The Apocalypse Crusade 2

by Peter Meredith

  They had lost all contact with the men on either side and their flanks were always “up in the air” meaning they were easily surrounded. Jerome asked for volunteers and posted the first two who raised their hands out alone on the wings. It was a dangerous mission and, after they fell back for the third time only one returned. The men ran again and when they stopped at a line of barbed wire, they were bent over at the waist, too tired to be afraid. How long they fought, no one knew. The night seemed to go on forever and the zombies just kept coming, endlessly and they never tired.

  “Where are we?” Jerome asked of the little group. There were perhaps thirty of them left and he had no idea how many they had started with or how many had died. The numbers kept changing as stragglers joined them and others went down screaming under piles of the undead.

  In reply to his question, all he received were shrugs. Jerome looked around for the next place where they could make a stand. A hill off to their east would do. It had a sharp face, which would slow up the beasts some.

  It also slowed the men…and women heading up it. A soldier next to him tripped and cursed in a high voice. It was only then that Jerome realized that almost a quarter of the group was made up of females. “Well fuck me,” he whispered to himself. From that point on he held his shoulders a little straighter and tried not to wheeze so much. It wasn’t easy. It felt like he was running a marathon in full battle dress and boots. Even the relatively light M4 was weighing his arms down.

  They trudged up the long slope and behind them, the zombies followed relentlessly after. Some were close, only forty or fifty yards back. This vanguard of the undead drove the survivors faster up the hill. Finally, Jerome stopped and pointed for the others to continue. He would kill the closest ones and then hurry to catch up, but as his breathing slackened and the others left him he was able to hear what sounded like the hum of a motor. It was coming from up the hill. Motors meant humans!

  With fresh legs, he forgot the trailing zombies and jogged upward, passing the soldiers who were gusting wind in and out. Soon he topped the hill and saw a circle of Humvees. Now, he was even more worn out than the others, and could only point with an arm that he could barely keep aloft. The others saw and some went down on their knees thanking God while others struggled forward.

  Jerome understood. Since the moment his M249 had gone dry, he hadn’t thought he was going to live to see the sunrise. He had fought, and he had run, all with a certain dread weighing him down, but now there were trucks and Humvees and people. He could hear them in the darkness.

  “Wait,” he said to the soldiers who were heading for the tents. “We have to form a line here.” At their looks, he added: “It’ll be ok. I’ll get reinforcements and extra ammo. We’ll be able to fight properly.” He would also need flares. They seemed far from where the planes were dropping the flares in the west. “Spread out. Don’t let any of those things get past you.”

  He hoped to God that this was an infantry company, but he began to doubt it when nobody challenged him. Heading for a little knot of people he asked: “Who’s in charge around here?”

  An older man, tall and grey, with three stars on his collar, said: “I’m Lieutenant General Collins, and you are?”

  Jerome should’ve been too tired to care that he was so close to the Commanding Officer of the 42nd, but all he could think of was the M249 he had thrown away, and the protective mask he had jettisoned to lighten his load, and the helmet that he had kicked away because it hadn’t stayed in place. He saw Collins looking him up and down and for some reason he was sure, the general knew all of this.

  “I’m…I’m, uh, Specialist Jerome Evermore, sir.” He knew he wasn’t supposed to salute when they were in the field but the hand really wanted to come up. He was able to stop it in mid-salute so that it looked like he was about to karate chop Collins.

  The general only raised an eyebrow. “Is there some reason you’re not on the line, son?” Jerome’s presence was setting alarm bells off in Collins’ head. The young man stank of fear, sweat, and battle. His eyes were those of a cat’s when it was caught in mid-hunt by something bigger than itself. He looked just as capable of running as of fighting and Collins saw that his mental state could only be described as brittle. That Jerome had deserted his post was a certainty in Collins’ mind right up until gunfire started popping off, not fifty yards away.”

  “What the hell?” Lieutenant Colonel O’Brian asked, in sudden worry. He glanced Jerome’s way and saw him fully in his ragged state for the first time. “Who is that shooting? What unit are you with?”

  “We’re not really a unit. Those are just soldiers and some medics and I think some aviation guys. We just formed up when the line collapsed. We formed a second defensive perimeter but it didn’t last. Ever since then, we’ve been fighting nonstop in a long retreat. Do you guys…Sorry, I mean do you have any ammunition, sir? We’re down to our last magazines and there’s a butt-load of gray meat heading our way.”

  Collins started to run to the edge of the hill, but stopped and barked to O’Brian: “Get him some ammo and get every available man over here.”

  “I don’t think that’s the right order, sir,” O’Brian said, causing Collins’ eyes to grow furious. “We should fall back and prepare a better spot to fight from.”

  “Where? Hartford?” Collins asked with sarcastic acid dripping from his tongue. He pointed east at the lights of the city. “That’s only twenty miles away. We don’t have a fucking inch of room to spare. If we can stop them here then we damn well better stop them here! I need every spare soldier to get their asses up on that ridge!”

  The general jogged to the line of the hill and stared down at the advancing zombies. There were thousands of them. They were like a biblical plague. “I need my damned artillery!” he raged up at the night sky.

