"Let's go then," Hedley said.
Taking point, he climbed up a small riser of steps that adjoined the atrium to the passageway leading to the series of Michigan Hall exhibit spaces. Leading them past the open space of the Atwater Lounge, he noted the wrecked furniture and a litany of corpses, along with streaks of blood running across the floor and up the walls, which made it look as if some of the bodies had been dragged to the upper levels.
As with their second-floor, street-level counterparts, the doors to the exhibit rooms were closed, and the spaces beyond needed to be cleared, however there were only three exhibit halls instead of four. The middle room also had a more significant fatal funnel as entering E2 meant putting one's back to the exit onto the riverfront. Fulton provided cover while Clemson and Hedley cleared the door. Inside, the shelter space was no different than the halls upstairs; a large, open room filled with hundreds of cots that had been destroyed, disrupted, or overturned in the ensuing violence, and bodies everywhere.
Hedley wondered if they were going to find anybody alive at all in this whole damn building. Two of his men had given their lives in an effort to save the people trapped here, and he couldn't stomach the idea that their deaths might have been in vain. The infected had taken the city and Detroit was home only to the monsters, the dead, and the dying.
Cole and his two men were pale behind the face shields of their orange CBRNs.
"I can't believe it," Alvarez said. Morris's mouth opened, then shut again. He shook his head instead, white as a sheet.
"I was hoping we would find..." Clemson trailed off, seemingly at a loss for words, "I don't know. Somebody. Someone, at least, still alive."
"There's still hope," Hedley said, not sure if he believed it. "Cole, take point. Show me those stairs down."
Wordlessly, Cole assumed point.
The roar of the choppers overhead was loud still, but the racket of gunfire had slowed to sporadic bursts. Were the infected dead, or had they merely gone to ground, driven into hiding? Cold fingers danced along Hedley's spine, but he forced himself to focus. Fear was fine, as long as one didn't allow it to take control. He figured one would have to be absolutely brain dead to not be afraid in a situation like this. The soldiers around him, he knew, were just as afraid as he was, but, like him, they were professional operators and they would not allow emotions to rule. Their fear would not get the better of them.
Going down the stairs, the soldiers were careful to tread lightly and quietly. Even if the infected could smell them coming — something Hedley suspected they could after a prior mission in Chicago, Ground Zero to this whole fucking mess — there was no reason to make it any easier for the infected to detect them.
Rounding the landing, Cole opened the door quickly and shoved himself through, weapon raised. His men followed in rapid succession to cover him, but no shots followed. Passing through the entry, Hedley saw only an unremarkable long, gray hallway with doors labeled for storage, supplies, and staff. A yellow sign pointed the way toward an emergency shelter area, a bold black tornado stenciled against a too-bright background. Behind them, a hydraulic door led to one of the complex's underground parking areas.
"You okay?" Hedley asked, noticing the look in Fulton's eyes. The man seemed wired and anxious.
"I don't like this," Fulton said. "This place was overrun. Where the hell are they?"
"Keep your eyes open. We get the survivors and we bug out."
"I'm okay not seeing them again, frankly," Clemson said, a lilt in her voice from what he suspected was a moment of self-depreciating humor.
"Just stay frosty," Hedley said.
Cole took them to the opposite end of the corridor, to a closed metal door. He tested the knob, but it didn't budge. Everyone was plainly nervous, as well as curious and apprehensive about what they would find beyond. Did the infected get inside, only to be locked within? Or had the survivors bolted the door shut? He pounded on the door with a fist, tension tightening his body as they waited for an answer. None came.
That left three options. The survivors were too afraid to open the door, they were gone and the room was empty, or they were dead.
The door and the frame were metal, and meant to withstand the worst of nature. Trying to kick the door down would only damage the unfortunate kicker's foot, which meant they were going to have to blast the door open. "Alvarez, you're up," Cole said, moving out of the way.
