The Zombie Terror War Series (Vol. 2): The Darkest Part of the Night

by Spell, David

  They could see some infected people in the area, but not the mass that were just half a kilometer away. Of course, the noise of the big machine would draw more in. The officers would need to dismount and get out of the immediate vicinity quickly.

  “What do you think, Mr. McCain?” the pilot asked.

  He had already formulated a plan. Normally, Chuck was very collaborative. He liked to have input from his teammates. There was a wealth of real-world experience in these men and he used it whenever he could. Today, however, there was no time to have a discussion. He trusted his men to execute the mission and to think on the run.

  “It looks like the spot. Make a big loop and come back around and drop us off there,” McCain ordered. “I need to brief the guys real fast.”

  The Blackhawk banked and made a circle over the downtown area as Chuck gave some final instructions to his men. As he talked, they could see infected people swarming through the streets of downtown Athens. Suddenly, a figure stepped out of a business and started running down East Broad Street. The zombies began pursuing the young man.

  It appeared that he was running blindly, trying to outdistance them. Another group was up ahead of him and coming towards him from the other direction. The running man was cut off on the main thoroughfare but turned up a side street putting some distance between him and them. Smith was in one of the outside seats and shouldered his rifle. The group of infected kept running but their victim disappeared.

  Scotty looked through his EOTech scope trying to locate the runner. He flipped the magnifier into place to give him the magnification to make long range shots. The EOTech is the perfect optic for engaging an enemy up close but it doesn’t help for shots of any distance. Smith had the magnifier mounted in front of it. When he needed to make a long shot, he just pushed it into place.

  “He must’ve gotten into a building. I don’t see him,” the big man said.

  “Let’s get this over with. Can you fly us back to the insertion point?” McCain asked the pilot.

  “On the way,” came the response.

  Chuck tapped the Blackhawk crewman on the arm. “Do you have any extra firepower?”

  The man in black BDUs smiled. “When we land to let you guys off, I’ll get it out. Between your man, the sniper,” he nodded at Smith, “and my little toy, we’ll be able to support you from the air.”

  “Thirty seconds,” the pilot advised.

  The Blackhawk touched down in front of the library and the CDC officers were off immediately and moving. Chuck was leading the way because he had been there before and knew where Amir’s body was. The crewman jumped out and opened a storage compartment in the rear of the helicopter. He pulled the mini-gun out and quickly installed it opposite of Scotty, on the left side. Smith was set up to fire out the right side. They were airborne again within three minutes.

  Chuck led them across a parking lot and between a couple of buildings. They came out on South Lumpkin Street. A group of eight infected were standing on the street, thirty yards away. They immediately began running towards the officers. The lead zombie’s head exploded and he fell down, causing three others to trip over him. Scotty had made the shot from the hovering helicopter. Eddie, Jimmy, Andy, and Chris paused to fire killing the rest. The others were scanning all around them, making sure that they didn’t get surprised.

  They continued across South Lumpkin Street and ran around a large, older building. The sign identified it as the Department of Germanic and Slavic Studies. McCain was taking them on a roundabout route to get back to the the Tate Student Center. By cutting between buildings, he was hoping to avoid the large groups of infected that they had seen from the air.

  The English Department was on their left as they approached Baldwin Street. Chuck paused next to the brick building and did a quick peek around the wall, checking for zombies. The street was raised a few feet from where the team was. McCain led them forward to the embankment that led up to the street. Now, they could all see the twenty or more infected, standing in the road at Sanford Drive and Baldwin Street.

  The zombies were about seventy yards away but the men could not cross the street without being seen.

  “CDC One to Air One,” Chuck transmitted quietly.

  “Air One, go ahead.”

  McCain told the pilot what he wanted, gave them the location of the zombies, and told him where the officers were located.

  “Roger, CDC One. Engaging in one minute. Keep your heads down. You’re clear to engage, Gunner.”

  The Blackhawk crewman manning the mini-gun heard the conversation and waited until the pilot swung the helicopter into position. He looked through his sites at the large group of infected and pressed the firing button. The six barrels spun sending hundreds of rounds into the zombies. Every fifth bullet was a tracer and he was able to see where he was hitting. Three short bursts eliminated the entire group.

  “Let’s go,” said Chuck jumping up and running across the street. He led them down a short driveway to a parking lot and another large brick building. The Miller Learning Center is one of the many modern classroom buildings on campus. The long east wing would allow the CDC team to cut through and come out near where al-Razi’s body should be.

  They did not encounter any more infected as they ran up to one of the back entrances. The glass door was locked when McCain pulled on it. Without hesitation, he slammed the muzzle of his M4 into the door, shattering the glass. When the were inside, everyone stopped and listened for any signs of zombies. The building had been locked up because it was game day and they didn’t hear any signs of life.

  Everybody took a moment to catch their breath and have a drink of water from their CamelBaks. At the other end of the hallway was another exit. When they went out that door, they would be near where Chuck had left the dead terrorist. They would find Amir’s body, get a few photos, some DNA swabs, and then make their way, or more likely, fight their way back to the exfiltration point.

