Zombie Rush 3

by Joseph Hansen

  Copyright 2015

  Joseph H. Hansen

  H. J. Harry

  Phalanxpress.com

  hjharry@facebook.com

  zombierushjoe@gmail.com

  This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Amazon.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author. This is a work of fiction. Any similarities to real persons, events, or places are purely coincidental; any references to actual places, people, or brands are fictitious. All rights reserved.

  ZOMBIE RUSH 3

  By Joseph Hansen

  AKA H.J. Harry

  Chapter 1:

  Training Day

  "Do we have to listen to this music? It's ancient!" Ally said as she looked out at the field of walking dead. The operators had pulled back so that Cat could give twenty of her trainees target and tactical training.

  "According to Benson, classical music draws them in, and classic heavy metal keeps their attention. Josey, Tom, get those runners coming up the middle. B Squad, focus on the left front; it's starting to loop in on the equipment. A Squad, do the same up center. C Squad, watch the alleys and streets for more arrivals," Cat shouted, quite happy with the progress they had made in such a short time. There was no cause to waste ammunition on inanimate targets when there are so many zombies showing up every hour.

  "Keep it up; the longer we do our job, the longer the operators get to rest," she yelled, knowing how grateful everyone was to have the equipment operators bearing the brunt of this war. "Remember that you are their only protection out there aside from the steel and glass cages."

  Cat continued to shout as she scanned the new ground they were defending. The barrier had been moved a half mile out toward the horse track, which actually narrowed the killing field while increasing the space within the compound by a huge margin. Tomorrow would be their biggest gain yet, when they would move out in force in the other direction and take the airport. It would be a vital acquisition that could prove to be a game changer—provided they could find more pilots.

  Cat was enjoying the attention and the relaxed attitude that their success in reclaiming new ground allowed. She looked over at the equipment operators who were outside their cabs talking with each other, some smoking cigarettes as they watched the shooting display. The pikemen—dubbed as such because they came out after the initial slaughter and picked off zombies still clinging to the equipment—stood with the operators enjoying a rare break. Even the mechanics, who tirelessly tried to maintain the equipment as often as they could, seemed to be a little more relaxed today as they checked fluid levels while glancing at the shooters.

  Cat double-checked the tankers to make sure they hadn't inadvertently moved into the firing lane and was surprised to see them lounging outside their rigs, watching the shooters wipe out the last twenty or thirty zombies in the field.

  She looked closer at the men on the tankers. It was actually what was behind the tankers that caught her eye. It looked as though the street itself had come alive and was moving toward them like a flood bursting through a dam.

  Thousands upon thousands of undead were walking right up the back of their defenses and everybody was sleeping.

  "Stand down!" she shouted to her shooters, who instantly brought their rifles to their chests as if they had been training for years instead of just hours. Cat had no radio or even so much as a megaphone to get the equipment operators' attention, so she did what only she could do without hitting one of the tankers at that distance. She knew that her 7.62 round couldn't handle the distance, but would it help. The scaffolding was not long enough for her to run and change the trajectory; she had to go right over the tanker itself.

  In the blink of an eye, her M14 was at her shoulder, seeming to point directly in front of the tanker operators. Eight of them, all watching the display, froze in their tracks when she lined up on them. Not a single one thought to look behind them.

  Three single sharp reports sounded out, and the chatter on the field ceased as the others watched in amazement at her targets. The moans of the undead broke the new silence, and the tanker operators turned to finally see the horde—minus three—bearing down on them.

  "Do not fire!" Cat shouted when she saw a couple of her own pull their rifles up to shoot at the dead. She knew the disaster that would ensue if they hit one of the tanker trucks filled with diesel.

  They started to run across the field toward the walls, but there was nothing set up yet to get them through to this side of the compound. Cat didn't know if the operators on the other side of the field were fired up and moving, and she couldn't take time to look. The men from the tankers were running, but the runners behind them were faster and running with reckless abandon.

  Cat started lining up her shots with a precision that was only obtained by someone who had been shooting as soon as she could talk. She emptied her twenty-round magazine in seconds and slapped another into place.

  "Hold your fire!" They were almost out of the trajectory of the trucks, where she could let the others shoot, but the undead runners were catching up to the slower men in the group.

  One of the men ran with a limp so exaggerated that, due to his age, she didn't know if it was from injury or arthritis. He was the last in line and her main focus as she took out five right on his heels, but it wasn't enough. She hit one who was reaching out and another that had a hand on his pant leg, slowing him just enough for another to latch onto his shirt, impeding him even more.

  Cat kept picking them off as if he was the last living soul on earth. She kept shooting even after she knew he was lost. Sixteen … seventeen … she wiped the sweat from her brow, cringing with every bite taken from the man. Eighteen … she knew it was wrong, but with every bite they took, the crowd of runners was delayed a little bit more from the others. So she kept him alive just a little longer. Her hand had to be steadied before the next shot. Nineteen … a tear trickled from her eye, and she could wait no longer as she put number twenty in the head of the man who looked up at her from the distance. She swore that he saw it coming because he smiled at her in the last second before impact.

