by JE Gurley
“Bring us around so we can cover the Apache while it levels that place,” he ordered the pilot.
The Apache raked the structure with its chain gun, shattering glass panels and extinguishing lights. It then resumed position beside the Black Hawk.
“Fire your missiles,” Corzine ordered.
Twin streaks of fire lanced out at the building, piercing the largest rectangular done. Just before the double explosions, Corzine saw a forest of trees through the glass. The blast sent flame high into the air, showering rubble back down on the surrounding glass domes and shattering some of them. He smiled like a madman.
“Take out the closest building.”
It had been the one from which heavy machine gun fire had been coming. The Hellfire missiles demolished it as if it had never existed, leaving a smoking crater quickly becoming a small lake from the rain. Next, the Apache took out the generator room, plunging the dome into darkness. He would destroy the entire complex building by building and forcing any survivors out into the open where the zombies could get them. The Apache pilot informed him that a large helicopter was lifting off – his missing Russian Mi17 loaded with escapees.
“Bring it down.”
As the Apache moved in for the kill, he noticed a burst of flame from the ground – a missile.
“Abort!” he yelled.
His warning came too late. The missile struck the side of the Apache and exploded. The burning hulk of the helicopter dropped to the ground and exploded.
“Get us out of here,” he screamed at his pilot.
The Black Hawk dodged the first missile fired at it. Corzine praised the pilot’s skill and held on as the chopper rolled to one side to avoid a second. Their luck did not hold. The second missile clipped the tail section and exploded a few yards away, peppering the chopper with shrapnel. He felt a sharp pain in his right leg and saw blood streaming down it.
Corzine gritted his teeth against the pain and groaned, “Take us back to base.”
The pilot said nothing as the helicopter suddenly lurched to the left and began to lose altitude. Corzine saw lights blinking across the control panel, the pilot fighting the controls as the helicopter spun like a top. Suddenly, the turbine changed pitch as smoke began to billow out and fill the cabin. In a flash of lightning, Corzine saw the ridge looming directly in front of them, getting closer, and laughed aloud. He quickly accepted his fate, dwelling for the last few seconds of his life on the irony of dying in a fight against a bunch of civilians. He felt a sudden intense pain when they crashed but did not feel anything else as his smashed body tumbled into the valley below.
* * * *
Jeb Stone didn’t fully agree with Mace’s plan but didn’t argue. Biosphere2 was doomed, their secrecy compromised. Almost half their number was either dead or injured. The attacking army was scattered or defeated, but hundreds of zombies now surrounded the building searching for a way inside. Eventually, their animalistic patience would pay off. After Mace had explained his intention to set up a new research facility at Agua Caliente and take Erin and the non-munies there, it made sense to divide the survivors into two separate groups. It would be easier to supply a smaller group and easier to find a safe refuge.
“I’ll miss you,” he confessed to Mace. “Without you, I’d be dead.”
“You didn’t turn out too badly for a shrink. Watch over them.”
They shook hands. “I will,” he promised. “Maybe now I can spend more time trying to help Karen.”
“Where will you go?”
Jeb looked toward Mt. Lemmon in the Catalinas. “We’ll use the mountains as a radar shield in case they’re watching. We’ll fly east for a few hours and double back north. We’ll look for some place in the Rockies out of the way and easily defended, and there we will make a new start. Who knows, maybe we’ll find other people doing the same thing.” He shrugged. “It’s no riskier than remaining around here. If the military is in Phoenix, how long before they reach Tucson?”
“Remember to be a leader. Take advice, but you make the decisions.”
“I will.”
“Have you seen Renda?”
Jeb nodded. “She’s helping the wounded but we’ve already said our goodbyes.”
“I guess there’s no reason to delay. How many are going with you?”
Jeb grimaced. “Fourteen. Two of the walking injured wants to go with you. Three or four want to take their chances on their own.”
Mace nodded. He was surprised more didn’t want to risk it alone. Their chances of getting away were slim. “If you find your way back down here, look us up. Use a Ham radio. I’ll be listening.”
