“Cool,” a gunner muttered, looking at the results of their work.
“Yeah, it's great,” Ivanov replied. “Now it would be fucking cool to know who we shot!”
Where did these madmen get guns, and in such numbers? They were saying that the crazies attacked people with just their bare hands, but who was shooting? Ivanov made contact with the other tanks and asked about losses in their platoons. Apparently there were no dead; only David, the third tank commander, had been hurt by small fragments, but the wound was not dangerous.
“I didn’t have time to bandage the wound when they attacked us from the city. The helicopter pilot saw that crazies were being brought by trucks, and then dropped off after the shelling, like a dog unleashed from a chain.”
“Who brought them?”
“How the fuck should I know?! You hadn’t yet arrived, and the crazies were already attacking people in the traffic jam. It was like a slaughterhouse. Our marines began to shoot, but there were machine guns from the high-rises shooting us. I made four shots. I wasn’t ready for this when I went into the army.”
There were two minutes of tense silence.
“Listen carefully, its information about the enemy!”
“Quiet!”
“…the bulk of the enemies have been struck by an incurable virus, making them extremely aggressive. The virus causes them to attack other people and drink their blood. The infected don’t attack each other.”
“Damn, just like in the movies.”
“They can be killed, I repeat, use any weapon. The infected have a body temperature above ordinary people, so use infrared sight. Many of them are wounded, especially in the neck. Among the infected are women and children, shoot without hesitation, I repeat, don’t hesitate to shoot, they kill everyone they see. Don’t let them go down the highway!”
Ivanov tried to imagine how many residents had already been infected by this unknown, incurable virus. According to rumors, the infection was spreading very quickly, covering entire neighborhoods in just a few minutes. How many enemies did he have now?
“I have no relatives in this city, well.”
“Among the infected, there are those who can use guns. They are using poisoned bullets…”
“Poisoned bullets? For what?”
“They're coming!”
The Juke Box crew saw their enemies. There were a lot of them, pursuing civilians.
The marines opened fire, so there was no work yet for Juke Box. Then shooting began behind them, in the depths of the destroyed checkpoint.
“They’re coming from the rear!”
Now shooting was occurring all around them, and M2 Bradley was burning on the crossroads. The officers have fallen silent, and the first and second tanks were fighting with someone unknown. David wasn’t responding. Ivanov saw that soldiers were fighting against soldiers, and the infected now approached.
“Shrapnel grenade!”
43. Boozer 2
The door was hit by something heavy. The hinges trembled from shock, and it was clear that it wouldn’t survive for long. He was once again recommended to stay on the phone until he could be connected to an operator, but Boozer knew he wouldn’t survive until that connection, and, if anything could be done, he should do it himself. And he did, sliding down to the floor littered with rubble.
The door flew off its hinges, and his neighbor entered the apartment, bloody fingers squeezing a sledgehammer, eyes seeking out Boozer. Boozer saw him, but the neighbor didn’t seem to understand where his prey was. He stared straight ahead, while Boozer sat on the floor, hidden behind a refrigerator and pointing his barrel at the door, the ideal firing position. One shot, a second, a third. The small revolver in his hand twitches due to his lack of sobriety, but it was impossible to miss at this distance. The neighbor fell and Boozer meanwhile reloaded his weapon, taking out the new cartridges from an inside pocket.
He wanted to drink again; it would be easier to take what was happening. He had just shot the neighbor. The neighbor was a bastard, they were all bastards, but he didn’t want to kill them, unless absolutely necessary. But when a shotgun was fired through a wall and the door was crushed by a sledgehammer, however, it felt absolutely necessary. He had shot the intruder in his house, which was self-defense. On the other hand, he had no witnesses, so what would a judge say?
Boozer smiled nervously, and then laughed. How could he be so stupid? How could he be scared of police and judges right now? No, there was something else to be afraid now. He should be afraid of the fact that the entire house was crazy, and all the neighbors had gone mad. Boozer took this as fact, in alcoholic sudden clarity of reason, not stopping to think about why this would happen.
Now he had to work out what to do. First of all, he should reload the gun - done. What next? Push the corpse outside and put the door back. Boozer understood that this was not the best plan in the world; even if the door could be put back in place, it would not stand another blow. And then what? The siege would not last long; he had no supplies, just one tin of sardines, which he had already eaten.
Now he should try to hide. It was unlikely that anyone would come to search the apartment. All of his neighbors, if any were still alive, would know that there was nothing to take from his doghouse.
Clutching a pistol, Boozer hobbled to the door, and stood motionless, listening to the sounds in the darkened corridor. He didn’t like these sounds, the insanity clearly continued. Someone ran past the door, and on the stairs sounded another couple of pistol shots, but it was good that there was no smell of smoke yet.
Pushing the corpse was not easy; the neighbor was not small and weighed a lot. Boozer continued his efforts; his hands smeared in the sticky blood, but he was rewarded when the corpse slid into the hallway. It was only then that he noticed a large wound on his neighbor’s neck, apparently received before this madman tried to break the door with a sledgehammer. Boozer wondered where it came from; it looked like he was attacked by an animal. But he quickly forgot about the wound when his eyes were attracted to something much more interesting - a wallet. It was sticking out of a pocket a few inches below where the bullet entered. How was it he hadn’t noticed it before?
