Christine felt something clammy clap itself to her arm. Her hand sprang up automatically and she had to fore herself not to break Sanderson’s hand. He was pale and sweat poured off him. For an instant, Christine felt sorry for the man, being in a situation that nobody on Earth had training for. Then just as quickly she realized that was everyone stuck in Cuba. Fucking cretin, she thought, slapping the hand away.
The zombies started snarling, arms raised, and it seemed as if they were already reaching out to the small group. It was odd to Christine that they didn’t move at the same pace. The children, younger and fresher-looking ones, moved slightly faster than the older and more decayed monsters.
A growl behind them caused the frightened president to cry out, standing on top of the rubble that had been a hotel was a pack of dogs. At least that is what they should have been. Some were missing legs, others tails, a couple had fought either other dogs or people and lost. They were snarling, salivating, and eyeballing the tasty treats waiting for them.
Christine’s eyes went from the pack back to the herd and then to the undead agent that was slowly crawling towards them.
“What do we do?”
Sanderson was tugging on her shoulder. “What do we do?”
She glared at the man, shutting him up as her mind worked overtime. A thought started to form when the dogs barked and lunged. The five hell hounds made a beeline for the first couple of agents who instinctively opened fire. Fingers squeezing the triggers, Sanderson flinched as the bullets erupted forth.
“Keep firing,” Christine bellowed as she grabbed the terrified president by the scruff of his neck. She yanked him and they started to run.
“Take the fuckers down,” Sanderson screamed, trying with all his might to sound authoritative. Unfortunately, the girlish whimpering ruined it. But his men, all loyal and good soldiers, obeyed. They formed two protective lines, one in front of Christine and Sanderson, taking care of the dogs while the rest brought up the rear.
“Where to, ma’am?”
Christine pointed with her head. “To my car.”
As one complete unit, they started to move. The zombie dogs didn’t put up much of a fight to the training of the CIA. Behind them, the rearguard would do short bursts of gunfire when the zombies got too close. Christine had her eyes on the BTR-50 which she was positive would still be able to get their sorry asses out of there.
“To the left, the door is open. Sweep it first then give me the all clear,” Christine barked the orders with the same tone as a drill sergeant. The men around her snapped to attention and the front line moved quickly.
Christine pulled Sanderson up and stared into his panicking eyes. “The moment you get in, move to the front and strap yourself in… I can’t believe I’m saying this… You are too important to die here.”
President Aaron Sanderson smiled his best charming smile. “You warming up to me?” Before Christine could answer, he grabbed her and planted his lips upon hers. He moaned slightly while she silently screamed. Meanwhile, the CIA agents moved into the APC, then quickly came out, but when they saw the president locking lips, they averted their eyes. “All clear,” one muttered as the rear guard continued their burst firing.
Christine heard the agent and did the only thing she could think of to end this impromptu make-out session. She grabbed one of his ears and quickly twisted it while pulling on it sharply.
The US President squealed and his men tried not to laugh. Christine looked at the closet man. “This belongs to you.” She held out the president who was trying not to cry since his ear was now becoming bright red.
“Thanks, ma’am.”
Christine walked past the men and straight into the APC. “Move it!”
#
It hadn’t taken long for the CIA agents to contact their HELO and change the EVAC location. While they had done this, Christine got the BTR-50 in motion, crushing all of the zombies that were in their way. Sanderson sat sullenly, rubbing his ear and glaring at the woman who handled the controls better than most professional tank drivers. She ignored all attempts at conversation, her mind seemingly somewhere else.
“ETA?”
“Another ten minutes,” an agent said. “It’s near the original site. About three blocks away; intel says it’s clear and stable. No bogies caught by the done.”
Christine nodded. “Here. Punch in the coordinates.”
The location was in Old Havana, and as the agent said, was stable. By the time they had arrived, a Black Hawk helicopter was already hovering, waiting for its precious payload. Christine didn’t wait for the goodbyes as each man ran to the building. Only Sanderson tried to say some words. He opened his mouth but was surprised when Christine slammed the door shut and the President of the United States of America was covered in dust as the large, heavy vehicle sped away.
