The blast hit the engine and it exploded, sending shrapnel in all directions. The Humvee’s crew ran off in the opposite direction in a hail of bullets. Two of them fell dead in the street. One screamed when a bullet struck his leg.
Grapes cursed at the top of his lungs. The men in the Humvee were white. Could there be more of them, even some of his own men? Suddenly, he didn’t feel so safe and powerful. The silent fear of an ambush stealthily seeped into his mind, but he’d come too far to retreat.
The fire from the helots’ houses had nearly burned out. From the windows, Molotov cocktails rained down on the Bradley, but the huge tank kept shooting, unfazed, and then launched a quick series of incendiary bombs into the houses. Flames peeked through the windows on the lower floor. Then something exploded in one of the houses. Its roof lifted into the air like a sailor’s hat, then crashed to the ground a few feet away. The intersection was strewn with rubble and charred remains.
Helots threw themselves out the windows on the upper floors, their clothes in flames. Grapes’s men fired at them as they fell. Their bodies continued to sizzle in the road.
A few ran out the door, wrapped in a thick cloud of smoke, coughing and stumbling.
Grapes spotted some familiar figures among the fugitives and raised his arm. “Hold your fire!” he growled. “Don’t shoot, dammit! I want those fuckers alive!”
A group of soldiers surrounded the half-dozen battered survivors. Grapes shook his head incredulously when they were dragged before him and thrown to the ground. “Strangärd, you arrogant Swedish piece of shit. You’re one of the fucking Just!”
The Swede raised his head and calmly looked up at Grapes. The gunshot wound on his right leg was bleeding heavily. “Grapes, this is a massacre. Don’t do this. You don’t have to obey Greene. You’re slaughtering innocent people just to please a crazy old man.”
Grapes stared down at him as if he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Suddenly, he burst out laughing, slapping his leg.
“I always thought you were a scumbag, but this is too much!” He leaned down and grabbed Strangärd by the collar, pressing his mouth to the Swede’s ear so no one would hear. “You idiot! You think I’m doing this for the Reverend? Don’t you realize this is my first step to something bigger? This is my manifest destiny! I’ll climb over the bodies of each and every one of those fucking bastards, if I have to. No one can stop me. No one! Hear me? I’m a god of war, you Swedish pussy. You made a big mistake crossing my path.”
He cocked his gun and pressed it against the Swede’s head. “Your uprising was over before it began.” He pointed to the smoldering ruins of the houses. The shooting continued, but it was growing weaker. The better-armed Greens outnumbered the helots and were gaining control. “If it’s any consolation, you never had a chance. Now, tell me who your pals are on the other side of the Wall. I want names, addresses, plans. Everything!”
“Eat shit, Grapes,” Strangärd spat. “We both know you won’t let me live. There’s nothing you can threaten me with. So shove it up your ass.”
The Aryan stared at the Swede sprawled on the ground. “Have it your way.” He pointed his gun at Alejandra and Lucia, who cowered next to Strangärd, their clothes singed, eyes wide in horror. “Seth, take one of those sluts behind the tank.”
Seth Fretzen flashed his rotten smile as if it were the happiest day of his life. Out of his jacket pocket, he pulled out some strips of paper. He swiped a strip across the scratches on Alejandra and Lucia’s faces and waited a few seconds. His smile grew evil and filled the women with horror.
“They’re clean, Malachi. Both of ’em. No sign of the fucking virus.”
Grapes waved his gun, as if to say, I don’t give a shit. He locked eyes with the Swede.
“Names, faggot. I want names.”
“Go to hell,” Strangärd growled, paler than usual but just as strong as Grapes.
“Suit yourself. Everything that happens from now on is your fault.”
Two Greens grabbed Alejandra’s arms and lifted her into the air. The Mexican woman kicked and cursed, but she was no match for the Aryans.
“What’re you doing?” Lucia cried. “Let her go, you assholes!”
“Don’t be in such a hurry, pretty lady,” Seth laughed as he dragged Alejandra behind the tank, out of sight. “You’ll get your turn. We’ve got enough for you both.”