  So far, they had not seen anyone that they could rescue. They had only encountered infected people. From the air, it looked like there were plenty of living people trapped inside the stadium but there were also hundreds and probably thousands of zombies as well. They all wanted to help the victims but they would need to figure out another way to do it. At this point, Chuck and Eddie had agreed that sacrificing their lives for a mission that had a minimal chance for success did not make any sense.

  After a quick weapons check and reloads, Chuck led the men down the hallway. When they got to the other end, he looked out the glass door, back towards the student center. Bodies covered the sidewalk. Several zombies were crouching over corpses, the dead feeding on the dead. There was al-Razi’s body, lying about forty yards back to the left, still next to the bench. His memory was flooded from earlier. Amir turning with a gun and shooting. Chuck and Rebecca firing back. The terrorist going down. Seeing Rebecca lying on the pavement. The blood pooling around her. McCain’s eyes filled with tears.

  “I can see his body from here,” he told the team.

  Eddie sensed his emotion and saw the tears running down his friend’s face. His put his hand on Chuck’s shoulder.

  “You need another minute?” he asked softly.

  Chuck cleared his throat and wiped his eyes on his sleeve.

  “No, I’m good. Let’s get this over with.”

  Eddie turned to the rest of the men. “Amir’s body is right over there,” he said pointing. “Maybe forty or fifty yards. Let’s get over there quick. You guys form a perimeter. Chuck will get what he needs and then we’ll try and go back the way we came. Let’s leave this door propped open so we can get back in.”

  There was a rubber mat just inside the door. Marshall dragged it to the door, pushed the door open, and wedged the mat in it. With the door open slightly, they could hear the sounds of yelling, growling, and they could see forty or fifty more infected at the end of the walkway, near the front of the student center. That group of zombies would see the officers as soon as they
stepped outside. They would have to be dealt with.

  “Why don’t we get the helicopter over here?” Eddie suggested. “They could thin them out a little.”

  McCain nodded and pushed his transmit button. At that moment, gunshots and screams echoed from the direction of the stadium. From their vantage point, Chuck and Eddie couldn’t see what was happening but the shots were steady and sounded like the shooter was coming their way.

  “CDC One to Air One,” McCain said into the radio.

  “Air One to CDC One, wait one,” came the answer.

  Chuck stared at the radio in disbelief and looked at the men. He and his men were on the ground with thousands of zombies all around him and their air support was telling him to wait.

  “Team One Charlie to CDC One,” came Scotty’s voice over the other radio.

  University of Georgia, near Sanford Stadium, Saturday, 1615 hours

  Officer Grace Cunningham, University of Georgia Campus Police Officer, had been working security just inside one of the main gates at Sanford Stadium. Fans were pouring in to watch the pre-game warmups and the opening game festivities. The call over her police radio indicated that there was a fight in the Tate Student Center. She wasn’t supposed to leave her post but no one would ever question her for going to a fight call that was right across the street from where she was at.

  As she was walking out of the gate, one of the private security officers was arguing with a middle-age couple dressed from head-to-toe in Bulldog clothes. They were both holding Starbucks cups but either did not know or had forgotten that there was no outside food or drinks allowed inside the stadium. The female security guard was trying to explain this to them but they weren’t happy about it.

  Grace wanted to get across the street to the fight before it was over but she stopped and stood next to the security officer. She smiled at the fans sympathetically and said, “Sorry, sir and ma’am, you’ll just have to drink all that coffee before you go in.”

  The dispatcher updated the call at the student center. Now, a bearded man was on top of a woman and biting her throat and neck near the front entrance. At this Grace, began to run. As she approached Sanford Drive, the unmistakable sound of gunfire erupted from inside the Tate Center. That slowed her down and she drew her pistol.

  She keyed up her radio. “Badge 985 to dispatch. Shots fired inside the student center. I repeat, shots fired!”

  Other units cleared immediately, which meant she would have plenty of help with her soon. She held her Glock 17 in a low ready position and moved towards the gunfire. Suddenly, the front door flew open and a male wearing a UGA hat and t-shirt and holding a gun ran outside. He turned left and started up the sidewalk that paralleled Sanford Drive. Grace was in the middle of the street and the Middle Eastern looking man had a large head start on her.

  A big white man and a blonde woman, on the other side of the street and much closer to the student center, both drew guns and started chasing the man. The three people turned left, running down the walkway beside the Tate Center. The dispatcher let the responding officers know that several people had been shot inside and that the lookout was on a dark-skinned male, possibly of Middle Eastern origin.

  Should she go to the victims or follow the people with guns? She didn’t realize it at the time, but her choice to follow the people that were running probably saved her life. Other officers got to the scene and were immediately attacked and infected as soon as they entered the student center.

  Cunningham was about seventy-five yards behind the three people that she was following. She heard someone yell, “Amir al-Razi, you’re under arrest. Drop the gun and get down on the ground.”

  Seconds later, a string of gunshots exploded up ahead of her. She couldn’t see anything yet but as soon as she turned the corner she’d be able to. Grace slowed down and did a quick peek around the side of the building.