As Christine steered the BTR, she tried to picture what was waiting for her at La Cabaña. Zombies probably. Jeremiah Banks? Definitely. Adriana? If she saw that traitorous bitch, what would she do? No fucking clue, she chuckled to herself.
The old fortress was coming in to view quickly. Christine checked her watch; another hour and a half before the fireworks started. Move your ass, she told herself. Her feet pressed the clutch and accelerator and the BTR-50 sped up.
She was getting close now and could make out the shambling forms of the undead. The roads, streets, and parks were covered with them. Cuba is truly lost, she thought sadly. A part of her was screaming to stop at the gate and not to barrel through it, which was her plan. Her training agreed, as it was folly to barge into a situation without any intel. That’s how you get killed, she scolded herself.
An explosion shook the APC and for a moment, Christine lost control, the steering wheel slipping from her grip. She heard metal grinding and a display showed that one of the wheels had been destroyed. As Christine fought with the wheel, another explosion almost flipped the vehicle.
“Fuck,” Christine bellowed as she slammed both feet down onto the brake, her hands pulling up hard on the handbrake. The sudden drop in speed caused the gears to lock and the engine stalled. But with the weight and inertia kicking in, Christine’s BTR-50 kept moving. Straight for a row of metal spikes and right behind that was a metal pole that had been fixed into the ground. Christine braced herself and slammed her eyes shut.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Coughing and spluttering, Christine pulled herself from the smoking wreckage. She rolled onto her back and tried to ignore all the aches and pains that had invaded her body. Slowly, she took three deep breaths, exhaling after each one. That helped. Her heartbeat had started to slow. How long had she been out? Christine didn’t know, so gently she raised her hand and glanced at the watch.
The face was completely destroyed; most likely during the crash, she had been thrown around and at some point, a control panel had gotten in the way. Christine laughed.
“¿Qué es tan jodiamente gracioso?” a familiar voice grunted. Christine rolled and then scrambled to her feet, a small smile threatening to become bigger.
Adriana Prado was knee-deep in a river of the undead. In her hands, she wielded two large, old, and extremely mean-looking machetes. They had definitely been looked after over the years because it didn’t take much effort for the blades to cut, slice, and dice their way through flesh and bone.
Christine watched and couldn’t help but admire the way the Cuban’s muscles would tense and bunch up before unleashing a torrent of blows. Adriana’s skill with a blade was almost like artwork. “Will you stop eye-fucking me and help!”
Within seconds, the two women were back to back cutting a swath through the horde of the undead towards the large wooden doors of La Cabaña. “What’s the plan?”
Adriana ducked then brought one of the blades up, slicing off half the face of a drooling beast. “Get inside!”
Christine nodded; simple yet effective. She drove the shard of metal from the wreck into the eye of a zombie. It flinched and took out another
two when Christine delivered a roundhouse kick. Quickly, she glanced at the door, her eyes tracing the details, looking for a way in. She ducked and sliced open the face of a zombie. “No idea how to get in!”
Adriana grunted her own reply as one of the machetes became lodged in the skull of a zombie. She spun trying to wrench it free. All she accomplished was to snap the handle and continue into Christine.
Both cried out as they tumbled to the ground. Christine pushed Adriana off her and they both scrambled for the doors. They laid their backs flat against the heavy wood. “Fuck!”
Adriana had to agree; they were running out of time. Christine was covered in cuts and bruises and looked like she was going to pass out soon. “You rest,” Adriana said. “We’ll take it in turns.”
Christine wearily shook her head. “No… No time. Bombing run…soon.”
Adriana swore and used her leg to bang on the door. “He better open the fuck up.” They both swiped, kicked, and pushed the zombies away, doing their best to keep them at bay. “How long we got?”
“No clue, maybe an hour. Maybe less. Maybe fuck this in the ass!” She ripped the head off a zombie then used it to cave in another’s head.
