Anvil

by Dirk Patton

  Smiling, Steve went into the hall and strode for the front door. Lucas followed him, stepping out into the heat of the late afternoon. The Suburban sat waiting for them, the driver once again leaning on the fender and smoking another cigarette. Steve started to turn towards where his personal vehicle sat, the car not having been moved after he was arrested. He paused when Lucas called out to him.

  “One more thing,” Lucas said, nodding at the Suburban driver who tossed his cigarette to the ground and stood up straight. “I’d like to introduce you to Jim Branch.”

  Steve looked at the man, noticing something that hadn’t been there before. On the lapel of his jacket was a small pin that glowed in the harsh sunlight. Steve had seen that same pin plenty of times before, but not since he had been demoted and reassigned to Australia. It was the American flag.

  “He is actually Marine Master Gunnery Sergeant James Branch, assigned to the American embassy in Sydney. He pulled out all the stops to get a flight all the way across Australia in time to drive us out here.”

  “The embassy?” Steve asked, fear threatening to turn his bowels to water.

  “The American embassy, you fucking traitor,” the man said, drawing a pistol from beneath his jacket and pointing it at Steve’s face.

  “Well, since one of you has diplomatic immunity, and the other doesn’t officially exist in the eyes of the Australian government, I’ll be on my way,” Lucas said with a broad smile.

  He walked behind the Marine and across the blistering parking lot. Behind him, Steve screamed his name. Begging. Pleading. Offering to break into other American systems if he would just come back and help.

  Lucas ignored him, opening the back door and climbing into the air conditioned interior of the Toyota SUV. The two guards were already in the front seats, waiting for him. The computer tech occupied the other rear seat. The driver stepped on the gas as soon as Lucas closed his door.

  He touched the button for the power window, lowering it a few inches as they slowly drove towards the highway on the dirt access road. Before they reached the pavement, Lucas heard a single pistol shot from behind.

  Closing the window, he retrieved the piece of paper with Katie’s beacon codes. Carefully, double checking his work, he punched them into a text message addressed to Lieutenant Hunt in Hawaii.

  39

  Sam and Gonzales began firing as they emerged through the glass doors. They ignored the much slower males, even though they were closer. The females, with their frightening speed, were their targets. Two of them fell before they were even aware of the presence of the pair of SEALs. The rest began to scatter, each man dropping running targets, then there weren’t any in sight.

  Shifting focus, they methodically shot the males as they moved across the parking lot. Nicole, nearly frightened out of her mind, stayed close to Sam’s back. When he paused to steady his aim she bumped into him, knocking his rifle off target.

  “Sorry,” she muttered.

  Ignoring her, he grunted, reacquired his target and drilled the hissing male through the forehead. In a matter of seconds all of the infected were down and the Master Chief moved into the lead. Sam pushed Nicole between them, telling her to stay ten feet behind Gonzales. He fell in five yards behind her, scanning through the area to their rear.

  Two females charged around the far corner of the building and he shot one, the other escaping when she dove behind the shelter of a parked car.

  “Fuck me,” Gonzales said over the radio.

  “Sit-rep,” Sam said, not taking his attention off the open ground behind them.

  “Goddamn things are eating Chucky,” came the answer a moment before more suppressed fire began sounding from the Master Chief’s rifle.

  Sam glanced over his shoulder, seeing Gonzales standing at the edge of the pavement, looking down the slope where they’d left the body of one of the SEALs who had been killed on their way to the lab. He wanted to go look, but more infected were moving into the area, drawn by the muted sound of their weapons.

  “We’ve got to haul ass,” Sam said into his radio, firing on two different groups of females who were zeroing in on them.

  “Copy that,” Gonzales answered, a moment later disappearing over the edge of the slope.

  Sam fired five more shots, checked to make sure Nicole was on her way and followed when he didn’t see her. They moved down the slope quickly, pausing for a moment by the eviscerated corpse of the dead SEAL. The plan had been to recover the man’s body and take it back to the research institute with them, but Sam realized that wasn’t going to work.

