“I said they are coming from the north and the south. It’s a trap. Steele is walking into a trap.”
Macleod cocked his head. “You don’t say.” He leaned against the pickup.
“We have to tell Steele before it’s too late. Let me grab that radio.”
“Yeah, we really should.” Macleod knocked on the window his knuckles wrapping the glass.
Weston’s bald head and smooth face poked out.
“Can you grab me that radio?” Macleod asked. “I gotta call this one in.”
Weston smiled. “Sure thing.” He reached in the back and snatched up the radio. He handed the radio to Macleod with a smile.
Macleod’s mouth curved into a nasty smile. “Thanks.”
Weston started to roll up the window.
“Wait. I need one more thing.”
Weston gave him a helpful smile. “What’s that?”
Macleod whipped his arm up level with Weston’s hairless head. Weston’s face barely registered danger before Macleod’s Glock 17 put a round through his skull. Weston’s brains exploded onto Ollie’s face. Weston’s head kicked back to the side, resting on the headrest. His eyes rolled back into his head and he immediately let out a soft moan.
Ahmed’s insides electrified all at once like he was hooked up to a car battery. His body felt like a ghost, ethereal and entirely fluid. He only did what was natural.
The biker chief leaned across Weston’s body and double-tapped Ollie. Ahmed ran at Macleod. Ollie slumped onto the steering wheel, blood leaking from his head and neck, his mouth open.
Ahmed sprinted and closed the distance in a fraction of a second. He did what was natural with what he had in his hands. He swung as hard as he could, catching Macleod on the wrist before he could turn all the way around.
The gun clanked onto the ground. “Fuck,” Macleod cried. He immediately gripped his destroyed hand in his other. A bearded biker aimed through the window. Pop. Pop.
Weston’s body jerked as he absorbed more rounds, blocking the bullets.
Macleod screamed, “Watch it!”
Ahmed instinctually ducked down near the door, and Macleod lunged for him, trying to wrap his arms around his body.
Ahmed body checked him with his bat and ran. He sprinted off into a defunct cornfield. Adrenaline pushed him into a dead sprint, ignoring the tightness of his almost frozen muscles.
He could barely hear their shouts and curses behind him. It was like they were fleeting memories in a world of fight or flight. He picked the plants as he high-kneed over uneven ground. The soil exploded around him. The bullets whizzed in the air. His chest burnt as he sucked in cold harsh oxygen. His lungs needed it to pump the blood roaring in his veins.
If he was one thing, he was fast, and twenty yards turned into forty yards. He could hear the roar of engines as the Wolf Riders fired up their motorcycles to give chase.
Keep going. Allah, help me. Keep going. He repeated it in his mind over and over. His arms whipped back and forth as fast as they could go. The cornstalks struck his arms and legs, tripping him. Every piece of uneven ground tried to bring him down, but he wouldn’t let them. A thick line of trees marking the end of the field became closer and closer.
If you can reach those, you won’t be in the open. A little further.
“Allah. Help. Me.” He breathed each word as he ran.
He felt it bite him. It was a cold bite like he’d been seared with a frozen poker. The sound of reverberating thunder bellowed in the distance. His heart rate went sky high in his chest. His right side burned.
He kept running, but the pain became too great. He gaped down at his chest. Blood seeped through his ACUs near his right breast. His legs slowed. They felt heavier than normal, like he was running with a parachute holding him back. He stumbled forward and fell, dropping to his knees. He put his hand to his chest, dipping his fingers into the blood. The warm crimson fluid covered his fingers. He still didn’t believe it was his. No. They couldn’t have hit me. They were so far away. I was so close.
Almost out of earshot, he could barely hear their laughter and shouts of the hunt over the thunder of motorcycle engines. He rubbed the blood between his index finger and thumb. His fingers were sticky like he had dunked them in watery honey. He forced himself to stand up.
“Not today,” he uttered. His mind overcame the lethargy of his legs and they were forced to obey. Shoving his bat into the ground, he stood upright. He stumbled eight more feet and he heard another boom. Something thudded into a tree nearby. He fell back into the cornstalks. The rumble of motorcycles prevailed over the blood pounding away in his ears. They performed more like dirt bikes in the field.
