Other cars screeched to a halt in a ragged formation around their car, and their officers jumped out and joined the fracas. Despite the incredible volume of fire, the numbers of infected seemed to grow every second. Dan and Ed raced forward to the first line of cruisers.
There he recognized a constable from West Division, and shouted, “Hey, MacLaren, what the fuck is going on?”
Roger MacLaren turned around and saw Dan, Ed, and the other officers for the first time. He stared at the reinforcements for a moment, then ran over to where Dan and Ed stood.
“Holy fuck, Dan, I’m sure glad to see you. Another couple of minutes and we’d have been overrun, ya know?” he replied. “What the fuck is going on? I’ll tell you what’s going on. A bunch of dumbass survivalists in a dump truck thought this was still a food distribution centre, and rammed it through that wall over there. But they drove too fast and lost control and went skidding into the warehouse. The truck careened around in there like a goddamned pinball. It also knocked out the generator and that wound up unlocking most of the doors, which freed hundreds of those infected over there. Now, we’re here trying to clean up this mess.”
“Dumbasses!” Ed swore at no one in particular.
“We got word from a tech who survived over the radio and got here as quick as possible with as many men as we could, just like you apparently,” MacLaren said.
All three men stopped talking and began shooting again. Very quickly, it was apparent that there was no putting this genie back in its bottle.
“We gotta back off, MacLaren. There’s too many of them. Let’s fall back a few blocks and regroup before we all get overrun,” Dan said.
“Sounds like a plan.” He grunted. Turning to his fellow West Division officers, he shouted, “Let’s get the fuck out of dodge, guys! Fall back and regroup at the Cineplex on 137th Avenue!”
Dan and Ed raced back to their group of North Division officers and told them the same thing. By this time the West Division officers were already pulling out, relying on the North Division officers to cover their retreat. A pair of West Division officers who moved too slowly were pulled to the ground and swallowed by a sea of infected.
---------
After the rest of the West Division officers were gone, half of the North Division officers pulled out, too. Dan and Ed were among the half dozen who acted as rearguards for them. Then, they too pulled out, racing east on 137th Avenue.
Dan and Ed pulled into the parking lot, which was almost totally empty except for the dozen or so police vehicles. Dan and Ed wandered over to MacLaren.
“Who’s the most senior guy you got left?” Dan asked.
“We still got pair of lieutenants running things, but we’re down to less than two dozen officers. After those Tac Team guys stole our Suburbans, another dozen guys disappeared too,” MacLaren answered.
“What about South Division and Headquarters?” Ed inquired.
“Well, HQ was abandoned almost a week ago, and extra officers were supposed to be sent to the other three divisions, but rumour has it most of them are protecting VIPs somewhere.”
“VIPs? What VIPs do we have in Edmonton?” Ed asked.
“Like I said, it’s a rumour, but they’re in Glenora, protecting a bunch of rich guys, like the owner of the Oilers, some rich businessmen, and assholes like that. But like I said, it’s only a rumour,” MacLaren responded.
“Fucking millionaires,” Ed spat.
“Now, you don’t know that it’s true,” Dan said unconvincingly.
“Yeah, rumours like that are never true,” Ed replied, rolling his eyes. “It’s just like that fuck of a mayor we have to make sure that his rich buddies are protected and to not give a rat’s ass about everyone else. Fucking dirty little prick!”
“I don’t know if you’ve heard, but City Hall was evacuated the other day, too. Our illustrious mayor and a handful of councillors fled the city in a convoy of APCs, courtesy of the Armed Forces,” MacLaren interjected.
“If that isn’t proof, I don’t know what is,” Ed said triumphantly.
“Fuck!” Dan shouted. “What are you guys going to do now?” he asked MacLaren.
“Keep fighting the good fight, I guess. Just because our leaders are dickwads doesn’t mean we should be too. Edmontonians need us, right?”
“Good point. Are you going back to the West Division?” Dan asked.