Boozer doesn’t want to go into the corridor again, but his money lust overtook the danger. Boozer dashed at the highest possible speed and grabbed the wallet.
He was convinced that this was not looting – the dead enemy’s property rightfully belonged to him as a battle trophy. The wallet contained almost four hundred dollars, slightly tarnished by blood. It was three hundred and fifty dollars more than he had this morning.
“Help!”
“What?”
A black woman appeared in the corridor and she ran toward him, screaming for help and waving her arms. A man in a suit ran after her, followed by a cop. A real cop in a uniform jacket, with a shotgun.
The woman ran into the apartment, nearly knocking Boozer over. There was the rumble of a gun, and a bright flash struck Boozer’s eyes. The man in the suit fell; the cop reloaded, and turned the shotgun sight on him. Boozer shot once, then a second and third time. The cop recoiled a step, but doesn’t drop dead, and Boozer realized that the enemy was wearing a bulletproof vest. He sighted on the cop’s face and made his shot, a second before the shotgun hit the wall.
The cop stood still, then leaned against the wall and slid to the floor, blood flowing from a small hole under his left eye. The woman behind him continued to scream hysterically, but he didn’t hear her; he was almost deafened by the shots. Buckshot struck the doorjamb above his head, adding new wounds from shrapnel. Boozer returned to his thoughts about judges and lawyers. After all, there was a death penalty in California for the murder of the police officer.
44. Boozer 3
“Don’t shoot, I’m rich!”
Boozer didn’t expect to hear this. He just wanted to know how the hell she had got here and who she was, so he pointed a gun at her to get some answers. This morning’s event suggested that this is
now the most convenient and safe way to talk.
With great difficulty he overturned an empty closet to block the broken door. It wouldn’t be a reliable form of protection, but was the best he could do. And now they sat opposite each other on the dirty floor of the destroyed apartment.
“What? Speak up!”
“Don’t shoot, I'm very rich! Don’t kill me, and I will pay you as much as you ask for.”
Her panic gave way to sober calculations; this guest was ready to bargain for her life. Who are you, he wanted to ask her but he doesn’t ask, because the question was answered - he knew her. Knew her exactly. She was tall, wearing an expensive suit, with black silky skin, red lips and hair, most fashionable this season. She hadn’t lied about the fact that she was rich. One week of her earnings would be more money than he’d have in his whole shitty life. The earrings she wore were at least a hundred thousand. It was madness to enter this house on this street with such jewels. Rich foolish girl! And yet she was beautiful, despite the torn suit and frightened eyes. In the Boozer’s small apartment an angel had descended.
“I know you!”
“You won’t shoot me?”
“No, I will not.”
She calmed down very quickly, but Boozer was not surprised by this because he had seen almost all of her movies in which she always played a confident bitch. Apparently, the screen image was influenced by the person behind them, and Boozer was glad – they didn’t need hysteria. Looking at her, he had forgotten about the terrible events happening, but now reality again prevailed. What was happening, that one of the most popular actresses of all time sought salvation in his doghouse? And why did a cop want to kill her?
“So, you know who I am, OK. And who are you?”
“The owner of the apartment.”
“You live here alone?”
“Yes.”
She quickly looked round, pausing briefly to stare at the three bodies in the hallway outside the door.
“So you know this house?”
“Yes, and so?”
“Help me get out of here. I need to get onto the roof.”
“What? Why?”
“A helicopter is coming for me; it will be able to land on the roof, if it’s flat. Is it flat?”
The roof was flat, Boozer knew it for sure.
“Take me to the roof, and I'll pay you, pay well. I'll take you with me; there is room in the helicopter.”
Nobody had ever offered him such a deal. Just to climb up twelve floors, get on the roof with her and sit in the helicopter. And for that, she would pay well. Then Boozer remembered the corpses in the hallway and the shots through the walls. It seemed that flying away in a helicopter was a really good idea.
“Just take you to the roof and sit with you in the chopper?”
“Yeah, so I am not killed in the process. You saved me before, and will be able to protect further, and I'm willing to pay well for the defense. Besides, you know this house, and I don’t. I need to get on the damn roof, and alone I have no chance. You can’t imagine what a nightmare is occurring out there!”
Only then did Boozer realize that she was not just rich, but she was also the first normal person he has spoken to since he began his last drinking session. She is the only normal person in a world trying to kill him.
“And what is happening?”
She looked at him with big wondering eyes, and then laughed, the same laugh he’d heard in the TV series, when his guest handcuffed another serial killer. She laughed and laughed, pointing from the corpses behind the door to the tightly curtained windows.
“So you don’t know, you don’t know anything at all?”
45. Jimenez in the operations center 3
“So, the infected need clean blood, and without it they will die. How long does it take?”