Ahmed’s hands dug into the earth. He crawled. He could feel his mind and soul departing his body, but he forced himself to crawl hand by hand over the earth. He knew the only thing that mattered was getting away.
The earth clumped and fell apart in his hands. He let go of his bat. He was a wounded animal trying to flee the hunter’s grasp. His feet were cold and he regarded them as only stumps, although he knew they were still there. Motorcycles raced around the corn. Men shouted. Flashlights scanned the land.
“You see any blood?”
“That fucker’s got to be here somewhere.”
“Didn’t you see him drop?”
“Sure did. ’Bout here.”
Ahmed pulled himself over a fallen tree trunk and collapsed. He put pressure on his chest. Damn my feet are cold. Not just my feet. The darkness surrounded him and closed in fast, gripping his flesh and soul. Allah take me.
KINNICK
Warden, IA
Hunter and the Marines pushed ahead. Their gear jingled as they ran, making them sound like escaped reindeer.
“Yeah, boss,” crackled out of the radio.
“Get Hamilton One upriver to Garfield. Zulus are coming down that road. Take them out.”
Kinnick’s radio buzzed. “You got it.”
Hard fought blocks disappeared, and they reached Gary’s restaurant and rushed inside. Hawkins stood ready, M4 in hand. Gary and Martha huddled together near the kitchen watching the men.
“Let’s go. Infected.”
Gary scooped up a shotgun from the kitchen counter. “I’m coming with you.”
Martha reached for him. “Be careful,” she said softly.
Gary nodded to her. “I will.”
“Hamilton One is swinging up to the road, but we’re going to head that way to stave them off.”
Gary nodded. “Others will join.”
Kinnick was surprised. “You sure about that?”
Gary nodded his head, a slight look of embarrassment on his face. “They will.”
The zip of the minigun hummed followed by the quick thunder of the M2 .50 caliber machine gun as it fired.
Kinnick wouldn’t accept any deviation. If Gary and the people of Warden so much as looked like they were up to no good, Kinnick would have them shot. There was a distinct difference between building trust and not defending oneself, and he intended to keep the rest of his men alive. Too many had been lost since the struggle had begun.
“Let’s move,” Kinnick commanded. The men filed out of the restaurant and into the street. The faraway hammer of the machine gun and buzz of the minigun was like a low-pitched thunderstorm of bees coming their way.
The Marines’ equipment bounced on their torsos as they sprinted. Houses blurred past them as they ran. People came out of their homes to watch Kinnick and his men run by. One block turned into two blocks, and within minutes, they had traversed to the other side of the island. A short bridge connected the island to a far-stretching swampy causeway running between low uninhabitable islands, where about a hundred yards away, a short bridge linked Iowa and Illinois.
Hamilton One bobbed in the water about ten yards offshore. Its turrets swiveled toward the road. Fire breathed from metal barrels. Hanger held the handles of the minigun with both hands. He was slightly hunched over the minigun, twisting and
turning the turret for maximum coverage. Every burst sounded like he unleashed a giant hummingbird with the destruction of a T-Rex. Hundreds of infected bodies exploded as hot rounds melted through the rotting corpses.
Hunter pointed at Duncan. “Get that SAW up.”
Duncan went from kneeling to prone and flinging his bipod out. He moved the stock into his shoulder pocket, his elbows propped up on the ground. Boone knelt down next to him and dropped his pack. A fast-paced da-da-da-da burst from the barrel of the SAW.
A cluster of disorganized civilians, led by Gary, straggled in with shotguns, AR-15s, and rifles. They joined the Marines.
“Where you want us, Colonel?” Gary yelled over the gunfire.
“Fall in line,” Hunter called at them. The civilians haphazardly lined the road, intermixing with Marines. The machine guns on the SURC went silent. The boat bobbed on the water.
“They’re reloading,” Hunter yelled at Kinnick. He turned to the Marines and civilians. “Wait until they’re closer. Don’t waste the ammo.”