“We’re going back to West Division, I think.”
“Well, there’s tons of room at North Division if you ever get bored over there!” Ed said.
“Not likely,” came the reply. “You wouldn’t catch me on the northside for all the money in the world!”
“Damned northside basher!” Ed shot back.
MacLaren laughed and walked back to where the rest of the West Division guys were.
After a few more minutes of shooting the shit, both groups headed off in their respective directions. The trip back to North Division was slower and quieter than the trip west had been.
Halfway back to North Division, Dan’s cell phone rang. He was surprised because cell coverage had been spotty at best for the past few days, mostly due to the blackouts that had hit the Capital region hard after the Rossdale Power plant shut down. He glanced down at it and saw that it was Harry.
“Hey, Harry, how’s it going?”
“I need help! I’m under att…” Then the phone cut out.
“Harry’s in trouble, let’s go.”
Ed jammed his foot on the gas pedal and the cruiser leapt forward as the turbo kicked in. When they arrived, the door was wide open and several windows were broken.
“Fuck, let’s roll in hot,” Dan said. Ed raced in, and Dan leapt from the car, brandishing his MP-5 on his shoulder. He ran into the store and found Harry lying on the floor behind the counter in a pool of blood. A massive blast, probably from a shotgun, had killed him instantly. The drawer was open and whatever cash Harry might have had was gone. Glancing around the store, every shelf was entirely empty, even the pet food.
“Aw, fuck, Harry, why didn’t you listen to us?” Dan said to himself.
Ed ran in to see Dan standing over Harry’s body. “Infected?”
“No worse, looters.”
Looking around at the empty shelves, Ed muttered, “What the fuck was there to take?”
Chapter 14
September 26th
Master Corporal William Stone stood in the makeshift wooden guard tower, cradling binoculars in his hands. His eyes scanned the trees across the road from the base for movement. The base’s fence line ran east to west on 195th Avenue. When the base had been Canadian Forces Base Namao, the fence line had been less than two metres from 195th Avenue, with one metre of that consisting of a drainage ditch. However, after 9/11, security concerns dictated that the fence line be moved farther away from the road and the drainage ditch left closer to the road. Now the fence line was almost eight metres from the road and the drainage ditch. The drainage ditch had been converted into a massive trench, fully three metres deep and three wide. South of 195th Avenue, the base had a small strip of land used for training troops, which most of the time was planted with hay by a farmer who lived nearby. South of that was a large copse of trees and a fence which delineated the southern edge of CFB Edmonton. South of that was more fields and the Anthony Henday, Edmonton’s ring road. Occasionally, he put the binoculars down and took a swig of coffee from the thermos nearby. A rifle leaned in the corner, safety on.
The wind, animals, both wild and domestic, and people disturbed the woods regularly. Just this morning, an uninfected person had scrambled through and been met at the gate by both soldiers and doctors. She had been medically cleared in short order and sent to quarantine like all refugees. Several infected that had emerged a few minutes later and all were dealt with appropriately.
Master Corporal Stone felt lucky. The tower he was in was far better than the jerry-rigged firing platforms most other soldiers had to make do with. The ice cold wind blowing out
of the west was particularly nasty this morning, dropping the temperature to just above freezing. The brigade owned about fifty large shipping containers, used to ship heavy equipment and supplies when it deployed overseas on missions. The engineers had simply dropped one every few hundred metres around the entire perimeter of the base. They were about half a metre taller than the fence and offered little shelter from the elements. Most units kept a two man team posted on top while the rest of the squad hunkered down in a tent behind it. In contrast, his tower had waist high walls and a roof, which minimized the wind and the rain. And the little battery powered space heater kept him from freezing his ass off.
The sun had risen about thirty minutes ago and nothing moved in the quiet September morning. He scanned the bushes and noticed movement. He zoomed in and saw several infected shamble out.
He picked up his radio. “We’ve got several infected approaching from the south in Bravo sector, in pursuit of a civilian. Requesting permission to open fire.”