  "Shooters, we have an advancing front at five o'clock and a tanker truck at nine o'clock. Do not hit the tanker and adjust for the equipment as it engages. Open fire!" Cat shouted, knowing it was obvious where they could shoot but better to reinforce than be regretful later. "Justin! I need you to get me a radio, send more 5.56 and 7.62 ammo up here, and sound the alarm!" Cat continued issuing orders and saw Justin hesitate as if he was going to protest. "Move!" she snapped, and Justin took off at a dead run, realizing that it wasn't the time to argue.

  "He's here."

  Cat turned, surprised to see Ally standing next to her, scanning buildings across the street instead of shooting.

  "I don't have time, Ally; get back on your rifle."

  "You don't get it, Cat. He's here; I know it. He's responsible for this horde. How else could it have caught us by surprise?"

  "Get on your rifle, Ally. Now!" Cat hit the last word hard as she moved her selector to three-round bursts and watched Ally put the AR-15 to her shoulder. Cat was the only one with automatic capabilities because most of the military and police-issued M4s were out in the field. Many people found AR-15s during salvage runs, they were pretty close to the M4 but single shot so they were legal for civilian use, she utilized them for training the shooters. She saw Alley start to tentatively shoot, but it was obvious that she was distracted.

  She was about to
jump on her, when her friend pointed to something in the distance and excitedly. "There! There he is and he has something. It's a rifle on a bi-pod."

  Even over the din of moans and shooting, Cat could hear the boom of the fifty-caliber rifle across the street, which was followed by the shattering of glass as it left the cab of a front loader—along with half of the operator's head. She looked to where Ally was pointing, only to see the front end of a large barrel.

  "You must have the eyes of a hawk," Cat said as she switched her selector to full auto and sprayed the window before he could shoot another operator.

  The rifle pulled back hurriedly and Ally kept watch on the other windows, hoping to get a glimpse of him. A flash of white behind a pane two windows down, and she pulled the trigger, happy knowing that although she missed him, she at least hit the window. She tried to lead him on the next window and fired at a flash that never came.

  "Stairs; he must have found some stairs," Ally exclaimed and started scanning the whole building for movement, forgetting about the zombies and not knowing if he went up the stairs or down.

  Cat surveyed the damage to the front-end loader that was being swarmed by the undead. The operator was literally being torn to pieces, and she knew there wasn't much of his head left to feed on; the fifty caliber removed whatever fleshy part it hit.

  Justin returned with the radios and had two other kids with him, carrying a crate of ammunition. She put him into the rotation and called Benson on the radio.

  "I am aware of that, Cat; keep your shooters on target. A sniper picked off our operators down by the track and let the zombies through. Over."

  "It was the Skinner; he took out an operator right in front of us. I think it was a Barret or some type of fifty caliber. Ally is tracking him. Over."

  "I'll send Malcolm and some of his friends out to you. Keep him in sight, especially when the bulldozers arrive. Over." Benson was referring to a man he had rescued with the pontoon and the new enclosed fleet of Komatsu earth-movers they had found at the train yard.

  "Roger. Out," Cat said, already hearing the deep rumble mixed with the metallic tracks moving across pavement. She looked up when Ally fired five rounds in succession at a window two stories up and several panes to the sides of the first window that he had shot out of.

  "Reload!" she shouted to her younger friend, knowing that her magazine had to be almost empty. At the same time, she pointed her M14 on that same window. Cat was upset that Web had shot enough operators to enable so many of the Z's to come at them at once, and she felt sickened over the man she had to put down because he was too slow and injured to get away from the horde. She glanced sadly at the man's remains as zombies crowded around to feed on his unturned corpse. However, the fact that the Skinner had the nerve to come in during her training session and start shooting as if they weren't even a threat enraged her. She did her best to stifle her rage and calmly search for any movement that might offer a good shot at the doctor. The doctor must die.

  #

  Bitch will learn who she's toying with. The good doctor's internal rant started from the moment he saw her leave the compound for Little Rock and would probably continue until she got back. In his mind, Lisa Reynolds belonged to him now. He had taken her, bound her, and ingested her flesh. Her being was part of what sustained him; she should feel proud of that, but he knew in this backwards world that she wouldn't. In ancient times, many cultures sacrificed young and old alike to appease the gods so that others may live. Altars stained with blood were placed within the very center of their communities so that all would know the wrath of those who truly ruled their existences.

  Lisa, however, didn't recognize that so it was only justice that the city would flow with rivers of blood of innocents simply due to her lack of understanding.

  The doctor was focused; he had to be extra diligent in this new world. Nothing was going as it should have gone—or at least not how the good doctor felt they should go—since the morning he consumed Ally's mother in front of her. The zombies that he thought were a blessing did nothing but get in his way and wanted to eat him as much as they wanted to eat anyone else. He managed to outmaneuver them while finding subjects—the rest of the world would call them "victims"—hiding from the undead in scattered places. He was amazed at how many survived by hiding in closets and warehouses, still unaware of the compound and the safety that it offered. Some were scrappy, even dangerous, but most were simply scared. "Deliciously frightened" by what had happened to the world is how he thought of them.