Alvarez pulled free a shotgun he'd had strapped to his back and pressed the muzzle tightly against the door, aiming down at a forty-five degree angle to a spot halfway between the doorknob and the frame. He quickly fired two rounds, and stepped out of the way. While he holstered the shotgun to his back, switching back to his primary rifle, Morris kicked the door open and entered, Cole following hot on his heels. Alvarez rushed in third, followed by Hedley's team.
In the wake of the two shotgun blasts, the emergency shelter was preternaturally quiet. Faces turned toward them, the initial fear and shock that each person wore turning into a slow recognition and a mix of other, happier emotions.
"Everybody, listen up," Hedley shouted, drawing all eyes to him. He quickly introduced himself, then said, "We have transport vehicles nearby and will be escorting you out of here. We don't have much time, so please, everyone hurry and do as instructed."
While Morris and Fulton covered the hallway, the refugees were divided into three groups. Each group would be escorted down the passage and into the parking garage by a pair of soldiers. As they were being divvied up, someone asked, "What about the other survivors?"
Hedley answered softly, "There are no others." Before any other questions could be asked, he said, "All right, let's go," before turning sharply on his heel to lead out the first group.
As they approached the door, the walls shook beneath an enormous roar.
The ceiling exploded, raining plaster down on their heads, the infected dropping down onto the people clustered together.
"Oh shit," Fulton yelled, pointing his rifle up and firing. "They're in the ceiling!"
"Let's go, let's go, let's go!" Hedley shouted, pushing his group of survivors through the open entry.
Clemson was already in the hallway, running toward the service door that led into the parking garage, the refugees running in tight bunches behind her. Hedley fired into the room as he exited, the SCAR's rounds chewing up the ceiling, unsure if he hit anything at all.
Running down the corridor, he kept his attention pointed upward, ready for any surprises. Behind him, Cole and Alvarez herded their group toward the exit just as Clemson slammed into the door and darted into the dark concrete expanse beyond. Fulton was halfway down the hallway, leading the third pack of survivors, when the ceiling fell apart, large chunks of drywall crashing down onto the refugees. A few were knocked to their feet, easy pickings for the infected monsters that followed. Morris fired into the growing crowd of creatures. Arms ripped through the ceiling and grabbed his head, lifting him bodily into the air, his legs kicking at the empty space. His screams echoed through the tight passage, followed by a nightmarish cracking of bone, as if his skull were nothing more than bubble wrap being popped. Fulton knew better than to stick around, and he led what survivors he could into the garage.
Parked near the wall were dozens of troop transport trucks. The National Guard had driven through the city, helping to evacuate as many people from their homes as they could and driving them to the Cobo shelters. Clemson and Cole worked on lowering the rear hatches, waving people aboard. Hedley and Alvarez provided covering fire, working to keep the infected from running down Fulton.
"I've got blood all over me," a deep-voiced man said. Hedley shook his head, but the CBRN suit prevented the man from seeing it.
"It doesn't matter. Just get in."
All of the refugees would be undergoing a mandatory quarantine and observation period, as well as a number of blood tests. Either it was too late, or it wasn't. Hedley didn't have time to expl
ain all that, though, and the younger black man wasn't in a mood to wait for more information anyway. What little Hedley had said was good enough, and he covered the man as he helped a twenty-something woman up and into the truck. An older Arab couple who had been holding onto each other followed, albeit a bit slower and with less grace than the younger woman. After they were on board, the young man pulled himself up and Clemson followed.
Hedley slammed the hatch shut, then ran around to the driver's side and thumbed the automatic start button. Fulton climbed into the passenger seat and reloaded his rifle. Yanking the gear shifter into Reverse, Hedley slammed the gas pedal down and turned the wheel hard. The tires screeched, the stink of burning rubber thick as he got the truck into Drive. Fulton leaned out the window, firing at the infected racing toward them.
Through the side mirror, Hedley caught sight of Cole in the driver's seat of another truck. As he turned a corner toward the ramp to street-level, he saw the flash of gunfire from Alvarez in the back. Past the vehicle was a thick swarm of infected, quickly gaining ground.
