Ex-Patriots

by Peter Clines

The ones closest to the semi saw us and surged forward. They clawed at the sides of the box. Most of them still looked like people. I saw one that looked like it’d been set on fire. I couldn’t tell if it’d been a man or a woman. Another one looked like its arm had been shot off. There was a woman with dark hair like my sister. Her jaw had been blown off. There were strings of muscle and skin hanging off her upper teeth. The strings twitched as the dead woman tried to clack her missing teeth together.

  “Screw me,” Taylor said again. “Screw me.”

  “Shut it right now, specialist,” I snapped.

  “Yes, sir.” He stopped making noise but his lips kept moving.

  Right there. Taylor was an arrogant jackass but he knew to keep his mouth shut when told to. Seeing all these things was throwing him. Heck, it was throwing me. I should’ve said something.

  A message came in from Twelve. Enough of the exes were making it around the pile of cars that they needed to take action. Freedom gave the word and I relayed. There was a roar as Twelve’s Bravos cut down the dead things. Section Thirty-one joined in a moment later.

  It was gas on a fire. More exes started staggering toward the sound. By the time the echo of the gunshots faded another three dozen, easy, had made it through the maze of cars. They were finding their way just by raw numbers.

  “Wait here,” said Freedom.

  A few quick steps along the roof of the semi and he launched himself over to the roof of the Circle K, another five or ten feet up. Some of the exes in the crowd shifted to follow him through the air. They clawed the front of the store. One of them fell through a broken window into the building.

  The captain got his bearings before looking east with a pair of binoculars. Looked at the church and the homes about three-quarters of a mile down the road. The road we couldn’t even see under all the exes. He shook his head. He knew what I knew. Even if every single round in every weapon we had took out a zombie, we didn’t have enough. Not enough ammo. Not enough time to use it if we had it.

  I looked at my watch. It was eleven-hundred hours on the nose. I knew right then we weren’t going to be reaching those possible survivors on the south side of the city. They were going to have to hold out for a few more days.

  Credit where credit’s due, like I said before, the captain’s got a brain in that head of his. Some officers will bury their soldiers rather than admit they need to change tactics. Not many, but enough of them. Freedom’s willing to toss a plan on the spot if common sense tells him things have to be done different.

  I’ll also go on record and say he made the right call. If anyone reading this has any doubts, Captain Freedom made a difficult choice, but the only viable one. I would’ve made the same one if I’d been in command.

  He dropped back down onto the semi. We all felt the roof tremble. He was a big guy. “First Sergeant Paine,” he told me, “let’s fall back and regroup with the transport. Tell Twenty-two and Thirty-one to hold and give us cover until we’re back on the ground and clear of this traffic jam. Everyone else moves now.”

  “Yes sir,” I said. I sent the order down the lines and got back a drumroll of confirmations. Across the intersection Sergeant Pierce with Twenty-two gestured his understanding and his team’s readiness.

  The exes were thick around the semi-trailer now. They were flowing between the cars, like water finding the path of least resistance. The bodies Twenty-one had dropped to get up here were being mashed under hundreds of stumbling feet. The captain could’ve jumped clear to safety, but no way the rest of us could.

  “The cars,” he said. “Don’t jump for the ground, jump for the tops of the cars. It’s too high up for them to reach us.” He pointed out a path, from an SUV to a battered station wagon to a minivan to another minivan to another SUV to a shiny Lexus and hitting the pavement right near section Twenty-two. “Once we go, we go as fast as we can. Don’t stop or they’ll have time to grab you and overwhelm you.”

  Again, training kicks in. Discussing tactics right in front of the enemy in a loud voice. It feels wrong. It’s hard to take it seriously.

  “Section Twenty-one then Eleven,” I told them. “You heard the captain. Hop, skip, and a jump. Line up and make it snappy.”

  Another burst of gunfire from the ground. Section Thirty-one had a steady stream of exes coming at them from two directions. Their support section of Real Men moved in and laid down more fire. Some of the dead things shifted course for the sound. Most of them kept heading for Twenty-two and the sections falling back.

