“Elam,” I said quietly, “This is the Devil that scares his friends by means of his rumors. If you have faith, fear Me, do not fear them.”
He stiffened and said harshly, “You would quote the Quran at me? There is no God but Allah, and Muhammad is his prophet. All things are in the hands of Allah. You do not have to remind me.”
“There is your answer, Elam.”
He nodded, and took a deep breath. “I will go.”
Bravery is not being fearless, it is facing your fear and going ahead anyway. We moved down the steps, and I’m sure each of us felt that same fear.
“What about rats?” asked Doc Swan.
“Shouldn’t be too many. Undead like to eat them, and it’s been eight years, so there isn’t any garbage to support their breeding. Plus they make good eating in a pinch, and there are still thousands of survivors here,” said Ziv.
“And you know this how?”
“Sarajevo. There were no rats there after a while.”
Our boots thudded down the steps, which were littered with leaves and bones. Here and there were skeletons of those who had died in the rioting and looting, trapped when the authorities had chained the subway system.
“Stay on your toes, people. This could get ugly, and watch for uneven footsteps. Slow is smooth, smooth is fast.”
Chapter 291
Twenty city blocks in New York is about a mile, more or less. In shorts and sneakers, I could do it in maybe seven minutes. In full combat gear, with a sixty pound pack, ammo, weapon, and assorted gear pushing an extra hundred pounds, twenty minutes was more realistic. We set a steady pace, keeping to the sides of the tracks. Walking on actual rail ties is a pain in the ass, and a good way to get hurt.
Things went well for the first half, and I kept a low conversation going with Elam, to keep his mind off the darkness that followed. Our lights penetrated a bit into the tunnel, but not too far. We passed a subway train, half a dozen cars, and I jumped when a Z thumped against the glass, biting and scratching, his howl muted by the closed doors. Cabrejo leveled his rifle, and before I could say anything, fired a burst at the figure, a half dozen rounds that hammered through the glass and punched the figure backwards, ripping off part of the jaw. The sound of the glass shattering echoed up and down the tunnel, a booming crash that reverberated in the dark silence.
“What the HELL!” shouted Ziv, and he grabbed the rifle out of the kid’s hands, shoving him down in the mud. “You stupid ass!” he growled and made to kick him.
“Ziv!” said Boz. The Serb landed one kick in Cabrejo l’s ribs, and Boz interrupted him again. “Stop, you dipshit! LISTEN!”
We did. And we heard it. A growing, echoing storm of undead howls, blending into one, growing louder by the second.
“THEY’RE COMING! RUN!” shouted Shona, and we ran. I grabbed Cabrejo off the ground and dragged him up, and he passed me by like he was on fire. Ahead, a tiny bit of sunlight filtered down from the 79th street station, and I risked a glance behind.
Eyes. Red, glowing eyes. Hundreds of them. Bouncing up and down and growing steadily closer. I took a flashbang off my harness as I ran, and tossed it behind me, to erupt in a burst of light and clap of thunder. It didn’t stop them for shit, and I ran harder.
My breath was starting to catch, and I could see the station up ahead; Cabrejo had reached the platform and was running up the stairs. He had ditched his pack and left his weapon behind, and disappeared around a landing. Ziv was charging up behind him, yelling at him to come back.
There comes a time, when everything goes to shit, and this was the time. I saw Doc Swan stumble and fall, just short of the platform, even as Brit, Boz and Shona clambered up.
“COVERING FIRE!” I yelled; not normally of use against undead, but even knocking the front ones down would give me time. A blistering barrage opened up right above my head, Boz hammering away at head height with the SAW till its barrel glowed cherry red. Taking Doc by the strap on the back of her armor, I heaved her up onto the platform, and Shona grabbed her and started hustling up the stairway.
Brit grabbed my harness and pulled, and I almost vaulted up onto the platform, just as the SAW ran dry. Howling fiends reached for us, and tried to pull themselves up onto the platform, stepping on each other to get at us.
