Zombie Killers: AMBUSH: Irregular Scout Team One Book Six (Zombie Killer Blues 6)

by John F. Holmes

  Chapter 236

  Sometimes, being obvious can be the best course of action. Were wore the same uniforms and carried the same weapons as the rebels, and there was mass confusion. In the best of times, traitors weren’t exactly made up of the most well trained troops, and the Air Force especially had suffered in the Apocalypse. They tended more towards technical people than fighting men, hence the mercenaries. Many of them, knowing that their bid for power had failed, had been quietly deserting for the last day. Even some of the regular Air Force personnel had taken the amnesty offered by General Scarletti, so it was no surprise that we were able to move quickly towards the target building, stopping within a hundred meters. We stepped back into the darkness and had a quick conference.

  “OK, now we’re here,” said Brit. “Now what?”

  I pondered that. “I dunno. Never thought that far.”

  Brit laughed at the look on Sergeant Millburn’s face. “What?” she said. “This is how he usually does shit. Makes it up as he goes along. It’s what keeps us alive.”

  “Ziv,” I said. “Go get us someone.” He grunted and stepped out around the corner and clothes lined someone running past, sticking out his arm and knocking them down. He grabbed the figure and dragged him back behind the wall by their boot, struggling. The man stopped when he saw three gun barrels pointed at him.

  “Get up.” Ziv didn’t give the man a chance, lifting him up bodily by the shoulders and wrapping a thick arm around his neck.

  “Not so much, Ziv,” I said, as the man started to choke. He set him back down on his feet, and the man gasped for breath. Ziv pulled out his pistol and stuck the fat suppressor behind the mercenary’s (for that was what our captive was) ear.

  “Is that you, Johnston?” growled Ziv, and the man went white with fear.

  “Zivcovic? What the hell? I thought you were dead.”

  I squatted down to face the man and asked “The President. Where is he?” Ziv ground the pistol barrel into his skull, and the man winced.

  “Fuck man, right over there. In the base Headquarters. Basement.”

  “Are you bullshitting me? Where were you going?”

  Ziv let the pistol up a bit, and the man started babbling. “No, I ain’t bullshitting you. I’m getting the fuck outta here. Everything has turned to shit and them Air Force weenies done fucked it all up.”

  “Ok, Ziv tie him …” The suppressor coughed once, and the man’s head snapped forward, followed by the rest of his body, as if his bones were made of jelly.

  “Ziv, what the FUCK!” I said, wiping blood droplets off my face.

  “You are a kind hearted man, Nick. Sometimes too kind. If we tied him up, someone would find him. He would talk. Now, he does not talk.”

  “Obviously,” I muttered. “OK, time to get moving.” Behind me I heard Millburn keying up the radio he carried in his pack. “STEAK STEAK STEAK,” he called, and I didn’t hear the reply, but he stopped transmitting and put the handmike back. Over the hills, about twenty miles away, three dozen Delta Force operators would be climbing onto the skids of six Little Bird Special Operations choppers, even as the rotors spun up. If we had located him in another building, some other code word would have been used, like CHICKEN. Each building had a code word. Coming up dry was POTATO.

  We started to move down the back side of the building, intent on getting a clear space to take a shot at the Patriot Radar unit. It sat parked on a slight knoll on the far side of the runway, and we carried two AT-4 rockets. I was tempted to go back to where we had left the Rangers and just use the Barrett to punch some holes in it, but I wanted it truly destroyed. The base lights suddenly went out and we were plunged into darkness. Perfect.

  I dropped my NODs down over my eye and scanned the airfield. The radar was about fifty meters to the right of the HQ building, and still about two hundred meters from us. A bit far for an AT-4 shot, so I motioned for Millburn to move closer. He started to move around the corner, ready to rush to the next building, when he crashed into another figure coming around the opposite way. Both men fell to the ground, and immediately started to engage in a vicious hand to hand struggle.