“Not a long time, miss. A body with ersatz instead of blood can live long enough, but the brain is dying fast, it can’t stand the lack of blood. Eighteen to twenty-two hours without fresh blood, and destruction of the brain cortex begins. We call it the irreversibility. The infected loses his mind, and becomes a vegetable, but this vegetable is really dangerous. It retains the ability to move and perform basic functions, controlling the body through the most persistent reflexes and instincts, and continues to search for blood, though this search becomes pointless - even if he finds blood, the brain is dead and fresh blood can’t resuscitate it.”
“The virus in the body continues to expand, burning it from the inside - they usually die in five days, rarely live longer than a week. But in their search for blood the irreversible is still dangerous - they can infect anyone using fangs or claws.”
“So, we have twenty-four hours, after which they degenerate into stupid zombies. That’s good. And what if they get pure blood?”
“Then the timer is stopped. Get-the-blood-in-time vampire is strong, smart, still hungry, and goes on the hunt again, only this time fully aware of what he is doing. This is the most dangerous thing - the virus takes care of the body.”
“What does that mean?” she asked.
“The virus doesn’t only take, it also gives. This isn’t parasitism, is a symbiotic existence, with the benefits of both. It requires the blood, but once received, it gives something special. It gives to the carrier a sense, which we call Saturation.
The description of Saturation is subjective: infected says, it's like an orgasm in half with ecstasy from a powerful drug that last forever, as long as they drink blood. They can’t resist Hunger, it’s easily breaks the strongest will, forcing infected to attack anyone they see, even their kinsfolk. Hunger and Saturation, death and bliss - the perfect combination of carrot and stick, forcing infected go on the hunt, multiply their number, expand the virus range. That's how the first outbreak in a few hours turned into a fire that burned almost the entire city.”
“And how much blood do they need?”
“Not much, in fact. A single dose is less than fifty milliliters, so to get it, it is not necessary to kill the victim. True, those who have been infected and feel hungry for the first time - they still don’t know this, they just attack anyone with pure blood. The Infected can smell blood from afar, like sharks. The hungry can bite five or ten people quickly, we’ve seen it happen.”
Jiminez swore in Spanish.
“Amazing. It’s amazing how much you know about them! You know who they are, you know how they work, you know how long it takes to infect people, you know everything in the world, but you don’t know the most important fact at the moment. You don’t know how to stop this mess. Listen, guys, what are you, some kind of a secret order of monks - vampire hunters?”
Jones smiled nervously
“Officer, you're reading too many girls’ fantasy books. I'm not a monk, I am a public servant. There is no secret order, there are no ancient vampires. They have appeared recently, three years ago, to be precise.”
“Their appearance was a surprise to everyone, especially to themselves. We had to act blindly, because we didn’t have accurate information, we didn’t know what we know now. With great sacrifice, the first infection outbreak was stopped; we were hoping that they were all dead. Several vampires were captured and we studied them, learning how this virus acts. Then this department was created, in case they reappeared. So it wasn’t until this morning when we realized our center would be used for its designated purpose. We didn’t want to believe it.”
46. Mr. Brown 3
On the way to the airfield they hadn’t met any crazies, but they still experienced an unplanned stop - some local thugs blocked the street with a car, apparently wanting to take their SUV. Loopholes opened, integrated silencers whispered almost inaudibly, and a swarm of nine millimeter explosive bullets swept four attackers from the road. The driver sped up, crunching one wounded under the tires and forcing the car to the roadside with the SUV heavy armored nose. No one else seemed prepared to stand in their way.
Brown paid some attention to the road incident, but then completely
forgot about it. His mind was occupied by much more important business - mobilization. He needed to collect all his men; this was his primary task at the moment. The civil links had died, but he had the latest military satellite system, which allowed him to communicate with his men, as well as numerous important allies. Not all of them responded to the call, and Brown knew that some of them had already been lost in the chaos.
The majority of his team, though, had survived the first wave, and was ready for action. Allies in the security services and the army also responded immediately after Mr. Brown made them aware of the potential profit in the situation. It was time to fish in troubled waters.
At the entrance to the airfield waited guards with rifles and shotguns; they knew what was happening and waited for their boss’ appearance. Postal and agricultural aircraft had been based here long ago, but now all the hangars were given to a private helicopter airline, the co-owner of which was Mr. Brown. The second co-owner was a local drug lord, who used the company solely for money laundering and didn’t show any interest in the company's work, leaving it to Brown. Most likely, the lord of methamphetamine laboratories and marijuana plantations didn’t know how many helicopters they had or how many could fly – he just wasn’t interested. But Brown engaged in the affairs of the joint venture in all seriousness, carefully selecting pilots and mechanics retired from the military, providing spare parts and getting orders from his rich and famous clients, many of whom periodically required air transport. Things were going well, and Brown received from the airline a small but steady profit.
But he didn’t work here for the money; rather, he needed the helicopters and crews. Combat experience had taught him to rely primarily on these machines as the fastest and most mobile of all possible army transportation types. He considered it necessary to have helicopters in case of various contingencies. And today the helicopters had become indispensable - four light helicopters and pilots.
Vampire's Day (Book 1): Epicenter Page 9