  Hayes, Polk, and Taylor moved bang, bang, bang. SUV, station wagon, minivan, minivan, SUV, Lexus. All three were safe and some of the exes were still raising their arms. Too slow to get them, too slow to shift targets. Sergeant Harrison gave them a moment to make sure they were clear. Then he moved.

  Franklin, Truman, and Jefferson from Twenty-one were next. Truman’s foot slipped on the second SUV and he stumbled for a moment. In that moment I pictured Jefferson slamming into him from behind and both of them falling down into a crowd of exes. I don’t think I was the only one picturing it. Truman went with it, though. Threw himself forward again with the stumble. He pretty much hit the Lexus on all fours and pushed himself off as hard and fast as he could. Shoved himself back into the air with his arms. Right there, super-strength paying for itself with one life. He hit the ground by Twenty-two face first and rolled away before Jefferson landed on him. Sergeant Monroe hit the ground a few seconds later.

  It left me, Captain Freedom, and Unbreakable Seventeen—Platoon Sergeant Kennedy—on top of the truck. She’s another damn fine soldier. “Ladies first,” I told her.

  Her lips twisted from a scowl to a tight grin. “With all due respect,” she said, “screw you, First Sergeant.”

  “Noted,” I said. “Get yourself down there.”

  “Nosebleed.” I gave her a blank look. She mimed wiping her upper lip and pointed the finger at me. “You’re leaking, Top.”

  My glove came back red when I wiped it across the bottom of my nose. I didn’t remember getting hit or bumping anything. Damn air’s so dry out here. I wiped it again and pointed Kennedy off the truck.

  She jumped down to the first SUV. It was a little tougher for her. The exes were already gathered around the cars, already had their hands up. And there were a lot more of them making their way through the pile-up. She was fast, though. Bang, bang, bang. They reached for her. They grabbed air every time.

  “After you, Paine,” said Freedom.

  “After you, sir.”

  “It’s getting tight. You should go next.”

  “Sir,” I told him, “don’t make me push you.”

  He gave me a look and launched himself into the air. The truck’s shocks squealed as it rocked. He hit the pavement right next to Monroe.

  Freedom turned to check on me. I saw his face shift. I looked to see what he was seeing.

  The exes had figured out the way around the wall of cars. That’s too generous. Don’t want to over-estimate the enemy. They’d figured out a way around the same way water figures out how to get out of the sink when you leave the tap running. They just started spilling off the road and into the fields on the south side of the road. It had been a couple dozen when I first looked. It was a hundred, easy, already. Just like a sink.

  Section Thirty-one was closest to that flank. They were laying down fire while Twelve moved back in to give them some support. I could see a couple of them twitching and called out a stand your ground to Sergeant Boyle of Thirty-one.

  Then someone in the section flipped their rifle to burst. I saw the chest of one dead man ripple just below its neck. The next burst came a moment later. It was a little higher and tore through the corpse’s neck. Its head hung by a flap of skin and muscle for a few seconds and then tore loose. The zombie fell over.

  “Unbreakable Thirty-one,” I said, “this is Seven. Controlled burst only.”

  Another burst of fire from Thirty-one. And another. Section Twelve was in position and no
w they were firing big, long bursts from their Bravos.

  “Unbreakables Thirty-one and Twelve, this is Seven. Single shot only. Boyle, Washington, get your soldiers under control.” I tried to map another path across the abandoned cars, then saw Freedom was already heading that way with most of Eleven.

  Then I made my mistake. I jumped for the SUV, then to the station wagon. At the second minivan, though, I switched course. I cut across to a pickup. Then up onto a different SUV. From there to a Volkswagen. I needed to get back to Freedom before he did anything foolish. Officers are good at that sometimes. No offense to any officers reading this.

  I shouldn’t’ve changed the plan. I don’t know what made me do it. Deciding to change objectives in the middle of the plan is stupid. It gets people killed.

  A hand grabbed my ankle on the Volkswagen. I yanked out of instinct. Out of training. It threw me off. My next leap landed me right in the middle of a good-sized group of exes. They were so focused on Twelve they didn’t notice me. I was on my feet and pushing through them in a second.

