a chance. Now they can have their war.” He slung his M4 around his shoulder diagonally. He walked away from her yelling at the ring of cars. “Larry. Jason.”
The two stood sleepily. Larry scratched at his bald head, and Jason rubbed his eyes.
“Hurry up now,” Steele shouted. Larry pulled a shirt on, and Jason fumbled with his shoes and gun at the same time.
“Hope you got enough sleep because today is the day. Can we get Trent up there?” Steele looked up at the lakeshore lighthouse.
“I can,” Jason said.
Steele judged him for a moment. Jason wasn’t the best shot in the group, but he wasn’t the worst.
“We’ll get you and Trent up there. Larry, get all the rest of the volunteers here. Rouse the rest of Little Sable up. If they can shoot, find them a place and get their guns ready.”
“Yes, sir,” Larry said and ambled off, swaying as he walked like an ape.
“Tess, can you find Ahmed? I need his help. And Kevin, wake his drunk ass up.” Tess jogged off.
The sun creaked higher in the sky and dawn embraced them. The sun topped the trees like a match as he prepared for the coming storm. The volunteers trickled in along with Kevin, teetering from the effects of alcohol, and a tired-looking Ahmed.
“Bring it in close,” he commanded. The group of volunteers took timid steps forward. “I ain’t going to bite. Now bring it in.” They came in close enough. Do I only have sheep? Are there no sheepdogs among them?
Steele crouched down, bending his knees. Taking a stick from the sand, he drew a large circle around a rock. The stick squeaked as it dug into the granules of sand. “This is us.”
He snaked a line in the sand leading up to the circle. “That is the only road into Little Sable Point.” He drew x’s around the road. “If they want to get here fast, they will have to use the road. If they want to ruck in through the forest, they can, but I don’t think they will. They smell blood in the water. And they’re angry.”
“How many of ’em are there?” asked Gregor, his long thick black hair draped about his neck like a mane.
Steele looked up at the man. “I estimate they will have at least five hundred.”
The eyes of his nine volunteers betrayed their fear. It oozed out of the group like a stink they couldn’t get rid of.
“But there’s only about fifty of us,” Hank said, massaging his scantily hair-clad temples.
Steele nodded. “I know that, Hank. So we’re going to have to be smarter, tougher, and craftier than they are.” He looked down at his sand map.
“I want to funnel them through here.” Steele let his stick run down the line representing the road. “I want to keep them stacked up and easier to shoot, unable to concentrate any sort of firepower on us.” He looked up at them. Margie nodded. Nathan studied the map. “So let’s get some vehicles here and here.” He scrawled small circles along the road. “But not too many where they think it’s a trap, but enough for them to have to go our direction.”
“Even then, what are we going to do?” Larry asked.
“Glad you asked. Next, I want crossing fields of fire. The cars are going to force them here. This will be our kill zone. So I’m going to need two volunteers here and here.” He lightly drew lines in the sand, making Little Sable Point Lighthouse the bottom of a triangle.
“When will we know to fire?” Margie asked. She stood, her deer rifle upright on her shoulder like a Civil War soldier.
“We want them to get all bunched up. Once about half of them make it through our vehicles, we will open up, but not until then, or they will realize it’s a trap and try something else. If everything works out, it will cause confusion amongst their ranks and make them think they are up against a larger force.” Steele eyed them. “I’m going to put Trent and Jason in the lighthouse, but I need a third. Takers?” Trent nodded and Jason looked pleased. Eyes fluttered around from person to person. Steele heard a few names muttered.
“Bengy?” Steele asked. If I can take the old man farther from the fight, I should.
The white-haired man shook his head no. “Can’t see that good no more, boss. Best to leave younger eyes for faraway tasks.”
Steele’s eyes fell upon the middle-aged mother. Her eyes were nervous but fiery. “Fair enough. Margie, I want you up in the lighthouse.”
Margie smiled. “It would be a pleasure, Captain.”
Steele stood up and wiped the sand off his pants. “Everyone is dismissed. They are coming. Let’s roll those cars into place on the double, anything that is out of gas. Ahmed, come with me.”
Steele turned to leave and Tess planted herself in front of him.
“What about me?” she said as if they had been dating for years.
“What about you?” he retorted.
She looked to the side for a moment. “Where do I go?”