The radio crackled. “Permission granted.”
He put down his binoculars and picked up his sniper rifle. As one of the best shots in his company, he had been awarded one of the base’s sniper rifles to use. The battalion had a sniper unit, but it was far too small to man every tower the base had erected, and so those with the best marksmanship scores had been issued them as well. He aimed, drawing the crosshairs on one of the infected, slowed his breathing, then just before he squeezed the trigger, held it for a fraction of a second. A 7.62 round crossed the short distance and the bullet impacted even before Stone heard the whip crack of the high velocity round. It entered the infected man’s head just above the right eye, splattering black brain matter on the bushes behind it. It flopped the ground like a puppet with its strings cut. His counterpart in a nearby tower did the same and another dropped to the ground. Stone aimed and fired again, dropping the last one.
Master Corporal Stone watched the woods. They shifted in several places, and this time, a dozen stumbled out. They were followed momentarily by several more groups of three or four. Within moments, about fifty zombies had appeared out of nowhere. As the seconds ticked by, more and more infected appeared. Soon, the trees were no longer visible through the mass of infected.
“We’ve got a large number of infected approaching the south fence line in Bravo sector, requesting reinforcements,” Stone said. Soon his radio began crackling, reporting action at other sections of the fence, with every platoon on the south fence line requesting reinforcements. Unfortunately, there was only a single company to reinforce all of them.
Much like Edmonton’s police, soldiers had the authority to protect themselves, but had been ‘asked’ not to kill infected by the federal government, if at all possible. Raine’s solution had been brutally simple: let the infected fall into the anti-vehicle trench surrounding the base and just ignore them. Given that the elements didn’t bother them, it seemed like a brilliant solution to a difficult problem. Only when there was imminent danger to a soldier or a civilian did the troops actually open fire and deal with the infected. Right now, dozens shuffled back and forth in the trench, seeking escape, but it was too deep for them to climb out.
Of course, as hundreds, maybe even thousands of infected shambled towards the base, it was totally unworkable. If the trench filled up, it might allow the infected to reach the fence line. While Raines expected it to hold, there was no point to risk a breach, so he ordered his troops to open fire when they got into range.
At first, the rifle fire was very disciplined; well-aimed shots and the infected began dropping like marionettes with their strings cut.
Fire lashed out from the base into the horde of approaching infected. Mortar shells exploded over the infected heads, sending dozens of sharp razor-like fragments down into the skulls of the infected. In some cases, it killed them, in others, it was nothing more than a mosquito bite. The handful of heavy machine guns opened fire, spraying hundreds of rounds of lead into the group, each round tearing off the limb of an infected person in the front, then continuing on into the infected behind it and tearing off one of their limbs, too. The heavy machine guns were so powerful that the rounds likely went through a half dozen or more infected before finally stopping. Stone thought back to his heavy weapons course eons ago and what his instructor had told him about the heavy machine gun the Canadian Forces used.
“If you lined up six cars side by side and fired this gun, the round would go through the first eleven doors with ease and finally come to a rest inside the twelfth door. It will also go right through cinder blocks and concrete thinner than six inches.”
He winced as he watched them fire, mowing down rows of infected. They fell below the massed fire like wheat before a scythe.
Thank God he had never been on the receiving end of one of those monsters, he thought to himself. The only problem with the weapon was that they would go through their ammo in a minute or two, and then would need several minutes to refill their ammo hoppers. Sure enough, well before the horde was gone, the machine guns stopped firing. Their crews scrambled to reload as fast as possible.
Once the mortars and heavy weapons opened up, many soldiers began firing far more rapidly and, unfortunately, far more inaccurately. While the heavy weapons were unlikely to kill many infected outright, it tore them apart and knocked them down, or otherwise disabled them so that snipers could finish them off later.