  He started making trails and paths through the debris and realized that the smallest thing would stop a zombie as long as there wasn't something to eat on the other side. Soon he was operating smoother than he had to date and was learning how to manipulate the zombies into doing as he desired.

  Web reveled in the looks of relief on people's faces when they felt safe at his discovering them. Their relief soon turned to horror as they became aware of their true fate—but that was before Lisa. Now, the lieutenant had become his goal, and she had left him after her rescue. She was not to be rescued; that fucking mongrel of a dog had pulled fate out of his hands. Her freedom was meant to be at his choosing; no one else should have been involved in that. He had intended to release her to heal before he fed again. It was her damn dog and that other cops who interfered with his plans

  She even tasted special, ran through his mind as he lined up his first shot with the Barret fifty-caliber sniper rifle on an equipment operator almost a half mile away.

  The doctor was a man of precision and dedication. Taking up the rifle as a hobby was no different than anything else in his life. He practiced for hundreds of hours from the time he was a child to present day. He knew the rifle he now used was one of the most deadly on the planet and had put over a thousand rounds through it himself since the day he bought it. While most doctors preferred a game of golf or fishing the reservoir, Web would shoot. He shot with a purpose and dedication that won him awards at several competitions.

  And their altars ran with blood as their heads rolled. Hot Springs, you are my personal sacrificial altar. He pulled the trigger and smiled when the inside of the cab became awash with blood from an exploded cranium. Web rejoiced at the fear everyone in the compound displayed as he raged. A half hour later, a horde of almost ten thousand zombies marched toward the smell of massive amounts of living, breathing meat.

  #

  "I got it!" Ally shouted once she was ready.

  Cat turned back to her shooters, who were getting confused by the number of equipment operators coming into their line of fire.

  "Protect the tanker drivers!" she shouted and pointed to a number of people who were trying to push the zombies away from a nook between boxcars, where they had buried themselves. They needed the car moved just a hair to be able to reach the ladders to the roof. Nobody planned on getting stranded down there on the field; all they could do was thin out the Z's farther away from the group of living.

  Cat wondered why they were out of view from the scaffolding where they shot from. They couldn't walk on the semi-trailer roof tops, but they should be able to walk on the boxcars. Yet Benson had this scaffolding set up and running for over fifty feet for them to shoot off of. She was going to ask why.

  "Cat, this is Malcolm; I'm at your three o' clock. Over."

  Cat looked over and saw five men who were too old to still be in the military but carried their weapons like they had been born with them.

  "It's Skinner—Doc Webber shooting from across the street," Cat said just as Ally let off another burst of five quick shots up near the roof. Malcolm and his men watched her trajectory and saw the barrel and bi-pod pull back then spread out to get different angles, all of them moving with tactical experience.

  Cat made the leap from the scaffolding to the boxcar, where she stood directly above the five remaining people who struggled with three zombies. They had no weapons since their pistols were emptied and any rifles had most likely been left in the ca
bs of their trucks. Cat took one shot while still in full auto before she switched to single shot to take out the other two.

  "I need an operator to bump one of these boxcars so they can get to the ladder," Cat said into the radio, hoping that they were listening. A large front-end loader turned and came toward her. She stepped back, thinking it would ram the boxcar in order to expose the ladder mounted to the back end. The operator, on the other hand, was experienced and knew that ramming the boxcar would do nothing but damage his machine.

  "Keep shooting," he said calmly into the radio as he approached.

  The group was protected by Cat's rifle from above, but only for so long. One of the men who had arrived with Malcolm was suddenly next to her, his fully automatic M4 clearing away more zombies that had become fixated on the small group.

  The bucket of the loader was low to the ground when all five jumped in and were lifted up toward the top of the car. It started to move forward, which rocked the high bucket roughly, causing two to fall. A woman managed to grab the edge of the bucket in a desperate attempt to keep from falling into the mass of undead below; the man was swarmed as soon as he hit the ground.

  A zombie grabbed the woman around her legs and struggled to drag her back into its grasp. She kicked and screamed, trying to get away. Every drop of perspiration, every motion from her or the machine worked against her rescue. Two in the bucket fell to their knees and grabbed her hands, but it loosened her own grip and put her squarely in the hands of two people hanging onto her wrists. The sweat from her arms caused their hands to slip and she dropped a couple of inches before they stopped her. The grip they had on her had become so tight she could feel the bones in her hands crunching together. The frustration on her would-be rescuers' faces told the story of her fate as she felt more than two zombies now clutching her legs. Then came the moment when she felt the first set of teeth sink into her leg.

  Her eyes widened and she stopped screaming, she also stopped fighting and just looked up at those who would live knowing that she would not.