  The torso had been torn open as the infected fed. Blood and bodily fluids stained a large area, the clothing soaking in them. A long string of entrails extended from the open abdomen, still clutched in the hand of a dead male that Gonzales had shot.

  “What do we do, LT?” Gonzales asked as both men fired on infected approaching from multiple directions.

  “No choice,” Sam said between trigger pulls. “We have to leave him.”

  “We can’t…” Gonzales started to say, but Sam cut him off.

  “Get your ass in gear, Master Chief. Now!”

  With a grunt, Gonzales complied, heading for the tree line. His rifle was up and firing as he walked, an infected falling with every shot. Nicole, fighting the urge to stop and throw up, was tight against his back. The fear of the whole situation had overcome the instructions to keep some space open between her and the two SEALs.

  There were less infected under the trees, but still enough to require a nearly constant rate of fire. Behind, Sam could hear the noises of males stumbling through the undergrowth and too many rapid footfalls of females on the leaf littered forest floor.

  “Faster,” he hissed at Gonzales, not wanting to have to face a large group in the limited sightlines of the trees.

  They passed through, emerging from the edge of the greenbelt only moments ahead of four charging females. Sam managed to kill one and slow another with a shot to her leg, then they were on him. He fell to the ground with one of them on top, her scream loud in the night as she began trying to rip into his throat.

  Twisting, he pulled the much smaller woman to the side and slammed her head against the pavement of the road. The body went limp, but before he could regain his feet, the one with the injured leg reached out and grabbed his foot. Kicking free, he fumbled his rifle around and shot her in the face as she opened her mouth to scream.

  Leaping to his feet, he froze when he saw a female standing only feet away. Gonzales was behind and to the side of Nicole, his rifle aimed at the infected’s head, but he wasn’t pulling the trigger. The female was in a partial crouch, arms swinging slightly in front of her body as she stared at Nicole, who was frozen in fear.

  The small tableau remained that way for a few heartbeats, then the female suddenly turned and raced away. Gonzales fired as she ran and she fell dead to the ground, her body rolling in a loose limbed tumble. Sam grabbed Nicole’s arm and shouted at the Master Chief to move.

  They dashed down the road a short distance, then into the massive parking lot. Now they ran, a few males following and females sprinting in at angles, trying to intercept. They were losing the race, but reached the end of the pavement slightly ahead of the infected. Before scaling the fence to cross the athletic fields, they turned and dropped the females that were almost on them.

  Sam had begun the run with Nicole’s upper arm firmly grasped in his left hand, frequently checking over his shoulder for pursuit. By the time they reached the athletic fields, he realized Nicole wasn’t only keeping up, she would have outpaced him if he wasn’t holding her arm.

  This confirmed for him her status as an infected. She’d been locked in a confined area for an extended period of time, and frankly didn’t look like an athlete. Yet she was running with easy strides and not even breathing hard despite the fast pace Gonzales was setting.

  Scaling the final fence, they dashed around a small equipment shed and the Master Chief ran directly
into the arms of two males. Within an instant he was wrapped up and taken to the ground, one of them locking his jaws onto Gonzales. The SEAL screamed as a large chunk of flesh and part of his nose was ripped away by the infected’s teeth.

  Releasing Nicole, Sam dashed in and grabbed the male’s shoulders, lifting and throwing him to the side. As the infected fell away, he yanked the knife off his vest and buried the blade in its head. Spinning back, he paused in surprise as Nicole tore the other infected off the stricken Master Chief with apparently little effort. She lifted the much larger man into the air, her arms wrapped around his neck.

  Turning her hips, she levered the attacker away, not releasing her grip as the entire body twisted in the air. With a loud crack, the male’s neck snapped and she tossed the corpse several feet where it rolled to a stop against the wall of the shed. When she realized what had just happened, she froze, staring at her hands before turning to look at the dead infected.