Keeping his foot on the gas, the truck took the ramp fast, the driver's side of the vehicle scraping against the concrete wall and violently jostling the passengers. Rising to the ground floor, the headlights cut a cone of visibility and, ahead, he saw dozens of infected racing upside-down across the ceiling toward them.
"Fulton, up!"
Facing front, Fulton saw the shifting mass coming toward them through the shadows of the concrete supports above. Firing, the creatures were knocked loose, the truck jolting over their translucent bodies with sickening crunches.
Overhead, a sign pointed Hedley toward the Larned Street exit, and he jerked the wheel hard, the back end sliding out as he fought to correct. A loud thud rang through the truck's cabin, along with a shrill scream that made him shiver. Claws scraped against metal as a face appeared on the outside of the windshield on the passenger's side, the sickly, gore-covered swollen lips pressing against the glass. Thick ropes of saliva were smeared against the windshield as the infected pulled back, cocking one arm to punch at the clear barrier. Fulton was out of his seat in an instant, pointing his SCAR rifle out the window at the beast and pulling the trigger. Its head exploded, a pulpy mass of gray and red splashing against the glass as its body was flung from the hood. Hedley turned on the wipers, leaving a pink screen of gore to see through.
Behind him, Cole was still managing his own vehicle, having an easier time of things as Hedley and Fulton cleared a path for him. He didn't envy the man, though, nor Alvarez tucked in the back with the passengers he fought to protect.
"Still with me, Clemson?"
"Still here, Sarge. But, when this is all over, I might put in for a transfer to the Poconos."
He and Fulton both laughed.
At the Larned exit, a small black and yellow arm was locked in the down position to prevent vehicles from leaving the garage without paying. Hedley goosed the gas a smidge more, the arm shearing away in a trail of wires and twisted metal as the truck ripped through, the front wheels hitting the Washington and Larned intersection, quickly followed by the shrill noise of the metal underbody scraping against concrete. He twisted the wheel to avoid slamming head-on into the National Guard vehicles that were blocking Larned to secure a perimeter around Cobo Center. The perimeter had fallen, and in the quick glimpse of the scene, Hedley did not see any bodies of the fallen soldiers, although the street was stained with blood.
Cole and his men had done an excellent job keeping Washington clear, but as they passed over Jefferson, he saw the familiar sight of wrecked traffic jammed together, the vehicles burnt down to their metal skeletons.
He turned onto Jefferson, the infected running on all fours out of the circular atrium to their right, bounding across the grass. Fulton was keeping up a constant fire, pausing only to change clips, and it was in those brief lulls that Hedley could hear Clemson's gunfire as well.
Overhead, the Black Hawks were maneuvering into position to cover their escape, lighting up the sky with brilliant orange tracer rounds that cut down the infected in handfuls. But still, it wasn't enough.
Fulton moved his SCAR back into place, strafing the crowd of creatures with gunfire. Hedley had the truck at top speed, swerving to avoid broken pieces of the People Mover's monorail that had fallen into the street. As they passed under the rail, infected leaped down after them, chasing them. Cole's truck slammed into and over them, running them down like wild animals. More creatures ran into the street, the buildings lining the riverfront disgorging their guts of the infected ahead of the vehicle's approach.
"We're on approach to the landing zone," Hedley said, eyeing the remains of the Renaissance Center dead ahead, the building still smoking in the cold air, small pockets of fire burning in the floors of the two visible towers. The center tower rose into the sky like a chipped tooth.
"Roger that, Romero," Chief Willis said. "Clear your tail."
Fulton fired. And then gurgled. The noise surprised Hedley, and he turned in time to see one of the infected run at the passenger door and grab Fulton, yanking him out of his seat. A loud snap rang through the cabin as Fulton's spine broke against the door as he was ripped out of the truck, leaving behind only a pool of blood on the seat and passenger panel.
"Oh shit," Clemson said over the mic. "Was that Fulton?"
"Yeah. It's on you now, Clem. We're on approach to LZ, make sure we're friendly."