  “Artillery wouldn’t do you much good…sir,” O’Brian said, again slow enough on the accompanying “sir” to be disrespectful. “All of my artillery men are out there somewhere. Guns won’t do you much good without their operators.”

  Collins was within a whisker of punching O’Brian in the face. He reined it in…somewhat. He brought his hand down on the colonel’s shoulder with excessive force, and gripped the muscle there in a hard grip. The smile on his face was evil, but with a touch of pretend friendship to it. “You know what’s also useless? You are Lieutenant Colonel O’Brian. Your insubordination is actionable, however I need every man, even a back-talking son of a bitch like you. I just don’t need you in a position to undermine me at every turn, so from this point on I want you to take up a rifle and defend this hill.”

  O’Brian took a step back and his eyes were fierce, as if he was going to punch Collins, and now it was his turn to rein it in. He was also just able to. Sneering, he said: “You want to take responsibility for fucking this up, too? Go right ahead, have fun.”

  He stormed away and Collins whispered: “Good riddance.” Louder, he yelled to the soldiers on the hill: “There will be no more falling back. There will be no more retreat. This is where we draw the line and this is where we make our stand! Your friends and loved ones are counting on us to stop these creatures right here and right now.”

  “Who the fuck are you?” someone demanded from out of the dark.

  This brought a laugh from the general. He could imagine the pain, fear and stress these soldiers had endured, and now they were being told they couldn’t run from a flesh-eating horde? “I’m your Commanding Officer and those Humvees back there represent my command post. It’s not moving. When I say we cannot run any further, I fucking mean it! Running at this point means surrender. It means we’ve lost the state, possibly the country and maybe even all of humanity. So we’re going to fight. We’re going to shred those motherfuckers like pulled pork. We’re going to stop them here and now!”

  He grinned again when the rag-tag group of tired men and women let out a raucous curse-laden cheer. Their guns began to fire and Collins jogged back to the command post whe
re he was greeted by the stunned looks of the officers. He began barking orders: “I need the miniguns pulled off my Blackhawk, and that goes for every chopper that puts down here. Next, I want those Strykers and Hummers that were sent out recalled from whatever they’re doing. I need them to keep a lane open for the retreating men. Next I want the Humvees we have here moved to the edge of the hill.”

  “But these aren’t weapons platforms, sir,” a captain said, explaining the obvious. “We don’t have guns. We only have computers and comm gear.”

  “No shit, son,” Collins shot back. “But they do have headlights and until we can redirect some of those Coast Guard birds in this direction we’re going to help our boys fight. Now get your asses moving.”

  The hummers and ammo trucks were brought up to the line and in the glare of the high beams, the soldiers saw their peril more clearly than they ever had. They were just a handful compared to what might have been two thousand or more of the undead. Panic rippled along the lines and it grew worse when Lieutenant Colonel O’Brian was seen throwing down his M4 and running. He wasn’t deserting; he ran to the field where the general’s helicopter sat. Two men, the pilot and Lieutenant Colonel Victor, were trying to disconnect the cumbersome, electric Miniguns from the side of the craft. O’Brian saw there was no time for it.

  “Get this bird in the air!” he ordered. “I need your guns on targets in two minutes or there won’t be a line left.”

  The pilot knew he’d be disobeying Collins’ direct orders and he paused, but only for a second. “Ok, but I need you to work the other gun. I sent my crew to the line.” With a colonel in each door, the pilot, only a captain, lifted off, going just high enough to clear the roofs of the hummers. He brought the bird to hover twenty feet above the slope of the hill where the concentration of zombies was the heaviest. “Remember, short bursts. Don’t burn through the ammo. If you’re not careful this will be a one minute ride.”

  “Go lower!” Victor yelled into the mike. “The angle sucks.” He had been firing on a downward trajectory and it seemed like a waste that missed shots went into the dirt.

  The pilot dropped the bird so that it hovered a few feet off the ground and now Victor and O’Brian opened up. The heavy rounds zipped out at head height blasting apart the zombies to the great cheers of the men and women on the line. Gradually the pilot worked the Blackhawk in a circle, laying out 360 degrees of death. All too soon, the miniguns went dry and the copter went to reload—the one problem being that reloading meant a trip back to the airbase outside of Albany. The men were once again on their own.

  General Collins had watched the scene with one ear to his satellite phone; Courtney couldn’t be reached and worse neither could Governor Stimpson who was, supposedly on the phone with the President. “Probably looking to fire me,” he said to himself. “Which is just fine with me. I need the sleep.” He glanced over at the comm unit: he had thirteen calls waiting for him and a battle to run. The calls would have to wait.

  Chapter 31

  The Escape

  10:40 p.m.

  “Governor Stimpson, please. Hold for the President, please,” she said, her tone was well beyond the point of being snooty. It basically brooked no argument whatsoever and Stimpson’s secretary who was well beyond the point of dealing with another dignitary’s assistant, even the President’s, only grunted out: “One second.”

