by Allen Gamboa
***
Still high on his fresh kill of the American sniper, Yuri zigged and zagged through several small groups of the ravenous zombies. The Russian sprinted over to the aft ramp, which was about halfway open. Yuri could see the soldier's body sprawled across the alloy deck, still covered in blankets and netting. He reached the back of the plane and quickly looked around. A big group of the dead had taken notice of him and were quickly stumbling his way. From the nose of the plane, Yuri heard several rifle shots followed by an explosion. The ramp was suspended about eight feet from the ground. The young mercenary grunted as he tossed his rifle and gear up onto the alloy deck. Yuri then made a jump for the ramp. He grabbed the edge and started to pull himself up.
"I made it," he shouted. "Yuri the weak! Ha! Fuck all of them.” He laughed. Suddenly, there was a horrible, stabbing pain in his right hand. He screamed, yanking his hand off the edge of the ramp. Barely holding onto the lip of the deck with his left hand, he noticed his right was torn and bleeding. Uncomprehending, Yuri again reached for the ramp with his injured hand. As he grabbed hold, there was a crushing pain. The Russian screamed as Sanchez ground his boot across Yuri’s fresh cut.
"Punk." Sanchez jammed his tomahawk blade into Yuri’s left hand. "Make sure you kill a fucker before you get all cocky and shit."
"No!" Yuri screamed as he dropped to the tarmac. His knees made a loud crack as he smashed onto the ground. He rolled around on the warm runway, grabbing his damaged knees with his injured and bleeding hands. Whimpering in pain, he unsuccessfully tried to get to his feet as the hungry zombies grew dangerously close.
"Kata," he cried. "Kata! Help me!" Tears and snot running down his face, Yuri rolled on to his stomach and tried to crawl toward the nose of the plane. "Kata!" he screamed at the top of his lungs. Only the crowd of ravenous dead eagerly responded to his cries.
"Damn!" Sanchez sat down heavily on the ramp. He picked up Yuri’s AK and laid it across his lap. Below him, Sanchez could hear the Russian's dying cries and the deaders' mad rending and feasting of the unlucky Russian. Rubbing his wounded shoulder, Sanchez closed his eyes, satisfied that the asshole that had killed Gator and shot him was now nothing but deader chow underneath the plane.
CHAPTER 65: FUNNY YOU SHOULD ASK THAT
"The NSA denied us use of the satellite," Senator Collingsworth said as Mister Black handed him a heavy glass.
"Is neat okay? My ice machine is broken," Black said.
"Yes," Collingsworth nodded eagerly. "Please."
Black smirked and poured two fingers into the thousand-dollar glass Collingsworth was holding in a trembling hand. Once he was finished, he turned to Senator Kubicek and pointed the bottle neck at the other man’s glass. Kubicek quickly bobbed his head like a chicken and held out his bit of expensive crystal. Black poured the senator another two fingers then returned to the bar. He set the Scotch bottle down and grabbed up his own half-full glass.
"I’m glad you two could make it tonight." Smiling like a shark, he glided over to his big, overstuffed leather chair and gently sat down, placing his glass on a marble table. He sat there, iron straight, and promptly smoothed out the creases in his slacks. "Now tell me." He patted his open palms on his thighs and leaned forward. "Now tell me about our friends at the NSA again."
"Well …" Collingsworth set his glass down on the end table, which cost more than his last divorce, and swallowed. Black was in an unusually good mood, which terrified both men. "I talked to Brock, and he said they couldn’t move it near the island. Something about a terrorist cell they’re tracking in …"
"Brock, that self-important piece of shit!" Black interrupted. "I guess two million doesn’t buy you much these days."
"What about a drone?" Kubicek asked quietly.
"No good." Black took a sip of the Scotch and swirled the rest around in the glass. "That bitch Chapman won’t let me use them for more than the air strike. His company is sticking its neck out as it is. Asking for more would cause them to pull the drones entirely."
"Then we are essentially blind," Collingsworth said, staring down into his overgrown lap.
"Yes." Black took another drink.
"So what do we do?" Kubicek asked as he set the glass down.