Skeletons of vehicles, and the burnt dead within, began to thicken Jefferson as the service drive merged into the avenue leading to the expressway. All of the cars were pointed away from the city, a long, tightly-packed line of them. Hedley jumped the curb onto the median to avoid an overturned SUV, barely able to dodge the upturned fist of the Joe Louis monument, then blasted out of the intersection and shot across the street to sideswipe a row of shattered concrete flowerpots at the edge of the incinerated earth and bombed concrete and brick of Hart Plaza.
Blasting through Randolph, he saw the military barricades that had been set up at the bridge and tunnel to Canada, and caught a flash of movement in the stained glass windows of the Old Mariners' Church before the panes exploded outward and infected shot through.
"LZ is hot," Willis said. Hedley instantly saw the problem.
The headquarters of General Motors was swarming with infected. Although the Renaissance Center had been devastated by the bombing — one tower looking as if it had been cleaved in half down the middle, the other towers shattered down to the exposed bones of their structure, the complex's plaza littered with the remains of the People Mover rail — the ruin that had rained down upon the city had done little to affect the creatures. This was their city now. Even mostly destroyed, the four towers arrayed around the husk of the central GM tower were positively crawling with activity. Infected were everywhere, more than Hedley had ever seen before. More than he ever could have imagined.
The Black Hawks circled the RenCen, firing into the guts of the broken buildings with a constant hail of bullets, fury, and fire. Wind blew ash into the street, gray swirls curling through the air in a thick soup.
He twisted the wheel hard, careening through the wooden sawhorse barricades erected across Renaissance Drive. He barely missed the score of infected chasing toward his vehicle, but when Cole attempted to follow, the Guardsman was not so lucky. Hedley was powerless to do anything other than observe the horror through the side view mirror as Cole's truck barreled down Jefferson, the infected pouncing upon it, their mass and their might first tipping the truck onto its side wheels, and then toppling it over altogether. Sparks flew into the air as the body of the truck was dragged across the street, the truck covered in a writhing mass of infected. Hedley watched helplessly as creatures began crawling into the cabin through the busted windshield and missing driver's side window and then...he lost sight of the other vehicle and its occupants as the truck was lost beneath the charging swarm.
When Renaissance Drive hit the
curve of Atwater, he followed, hardly slowing at all, even as the front driver's side tire jumped the sidewalk and the corner of the hood crumpled against the concrete barrier separating the road from the Riverwalk. Metal screeched and cried a shower of sparks as he righted the vehicle, catching sight of Port Detroit to his left. Another parking structure loomed ahead, filled to the brim with infected.
He turned into the port, screeching to a halt to avoid crashing into the hip-high metal poles blocking vehicles from the pedestrian walking trail.
"Clemson, get those people out of here."
"This is insane," she said, heat rising in her voice.
"Yeah, well, that's why it was Plan B. Now move it."
He shoved the door open, leading with his rifle, and immediately opened fire on the infected charging toward them. Clemson was on the ground, slightly ahead of the truck's rear hatch to allow people to escape and run behind her, toward Hedley. Toward the water, and the Detroit Princess Riverboat that was docked there.
"We're on foot from here," Hedley shouted at the passing refugees. "Get to Hart Plaza and board the boat!"
People ran, and he ran with them. The elderly couldn't keep up, and as much as he wanted to help them, he knew stopping would be a death sentence for all of them. He did he his best to protect them with covering fire, but he knew in his heart it was a lost cause. It was not long before he was proven right.
The Black Hawks were continuing their assault on the Renaissance Center, but one broke free to assist the fleeing Rangers and their group of evacuees.
An infant's scream cut through the noise, loud and frightened.
Infected bubbled up the steps of the plaza's amphitheater, charging over the broken earth with howling and screaming loud enough to disorient their prey. Hedley and Clemson fired on them, but they were unable to stop the creatures from pouncing upon the refugees. He watched in horror as an old Arab man was lifted from his feet and slammed into the ground, his head cracking open and spilling his brains all across the sidewalk. Another infected slashed at the man's wife, tearing her face away, even as the claws of its other hand twisted into her belly and ripped loose her entrails.
Extinction Cycle (Kindle Worlds Novella): From The Ashes Page 9