  Another man came around the corner, and was hurled backwards as a round from the big .50 sniper rifle punched into his chest, shattering his ceramic plate and exiting out his back. Millburn and the man he was struggling with locked into a classical combatives wrestling match, each trying to gain a lock on the other. I raised my rifle to shoot just as a glowing green spark flickered around the corners, attached to a cylindrical object. Brit kicked it as hard as she could, and it sailed ten feet before detonating.

  I turned my head away just as the stun grenade went off with a deafening CRACK and a flash that wiped my vision out. My ears rang, and for a few seconds I was helpless. I dropped to the ground as fast as I could, and felt the BOOM of Brit’s shotgun. She had been directly behind me, followed by Ziv, and anyone standing in front of her was a target as she emptied her weapon blindly.

  It took a bit for my vision to return, and I couldn’t hear shit. If I had been looking directly at the grenade when it went off, I would have been blinded for a lot longer. In front of me were the bodies of Sergeant Millburn and his attacker, both still locked in a death grip, knives buried in each other’s guts. Behind them were two others, cut down by Brit’s shotgun as they rounded the corner, stunned themselves by their own grenade. Ziv knelt, looking around the corner, his AK lifting and dropping as he took aimed shots that I couldn’t hear. Even as I watched, the concrete above his head shattered as a round hit it, causing him to duck back. Brit was slamming rounds back in her magazine.

  I reached down and wrestled the AT-4 off of Millburn’s pack, slid the safety cover off the trigger, popped up the sight, and ran out between the buildings, into a full on firefight between Ziv and a couple of Security Forces. I felt rounds zip around me, and one tugged its way through my harness. The pucker factor made my hands shake as I took a knee, sighted in on the radar, and fired.

  The rocket popped out of the tube with a whoosh and sped across the runway, slamming into the dirt with a roar that I didn’t hear, and a BANG that I felt through the ground. I dropped the tube and ran back behind the building as Ziv let loose with a full magazine. Just before I made it to safety, a hammer hit me in the ass, spinning me around.

  Even as I stumbled, Brit was helping me up, screaming at me. I still couldn’t hear her. I reached down and grabbed the second AT-4 off Ziv’s pack, turned and ran back out into the fire fight.

  The second rocket detonated directly on the radar unit, shattering it and setting it on fire. The two airmen who had been firing at Ziv weren’t moving, but a HUMVEE tore up the runway, gunner in the turret firing madly at me with a machine gun, probably a 240. The HUMVEE’s grill exploded with another shot from our sniper team, and I turned to get back behind the protection of the building. As I did, my injured leg collapsed underneath me and I fell to the ground, bullets churning up the grass besides me. I knew the next burst would be directly into my torso, and I tried crawling towards the safety of the building.

  Ziv jumped out, cursing at me in Serbian, and lifted me bodily onto his shoulder, firing at the truck with his rifle, one handed. We got back behind the building and he dumped me on the ground, causing me to scream in pain. The bullet wound was screaming at me now and a blackness started to creep up around my vision. I shook my head to clear it as Brit rolled me over and started to examine the wound.

  “RADIO!” I gasped as she cut at my pants with medical scissors. She hastily started to apply a pressure dressing, and I felt Ziv shove the handmike into my hand. I keyed it and yelled “BEANS BEANS BEANS” into it, feeling instantly foolish. Who the hell came up with these code words?

  “Roger, BEANS. Stand by for extract,” came back instantly over the radio. At that moment, a Hellfire missile came rocketing in and over our heads, presumably to smash the HUMVEE still out on the runway. More rockets reached out, destroying buildings and vehicles. We hunkered
down as pieces of shrapnel and concrete sailed through the night.

  Our Ranger sniper team showed up thirty seconds later, and we lit off the infra-red strobe as the first Little Birds flew overhead to discharge their cargo of assault troops. One spun and came right back to us, dropping to the ground like a rock. Ziv again picked me up and threw me onto the skid mounted seat, causing me to howl in pain and almost black out, but he took a second to snap my harness to the aircraft, gave Brit a hard kiss on the lips, and stepped back.