“RUN!” yelled Boz, and he took his own advice, almost bodily shoving us forward. I felt a hand grip my leg, and I smashed downward with the butt of my rifle, breaking the rotten arm. Brit shrieked in fear as another landed on her back, wrapping its arm around her neck and trying to bite at her throat. She continued to run towards the stairs, hunching her neck and frantically pulling at the arm, crashing through the turnstile and getting caught up in its arms.
Vaulting over the turnstile, I grabbed the Z, what had once been a young kid, and pulled as hard as I could, fighting its inhuman strength, while behind me hundreds more piled up against the blockading machines. The metal groaned with the press of their flesh, and their howl filled the platform area.
Nothing could get the thing off Brit, so I brought my head down as hard as I could, smashing the edge of my helmet into the rotten tissue on the back of its head, closing my eyes and holding my breath. The skull cracked, and I punched my gloved fist into what had once been a child’s brain, praying I had no open cuts. The thing immediately fell down and Brit stood up, faced flushed. Ahead of us, up the stairs, I heard gunfire.
I grabbed Brit’s arm and dragged her towards the stairs, as she frantically grabbed at her gloved right hand. She pulled it off and let out a blood curdling, panicked scream, struggling to pull at the integral tourniquet on the wrist of her combat uniform. The tip of her pinky was missing, blood showing bright red in her helmet lamp as it splattered onto the floor.
“Boz! Hold them off!” He grunted and frantically swapped magazines, slapping in another belt of two hundred and fifty rounds. The SAW opened up again, hammering into the mounds of undead crushing against the turnstiles.
I grabbed Brit’s arm and wrapped it in a hammer lock, holding as tight as I could as she struggled and swung her fist at me, completely panicked. The tourniquet was built into our uniforms, down low on the wrist, and I yanked it as hard as I could. It was basically a zippy tie that had been sewn into the sleeve, and it bit down on her skin, hopefully sealing off all the blood vessels. I tightened it so hard it almost cut into her, as a bolt of fear shot through me.
“Nick, we gotta GO!” yelled Boz as his weapon emptied again. He slung it around on his back, and I could smell the barrel melting the harness. The big man picked Brit’s shotgun from off the floor and grabbed her other arm, as her red hair fell downward. She had passed out in shock, and we both muscled her up the stairs, into the middle of a full blown fire fight.
Chapter 292
The team was taking cover just down the steps. Ziv lay prone, firing single shots from his AK. Return fire splintered the wall above his head. Shona crouched off to one side, popping out and letting off controlled bursts at random intervals. Even as we came up, McHale heaved a grenade out into the late afternoon sun. Elam lay far down the steps, looking upwards at the buildings. Even as I took in the scene, his bolt cycled and brass went flying down the steps.
Doc was working frantically on Cabrejo who lay in a pool of blood. He flopped around on the floor, gasping and struggling to breathe. I grabbed her and pulled her off the kid. “Brit’s been bit, right hand, fingertip. You gotta take her hand off RIGHT NOW!” I was shaking her in my panic. To her credit, she calmly answered back, “I got it. Go fight,” and pushed past me.
Boz had already rushed up the stairs, and was next to Ziv, reloading the SAW as the Serb pointed to targets. I piled in next to Shona, but yelled to McHale, “Go get the extra SAW ammo off Brit and Cabrejo feed Boz on the gun.”
I took ten seconds to think and make decisions. The undead below would break through the turnstiles in less than a minute. Outside what sounded like at least a squad was engaging us, from the numerous bullets impacting the
concrete. Thankfully they didn’t seem to have a crew supported weapon with them, but that would change soon enough. We had to be close to their base, and support. It was only a matter of time before one of us took a hit, and as much as I wanted to stay with Brit, it was my job as the team leader to get us out of this jam.
“SMOKE! ON MY COUNT! THEN UP AND BREAK RIGHT, ONE BLOCK, AND THEN RIGHT AT THE NEXT STREET!” I yelled over the SAW. Each of us unclipped a smoke grenade, and pulled the pin. “Three, two, ONE!” Five smoke grenades of various colors arched out and into the street, sputtered and then started pumping out clouds.