  Then they grabbed me from behind.

  I slogged forward, trying to get as far away from those dead things as I could. Their skin’s like old paper. Gives me the creeps. Two of them dropped off while I ran. One hung on and ran straight into the butt of Sgt. Washington’s Bravo. The front of its skull just caved in.

  Exes were overwhelming our flank. Section Thirty-one had gotten it under control with Freedom there, but they’d let the corpses get too close. It was turning into a close quarters fight, and that’s not where you want to be with these things.

  I charged in to get by the captain. He’d pulled out Lady Liberty, that monster sidearm he’d made from an AA-12, and was turning skulls into mush. Washington’s soldiers were using their Bravos like clubs. I saw a few heads go flying.

  Someone from Thirty-one screamed. Specialist Richards. One of the last ones to wash out of the program. She’d been bitten on the hand, right through her glove. A corporal reached to pull her back. He got grabbed himself. Half a dozen hands latched on and pulled him into the crowd of exes. I couldn’t see him, but I could hear him screaming. Freedom fought his way there. By the time he made it he was too late.

  I shattered an ex’s knee with my boot and broke its neck as it spun to the ground. Lady Liberty’s drum was empty, so Freedom was using those big hams he called fists, throwing punches that’d put any prizefighter to shame. He broke necks and cracked skulls with every one.

  A call came from Unbreakable Twenty-seven, Sergeant Johnson. All other squads had embarked and they were pulling up transport for us. Five minutes of fighting later and we were all in or on a Humvee.

  We’d barely made it a mile past the city limits. We’d lost eleven soldiers. Eight Real Men, three supers. Half our ammo was gone. Freedom called the retreat and it killed him to say it. You could see it on his face.

  Of course, we weren’t even halfway back and I started feeling sick. Tried to ignore it but Freedom took a good look at me and called up Franklin, the medic from Eleven. He gave me a good once-over. He found the scrape on the back of my neck, right between the collar and the back of my helmet. Teeth marks. Shallow ones. Just deep enough to draw blood. I’d been so amped up I hadn’t felt a thing.

  It was my own fault. I must be clear on this point, again, for the record. I was disobeying orders by deviating from the path Captain Freedom had laid out for us. He is in no way to blame for any of this.

  Freedom gave me the news himself. They’d counted over thirty different infections in my blood. Spread all through me because of this awesome, over-muscled heart I’ve got. If they treat all of them, the cures will kill me. If they pick and choose, there’s a good chance I’ll end up crippled or useless. Or dead anyway.

  I’ve had tubes in me for nine days now. Got caught up on all my paperwork. Three days ago my hands started shaking too much to write with a pen. Sorensen’s man dug around and found me a laptop no one was using. Wanted to make sure he couldn’t get me anything else.

  Yesterday, I had to start taking breaks while I used the laptop. I’ve been working on this last report since oh-six-hundred and it’s dinnertime now. I’m nauseous and tired all the time, even though they switched out my bags. And my nose is bleeding non-stop now. My ears, too. All this stuff they’ve done to us, but no one here can stop a nosebleed.

  This is a siege now. I saw the fences when we drove in. Heck, they gave me a bed near a window. I can’t see out, but I can hear them. I can hear their teeth.

  I know I’m never getting out of this bed. I’m going to lay here and use up resources until I croak. So the real question is, how long am I going to be the weak link? How long will I hold back the company and eat up supplies they’re going to need?

  I’ve had a few visitors. Most of them are polite and formal. One of them was good enough to get what I need from my quarters. I haven’t checked, but I can tell by the weight it doesn’t have a full magazine.

  That’s okay.

  Chapter 17

  NOW

  The exes staggered forward. Cerberus swept aside the first wave and the air crackled around her fists as the stun fields ignited. She shouted over her shoulder, “Those of you with weapons, forward! Everyone else get back!”