Meanwhile, Master Corporal Stone and the other marksmen continued their steady, methodical slaughter of the infected. Below him, troops at the fence had shoved their barrels through the chain links and were firing indiscriminately into the horde. The horde was huge and their bodies lay in heaps everywhere, but they kept coming like some elemental force such as the tide.
Stone had engaged the first infected at more than five hundred metres. Now, ten minutes later, the horde was about three hundred metres away and still closing. Stone kept firing, reloading and firing until his shoulder was sore. He hadn’t fired this much in a long time. A thundering roar came from behind him and Stone glanced backwards.
Two of the base’s Griffon helicopters had lifted off and were racing to assist the troops at the perimeter. As they did, the mortars shifted fire to the flanks of the horde and the helos flew over the fence and dropped to only fifteen feet above the ground. Both then turned broadside to the horde, and the door gunner opened fire with their miniguns, firing hundreds of rounds per minute into the horde. The miniguns fired so fast and with such ferocity that rows of infected literally melted before its onslaught, leaving gaping holes in the horde. As soon as one minigun fell silent, the pilot swiveled the chopper around 180 degrees and the other door gunner opened fire. Despite the metal rain pouring down on the horde, it never once faltered.
To Master Corporal Stone, the horde reminded him of the ocean, uncaring and relentless in its effort to wear down the beach in front of it. Methodically, he and his fellow soldiers kept pouring fire into the faceless horde bearing down on the base.
Soon the horde was at the anti-vehicle ditch, and one by one they toppled into it like lemmings diving over a cliff. The first few hundred crumpled into heaps of broken flesh when they hit the bottom of the trench. They were unable to stand back up, but soon other infected were landing on top of those already in the trench, and they were able to stand up, clawing and reaching for a way out.
“The infected have reached the trench!” Stone shouted into his radio.
“Continue firing, as per plan Foxtrot.” His radio crackled back.
Plan Foxtrot? Stone thought to himself. What the fuck is plan Foxtrot?
He hefted his rifle again and resumed firing, without giving it another thought.
Hours ago, he had noticed the half dozen fuel tanker trucks parked by the fence, but had never really paid any attention to them or the crews manning them. Hoses from each of the trucks had been hung over the fence and drooped down again into the trench. Suddenly, torrents of gasoline began to spray from each of the hose
s, dousing the infected nearby. In less than a minute, there were pools of gasoline everywhere.
Master Corporal Stone quickly understood what Plan Foxtrot was.
Then he heard the order over the radio, “Foxtrot units, fire the trench!”
Several men opened fire with C-9 squad automatic weapons, sending bursts of fire walking up and down the length of the trench. Within seconds, most of the infected in the trench were burning. As each burning one stumbled around, it touched others, and ignited them, too. In less than two minutes, every infected in the trench was on fire, and an evil, black smoke soared skyward. The sickening stench of burning and rotting flesh filled the air. Up and down the line soldiers vomited, while those with stronger constitutions simply turned green and held their breath. Stone’s constitution was no stronger than most and he too vomited, spilling out a vile mixture of coffee and sandwiches over the side of the tower and onto the ground below.
The fire in the trench was so hot that it consumed the infected rapidly, burning their legs out from underneath them, and plunging their torsos into a massive puddle of burning flesh, which burned even hotter as the fat in the chest cavities was incinerated by the intense heat.
Above the trench, troops kept firing into the oncoming horde, never wavering in their efforts to prevent the infected from breaching the base perimeter. The infected were oblivious to what was occurring to those in the trench, and all kept marching lemming-style into the flames in a vain effort to reach the base. Eventually, the numbers of infected began to thin and within an hour, the only infected near the base consisted of those being roasted in the trench.
Master Corporal Stone looked out over the expanse at the mounds of corpses, some still twitching and moving occasionally. Aimed sniper fire began to dispatch those who had survived the onslaught above ground. The fire in the trench burned for hours, and smoke poured into the sky for a day after that, as the remains smoldered.
Zombie Night in Canada (Book 1): First Period Page 15