  Stimpson was on the line a moment later and he was altogether breathless. “Listen, sir, you have to take this mess off my hands. I’ve got seventy-eight lawsuits from this morning’s incident alone. I’ve got reporters crawling all over the place looking to lay blame, and you know what the New York Times is doing? They’re blackmailing me. They just sent me tomorrow’s cover with a note that read: Now do you want to talk? The fucking picture is of me with my finger and thumb cocked like it was a gun and it looks I’m pointing at those dead bodies from that fucking YouTube video. They’re trying to pin this on me, sir. I tried to tell them that it was the army but they’re going with this commander-in-chief business, which is completely unfair. It’s killing me is what it is. My poll numbers are dropping like a rock!”

  There was a long pause and Stimpson said: “Mr. President?”

  Courtney Shaw cleared her throat, amazed and dumbfounded that these were Stimpson’s main concerns when talking to the President. Shouldn’t he be worried about the people who were trapped in The Zone? Or the people out there dying or those already dead? “This isn’t the President. This is Courtney Shaw. I had to talk to you and this was the only way, I’m sorry. Your secretaries are tough to get around, and...”

  She could feel Stimpson’s wrath through the phone line and she was sure he was within a second of hanging up. Quickly, she added: “General Collins asked me to call you.”

  His voice was ice. “That’s a lie as well, isn’t it?”

  “No, sir.”

  “I think it is. You see I have a direct line to him. If he wants to talk, all he has to do is pick up the phone. Now, I think you have gone too far this time, Courtney. I’m a busy man and I can’t be bothered with pranks. Don’t take it personally but you will be receiving a call from the State Bureau of Investigations. Have a nice day.”

  “Let them call,” she said hurriedly before he could hang up. “They can come and arrest me if they want. I’m at the trooper station on highway 54. But if they come, they better come with about a thousand men.”

  Stimpson was slow to reply. “That’s in The Zone, isn’t it? Ah, Courtney, I’m sorry, but there’s nothing I can do. I can’t allow anyone out. It’s for the safety of the rest of the state. You understand, don’t you?”

  He was back in politician mode and his voice was soothing and for a second she really did understand. In fact, she felt a slight bit sorry for him that he was forced to make such a hard decision. But it was for just that second and then she blinked away the spell. “Right, I get that, but I’m not calling for me. I really am calling for General Collins. His men are in big trouble and they need you to step up. They…”

  The door to the office wing slammed open and Max Fowler backed out of it, firing his M16. Seconds later, he was followed by John Burke and Chuck Singleton. Chuck smashed his shoulder against the metal door while Burke worked the lock. They then began to heave the displaced office furniture against it to bolster the meager defenses. This door was the weakest point now. It wasn’t nearly as sturdy as the one that led to the incarceration wing or the heavy glass ones in front.

  Deckard and Thuy came to help, while a few of the others stood around and watched. There wasn’t much more anyone could do besides wait for the inevitable. Except for Courtney that is, she could do something. “Like I was saying…”

  “Was that gunfire?” Stimpson asked in a quiet voice. “Are you ok?”

  “For now…for the minute. Listen, Governor, I need a favor. Well, really it’s the general who needs a favor, but don’t think of it as a favor to him. Think of it as a favor to your men. You are the Commander in Chief. Those are your men out there fighting and without you they don’t stand a chance.”

  Stimpson was slower to reply and there was a caginess to his answer. “From what I gather my lines are fine, all except in the east and those aren’t really my lines are they? Connecticut and Massachusetts are dealing with that sector, so maybe you should talk to them.”

  “I will if I have time,” Courtney said, raising her voice. The zombies were assaulting the door from the office wing and it was loud in her ear. “But you aren’t as secure as you think. Remember last night? Remember how we thought we had a handle on this thing time and again?”

  “Yes, but the lines are holding. I’ve seen the aerial reports, the main grouping of infected persons is headed east. They’re not my problem anymore.”

  “Maybe they’re not your problem tonight, but they will boomerang. If Collins can’t stop them before they hit Hartford then instead of dealing with a hundred thousand zombies, he’ll be dealing with a million. With what he h
as now he won’t be able to stop them. They’ll flood into Rhode Island and where do you think they’ll go from there?”

  “Massachusetts?”

  “You’re right, a lot of them will, but not all. Some will come back this way. Maybe only a quarter of them, maybe ten percent, but how many will there be by then? Five million? Ten? If ten million zombies boomerang to New York, what chance do you have? Listen to me, Governor. You have the chance to help stop this now.”

  “The feds will step in before any of that happens. They have to. They…”

  A new sound came. It was almost as loud as when the zombies were hammering the doors with rocks. Deckard ordered a man to take his place and then he and two others advanced toward the front of the building. Courtney’s lip began to jabber up against the mike. They were running out of time.

  “Yes, they will take over,” she said, “and you’ll be the man history blames. They’ll say you did nothing to stop it when you could have. You better believe that’s how the President will play it, because that’s how he’s playing it now. He’s going to wait for you to make the hard choices because he can’t and he’ll blame you if you don’t.”

  “But the voters…you don’t get it, Courtney. They already blame me for what happened this morning with that massacre. What do you think will happen if I authorize more force? That’s what you’re looking for isn’t it? You want me to let the general have his tanks and his gunships and his jets. The people won’t stand for that.”