  Sam was also frozen, but a groan from Gonzales spurred him to action. He reached into a pouch on his vest and pulled out a small first aid kit as he dropped to his knees next to the injured man. The Master Chief was trying to sit up, Sam glancing around to make sure they had a moment before pushing him back onto the wet grass.

  The bite had torn most of the flesh off the left side of Gonzales’ face, exposing the cheek bone and upper gum line. At least a third of his nose was gone. The remaining flesh was ragged and blood poured from the wound.

  “Hold still, Master Chief. This is gonna hurt like a motherfucker,” Sam said, tearing open a packet of blood clotter with his teeth.

  Gonzales bucked like electricity was coursing through his body when Sam poured the powder into the exposed flesh. Sam emptied the packet and pressed a thick gauze pad onto the area, meeting the other man’s eyes and seeing only pain reflected. Despite the clotting agent, blood quickly soaked through the gauze, spreading across the white surface.

  “Can you run?” Sam asked, quickly wrapping a couple of turns of tape around the Master Chief’s head to keep the bandage in place.

  “Yes, sir. I’m good,” Gonzales hissed, sitting up and accepting Sam’s offered hand to help him to his feet.

  They made it to the boat without any further incident, Sam breathing easier when all three of them were aboard. He sprawled on the deck at the front of the boat, aiming his rifle in the direction they had just come from as Gonzales used the paddle to move them to deeper water. Once they were clear of the small islands and floating several hundred feet offshore, he started the engines and dropped into the driver’s seat.

  “You good to drive?” Sam asked, making his way to a seat.

  “Good to go, sir,” Gonzales answered, blood dripping from his bandage when he tried to grin.

  “You OK?” Sam asked, turning to Nicole.

  “I killed him,” she said in a small voice. “How did I kill him? I was just trying to stop him.”

  Gonzales turned to look at her, his hand resting on the throttles.

  “You saved my ass,” he said, wincing in pain as his face moved. “Thank you.”

  She didn’t seem to hear, or if she did wasn’t able to respond. She looked like she was in shock.

  “Look,” Sam began as the Master Chief fed in some gas and got them moving. “The infected are very strong, especially the females. It’s a good thing you were able to do that or the Master Chief might not be here with us. We’re heading for the institute and I’m sure the scientists there can tell you what’s going on. But hold your head up. You did a good thing.”

  Nicole raised her face and looked at him, red eyes glistening with tears.

  40

  “Got a problem,” I said over the radio, shouting to be heard above the screams of the females that were pushing in against the fence. “Fucking generator needs a twenty-four-volt battery to start. We brought a twelve. Anyone have any bright ideas?”

  There was silence on the comm channel for several long moments, the rate of fire from the parapet above my head increasing as Dutch and TJ came over to help provide fire support.

  “Two twelves in series will do it,” Chico said, the sound of his rifle clear over the circuit.

  He was right. I could wire two car batteries in series, effectively doubling the voltage, and maybe the generator would turn over. But there was only one problem with that idea. I didn’t have a second battery.

  Looking up as the Black Hawk buzzed by in its orbit of the area, I called the smart-ass pilot on the radio.

  “Sam one-niner, you see any vehicles close by that are intact?”

  “Stand by, Dog. I’ll see if I can spot you a chariot.”

  While he checked the area, I stepped around the generator that was screening me from the fence, and the throng of females, intending to add my rifle to the suppressive fire. When I got a look at the sheer number of infected surrounding my small sanctuary I paused. There were too many of them and not enough rifles.

  The Rangers overhead were doing a good job of keeping them knocked down, but as the bodies piled up the new arrivals were climbing on them and getting closer to the top of the fence. The only good news here was that this place had taken security seriously and the generators were well protected. The fence was tall and sturdy.

  The bad news, there were more infected than I could hope to count and they would eventually be able to force their way in or over. Once that happened, if the generators weren’t already running, we wouldn’t be able to clear them out and come back down to start them.