  One of the first exes, a young man with a gaping hole in his cheek, stumbled over the battlesuit’s toes and fell headfirst against the armored shin. Cerberus grabbed a dead man’s shoulder and threw the ex back through the mob. It knocked over a dozen other shambling forms before slamming into the back wall of the garage. Next to the titan, Stealth had already broken two skulls with her batons.

  “Hold position,” shouted Freedom. His voice echoed between the buildings.

  The exes stopped. A few of them were off-balance in mid-stride and fell over. They lay still on the ground.

  A few seconds later they still weren’t moving.

  “What the hell just happened?” growled Cerberus.

  “They’re programmed to move out when the door to their Tomb opens,” said Shelly. “They just needed a counter-order.”

  Stealth still had her batons up. “Programmed?”

  He nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”

  The armored titan took a step back. “These are, what... domesticated exes?”

  Freedom gave her a nod. “More or less, Doctor Morris.”

  “Cerberus.”

  “Sorry, ma’am.” The huge officer stepped forward, lifted a fallen ex by the scruff of it neck, and set it down on its feet. It made no attempt to grab him. It didn’t do anything.

  “They are not moving their jaws,” said Stealth.

  Smith nodded. “It’s one of the first behaviors Doctor Sorensen eliminated,” he said. “No more chattering teeth. Also helps us tell ours from the feral ones.”

  The exes were dressed in Army uniforms. A few had tan t-shirts or tanks. On the ones with ACU jackets, the ranks were stripped off, leaving fuzzy patches of exposed velcro. Now that they weren’t moving, Cerberus could see they were standing in loose rows and columns. There were a hundred and fifty of them here, all standing immobile. They were shaved bald, no matter what their gender had been. A few had bristle across their scalps, and she remembered reading somewhere that hair and nails kept growing for a few days after death. She’d never considered if it applied to exes or not.

  “You called this a Tomb,” she said.

  Freedom nodded. “Where we keep all our unknown soldiers.”

  Above the left ear, each of them had a green plastic housing the size of a box of cigarettes. There was dried blood where the screws went into the skull. A bundle of thin wires spread out from the housing to a handful of sockets across the bare scalp.

  The crackling stun fields deactivated. The armored titan took a step forward and looked at the closest ex, the one Freedom had placed back on its feet. Stealth was already there. They could see its teeth through the gaping hole in its cheek.

  The cloaked woman reached up and squeezed the edges of
the green box. The front panel popped off in her hand, revealing an array of circuitry and LEDs.

  “Careful,” said Shelly. “Damage that and you’ll have a killer on your hands.”

  “Perhaps these components should not be in an unsealed housing,” said Stealth.

  “Not much to it,” said Cerberus. The titan had dropped to one knee and bent close to the dead man. “A few flash memory cards, micro-transistors, batteries...” The thick metal finger traced wires for a few moments before the armored skull turned to Freedom. “This thing lets you control them?”

  “Sir,” Smith said to the colonel, “perhaps I should see if Doctor Sorensen can spare some time away from his current work?”

  “Please do, Mr. Smith. The captain and I will answer as best we can in the meantime.”

  Smith adjusted his tie, gave a quick smile up at the Cerberus armor, and headed out the door. One of the sergeants followed him.

  “Company,” called Freedom. “About face.”

  There was a pause, and the undead shifted with a thump of boots.

  “Five paces, march.”

  The exes took five stumbling steps and stopped again.

  “About face.”

  Stealth stiffened. Even with the armor, Danielle’s reaction was apparent. The colonel glanced at them. “Something wrong?”

  “Last time we saw a bunch of exes moving in sync,” said the titan, “it didn’t... it didn’t work out well for one of our friends.”

  “You’ve seen them act like this before?”

  “The same superhuman who damaged the Cerberus armor,” said Stealth, “also had an ability to control ex-humans.”

  “Where’s this person now?” asked Shelly.

  “What’s left of him’s at Melrose and Gower,” said Cerberus. “I burned all the big pieces.”

  “Sir,” said Freedom to the colonel, “if you’ll pardon me I have a drill in ten.”

  “Of course, captain. Dismissed.” The two men exchanged salutes, and Freedom bowed his head to Stealth and Cerberus.