With the lull in the bullet fusillade growing silent, the dead marched along the swampy road for the island. They staggered and stumbled, but they all advanced for the island of Warden as if they knew they would soon be rewarded for their undying effort to destroy them.
The dead reached the edge of the short bridge, claiming it as their own. Duncan fire his SAW in bursts, a repetitious sound of tied together da-da-da-das. Then silence while he acquired his next grouping. The rest of the line reported back. The bullets ripped the gray flesh of the infected dead. The body shots only staggered them, and in mangled determination they marched onward as more rounds penetrated their flesh.
Kinnick aimed high, controlling his M4 with quick single shots. An infected man gave him a skeletal grin through his sights. Kinnick’s eyes went fuzzy and the infected face became a blur. Ping. The dead man’s head kicked backward and he fell onto his side.
“Coffey, get those machine guns up,” Hunter yelled into his radio.
Coffey’s voice came back through with urgency. “They’re reloading.”
Hunter’s head twisted as he stared down the line with his single eye. He screamed at the men and Marines. “Keep firing!”
The dead fought tooth and nail over the fallen bodies. When one fell, it did not stop. It crawled over the bodies of the others who had been rendered incapacitated. They gained ground on the bridge. Every foot was bought with their twisted and bullet-ridden corpses. Each toppled foe revealed another in its place.
The faces of the dead were clear now. It was easier to tell that they in fact used to be human. Dead white eyes. Painful moans. Slack-jawed faces. Fingers spread wide trying to grasp the living close for their infected bite.
The hum of the minigun fired up again, and to Kinnick, it sounded like a beautiful bumblebee’s song. It ate through the dead on the bridge. The tings and tangs of bullets hitting the metal echoed. In thirty seconds, the battle was over. The dead were decimated into chunks of rotting flesh, strewn about the road.
Hunter lined up a final shot and banged it out. An infected woman four-hundred yards away tumbled down onto the ground.
Kinnick inhaled, feeling like he hadn’t taken in a breath in twenty minutes and exhaled loudly. The ringing of gunfire dominated his eardrums with a high-pitched hum. He brought his radio up to his mouth and clicked the side button to talk.
“How are we doing on ammunition, Coffey?”
“Went through about 8,000 rounds here. We got about 32,000 left for the minigun.”
Kinnick nodded. They did not have an unlimited supply of bullets like some first-person shooter video game with the cheat codes on.
“Cruise up the road to Garfield. Take out any stragglers, but don’t be wasteful. I don’t know when we are going to get a resupply.”
“Wilco.”
The SURC motors fired up and powered up the flank of the swamp road.
Kinnick addressed Hunter. “We should have blown this bridge earlier. At least it will provide us a little gap from the ones crossing.”
“On it, Colonel.” He turned toward the Marines. “Hawk and Duncan, stay with me.” Hunter walked off with the two men.
Kinnick turned back to town and ran a hand over his head. Gary moved alongside Kinnick, speaking quicker than normal. “That boat’s got some serious firepower.”
The SURC grew smaller as it cruised north for Garfield.
He gave Gary a stern gaze. “Yes, it does.” Remember that, Gary. For all these people’s sake. Remember that.
Gary glanced away in discomfort.
“There’s something I need to talk to you about.” Kinnick pulled the shell casing from his breast pocket and twisted it in his fingers. “We found this by the water tower.” He handed it to Gary.
Gary looked at it for a moment, twirling it between his fingers. He flipped it so he could read the bottom. “.300 Mag.”
“High-powered round. Made to take down elk and moose and the like.”
Gary gulped. “Or kill a man.”
“Or kill a man.”
Gary leaned close. “There’s something I need to speak with you about.” He let his voice dip. “At the restaurant.”
Kinnick nodded softly. “I see.” What do you have for me, Gary? He slung his M4 and started his walk back to the restaurant. Washington and Boone joined Kinnick. The civilians followed them in a disorganized rabble of armed men. The sound of footsteps echoed off the road. They walked in silence back to the restaurant.