  Before I began firing I stepped to my right, peering through the mass of writhing, screaming bodies. I was concerned that one of them had gotten tangled in the fueling line and pulled it out of the filler neck and the precious supply of diesel was just flooding out onto the asphalt. A sigh of relief escaped me when I spotted the hose, still in place.

  “Dog one, Sam one-niner.”

  “Go for Dog,” I immediately replied, hoping he was calling with good news.

  “Got you a big Dodge pickup. One of the diesels. It’ll have two, high amp batteries in it.”

  “Where is it?” I asked, moving back between the generators to block some of the noise from the infected.

  “About a mile from you. What do you want to do?”

  “Can I get to the truck or is it mobbed?”

  “It’s at some kind of construction site. There’s a fence around the area and at the moment it’s clear. But that fence looks like one of those temporary ones. Don’t think it’ll hold up to all those fuckers for more than a minute.”

  Shit. Well, I guess I’d have to work fast.

  “You got an extraction line on board?” I asked.

  “Affirmative,” he answered. “On my way.”

  I glanced at the IR strobe on my upper arm, making sure it was still flashing away so the pilot could find me. Satisfied it was working, I grabbed the end of the rope I’d climbed down and cut several feet off. Coiling it, I stuffed it in a cargo pocket along with a couple of tools from my pack, which wouldn’t be making the trip with me.

  “Dog two, Dog one. I’m taking a ride. Keep everyone back from the edge while I’m gone. Maybe the infected will try to follow and move away from the area,” I said to Dutch over the radio.

  “Copy,” was his simple reply.

  It wasn’t long before the Black Hawk came into a hover directly over my head, just above the level of the roof. The voices of the females rose to a fever pitch as the helicopter hung in the air as if it were teasing them.

  “Line down,” a previously unheard voice spoke over my earpiece.

  A moment later, the weight on the end of a FRIES – Fast Rope Insertion Extraction System – line banged off the top edge of one of the generators before falling to the ground between them with a dull thud. Slinging my rifle behind my back, I dashed forward and stuck a foot in a loop, got a firm grip on the rope and twirled my free hand in the air.

  The pilot went straight up, ascending quickly until I was a hundred feet above the r
oof of the building. Looking down, I noted the Rangers pulling back from the parapet. When I looked across the large parking lot I wasn’t happy to see the volume of infected that were pouring in through what were now multiple breaches in the perimeter fence.

  With enough altitude to clear any obstacles in the area, he started us moving forward. I appreciated that he was careful to not go too fast with me dangling beneath him. Normally, two people will be on the line together and each can extend an arm to the side. This acts like wings, stabilizing the two bodies and preventing them from spinning around like a top.

  But I was by myself and didn’t have a lot of options. Hold on with two hands and spin, or extend one arm and spin faster. I chose to hold on with both. Mercifully, the pilot didn’t try to break any speed records, so the spin was tolerable. Not pleasant, by any means, but it could have been worse.

  Beneath my feet was a sea of enraged faces staring up at me. So far I couldn’t detect any attempt to follow the noisy helicopter and the handsome, delicious snack dangling beneath it. But there were so many infected, and they were packed so tightly, it would take some time for the momentum to build. I hoped there was enough of a distraction for the ones near the generators to back off, otherwise there was a good chance that fence would be down by the time I returned.

  After a couple of minutes, I spotted the construction site we were headed for. It looked like a new industrial park was being built with numerous buildings in various stages of completion. Some were nothing more than wooden forms waiting for concrete that would never be poured. Others had already been framed, appearing appropriately skeletal in the new post-apocalyptic world.

  “Going to drop you and make an orbit to check the area,” the pilot said as we came over the unfinished roof of a large building that was probably going to be a warehouse.

  Directly ahead was an open stretch of raw mud with several large pools of water filling the low spots. A couple of small, trailer mounted generators were sitting next to a battered Dodge pickup. It may have been battered on the outside, but I didn’t question the pilot’s assessment that it was a good choice. Contractors have to take care of their vehicles and equipment. Even though the sheet metal had seen better days, I was willing to bet the engine had been well maintained.