“OK, GO GO GO!” I yelled. Boz kept firing random bursts as we ran out into the street, with Alex lying next to him. Ziv had gone back down and slung Brit over his shoulder, and he exited past me, giving the now dead body of Cabrejo one last kick as he went by. I counted heads as we went past, just as the first undead came around the corner. Shona had gone first, followed by Elam, then Doc. Ziv was next, firing one handed into the crowd with his AK, Brit still unconscious over his back, stump of her hand dripping blood. I ran up and smacked McHale and Boz on their backs, and they jumped up and ran into the smoke. I followed them, not looking back at the corpse of a scared young kid who had been trying to impress everyone.
As I ran through the smoke, random shots zipped by me, their passage leaving cavitation holes in the air. The smoke may have hid us, but that didn’t mean it stopped bullets. I went about twenty feet, and almost crashed into Boz and Ziv, who were trying to help Colonel McHale to his feet. Brit lay sprawled on the ground, moaning feebly and clutching at her arm. I grabbed her harness and pulled her down the sidewalk. Even as I passed them, Alex collapsed on the ground again.
“Pick him up!” I yelled and left the two of them to manage. With grim determination, I dragged my wife through the smoke, looking for an alley or a street to turn right down. I found it a hundred feet later, just as Shona ran back out to meet me. The smoke was thinning, and then I heard the sound that I had feared. CHUNK CHUNK CHUNK, as three rounds from an MK-19 were launched in our general direction.
Shona knocked me down in a full flying tackle, landing on top of me, and I landed on top of Brit, covering her with my body as the grenades went off. Shrapnel, both metal and stone, ripped the ground around us, and I felt a sting as something whipped into my ass. On top of me, Shona stiffened and gasped, then rolled off me, clutching at her throat and making choking noises.
I stood up again, right side feeling a small burning at my hip. Boz passed me, helping McHale stagger along. Ziv grabbed Shona and slung her up on his back, despite his own blood soaking his leg. Elam appeared out of the alleyway from where he had been shooting and helped Boz move Alex, who now had blood soaking the whole side of his head.
The alley loomed up just as the grenade launcher opened up again, but it was still random shots, explosions that echoed down the canyons. “Keep moving!” I yelled, and Doc helped me with Brit, who had managed to somehow stand.
We went another block, just as I heard yells mixing with undead howls, guessing that they had erupted from the subway station into the midst of our attackers. “Ziv, get us a hide,” I ordered, and the next likely door he saw, one leading up into a pretty tall building, he used Brit’s shotgun to blow a hole in the lock, disappearing in the darkness. We followed, exhausted, strung out behind him, and not caring what was inside. Elam stayed at the door, watching for pursuit, saw nothing, and slammed the door shut.
“I NEED LIGHT!” yelled Doc, as she frantically stripped off Shona’s armor and rolled her over, revealing a hideous gaping wound, with a jagged piece of metal sticking out of the back of her neck.
Shona’s face was up against the floor, eyes open and mouth gasping in pain, and Brit crawled over and cradled the younger woman’s head in her arm, holding her steady so Doc could work. I fell down on my knees next to her and Shona reached over, weakly grabbing my hand. Doc pulled hard at the shrapnel, and Shona tired scream, but it was choked off by more blood. Her feet started drumming on the floor as she fought to breathe, and Doc left the piece of metal sticking out of her neck.
Heedless of the wound touching the dirty floor, Doc rolled her over, pulled out a scalpel from her harness, and jabbed it down on Shona’s neck, just above the edge of her shirt. Blood splattered as air spilled through the hole, and the medic jammed a hard plastic tube into the open wound. Shona’s chest heaved and the tube whistled as she drew air in.
“Brit, keep her head sideways, so blood can drain out of her mouth. We have to keep her airway clear, that shrapnel pierced her esophagus and she can still choke form the blood. Hopefully she didn’t aspirate too much of it.”
She sat back and wiped her bloody hands on Shona’s uniform, fumbled in her aide bag and handed me the small but powerful blow torch, then stood up, walking unsteadily over to where Alex sat with his back against the wall, grunting as Boz applied a pressure bandage to his head.
“Brit, I gotta do it. I’ve gotta burn that infection out,” I said to her as she shoved her own body armor under Shona’s chest to elevate it.