"Start over." Black carefully stood up and carried his glass back over to the bar, where he proceeded to pour himself another drink. "The drones will destroy all the evidence, and I will have to start all over again."
"We will?" Collingsworth looked up hopefully.
Black, with his back to the senators, smiled darkly. "There are billions, billions to be made on this deal. More money than has ever been seen in the past ten years. The reward is too big to let go." He turned to face the two senators.
"So what do you need from us?" Kubicek's voice cracked.
"Funny you should ask that." The shark smile grew wide, exposing two rows of bright, white teeth. The Muzak version of "Hungry Like the Wolf" was playing softly in the background.
CHAPTER 66: TELL PUTIN HELLO FOR ME
Newman sprinted across the undead-filled tarmac toward Kata, who was fleeing for the aft of the plane. A fast deader tackled the big Aussie and they hit the ground hard. Grunting as his wide back struck the runway, Newman used his rifle to try and push the slobbering, biting deader off of him. The dead man clawed at Newman’s face and tried to get its damaged mouth around his neck. Fighting for his life, Newman put a gloved hand over the flesh eater's eyes and batted away the undead's tearing hands with his free hand. Putrid, black blood dribbled down onto his chest. He pushed the deader's head back as far as he could. The dead man gurgled and drooled but continued to try and tear at the sergeant. Cursing, Newman pushed the head back as far as he could until he heard a nasty crack. The deader's head went slack in his hand. Teeth still snapped, but the head hung at a weird angle, unable to be much of a threat to anyone. Newman pushed the deader to the side, grabbed his rifle, and then jumped to his feet. The deader, with its head now dangling off its shoulder, was also trying to stand up. The sergeant raised his rifle and ended its suffering. Wiping sweat from his forehead, he then resumed his pursuit of Kata.
***
Kata sprinted under the huge engine and wing of the cargo plane. A zombie was crawling out from under the fuselage and grabbed at her booted feet. The Russian tripped and fell roughly to her knees. Without missing a beat, Kata spun around and swung the barrel of the grenade launcher at the zombie's head. The heavy barrel caught it in the chest and knocked it over on its side. Kata got back on her feet as the zombie rolled back onto its rotten stomach and slowly crawled after her. Near the aft of the plane, she could see a group of zombies on their knees, devouring the remains of what had been her cousin, Yuri. Though she didn’t care for her cousin much, still, he had been blood. She should have been the one to end her cousin's pathetic little life. No one killed a Volcavich without paying in blood. Kata didn’t care if the perpetrator was dead or alive, they would also suffer. The Russian dropped the heavy launcher to the ground with a loud thud. The five zombies making a meal out Yuri looked up at her with dull, lifeless eyes. Seeing fresh meat, they started to stumble to their feet. Kata unslung her AK-74 and angrily shot two of them in the forehead. The zombies’ heads disappeared in a black mist of rancid blood. A third undead woman charged at Kata and fell on its face after tripping on the headless corpses of her dinner partners. The Russian cursed a blue streak of obscenities and smashed in the back of the zombie’s skull with her right foot. Still standing in the dead woman’s head, she could feel the black zombie juice soaking her foot through the bullet hole in her boot. The other two zombies were on their feet now and loping towards Kata. The Russian stepped back and lifted her AK to put them down. As she stepped back with her right foot, she found it still stuck in the zombie’s ruined head.
“Fuck! Fuck you, Yuri!” she growled, still trying to remove her foot from where it was lodged in the back of the zombie’s head. “Fuckers!” She stomped down hard with her right foot, splatt
ering the remains of the zombie head on the tarmac.
***
Newman ran to catch up with the female Russian. As he raised his rifle to fire off a round, a deader grabbed his rifle and jerked it out of his hands. The Aussie turned to confront the flesh eater as it dropped the sergeant's weapon and hungrily leaped at him. He deftly stepped to the side and grabbed the deader's right arm, flipping it to the tarmac. The deader smashed face first into the solid runway, causing its head to explode in a flurry of gray matter and bones. Newman shook his head and glanced around the airfield, which was now thick with deaders.