The horde of zombies were closing in; they could smell the strength going from the women. Christine slumped against the door, her body done. Adriana moved, placing herself between the undead gaping maw and her former lover. “I got this.”
Christine started to speak but screamed when she lost her footing. The moment she hit the ground, the zombies charged them, snarling, growling, and ready for the feast. It would just be a matter of which one got there first and tasted the flesh.
Adriana clamped her eyes shut from the brightness of the explosion. The zombies in the first couple of rows were instantly vaporised in a mist of deep reds and pale blues. Adriana opened her eyes slightly and traced a fading smoke trail up. She heard a whoosh followed by another explosion. Missiles or grenade launcher, she thought. Adriana had to cover her head as more explosions went off. Each one got closer and closer.
Christine looked up. Her eyes grew wide at the bright explosions. A small part of her hoped that something would go wrong and an explosion would go off just that little bit too close. That way she would finally be able to rest. She looked over at Adriana and a new feeling hit her, Please let us live!
Something started to move inside all of the destruction. It was crawling on the ground. There was another! And a third! Christine inherently knew what was coming. Zombies!
She was right. Slowly they came, moaning as best they could for the explosions had melted or ripped away flesh, bones, limbs, and organs. Christine and Adriana tried not to gag as the stench of the dead hit their sinuses. Both had never smelled anything like this in their lives, a mixture of putrefied rotting eggs with sulfur and the slightest hint of piss and shit. As the undead got closer and closer, the smell became worse and worse, almost to the point of knocking the women out.
A hand gripped the back of Christine’s torn and bloodied shirt and then dragged her backwards into La Cabaña.
#
“You took your damn time,” Adriana practically screamed at Jeremiah Banks as he closed the door and bolted the heavy locks. Christine studied the man before her. His suit was extremely dirty and it was obvious that he had had to commit some acts that nearly pushed him over the edge. His eyes were hollow and constantly darting around.
“Let’s go,” he said as he slung a duffle bag over his shoulder then picked up an older looking sniper rifle with a wooden stock and frames. If Christine had to guess which rifle it was, it would be the Walther WA 2000. Impressive, she thought as Adriana helped her up and together they followed Banks towards the tower.
“We don’t have much time,” Banks was saying. “Pretty soon, President Sanderson will be here and then we can get to work.” As they walked, Christine was able to look at La Cabaña properly. It was old, definitely, but over the years since becoming a tourist destination, some modifications and reconstructions had been made. The levels were still obvious even though some had been overgrown with grass and weeds. She looked up at the tower; it had been reinforced and during a past storm, hurricane probably, the roof had been taken off.
“Not long now,” Banks was saying with a grin. “Thought you could get away huh? Did Juan de Dios bob back up?” He laughed as his foot kicked open the door at the bottom of the tower.
“Yeah,” Christine said quietly. “Caused all the destruction and death you saw out there.”
“Wonderful, isn’t it?”
“¿Mi país está en ruinas y lo llamas hermoso? ¿Qué mierda te pasa?” Adriana was behind Christine as they climbed the stairs and her tone said it all.
Christine had to agree with her; the situation had gradually been going from bad to worse to completely fucked up. What next? she thought as they climbed up and out of a trap door.
It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the sudden bright light but when they did, she let out a small gasp. Havana was burning. Literally burning. The sky was orange from the flames that had seemingly engulfed the city. Adriana stood next to Christine and fought back her tears. The Capitol Building had been destroyed at some point during the plague. “I was wrong,” Christine whispered.
“What was that?” Banks asked as he unloaded the duffle bag. Christine watched as the man took out grenades, lengths of rope, some small rockets for the RPG, and ammo clips for the Walther.
“I was wrong,” she said loudly. “The world ends not with a bang, but a whimper.”
Jeremiah Banks laughed and clapped his hands. “How fucking philosophical! Of course the world ends like that. It will always end with a whimper. Do you know why?”