  The Middle Eastern man and the blonde woman were down. The big man kept his pistol pointed at the downed man. He glanced over and saw that the woman was lying on her back as well. Grace could see the fear and panic in his eyes as he ran to where she lay. She started towards them with her pistol pointed in their direction. She had to cover a lot of open space so she moved deliberately.

  Cunningham could see what appeared to be a badge hanging from the man’s neck. He yelled to the people who were gathering around him, “Call 911! Somebody, please call 911! We need an ambulance here.”

  At that moment, someone grabbed Grace’s left arm. Instinctively, she jerked it away and stepped to her right, turning towards her attacker. A young man, probably a student, lunged for her again. His eyes were glazed over and her first thought was that he had ketchup all over his face. In half a second, however, Grace processed what she was seeing and took another step to her right.

  “Stop! Get down on the ground!” she yelled, pointing her pistol at him. The young man’s left cheek was ripped open and the skin was hanging loose like a flap but his mouth was opening and closing. He was making a noise that sounded like an animal’s growl. Growling? A person growling? The FBI, CDC, and DHS bulletins she had read had told her that these were the symptoms of the zombie virus. He kept coming forward, with his arms outstretched, and she continued backing up.

  Another growl came from right, behind her. Fear hit her in the pit of the stomach and she felt trapped.

  “Please stop! Don’t make me shoot you,” she pleaded.

  There was no evidence that he even heard what she was saying. Grace raised the pistol and put the front site between his eyes and squeezed the trigger. The impact of the 9mm bullet snapped his head back and he fell facedown onto the pavement, blood pouring out of the wound. The growling behind her was close. She took a couple of steps to her left and pivoted to face the next threat.

  Two more of them were almost on her. A guy with a bloody arm and face and a girl with her necked ripped open changed directions and lunged for her. The guy was closer and she shot him in the forehead. When he collapsed, the girl tripped over him and fell down, tangled up in his legs. Her face smacked hard into the sidewalk.

  Grace covered the girl with the Glock. She looked so young, probably just a freshman. “Don’t do this,” the officer said. “We can get you some help. Just stay down on the ground.”

  Instead, the infected girl pushed herself to her feet and reached for Grace. She pulled the trigger again, shooting the girl in the face. Her body fell on top of the young man’s.

  There were more yells from up ahead where the big man was now fighting the guy that he’d just shot. Hadn’t he just been sprawled out on the pavement? What crazy world had Grace been transported to?

  Several other growling, bloody, people were advancing towards Grace. They were after her. Somehow she knew that they wanted to kill her. A quick glance back up the walkway and she saw the big man kick the Middle Eastern man that he had just shot. The powerful blow knocked him to the ground. The man with the badge hanging around his neck looked like he could take care of himself, whoever he was. At least, she hoped he could. Cunningham turned and ran back towards the stadium.

  As she ran, the dispatcher alerted the officers that they now had reports of assaults inside the stadium. In one of them, a man had ripped a woman’s throat out with his teeth. The dispatcher tried to raise one of the officers inside Sanford on the radio but got no answer.

  “Badge 985 to dispatch,” said Grace. “I’m going back into the stadium. This appears to be the zombie virus. I’ve had to shoot three subjects and I have a group of possible infected people chasing me.”

  More infected people had left the student center and were looking for fresh victims to attack. Some of them were moving towards the stadium. It was a race as to who would get there first. Cunningham had always been a fast runner and she outran the zombies who were following her.

  As she entered the gate that she had left from and pulled it shut behind her, Grace saw her friend the security guard lying on her back. The woman who had been arguing with
her about the coffee was straddling her and appeared to be eating the flesh from her neck and face. A large pool of blood surrounded the security guard.

  The zombie lady saw or heard Grace run up and turned towards her growling, bloody flesh hanging out of her mouth. The officer felt the vomit rising and she couldn’t contain herself. The smell, the blood, the gore on the infected woman’s face sent a wave of nausea through her.

  She was able to hold it in until she fired a single shot into the woman’s head. Then, Grace threw up her lunch, her breakfast and everything else that she had inside of her. This was a bad place to be. She was vulnerable as she vomited and she knew it. She needed to keep her head on a swivel, even as she was bent over and heaving.

  After a few minutes, Cunningham had nothing else to puke out. The fear, however, was still in the pit of her stomach. Her reasoning in coming back to the stadium was to protect people. To Protect and Serve. That was what was on the side of her police car.

  Now, she was having second thoughts. Could she really do anything? She didn’t understand how those people had gotten infected but there were already a lot of them. In less than ten minutes, she had shot four people. Were they still people? she wondered.

  Grace knew she could leave and find a place to hide. No one would say anything. No one would question her. Her father, however, had taught her to never run from things that you were scared of but to confront them head-on. Plus, were there any safe places? From what Cunningham saw, the entire area was swarming with zombies.

  As she was about to step back through the inner gate to go inside, she picked up movement out of her peripheral vision. The security guard was trying to get to her feet. Her throat had been ripped out and her head hung at an awkward angle. She was a short, obese girl and she had trouble getting to her feet, but it was clear to Grace that she was witnessing the zombie virus reanimating someone who was dead. With tears in her eyes, she shot her friend in the back of the head.