For a few seconds, Alejandra screamed, struggling with her captors. A punch rang out and her screams trailed off into tearful pleading. Clothing ripped. The sounds they heard next left no doubt about what was happening. The rhythmic beating against the side of the tank speeded up until it reached a climax. A man’s voice bellowed and the pounding stopped. All they heard then were Alejandra’s sobs.
Seth Fretzen appeared from behind the shield, hitching up his pants, a satisfied look on his face. On the other side of the tanker, the pounding and sobs began again as another Green took his place. Six others waited their turn, a greedy look on their faces.
“Names,” Grapes repeated. “Give me what I want or she’s next.”
Strangärd spat on Grapes’s boots. Enraged, the Aryan kicked the Swede in the chest so hard he doubled over.
Strangärd gasped and looked up at Lucia. “Sorry, but I can’t do it. They’re going to kill us anyway.”
The second man was even noisier than the first. As the third guy was unzipping his pants, they heard heavy gunfire approaching fast. The radio in Grapes’s Humvee suddenly came alive with excited chatter.
“A column of tanks is rushing through the ghetto—identification unknown!” Seth shouted in alarm.
“Stop them once and for all, for fuck’s sake! They’re running out of ammo,” Grapes replied, annoyed at the interruption.
“The men say they can’t,” said Seth, suddenly frightened. “They’re armed to the teeth and rolled right over our forces. They’re headed straight for us.”
Grapes raised his head and felt stymied for a second time that fateful night. Was it an ambush? Did I underestimate those fuckers? “Where’d they come from?”
“From . . . from . . .” Seth Fretzen hesitated, as if he didn’t believe what he was hearing on the radio. “ . . . from outside the Wall, Malachi.”
The Aryan reeled from the news, but recovered right away. There were more of them than he’d thought. And apparently they had plenty of ammunition.
“OK. Let’s give ’em a welcome they won’t forget. Spread out around the plaza. None of those sons of bitches gets out of here alive. Seth, move the Bradley into position next to those—”
A huge explosion thundered through the night. Everyone looked toward the horizon in alarm. To the east, on the other side of Gulfport, a huge plume of fire rose in the air. Hot air that smelled of gasoline blasted through the ghetto. Embers flitted among the ruins.
“What the fuck was that?” Grapes’s voice cracked. Greene’s simple plan was turning into a nightmare full of surprises.
“No idea,” Fretzen replied. “It came from the refinery, outside the ghetto—”
“Confirm that by radio, you worthless piece of shit!” Grapes yelled. He was suddenly nervous. He had amassed all the available troops for the final assault on the ghetto. Only about fifty inexperienced militiamen and six Aryan guards protected Reverend Greene. Now there was an explosion on the other side of town. That was not good. No, goddammit, that was not good at all.
From off in the distance came the faint but unmistakable sound of assault rifles. Grapes didn’t hesitate. Something big was happening on the other side of the Wall—and protecting Gulfport was his first priority. These helot bastards would have to wait.
“Let’s go,” he ordered. “Seth, radio everyone to fall back behind the inner wall and get the fuck out. Turn the helots in the truck loose and head for the other side. On the double!”
“Whadda we do with them?”
Seth stammered, pointing to Strangärd and Lucia.
Grapes dug his pistol into the Swede’s neck. Without blinking, he coolly fired. Strangärd fell dead on Lucia’s lap, blood spurting out of the hole in his neck. Lucia screamed as warm blood soaked her clothes.
“Shut the fuck up, bitch,” Grapes muttered, pointing his gun at the girl. At that moment, the tank started up and began to move. Alejandra came into view.
She looked terrible. Her clothes were torn, her face was covered in bruises, and blood dripped down her bare thighs. Grapes saw her out of the corner of his eye a second before she threw herself on him, a homicidal rage burning bright in her eyes.
The Aryan jumped aside as he squeezed the trigger. The first bullet hit Alejandra in the shoulder and spun her around like a top. The second bullet went straight into her temple and blew off the top of her head like the lid of a pan. She crumpled to the ground. The whole grisly scene lasted fewer than ten seconds.