Firing erupted outside. Jeb jerked his head toward the sound.
“The helicopters,” Mace yelled. “Everyone get down.”
Bullets tore through the ceiling of the habitat shattering panels and sending shards of glass to the ground.
“Get everyone out of here now!”
He raced for the roof to cover Vince with the 30 mm. The zombies had devoured the soldiers and the dead defenders, he noted grimly. He could recall many of their names. Vince had removed the tarp and was working frantically on the missiles. Mace cut loose at the zombies with the 30 mm machine gun, killing many and scattering the rest buying Vince a little time. He continued to shoot them as they showed themselves. He braced himself as two missiles came streaking in from the Apache and struck the rain forest dome. The building exploded. He hugged the roof as chunks of glass and steel rained down around him. He hoped no one was still inside the dome.
It fired two more missiles and demolished the Visitor’s Center complex, then destroyed the generator room. Everything went dark. The pilot was being methodical and deliberate in his destruction, but the habitat would be next. He silently urged Vince to hurry. With a roar, Antonov and the others in the Russian helicopter rose in the air, outlined by a flash of lightning. The Apache shot off after it. He fired the 30 mm at it until it ran out of ammo, and then threw curses at it. Suddenly, a Maverick missile streaked toward the Apache. He followed its fiery trail breathlessly as it struck the helicopter in the side and exploded. Seconds later, a second missile flew toward the Black Hawk, but its pilot, forewarned by the destruction of the Apache, had time to drop and avoid the incoming missile. However, even the pilot’s wild gyrations could not shake the third Maverick. It struck the helicopter a glancing blow and exploded in a massive fireball less than fifty feet away. Smoke shot from the tail section. The Black Hawk’s engine coughed several times and the helicopter spun wildly in the air as the pilot fought for control. He was unable to maintain altitude and the helicopter crashed and exploded. The Russian chopper bearing Jeb and the others disappeared safely over the mountain.
They were not out of danger. Vince had done a good job drawing zombies to Biosphere2 to attack the soldiers. They would soon be inside the dome. He watched his friend race for the entrance with zombies trailing him. He slapped the useless 30 mm in anger. Vince fired two shots on the run and threw down his empty pistol. Amanda stepped through the door and began firing into the pursuing zombies, covering Vince until he was inside. Only then, did she enter the habitat and close the door.
“A good woman, that,” he said to himself.
Zombies pounded on the doors and climbed the unfinished sandbag wall seeking a way in. Mace knew it was only a matter of time until they discovered the destroyed rain forest habitat. They had no time to fight zombies. It was time to leave. He re-entered the habitat from the roof. Smoke and dust filled the air. The lights were off. A few flashlights relieved the darkness. Renda was holding one of them.
“I told you to go to the basement,” he said
“I did,” she replied. “I was needed here.”
“Was anyone else hurt?” he asked Renda.
Dust and soot covered her face. She coughed and then replied, “No. Everyone was in the basement except the wounded and Erin. We’re moving them to the basement now.” At the pounding at the door she asked, “What ar
e we doing?”
“We’re leaving too.” He pushed her ahead of him toward the basement, and then turned to those gathered there. “Listen up! It won’t be long before either the military returns of the zombies get inside.” He pointed to boxes of supplies stacked along the walls. “Gather all the boxes you can – medical, ammunition, weapons, and water – and take them to the north lung tunnel. We’re taking the bus out of here.”
There was an emergency cache of supplies loaded in the converted school bus, but it could be some time before they were able to secure more. He hated leaving the small farm, but they could carry several crates of fresh corn and other vegetables they had already harvested. The supplies stored in the basement would feed them for a month. He was glad of his insistence that the group always be prepared to leave in a hurry. There had been much opposition to this, initially even from Jeb, but his bullying had paid off.
His biggest concern was the research materials. Before vacating the labs, Erin had overseen the removal of notes, computers, microscopes, biological samples and vials of Blue Juice. The bus contained a refrigerator that ran off the battery to keep the Blue Juice safe. They could not take large pieces of equipment, but they could salvage it from some hospital or school. The important thing was Erin’s people and the knowledge they possessed. From them, he hoped, a cure would come.
