She looked over at the lift sitting peacefully across the alley and followed the beam down to where the base was covered with zombies. The sound of the lift's engine was attracting them.
Fucking Snorkel lift; who would have believed that something so common could do so much when the streets were swarming with flesh eaters? Sharon was wishing she could will the basket to her when movement down in the lower level caught her attention. A woman with a high-powered rifle moved carefully through an apartment. As if she knew Sharon was there, she looked right at her. When their eyes met, the woman held out her hands as if to tell her to hold tight and Sharon nodded. What else was she going to do? A slight smile, and the woman went back to her search just as someone else came out onto the balcony where the lift basket was—a boy, and he looked like he was in a hurry.
The boy climbed over the railing and into the basket of the man lift. Sharon didn't know why she did it, nobody had been doing her any favors lately. But if she could help someone out from the position she was in then that may work in her favor. She signaled the woman on the lower level and motioned toward the man bucket that the kid was trying to get mobilized.
It's him! She knew before the shadow materialized into substance. The kid had the bucket moving but the asshole pulled out a pistol and pointed it right at him.
Chapter 9
Don't
"Two hundred and fifty thousand; might as well be a million, for all it matters," Krupp said as he looked down at the map in front of Lisa and the retired Green Beret Mustafa.
Mustafa studied the map as if it held some sort of secret resolution to their predicament. Lisa seemed to be locked in a trance as her mind tried to wrap around how many zombies were headed straight for them. Krupp wasn't a quitter and he was never one to run from a fight, but sometimes there was no other option. The horde before them was simply too large to handle without the security of the compound to protect them. Krupp was an ex-soldier who had seen combat more than once. He knew when it was time to fight or run. He also recognized those rare times when sacrificing the last man was needed in order to win the battle. Against zombies there was no winning, there was only survival, and in survival there comes a time to run. In his opinion, that time had come.
"Do we evac back to the compound or try to sidestep it somehow? I'd sure hate to be caught out in the open with those kinds of numbers bearing down on us."
"We can't go back, Ed. The compound isn't strong enough yet to handle these kinds of numbers. The whole system is designed to eliminate them out away from the structure so that our walls are never tested to a full extreme. No, we're taking them out right here, Ed. You know we have to."
"You are talking about the extermination of a quarter of a million souls—possibly ourselves included," Mustafa said. The look on his face spoke of nightmares and all things bad.
"They're already dead. This is not about preserving life," Lisa said. "This is about destroying abominations that will eat you and all that you love. If it helps any, you're releasing their souls back to whatever fucking fairytale you choose to believe in. The fact is that they gotta be stopped. We can't let them reach the compound, so we're going to stop them right at the Raymar Road overpass."
Lisa's mind was a whirl as she realized that she had potentially just offended two men of diverse religious backgrounds. It was time for reality; blame and responsibility could no longer be foisted on a deity or political party. It was shut the fuck up and do what needed to be done or be devoured time and sometimes Lisa felt like she was the only one who saw it.
"I can't ask my men to take part in a suicide mission, Lieutenant," Mustafa said.
"Your men? You're retired, Mustafa, and they are not your men anymore. They are human survivors and that makes them mine," Lisa said as she signaled some people over to her. Three came over and she turned her attention to them as Krupp and Mustafa looked on, casting glances at one another behind Lisa's back. Krupp shrugged and after a moment's hesitation, Mustafa did too. She seemed to have a plan and that was more than either one of them had so they might as well just go with it.
She looked toward a group of farmers approaching.
"Jacob, how are you?" Lisa said as she reached down and gave the farmer a hand up onto the flatbed that they had commandeered as command center. A sound from above caught her attention and she looked up to see a bright yellow, single-engine plane flying low over the crowd. It was the look on Jacob's face, however, that had her full attention.
"What brings you out here?"
"We got a couple of crop dusters up and they are telling us a herd is heading this way."
"Yep, they should be here tomorrow."
"You know? You can't possibly think that you can fight these things," Jacob said incredulously.
"Fight them … no, absolutely not. We're going to destroy them. We need Little Rock as much as we need Hot Springs and we need you to keep your farms free of zombies or we're all screwed. So what are they seeing up there?"
Jacob subconsciously lowered his head a bit, and Lisa clued in to the fact that his news wasn't good even before he spoke.
"They say that it looks like half the city is walking to Hot Springs. They're not moving fast, but they are moving with direction and coming right this way. You have a day, maybe a day and a half before they get here," Jacob said, causing an overwhelming dread to slide over the group.
Lisa hated that feeling. It was the feeling she got every time her old man had burned up the jobs in the area and they had to pick up stakes. It reeked of defeat, and defeat wasn't something that they could afford right now. Rifle shots too close reminded her that they were still securing the area they were in. She knew that the moment was worthy of a long uplifting speech. Something that would bolster their courage and give them the strength to carry on, but that wasn't her style. She was cocky to the point where some would call her arrogant or, at the very least, flippant. Lisa always stayed true to her nature.