Panting, Grapes turned to take out the last survivor. The Aryan cursed at the top of his lungs. Lucia was gone. He looked around, trying to spot her in the darkness, but he couldn’t see a thing. Lucia had slipped away when he shot Alejandra.
Grapes cursed himself for letting her get away. He gave the order to head back to Gulfport, and the rest of the soldiers rushed to their vehicles.
She could be hiding anywhere, but I don’t have time to look for her.
“I’ll take care of you later!” he shouted into the darkness. “You can’t hide from me, I’ll find you!’
He jumped into his Humvee and it roared to life. The convoy sped through the inner wall, out of the ghetto. Behind him, Bluefont was a sea of flames, death, and pain. Thousands of helots rushed around, frightened and confused. On the other side of town, Grapes and his men would face a very different battle.
46
For three hours the North Koreans hid in a dense swamp, half a mile from the Gulfport Wall. Hong’s men maintained an ironclad silence as mist rose off the swamp, enveloping them in lazy wisps of fog. Two squadrons had patrolled the perimeter and confirmed what they’d seen in satellite images. The town was fortified by a concrete wall, strong enough to keep out the Undead, but not Hong and his men.
Their first idea had been to demand the town’s surrender. Capturing the town intact would be ideal. That way, they could use it as a starting point for other invasions. But Hong realized he didn’t have enough men to defend it. And as he always said, only the weak surrender. Survivors in the new world must be the strongest of the strong.
As the colonel studied the refinery’s tower, glowing in the distance, he thought about how his plans had changed. Discovering the town’s source of oil was no longer his main objective. His gaze darted to the bottle of milky liquid tucked away in his kit bag. He’d hit the jackpot. With that miracle drug, his country could send an entire army to conquer the world without worrying about infection. Once Hong had the town’s fuel supply under his control, the army could leave without delay. All the colonel had to do was find out how the thick, sweet-smelling liquid was concocted. He felt sure he’d solve that mystery soon.
“Is everything ready?” Hong asked Lieutenant Kim. The stern-faced soldier nodded as he climbed up the tree where the colonel was scanning the town through binoculars.
“At daybreak, we’ll enter over there,” Hong said, pointing to a section of the Wall near the refinery.
Fewer Undead were gathered at that section of the Wall due to the pools of water from the swamp and the refinery. Even so, a couple thousand monsters swarmed the area. Half were in such a pitiful state that the colonel doubted they could go more than fifty paces without falling on their faces. The rest, however, were still active and very dangerous.
“The explosive charges are in place, Comrade Colonel,” Kim said quietly, pulling out a small pad to take notes. “The patrols reported very few guards on the Wall.”
“Strange,” Hong mused. He’d assumed they’d have to take out a lot of guards around the town, but so far they’d only seen a few.
Suddenly the staccato of gunfire sounded in the distance to the right of them. The sound of gunfire grew louder, and then an explosion shook the air, followed by three more in rapid succession. On the far side of town, several fires glowed on the horizon.
At first, Colonel Hong thought they’d been discovered. But the shots sounded far away. Nothing broke the silence of their damp, smelly corner of the swamp.
“What’s happening, sir?” Kim looked confused.
“I have no idea, but I don’t like it,” Hong replied, startled. Fighting was going on inside the town, but he didn’t know who was fighting or why.
A more powerful explosion lit up the sky in a giant flash.
“That explosion was inside the Wall, Colonel!” Kim whispered excitedly.
The Undead ambled off toward the shooting. Some took a couple of steps and collapsed, but those in better shape moved along at a steady pace.
“I saw it,” said Hong. He had a terrible hunch that someone else was attacking the town. Someone was getting the jump on them. Could it be the Russians? The Chinese? A European imperialist country? If we found Gulfport, so could they.
Horrified, the colonel realized someone might cheat him out of his success when he was so close. He had to strike first.
“Kim! Get everyone ready. Rush to that section of the Wall. We’re going in now.”