She looked at me with her one sky blue eye, bloodshot now from the smoke, and nodded weakly. Her face was pale, and her helmet had been knocked off at some point, leaving her short red hair matted to her head with sweat. I gently covered shona with a pncho liner, and helped Brit over to a set of stairs. She sat down, and I called Elam over to help me.
“She got bit, but I’m pretty sure Doc got her hand off in time. Otherwise, she would have turned by now.” Maybe. “I need you to hold her down, and make sure she keeps her head down to keep her blood pressure up, I have to cauterize the stump.”
The sniper nodded and wrapped his arms around her. I took her wounded arm, and held it out in the dim light of the chem sticks Boz had broken open. Then I asked Ziv to come over, and ordered Boz to watch the doorway.
The Serb crouched down beside me. “How is she?” he asked.
“She got bit, and Doc took her hand off. You know what that means.” There was a minimum threshold of infection that a person had to get into their bloodstream, and we had hopefully stopped it, or she would have turned by now. Sometimes, though, shock and pain could overwhelm the body’s defenses, and the infection, normally very quick, would creep up slowly, taking minutes instead of seconds.
Ziv nodded, and pulled his pistol out of its holster, checking the chamber and replacing the magazine with a fresh one. “Make it quick, if you have to. For both of us. I don’t want to live without her.”
He grunted and told me to fuck off. “You can live with the pain of having caused it. Kill yourself if you want, but I would rather see you suffer if she dies. I will not help you.”
Brit raised her head briefly and whispered, “Not your fault.” Then she sank down into apathy again.
I grasped her arm tightly and lit the torch, sending a jet of blue flame. Brit’s eye grew wide, and she started to struggle. Elam whispered in her ear and placed a wadded up cloth in her mouth, so she didn’t crack her teeth, and I set the torch to her mangled flesh.
Her body bucked wildly, and then sagged in my arms. I spent the next minute cauterizing every bit of flesh I could, so that the infection, if there was any left, was burned away and her blood vessels sealed. Later, at the hospital, I’m sure they would debride it like they had done with my leg, but I was only worried about the here and now.
Ziv didn’t need his pistol.
Chapter 293
Night fell and the gloom deepened. We moved upstairs; this had been an apartment building, and the higher up we were, the less of a chance that we might be sniffed out by the undead milling around on the street below.
Elam had reported back that there was no sign of the mercs that we had faced, but there were a couple of hundred undead milling about in the street. We broke into an apartment, and barricaded the door.
“I’ll take first watch, everyone get some rest. Elam, I’ll wake you in two hours. Then Ziv, then Boz. Wake up is at zero four. Do
c, you take care of your patients.” There wasn’t even an answer, everyone collapsed on whatever bed or couch they could find.
Sitting next to Brit, listening to her breathing, I stared at the wall and started going over everything we had done over the last day. Had I made any mistakes? Maybe by relying too much on a rookie kid with some knowledge of the city to guide my decision.
“Hey baby,” said Brit weakly, and I started out of my reverie. She reached over and grabbed my hand, held it.
“Hey you,” I answered, and leaned over and kissed her forehead. It was hot and flushed.
“You need to stop right now,” she said.
“Stop what?”
“Stop blaming yourself. You do the best you can, and it’s usually better than most. Shit happens.”
“Shona’s dead,” I said, giving it to her straight.
She closed her eye for a moment, then opened it, looking at me. “I know. I saw, but I hoped I imagined it. She was a good woman, Nick. If I hadn’t found you again in Florida, I wouldn’t have blamed you.”
“Shhh. That’s just the morphine talking. You’re my wife, forever.”
“I know,” she answered. “I’ve got your soul.” With that she smiled a bit and slipped back into her drug induced sleep.
Doc came over and sat next to me. “Give it to me straight, Doc,” I told her.
“We’ve got to get her out of here, back to a hospital. That stump needs to be treated, or infection is going to set in. I’m talking within the next couple of hours. She might pull through, or she might lose the arm if infection starts. Or worse. There’re all kinds of nasty bugs running around here. You could lose her.”
“Colonel McHale?”
“Bullet grazed his head. You know head wounds, bleed like a bitch but relatively minor, unless they crack your skull. He’ll have a headache, but otherwise, he’ll be OK.”
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