"I wish they would hurry the fuck up. I don't want to be stuck out here waiting all week," Lisa replied as some of the people she had just sent for started showing up. "We have a plan, gentlemen; let's stick to it."
"We have a plan? And what might that be?" Krupp queried.
"It would take too long to explain, Ed. I'm working off of instinct here and I'm just going to have to trust that," Lisa replied, not knowing what else to say.
"We're all just going to have to trust in that, Lisa, because we got nothing else," Krupp replied. Lisa smiled warmly at the man. She knew he wasn't trying to antagonize; he just felt hopeless.
Lisa looked to the small group forming down below the truck bed. "Finish getting the area secured and functioning then plan a route around the interstate. Things are going to get real messy and are going to take a couple of days to clean up."
Lisa went on with her plan as Mustafa stayed by her side in case she needed some advice. She got some men who knew about the tankers and their cargo. She spent several minutes talking with them until she designated a couple to lead and then laid out her plans for them. After they left, she pulled the carpenters together and described their situation and told them what they could do to help. She finished just as a semi flatbed loaded with ball bearings and bags of powdered drywall compound showed up on the scene.
She didn't see it as something preordained that these tools would be available to her just at the time they needed them. She saw it as these were what was here and she had to figure out how to utilize them. The future reminded her of the perceived pink slime scandal a couple years back. Pink slime was a byproduct that the meat companies were accused of slipping into their meat in order to cut costs. When the truth was revealed, it turned out that the pink slime was always there, only people didn't know it and to not use it was wasteful. Knowledge can be a powerful thing when accurate. It can also be a curse.
The scene became a hive of activity as people from all walks of life banded together to accomplish what they could. Nobody really knew what they were wo
rking so hard for, but they were told it was important and they all knew what was coming their way. The work wasn't frantic, but it was hurried. The first group poured ball bearings into a bucket with some powder and water before passing it off to the second group equipped with a mixing drills. Tools were easy to find with abandoned stores and contractors trailers; everything was utilized.
A third group attempted to spread that mixture onto the vertical, curved surface of propane tanks, allowing the adhesive in the quick dry mud to hold everything in place until it was time. Propane tanks themselves were abundant once Lisa said that was what she was looking for. Several trucks brought her brand new ones from a couple of dealers in the area and the others were plucked from yards with small winch trucks.
Beneath the roar of the diesel engines and shouts of men, came another sound. The deep pulsating rumble from five kettle drums in sync with each other rolled out from under the bridge. No amplification was used, just the resonating sounds of the drums themselves. It was theory captured from a documentary she saw years ago explaining ancient ways of communicating over long distances. The deep rumble on the pavement would vibrate for miles through the ground, causing the zombies for some distance away to feel their presence and come toward the thumping drum. It was a theory, but she knew it would work; within the hour, she started to receive confirmation reports.
A hundred yards up the highway, a barrier was being erected with older tanker trucks; most of their fuel had been drained into rigs that were already moving toward Hot Springs where it could be utilized. The objective was the opposite of what they had done at the compound; instead of spreading them out, Lisa wanted every single one of them right in front of her. The more the merrier, in her opinion; all crowded into a narrow, mile-long corridor between partially emptied LP tanks that had been smeared with a special concoction just for the occasion.
#
The retaking of the airport required a lot of land surrounding it. At least a couple hundred single-family homes occupied the territory that they needed to retake. With all of the activity, zombies were bound to be closer to the compound than away from it, so that meant the first few days would be the toughest. Benson didn't feel like a leader even though everybody was looking to him to act as one. He pulled everyone together as they prepared to leave the compound.
"When we start up, we need to guard the open ground as the semis leave. They're going to set a wall right down the center of Panama Street, taking the Woodlawn jog over to Summer Street where we'll hit it the rest of the way to the park." Benson stopped in case there were any questions before proceeding. The crowd before him was a mixture of professions; all willing to band together and fight for a future. A few had some past military or ROTC training, but most were better suited to the business end of a computer than an automatic weapon. But they listened and they were willing. A unit from Oklahoma had made it in recently and were now pretty much spread amongst the populace, giving Benson at least one person with each group acting as a go to.
"The heavy equipment will be going next; troops C and D will back them up. Now we believe the Skinner to be on the other side of the city, but keep your eyes peeled. You will secure the border along two-seventy with debris before moving to the center. The rest of us are clearing houses. Be quick, be careful, and don't waste time taking anything. We have about four square miles to cover today, and a lot of it is open ground so be sure of what you are shooting at. Also, be ready to use your melee weapons at any time. Supply rigs will be mirroring you the whole way. They will also have food and water so stay hydrated. Let's move it out."
Benson gave a nod to Malcolm, whom he had come to trust, and was grateful for the man's past experience—both military and professional. His ability to give and follow instructions made him invaluable. The fact that he was savvy enough to help with the planning was a bonus and made for a better thought out plan. The compound, which was being led by Cat of all people, was emptying of every healthy body that wasn't needed for defense. The leadership she displayed in training her recruits and her serious attitude had given her a following that she wasn't even aware of. The SCA people shed a lot of their armor and followed her everywhere, but that was okay because she had lots for them to do while the others stormed the airport.