“Now?” Kim asked. “But, sir, entering an unfamiliar town at night—”
“If we don’t attack now, it’ll be too late!” Hong yelled, and scurried down the tree. He knew the risks. What else can I do? The Politburo might accept a failed mission, but they’d have my head if another power seized the town from right under my nose.
As the colonel climbed into his tank, his troops fired bombs into a section of the Wall, sending up a muffled explosion. Chunks of concrete and twisted metal flew in every direction. Hundreds of pieces of red-hot iron shot at least fifteen hundred feet over the fence enclosing the refinery. One piece hit a huge storage tank that contained thousands of gallons of refined fuel, piercing the tank’s steel and anodized aluminum lining as if it were butter. In a heartbeat, a second explosion rocked the air, engulfing everything within a five-hundred-foot radius in a gigantic fireball.
The fireball didn’t reach the North Korean army, but the shock wave rocked the tanks and uprooted the trees they were hiding behind. The Undead twisted and turned in a macabre dance, wrapped in flames.
Now we’ve lost the element of surprise, Hong thought. We’ll have to rely on our combat skills.
“Forward, comrades!” he yelled into the radio. “For our glorious country!”
Their tanks thundered across open ground toward the Wall and through the breach. Minutes later, the first Undead showed up. With no one to stop them, hundreds of Undead filtered into the compound in a relentless drip. The last inhabited city in the United States was about to fall.
47
It took us only ten minutes to make our way, unopposed, through the double gates in the Wall and into the city compound.
At the Wall, a couple of terrified militiamen ran off when they saw us. Two helots scaled the Wall from the roof of the truck and got the outer gate open in less than a minute. The tank at the rear of the convoy kept the Undead from gaining access to the town.
After closing the outer gate, the helots tried to open the inner gate.
“Open it, for fuck’s sake!” Mendoza shouted. We heard shooting inside the ghetto. Every minute meant dozens of lives lost.
“We can’t!” yelled one of the helots. “The guards destroyed the controls!”
Mendoza let fly a string of curses. He knew charging the gates wouldn’t do any good. They were built to withstand a tremendous impact.
“We gotta blow it open,” he said, resigned. “We’ve only got a few plastic explosives.”
&n
bsp; “If you’re gonna do it, do it now!” Prit urged, visibly worried.
I was worried too. Lucia was somewhere in the middle of that inferno.
Mendoza barked orders, and two helots wedged a small package of C4 into the door’s huge hinges. They ran back toward us, unwinding a thin wire behind them. Once they reached our position, they connected a detonator cord and let fly.
The bombs exploded with a dazzling flash, visible for miles. The hinges flew off in pieces. The shattered door staggered like a drunken giant, then fell inside the perimeter of the Wall with a deep groan, sending up a dense cloud of dust.
“How’d you know the door would fall in?” I asked the triggerman, a kid way too young to be fighting.
“I didn’t,” he said with a shrug.
I sighed, discouraged. The helots had courage and determination, but their experience and training were nil. I hoped they wouldn’t be put to too big a test.
Our convoy drove full speed into the city. The scene was devastating. Houses were burning and sidewalks were littered with dozens of bodies. In the shadows, we spotted groups of people fleeing from us, terrified we were Greene’s men.
Mendoza muttered, “Look what those fucking pendejos did.”
We drove on. A group of militiamen came around a corner. They stared at us for a moment, wondering who the hell we were and where we’d come from. We answered their questions with a hail of bullets. A few survivors fled, but we took out most of them.
“Prit! There!” I shouted as the truck lurched dangerously over a mound of blackened remains.
We entered what had been the central plaza in Bluefont. Flames consumed all the houses on the north side. On the south side, a sea of gleaming copper shells in the road marked the site of some horrific shooting. In the midst of those shells lay two bodies. Someone was kneeling between them—someone I knew well.
I bolted out of the truck before it came to a complete stop and limped as fast as I could toward her. Lucia’s expression changed the moment she saw me. She jumped up and ran toward me with the wildest joy I’d ever seen on a human face.
The Wrath of the Just (Apocalypse Z) Page 27