Christine shook her head. “Right now, I don’t give a fuck. I just want to get off this island.”
Banks’ eyes darted from Christine to Adriana who was crumpled into a ball of sorrow. “That’s why,” he said, pointing at the Cuban. “Humans give up so easily. We always will. Always have. But, not me! Even with all of this happening, once that sniveling excuse of president is dead,” here he loaded a magazine into the Walther, “the world will be shocked into action. No more whimpering at the darkness. We will go in with lights and blow the fucker up.”
“What fucker?”
“Any and all who would stand in the way of my vision!”
Christine started to chuckle. “You think all of this will end in your grand vision for a future world?”
It only took two steps for Banks to be in front of Christine, one hand around her neck, the other holding the sniper rifle inches from her face. “Why don’t we wait and see huh? Once Sanderson has a bullet in the brain, let’s see how much you’re laughing.” His eyes were vacant, as if his soul had been ripped out, at least if Christine believed in souls anyway.
“What if he isn’t coming?”
Banks blinked, unsure of what he was hearing. “Not coming,” he repeated as if in a daze.
Christine Moore nodded. “You heard me. What happens to your grand plan if the key has been locked away somewhere safe…and protected?”
Adriana let out a laugh that was borderline hysterical but quieted down and backed away somewhat when Banks whirled towards her. “You think this funny,” he shrieked. “Years of planning ruined. Ruined! By a whore you recommended.” The Cuban tripped and fell on her ass while Banks loomed over her. “I should never have listened to you. Albert was right.”
There was that name again. Christine had heard it before, but where? She racked her mind, trying to remember but the smells of the sea, burning buildings, and the rotting flesh distracted her. In the distance, a boat signaled. The yacht! That’s his partner!
“…not my fault if you can’t take into account the fucking future,” Adriana was explaining as her eyes were focused on the dark foreboding barrel of the Walther. Her hands meanwhile were busy searching for anything she could use as a weapon. “Not to mention that that pendejo told me she would be cooperative. It’s his f
ault!”
Banks’ finger twitched slightly as it hovered above the trigger. His mind was working, figuring out the next move. Slowly, Christine started to move towards the forgotten duffle bag. She had her own plan.
“Speaking of Miss Moore,” the calm voice froze her. Banks sounded relaxed, as if he was on the yacht again. “You were supposed to escort my partner today and yet…” He looked around. “Where’s Albert Bates?”
Christine began to shake her head. “You say that name like it’s supposed to mean something.
“¡Espera!… You never knew.” Adriana was incredulous. Even Banks couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Both started to laugh.
“Care to let me in on the joke,” Christine asked, still eyeballing the bag, hoping that they would remain distracted long enough.
Banks shook his head in disbelief. “You poor, poor fool. Albert Bates is your boss. The illustrious Station Master.”
Looking between the two, Christine wasn’t sure if they were being serious or trying to lure her into a trap. Adriana was trying not to laugh while Banks looked on with barely concealed amusement. “Bullshit,” Christine said finally.
Adriana shook her head. “Why do you think you were sent back? Because you paid your dues? Aye por favor!”
“We needed someone who had fucked up already in Cuba. Who better? Originally, we were going to find some young new recruit, but then Albert and the lovely lady here came up with the idea of using you. Genius, really.”
“Yeah, fucking stroke of genius,” Christine said sullenly, suddenly feeling as if her entire career was one big laughing stock. Then a thought came to her. “Hang on. You said I was supposed to escort him to here?” Banks nodded. “Then why did he send me off while he took a helicopter to safer parts?”
That did it. Jeremiah Banks’ eyes flashed and he picked up the RPG and pressed the trigger. A flash of smoke and a whooshing sound then a piece of the wall exploded in a shower of fire and rubble. On the other side of the demolished section, the moans and groans of the zombies could be heard. Banks gently placed the RPG back on the ground then he patted his hair down. “That’s better.”
The Apocalypse Virus Trilogy_Book 1_Big Smoke Page 19