Kinnick and his Marines entered the dark restaurant. Martha stood near Gore. She glanced up at him. Her eyes filled with tears and she shook her head as she spoke. “I’m so sorry. He. He. Just stopped breathing. I tried to help him but couldn’t.” She rushed to Gary and wrapped her arms around him and murmured into his chest. “Thank God you are back.”
“Everything is safe now,” he said to her. They gazed into each other’s eyes.
Martha broke away her eyes from Gary and looked at Kinnick. “I’m sorry, Colonel.”
Kinnick walked slowly to where Gore lay. When Kinnick reached his side, his eyes fixated on the Marine. He didn’t have the appearance of a hard-nosed steely-eyed warrior, but that of a young college kid with so much more to live for. Gore’s face was pale and his eyes were open. They didn’t blink and had a glossy gaze.
Kinnick had seen enough dead bodies of late to know the difference, but he checked for a pulse anyway. He pushed two fingers into the side of Gore’s neck. He felt nothing but flesh and tendons and the side of his esophagus. He picked his fingers up and pressed them back into the young Marine’s neck. No blood pumped through the carotid artery. He pushed harder. Nothing. Kinnick grabbed the boy’s blanket and pulled it up and over the Marine’s childlike face.
He put both his hands on the table and leaned against it taking in the Marine’s loss. “Damn,” he muttered. Harsh whispers caught his ears.
Washington hovered over Kinnick’s shoulder. Anger seethed off the Marine and he cocked his head to the side. “Fuck, man. They’ll pay for what they done to you, brother. Colonel, we have to do something.”
Kinnick bowed his head, still staring at the dead Marine. “I understand, Corporal. We will figure this out.”
“I’ve had enough of this shit. We been out there fighting and this is how they repay us?”
The Marine turned toward Gary and Martha. Kinnick raised a hand in the air. “That’s enough, Corporal. These are our hosts.”
Washington stopped, clenched his jaw, and nodded. “Ain’t right.”
“We’ll figure this out,” Kinnick repeated. Will we? Have we already lost? “Lashing out in anger will not bring Gore back.” Temperance, young one.
Gary and Martha argued near the open kitchen. Gary looked worried over at Kinnick. Martha’s arms were folded tightly over her chest. She stared at the ground and fear settled on her perpetually worried face.
Gary squeezed her shoulder and walked over to Kinnick.
�
�I’m sorry about your man.” His eyes searched Kinnick for some consolation. Gary eyed outside the restaurant and coughed nervously. “I haven’t been completely honest with you.”
“I fucking knew it,” Washington said.
Kinnick’s mouth tightened. “Quiet, Washington. How about you take a seat?”
Washington shook his head and walked across the room. He sat down, back to the wall, gun draped across his lap.
Gary gave the Marine a wary once-over as he walked away.
Kinnick took the opportunity to make the subtle gesture of moving his hand closer to his sidearm by leaning on the table that held Gore’s body.
Gary’s eyes were wide with worry. “You see, I wasn’t sure at first.” He shook his gray-haired head. “I guess I didn’t want to believe it, but after you showed me the shell, I’m pretty sure I know who shot your man.”
“Killed.”
A few seconds of silence passed between them.
“Why didn’t you tell me before?”
“Well, this is a small town. We look out for one another. Maybe I didn’t want to believe it. Maybe I was scared, but you stayed true to your word out there on the bridge. You fought the dead like you said you would. A lot of the people today saw that and appreciate it.”
“I was not deceiving them when I told them we came to help. Operation Homefront needs their cooperation, or this nation will fall.”
“I understand. That’s why I’m doing the right thing.” He looked down at the dead Marine. “The man that I think did this is Martin Biggs. Real big government conspiracy kind of guy. Been rattling off about the whole thing every time he comes in here or the T and C for a drink. The government infected us. It’s the government trying to control the population. It’s really never-ending with the guy. He’s talked about that stuff for years. Never thought he’d act out like this.”
Seriousness dripped from Kinnick’s words. “Do you know where he lives?”
“Sure do. ’Bout two blocks from here. Near the water tower.”
A huge explosion boomed in the distance. Hunter and his men would be back soon.
“Let’s find out what Martin has to say for himself.”
The Departing (The End Time Saga Book 4) Page 30