"Some fuckin' day," he said to himself then realized he was still holding the flesh eater's severed right arm. "Aye, fuck me, mate!" He was about to drop the limb when he heard the rifle pops from the aft of the plane. Newman turned to see the female Russian shooting a group of attacking deaders. The Aussie quickly hurled the deader's arm with all his might at the woman’s head. The heavy arm flew through the air and crashed into the back of the Russian's skull. She groaned and fell forward onto Yuri’s remains.
Dazed, she looked up from the bloody entrails that had belonged to her cousin. Thin ropes of intestines were stuck in her hair, and her face was splashed with blood. The stench of Yuri's exposed bowels was overpowering. Kata sat up on her hands and knees, still dripping blood and bodily fluids. As she wiped the mess from her eyes, she could taste Yuri’s blood in her mouth. She spat it out and, still dazed, looked around, smiling. The mercenary had killed all the bastards that had spilled Volcavich blood. Kata’s smiled disappeared when she felt a sharp pain in her left hand. Looking down, she was surprised to see Yuri’s undead face chewing on her forearm. Repulsed, she pulled her arm back, causing the zombie that was her cousin to rip a big chunk from her arm. Kata screamed in pain, anger, and disbelief as the Yuri thing chewed on his relative's flesh without a care.
"Fuck you, Yuri!" Kata screamed, grabbing her bleeding arm. She tried to get to her feet but found her boot still deep in the other zombie's head. "Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!"
"Just not your day, mate," Newman said from behind.
"Wha—" Kata tried to turn and see who was behind her when she felt the warm barrel in the back of her bruised head. "No!"
"Sorry, mate. Tell Putin hello for me." He pulled the trigger.
***
"Arkady, to the left," Nico shouted as he dragged Doctor Moreno with him across the tarmac toward the rear of the huge cargo plane. The ragtag group made a staggered run for the parked aircraft.
"Americans!" The Russian commander pulled Orlac in front of him as a shield. The disheveled doctor held the biologic case in his sweaty left hand. Arkady tucked the stock of his AK under his arm and fired off a burst at the approaching Americans. Brooks and her team dove for any cover they could find as the two Russians wildly sprayed bullets in their direction while still using the scientists as shields.
"Quit squirming, my love," Nico shouted in Moreno's ear. The scientist screamed every time he fired his rifle. "I would hate to have our little session interrupted by a stray bullet!" Moreno just screamed more, tears running down her face. She jerked involuntarily as Nico squeezed off four more rounds. "I told you," the mercenary said menacingly as he turned her around so she could face him, "quit moving!"
"Fuck you!" Moreno screamed as she’d finally had enough and just snapped. The scientist kneed him in the crotch with all her strength. Nico let out a surprised gasp and released the doctor as he stumbled backward, grabbing for his injured balls. Moreno venomously spat at the Russian then wasted no time in fleeing back toward the buildings.
"Bitch!" Nico croaked, trying to catch his breath. "I’m going to kill you and rape your dead ass!" He steadied himself and fired in the escaping doctor's direction. The rounds all went wide, harmlessly striking a few of the approaching zombies. "I will get you, bitch!" He waved his rifle in frustration. "Arkady …" Nico turned to talk to his commander only to see him making a run with the other scientist for the plane. Bullets started to strike the tarmac next to him. Crouching down, Nico emptied his magazine at the Americans, who were hiding behind the wreckage of a small commuter plane.
"This is bullshit," Nico said, sprinting after Arkady and Orlac. A round from Brooks' mini-14 caught the Russian in the back of the leg, sending him sprawling to the ground. His rifle slid across the tarmac, out of his reach. Nico grabbed at the bloody remains of his left leg and tried to get to his feet before the zombies or the Americans could get to him. Screaming in pain, all Nico could manage to do was some kind of weird crab walk.
CHAPTER 67: GIVE ME A GRENADE
"Let him go." Brooks turned to the other three, who were using the small Cessna for cover with her. Jefferson had been getting ready to put a round through the Russian's head when the captain spoke up. He relaxed and leaned back against the plane's broken tail. The airstrip was now crowded with at least a hundred deaders, all looking for someone to eat. Sweating, Jefferson checked his rifle again then looked over at Washington, who was near the front of the Cessna with Cord. The infected man was starting to look really bad. It's only a matter of time before he changes, Jefferson thought.