“Where do you want to go?”
She licked her lips. “Aren’t you supposed to tell me? You told everyone else where you want them.”
Her coal-like eyes watched him.
“Stay with me.”
Her lips curved.
“I thought you’d say that.”
“Come on.” He waved her toward the sandy dune-grass-covered field leading to the trees surrounding their lighthouse encampment. They trekked over the loose ground to a line of coastal trees made up of thin needled red and white pines, balsam firs, buttonbush, cedars, and birch. The trees doggedly lined the field as if they were nervous about growing closer to the water.
Steele stopped and tossed his bag in the sand.
“Ahmed, you want to start prepping?”
The Arab-American man smiled. “Like Pittsburgh?”
“Just like Pittsburgh. We still have a few tricks up our sleeve.”
Ahmed began pulling large rectangle bricks of C-4 from his bag.
Steele turned back to the tall red-brick lighthouse. It spired toward the sky, the tallest building for miles along the coast. Its black observation deck at the top had a large glass bulb encased in glass. He gave a wide wave of his hand over his head. The glass-encased room at the top of the lighthouse turned yellow and orange as it erupted into flames. Steele waved and one of his volunteers manning the elevated sniper nest waved back.
“It’s lit again,” Tess said.
Steele looked down at her. “I want them to know exactly where we are.”
JOSEPH
Cheyenne Mountain Complex, CO
Joseph bowed over his microscope, twisting his needle a bit to the left side of the single Primus Necrovirus capsid. He snipped the viral receptor off the viral protein coat, leaving the rest of the virus intact. The cut was sufficient, leaving the cell with an oblong yet smooth outer surface.
Inside another needle was a microscopic shaving tool. He pressed it near the outer protein coat of the virus. Carefully, he shaved the area where the receptor had been. It was the only way to ensure he could attach the new receptor. The work was painstakingly precise; if he ruined the capsid, he would be back at square one. He would have to prepare a different cell all over again, lengthening an already arduous process.
“Dr. Desai’s a superstar,” he whispered to himself. He picked up another needle holding her modified receptor, twisting it in his hand. Her ability to modify the receptor with such speed and attention to detail accelerated their testing timetable by weeks if not months. He had spent days in the lab assisting her with preparing specimens for trial.
Nice and easy. Nice and easy, he told himself over and over. He took the needle holding the new receptor and pushed the modified receptor
into its place. It attached to the virus protein coat, becoming one with the Primus Necrovirus. The modified receptor would not allow the transfer of genetic material but would allow the body’s immune system to identify it for destruction. He moved the virus into a vial.
“How are you coming on the test specimens?” Byrnes said. The man wore the same blue biohazard suit that Joseph wore except Byrnes was tall, giving him the look of an intergalactic spaceman from another planet. His eyes were stern yet sullen behind his plastic mask.
“Almost there. I’m worried about the dosing combined with the smallpox. I’m not sure how to portion the specimens in for the live testing. Any slight deviation could lead to any number of complications including infection and death,” Joseph said.
“Or nothing at all. If we don’t try, nothing will matter because we will all die in this mountain tomb.”
Joseph gulped down the acidic bile rising up in his esophagus. Kill or die, or wait and die.
“There will certainly be negative side effects.” Joseph looked at the colonel in worry. “Who would volunteer for this?” he whispered. He looked at Dr. Hollis. “People are going to die.”
Byrnes mouth twisted and pushed air through his nostrils. “I have soldiers that will do it.”
“Volunteers?” More American fighting men at risk because of me.
The colonel blinked. “Not exactly.” His calculating eyes lost a hint of their iciness. “I don’t like it either, but it’s a necessary risk. Get this right so I don’t regret my decision. I will be in the observation room with Dr. Hollis. You understand the protocol?”
“Yes.” Byrnes had instituted a new protocol that insisted only one doctor interact with potentially infected persons at one time unless absolutely necessary. It was a fail-safe so an outbreak couldn’t take them all out. We learned from our mistakes.
Joseph looked at Dr. Hollis, who looked like a blue marshmallow in his biohazard protective suit, and almost envied him. If this experiment failed, Dr. Hollis wouldn’t be the one holding the dripping syringe, that guilty man would be Joseph.
The Rising (The End Time Saga Book 3) Page 36