The gates opened, and Benson headed out on foot to guard and clear the exit. They were probably going to be there for an hour or more as the trucks, followed by equipment, followed by a mish-mosh army of civilian and enlisted, left the compound for the biggest move so far in the reclamation of Hot Springs, Arkansas. The reclamation—if successful—would give them a quarter of the city with tons of room and air capabilities. Two Med-Evac choppers were in a hangar and at least one person within the group was qualified to fly; more would show up as people got their wits about them. Not everyone who arrived at the safe zone was immediately capable of jumping into a tasking. Some required time to get their heads back on before they attempted to be a part of the reclamation.
Using automatic fire, Benson's crew managed to clear out enough of the zombies to let a couple of the smaller skid steers through. The machines were so efficient they could clear a field quicker than any of the bigger equipment. Once they took the lead, Benson's group stayed behind and cleaned up the few that got through as the semis filed out behind them.
The stench of the dead had changed. The first couple of days were filled with the wretched stench of vacated bowels and bladders. Piss and shit was what most lived in for those first few days, until reaching the compound. The compound had become a bastion of sanity within the world of insanity. The air was now filled with something more subtle yet had a stronger internal reaction for all, creating instant wariness and dread. Benson found himself struggling to avoid his body's natural reaction to the odor of decomposition enveloping the horde. It was a sickly musk that permeated everything around it, cloying on the senses and deadening reactions.
He was told at the first corpse that he had ever come upon while working that it was a scent he would never forget—and they were right. Every time he came across it after that day reinforced that statement. It taught him to enter a scene with his nose as much as ears and eyes. His nose could find things that could not be seen or heard and the smell of de-comp can only be created in one way. Follow the stench and find the body; it worked every time.
He was amazed at the wounds and lesion on the zombies. Technically they were dead already, but their wounds continued to infect and festered with gangrenous oozing on partially severed limbs and large lacerations. Most shambled toward them with obvious intents and were easily taken out; it was the runners that were causing most of the problems. They would come into view as part of a larger horde, only to break away in a quick assault that came in low and fast. Two had fallen to the ruse before they caught on and eliminated the larger groups first. The action spoke of a potentially greater intelligence and possibly evolution-like elements that were of a large concern to Benson, but Benson couldn't think about that now. Now he had an airport to secure.
The last of the equipment rolled through as did the rest of the newly assembled infantry. There were some good folk here. A lot of them were seen at the weapons classes that Cat was constantly performing right in the center of the parking lot. They could shoot and they had lasted this long, so in a manner of speaking, they were battle hardened or at least experienced.
Benson led the group right to the first row of houses before getting out of the truck that he had requisitioned from the lieutenant. They worked in a line, covering each house from the recently installed wall of trailers, storage boxes, and shipping containers. The wall was being erected ahead of the clearing crews but just barely; close quarters required hand weapons, reserving the bullets for the open fields of the airstrip.
Bodies were immediately dragged out into the streets, where teams used equipment to lift them into dump trucks and hauled them out to a secured grassy area where a backhoe already had a sizable hole dug for a massive grave.
&nb
sp; It was a nice thought to think of all of these people being paid last respects in a ceremony, but here and now, it wasn't a practical reality and having the bodies interned into the ground as soon as possible was important to the physical and mental health of the survivors. It was all grim work and the resolute faces on everyone involved showed that they knew it. Killing, dragging, scooping, and burying the dead in order for the rest of the living to survive was more than any human should have to bear.
They realized as they worked that a little more of their humanity slipped from them with every corpse they created. Yet all they could do was reach down deep inside and bring forth the strength needed to keep on going. They hated themselves and were disgusted with every second of every day, but in the end, they realized that they were just doing what they had to do. They cleansed the neighborhood, which was the beginning of the cleansing for Hot Springs. Later societies would refer to this as the day the cleansing began. Humanity as a whole would soon become obsessed with cleansing the earth of all remnants of the past world so that they may begin anew. In some ending in the hopefully not-too-distant future with generations of unscarred humans there could come a time … when things got better.
With all of the noise pulling the zombies out of the homes for them, things sped up. Houses were more so checked than searched to find the lone Z trapped in a bedroom or bathroom. The details would be left to the new residents following up behind the group and immediately occupying the homes to finish out the detailing and create refuge for those who still thought. It was Brett's idea; he said that nothing destroys a building quicker than abandonment. Best to get in and fix what was damaged and bring the building back to life. The process created usable space and locked down the resources that building retained.
Multiple pets were released, giving the area a zoo-like feel as lost animals watched the humans who had released them work. They were lost and hungry and had no masters or a clue as to where they would get their next meal. They would make it to the compound and all be fed just like all of the others running around.
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