Brooks was using the tail of the plane for cover. The captain was about a foot away from Jefferson. "These dead fucks haven’t picked up on us yet," Brooks whispered to him.
"We won’t go unnoticed for long, Captain," Jefferson said in a hushed tone. "There must be at least a hundred of them."
"More will be coming." She motioned with her head toward the thickening smoke cloud behind them. The burning jungle was drawing closer to the airport, which meant more deaders would be forced into their area. She looked down at her dive watch and frowned. They were cutting it real close.
"Cap, that crowd near the plane is gettin' real thick," Washington said a little too loudly. A couple of deaders heard his outburst and started to stumble toward the small plane.
"Shit, Wash!" Jefferson cursed just under his breath.
Washington shrugged and mouthed, "Sorry."
"Now you’re quiet?" Jefferson said, barely above a whisper.
Cord could hardly stand anymore, and he leaned heavily against the broken fuselage of the Cessna. The infection was rapidly spreading, and he was burning up. Sweat was sliding down him in sheets. He could feel his throat starting to constrict. This was no reaction to the anti-virus. He bent over and coughed up a big wad of black blood and something else. Shaking his sweat-drenched head, he stood up and wiped the black blood from his lips. Cord glanced at the back of his gloved hand and saw the spatter of dark plasma. He was infected. He was fucking infected.
"Captain!" Cord belched loudly and spat up some more blood. "Captain!"
A large crowd of deaders was now turning their attention to the small, wrecked plane, all of them drawn in by Cord's coughing and shouting. Brooks looked over at the sick man and tried to shush him. Cord shook his head, flinging sweat all about.
"Keep it down, Cord," Brooks said in a low tone, trying to watch both him and the slowly approaching dead cannibals.
"No, no. I’m infected," he slurred. "I’m going to turn into a fucking deader," he said with a genuine sadness in his voice.
"We have the anti-virus …"
"It’s no good Captain …" Cord coughed and stumbled a little. "Give me a … gr-grenade."
"Cord …"
"I’m done …" He spat up more blood. "G-give m-me a grenade an’ I’ll distract these fuckers."
"Captain!" Washington shouted, worry heavy in his voice as more deaders drew closer to their position.
"Okay, okay." Brooks reached into her blood-splattered vest and retrieved her last fragmentation grenade. She firmly placed it in Cord’s open palm and held it there for a few seconds with her gloved hands. "We can still …"
"No." Cord pulled his hand away and give her a big smile. "Too late. At least I can do something." He coughed and wiped his face with his free hand. "What’s your first name, Captain?"
"Liselle. Lis," she said quickly.
"Man," Jefferson said quietly.
"Go, Danny go," Brooks whispered as she wiped tears from her eyes. Jefferson patted her reassuringly on the shoulder then carefully peeked out onto the tarmac. The distraction had worked. The area around them was almost completely clear.
"Good to go, Captain," Jefferson said.
"Okay." She sighed. "We make a break for the plane. They’re going to blow the crap out of this island." She looked behind them, hoping Wu and Zoe had made it to the Pit Bull.
"What about the other Russians?" Jefferson asked as he glanced around.
"Fuck 'em. They’ll burn with this damn island!"
CHAPTER 68: SQUEAMISH, DOCTOR?
"Come on, Doctor!” Arkady yelled as he pulled Orlac by the sleeve across the airstrip. A large group of the zombies had headed for the other side of the runway, chasing something. Probably one of the Americans or even one of his men. Arkady didn’t even care anymore. His brilliant plan had failed, and now it was just him and Orlac. A round from one of the American rifles had struck him in the stomach. He was still moving but probably not for much longer. Up ahead was the empty fuel truck. Arkady needed to rest for a moment, so he pushed the scientist along until they reached the truck's cab. The Russian commander flung the door open and motioned for Orlac to get in. The doctor eagerly climbed in, carrying the case with him. Breathing heavily, Arkady crawled in behind him, closing the door and locking it. The mercenary slumped down in his seat and waved Orlac to do the same.