Using flashlights, he led the way through the basement and the tunnel to the second lung. It reminded him of his hunt for Harris, but this time, the danger was behind them howling for blood. They kept the bus parked in a shed that sat beside the building housing the north lung. They loaded it quickly, first with the walking wounded, including Elliot Samuels, then with extra supplies. Three people stood to one side, two men and a woman. Surprisingly, one of the men was Eli Collier, the head of the action committee that Mace so despised.
“Don’t be a fool, Eli,” he said. “You’re too old to make it out there on your own.”
Eli smiled and said, “These two will help me. I doubt I have long on this earth anyway. I’ll serve no useful purpose with either group. It’s better this way, I think.”
Mace didn’t argue. He could see that Eli had made up his mind. He offered the old man his hand. “Good luck.”
“The same to all of you.”
“Wait until we head out. We’ll probably be the center of action. Head due east until you hit the ridge. Follow it south.”
The bus loaded, they could not delay. The bus barely resembled the yellow Bluebird school bus it had been. Metal panels with narrow slots welded along the sides of the bus and covering the windows provided protection and firing holes. Twin grader blades set like the prow of a ship or the cowcatcher of a steam locomotive would sweep aside any zombies blocking their path.
“Let’s go,” he called out.
They had gone only a hundred yards, before the zombies zeroed in on them, surrounding the bus. He crushed several under the wheels as the others poured automatic fire into their ranks. They did not stop but none managed to climb onto the top of the bus. He drove deliberately slow to lure as many zombies as possible away from Eli and the others. Once past the gate, he increased speed, leaving the zombies behind.
Now, they were on their way, bloodied but not defeated. He wasn’t certain of their future, but they had survived. Through the rear view mirror, he watched smoke and flames rising from Biosphere2. Its latest noble experiment had not been a complete failure. They had bought time to heal their wounds and consider their future. Jeb would keep the other group in line. Mace hoped he had better luck with Karen. He felt sorry for Jeb. Even with the world falling down around him, he still had the added responsibility of a wife who hated him, who wanted to die. Maybe she would succeed. Mace had a strange feeling that they would meet again someday. He hoped so,
He looked over at Vince and his new companion, Amanda, and smiled. Maybe Vince had found a bit of happiness amid the horror. Renda reached forward from the seat behind him and placed her hand on his shoulder reassuringly. She bore his son. The future resided within her. He felt a great wash of happiness sweep over him and wondered why. They had lost their home and many had died. Why should he feel so alive?
“You did good, hon,” she said. “You got out as many alive as you could.”
He thought of the bodies he had seen scattered across the grounds and patted her hand gently. “Not enough, babe.”
“It’s a hard world,” she reminded him.
“It’s just going to get harder.”
The bus hit the highway, and he floored the accelerator, eager to get away. It was a long ride to Yuma and the Agua Caliente solar farm, and it was almost dawn – the time of the zombies.
The End
Read on for a free sample of Nightmare of the Dead by Vincenzo Bilof
In a world of war and mayhem, a twisted nightmare of undead cannibals begins.
The outlaw Neasa Bannan uncovers a horrifying conspiracy engineered by the psychopathic mastermind behind the Confederacy's deadly flesh-hungry weapons. A homicidal gunslinger and a brotherhood of killers emerge out of Neasa's tragic, blood-soaked past while the living dead ravage the land.
With the fate of the country in the balance, Neasa must decide: save the Union from the undead menace, or surrender to Saul's vision of ultra-violence.
May 19th, 1863: Awaken the Killer
Falling through the deep, frigid darkness and rushing onward to a terminal light, there is awareness, and the concept of shape, form, and breath.
The woman exploded into the universe of the real. Her soul collided with her consciousness, and she simply was. Her vision was flooded with light as she brought her forearm in front of her eyes to shield herself from the searing fire. She thought about pain, water and gasped for fresh, revitalizing air.