  “Aren’t you coming with us?” I yelled over the roar of the rotor blades.

  Ziv actually smiled, something I had only seen once before, and said, “There is much gold somewhere on this base. It will make Diana very happy to see it.” He gave me a sloppy salute, and ran off into the night. Brit sat down beside me, wiping her mouth with a look of disgust on her face, and we lifted and spun, racing eastward.

  I took a second to look behind. The airfield was lit now by the fires of the burning radar unit, and to the north and west, tracers ached back and forth in desperate battle. I could feel the hot blood soaking the bandage on my ass, and it burned like hell.

  “ARE YOU HAPPY NOW?” I yelled over the rotor wash.

  She leaned in and yelled back, “WITH WHAT?”

  “I FINALLY GOT SHOT INSTEAD OF YOU!”

  In answer she leaned over and kissed me on the mouth. The moon looked down on chaos and war, but I leaned into her and held onto to my future.

  THE END

  You got jokes?

  I walked slowly around the perimeter of the farm, watching the cleared fields for any hint of the undead. My rifle was beaded with dew from the fog that rose off the river, and I felt a chill in my bones. Twenty two hundred, time for me to switch out guard duty.

  Normally, we relied on the fence to hold up anything long enough for someone to come out and pop it. The dogs had been barking, though, catching a scent on the wind, and I had decided to run a regular patrol all night. It had been years since the last big horde had been eliminated from this portion of the Upper Hudson River Valley, and I trusted the river to keep things off our island. Still, though, there were zombies, and things worse than zombies. A random night of patrolling couldn’t hurt, and a full October moon illuminated the fog.

  “There’s nothing out here. Let’s go, Rocket,” I said to my mutt of a dog, and he took off running for the front door in a silent rush. I started to follow, knowing that our farm hand, Joe, was getting ready to come relieve me. There were few lights shining in the house. Candles were expensive, gasoline or diesel even more so. Brit had gone to bed an hour ago, and I was tired, the stump where my prosthetic was mounted aching in the damp. Bed sounded good.

  Half way there, though, I stopped. In the moonlight, I saw a shadow silhouetted against a window, INSIDE the house. A horrible, shambling shadow, with the hunched shoulders of a zombie. Holy Crap! INSIDE THE HOUSE!

  I started to raise my rifle, but the figure moved away from the window. Brit and the kids were inside, and that thing was in there with them! I slung my rifle across my back and drew the mace I carried on my belt. It was about a foot long, and topped with a round, studded steel ball, designed for smashing skulls and crushing brains in close combat.

  The front door opened with a quiet screeeeeech and I cursed myself for not oiling the hinges like Brit had been on me to do. Rocket followed, tongue lolling in his stupid grin. What the hell was wrong with him? Usually around a Z he was all business. Stupid dog.

  I crept quietly towards the noises I heard in the kitchen. Whatever undead was in here, I would hopefully be able to sneak up on it. The passage to the kitchen was open and in the moonlight, I could see the back of a ragged female figure, hunched over the counter. I raised the mace high in the air, and the figure turned …

  Brit howled at the top of her lungs, and she lunged at me. Her face was covered in blood, and her eyes were red. I stumbled, swinging the mace wildly and then dropping it. Rocket barked furiously, running around Brit’s legs, and she raised her hands like claws. I back stepped and fumbled wildly for my pistol.

  “TRICK OR TREAT!” she said, and burst out laughing.

  “You … are …such … an… asshole!” I managed to gasp out, after laughing hysterically for a full minute. “You made me … almost … piss myself!”

  "Happy Halloween, honey!" she said, and gave me a great big bloody kiss.

  "Stupid jerk," I said, and kissed her back.

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  Chapter 3

  The Great Hall was alight with a thousand candles, hanging from chandeliers and floating in the air above the dance floor. Even the four giant Copperwood trees that formed the columns at either corner of the room had frost fire running up and down them, blue and silver flames of Magelight provided by the Court Wizard, her Uncle. Together the colored flames turned the vast hall into a brightly lit ballroom. The wizard, clad in the green and gold robes of the Tuscana Royal Family, smiled warmly at Wilma from where he stood across the room. Even though he was her cousin, and second in line for the Tuscana throne, Kevin and Wilma had always had a good relationship, more like an older Uncle than cousin. He had chosen a different path in life, studying the magical arts, and tonight he was very busy. Tables of food were ranged along the sides, and her mother’s Advisors all sat at the great table at the head of the room, in front of the throne carved right from the living heart of the largest Copperwood of them all. The Queen held up her hands and shouted for quiet, then came over to Princess Wilma, who stood there, hands clasped over her mouth in joy.

  “Welcome home, Wilma. We all missed you!” This was met with cheers and applause from the crowd, over a hundred of the most important nobles and commoners in the Kingdom. Seeing her daughter close to tears, the Queen turned to the crowd and shouted “AND NOW WE DANCE THE WILD DANCE!”

  With a shout of glee, Wilma jumped up and led the Wild Dance, the traditional Tuscana whirl of celebration. For a thousand years, the tune had never changed, but was never really played the same. A smashing whirl of violins, heavy drums, bagpipes and horns, it recalled how closely the Kingdom and its people were connected to the fields and forests of their homes. The Queen, who was a horrible dancer herself, and didn’t want to embarrass her daughter, stepped aside and stood in the corner, secretly holding hands with Sir John, who had changed into his high collared black and green Ranger Dress uniform.

  “You did well, Ana” he said, squeezing her hand. They both watched the Princess swirling across the dance floor, skirts twirling blue and silver in the Magelight, blonde hair flying out behind her.

  “Yes” the Queen said, knowing that he meant not the ball itself, but her daughter. “She IS beautiful isn’t she?”

  “Almost as beautiful as her mother” said Sir John, and he leaned over and kissed her, unnoticed by the crowd. The Queen blushed and the two of them walked back to the table and let go of each other’s hand. They pretended not to love each other, but it was the worst kept secret in the entire Kingdom.

  On the floor, the tune changed to a calmer waltz, and Wilma found herself across from a boy slightly older than her, wearing the uniform of an Squire Ranger. He bowed low, and Wilma returned a curtsey, then offered her hand to him for the Waltz.

  “My name is Duncan Perkins, m ‘Lady” said the boy as they wheeled around the other dancers.

  “La-di-dah, I don’t care” said Wilma, deliberately ignoring him even as they danced together. His hand was sweaty from nervousness, and she noticed that he wasn’t a very good dancer, even if he DID look a little dashing in his uniform. Blue eyes tried hard not to look directly at her from beneath the clipped Squire haircut, and he was a head taller than her, even though he was only eleven. The hand that held
hers was rough with calluses, from a life of hard work, even as a boy. The Northumberland part of her snorted “commoner”, but she felt a little ashamed even as she thought it.

  “I’m in training to be a Ranger, and next year when I turn twelve, I can go on patrol” he said, desperate to try anything to keep her attention. They completed a full circuit of the dance floor, weaving in and out of the larger adults, before she even decided to answer.

  “I don’t care” said Wilma again, putting on the airs she had learned at her father’s court. “You’re probably just a commoner anyway, from how rough your skin is!”

  He dropped her hand and, blushing furiously, strode away, leaving her alone on the dance floor while the music continued to play. Her mother, who had been watching intently, signaled to the musicians and announced it was time for dinner. Wilma, calling herself a jerk inside, stomped over to her seat at the table. She felt guilty about how she had treated Perkins, but would never show it. He had returned to a far table where the other boys sat and didn’t look her way. Fine.

  “Ugh, what is this stuff?” said Wilma, after they had sat down and started on the first course. She tried to discretely spit a mouthful into an embroidered napkin.

  “Fried frogs eggs in butter and olive oil. A great delicacy in my country, young Mistress” said a large man seated across from her. From his rough clothes, she could see he had been travelling, but he had a large gold chain around his neck, and another gold circlet held his dark hair back from a scared, blue tattooed forehead.