"It's about time," a man's voice spoke.
"What?" her lungs failed her; she coughed spasmodically. She leaned forward in her seat and stifled the urge to vomit the flame that tickled her throat.
She was moving, but uncontrollable, unstoppable perpetual motion urged her entire body through the spaces of light. She could feel it, though she sat in a seat. She was alive. This much she knew.
"You were asleep for so long…" the man replied, though she couldn't hear the rest of his words over her second coughing fit. Her entire body quivered; she arched her back against the seat, opened her eyes long enough to see that she sat beside a window, and the sun-soaked world outside scrolled along her perception impossibly fast. She was momentarily jostled, and her head nearly hit the window. She could hear steel and iron grinding beneath her feet.
She was on a train, but why?
She wiped her mouth with the bottom of her dirtied, frayed shirt. The collar was open against her perspiration-soaked chest, highlighted by the glaring sunlight that poured through the window. She reached up for the curtain above and pulled it downward to help ward off the light. The darkness, for now, was more comfortable. She needed to collect her idealized notion of perception.
What was happening to her? She glanced at the weather-beaten youth with tanned flesh and wild, unruly blond hair atop his head. He was shirtless beneath the gray jacket that lay open, and he lay slouched against the seat beside hers. He absently rolled a pendant that hung from his neck between his fingertips. His other hand rested on the butt of a revolver. The gun slept on his thigh, while the leather thong attached its lethal presence around his shoulder.
"Remington," she named the gun. How did she know what it was? Did it belong to her? Would she know how to use it?
With sleepy, gray eyes, he looked her up and down. He seemed to wheeze, "Anyone ever tell you that you look like the outlaw? You know…Neasa Bannan? 'Scuse my language, ma'am, but she could make the Devil himself get down on his knees and pray. Don't mind me, I'm just blabberin'. Figure it's on account of this here train. Damn unstable. Never did like these rides. My pop used to always say…"
She stared at him while his mouth moved. Useless words tumbled lazily from hi
s mouth as if he struggled against nausea. Dark shadows bordered the ridges of his slow, half-lidded eyes.
Her mouth opened. There were words she wanted to say, but she didn't know how to say them. Questions. There were answers that should have already belonged to her with certainties that would identify her, isolate her soul and define it with purpose. She lacked them all. She opened her hands and looked at the multitude of uncountable lines that formed deep ridges within her palms.
No. She was…she was…
"…Damn nigger lovin' Yanks sent that dog Pemberton running. I got to get home and tell Pa 'bout my brother. I'll be damned if Pemberton's goin' to find me. He ain't lookin.' Call me a yella-belly if you want, but you might think different if you seen what I seen. Them Yanks got these guns that keep on firin', and they got their general with them, that alcoholic sumbitch…forget his name. Pardon my language, ma'am. I ain't much for manners. I s'pose, on account of it all, you know, the war. It ain't no war, though. I thought a war might be like you get these good ol' boys and the Yanks, you see, and we roll up our sleeves and decide what's what…"
The boy continued to ramble. She looked down at her hands again. She could feel every bead of sweat against her spine. The back of her neck was cold and wet. She squeezed her eyelids shut and listened to the wheels roll across the tracks. She felt incredibly alone in the midst of a vivid dream. The dream belonged to her, yet she was deeply entrenched within its symbolic miasma of terror.
She didn't know who she was.
"…I ain't no thief, mind you. This here gun belongs to you. A nice piece. It's the newest model, I reckon. My brother used to have a Colt, which reminds me of this one time where we was rustlin' up these pigs…"
There were questions she could ask, but she would reveal her weaknesses. She sought within the recesses of her mind for some semblance of identity. What did she look like? Her brown hair was shoulder-length and wavy, her body was lithe; she was tall. Her legs stretched out beneath the seat in front of her. Was the seat empty? She sat up to survey her surroundings. The car was empty save for a single man who seemed to be sleeping a few seats ahead of them. She felt compelled to interrupt the youth's long, tedious speech.