Alex eyed the remainder of his men. A now-ragged-looking bunch that stood at ease in a line toward the center of the gym. Bishop paced in front of them, debating on how he wanted to lay this plan out to them.
“Okay, as you know, we’re up shit-creek at the moment.” The men nodded in response. “We have a mission to complete before any of us can go home. Hooah!”
“Hooah!” the team responded.
“In order for us to do that, we need to get back to our vehicles and get on the road. Now that being said, Major Jones and I have come up with a plan to do just that; however, as with anything in our jobs, it’s gonna pose some risk.” The commander stopped, gauging his men’s response.
Each man looked back and forth to one another, wondering what in the hell was in store for them now, after all they had just gone through hell and back to make it to this point.
Bishop looked up and down the row of men. Not counting himself, only six men remained of his squad; Simmons was out due to the injuries he had sustained earlier. “I need two of you”—Bishop shot a glance at Jackson—“to create a diversion long enough for the rest of us to make it to the explorers. What I’m asking is that you draw the infected away from our position. As far as we can tell, these bastards are drawn to sound and movement. I’ve already selected Jackson to be our point man on this. He will need backup.” Bishop looked up and down the line for volunteers. When none were exactly forthcoming, he sighed. “Look, I know this is some fucked up shit, but we cannot stay here indefinitely. If you want to get home to your families, we need to take care of business. Hooah!”
“Hooah!” the men replied.
A slender-built wisp of a man with a hawk nose and pockmarked skin stepped forward. The man’s name was Salvador Vindetti. Although he was only in his mid-thirties, the pallor of his cratered skin made him appear aged way beyond his years; he was fit for his build with ropy muscles that stretched taut over his compact frame. Sal motioned toward the communications officer.
“I’ll go with him, Cap,” Vindetti said with a voice that sounded like gravel being rolled in a tin can.
Jackson tilted his head up to the man in a gesture of thanks.
Vindetti nodded in reply.
“Good. Now, this is not a suicide mission. As soon as we are clear of the building, you two will need to haul some major ass around to the SUVs. Don’t worry, we’ll be waiting. Scotty, I’ll need you and Hoop to stay on the ground level and help Simmons out to the trucks. Jones and I will take sniping positions on the roof and pick off any stragglers that get in your way. We’ll also provide cover for Jackson and Vindetti,” Bishop said, laying it all out to the men.
“How will y’all get out, Captain?” Scotty asked.
“Jones and I will repel from the roof after everyone else is clear. First order of business is we’ll need two of you to be ready to clear the door once we draw the infected away. Scotty, that job will fall to you and Hoop as well. Jones spotted some cleaning supplies that we can use to make incendiaries and hopefully take a bunch of these assholes out. We’ll drop Vindetti and Jackson over the back wall where they’ll grab those dumb fucks attention and run like hell.”
“It will be like a big game of tag, except if you get caught, it means you get torn apart,” Jackson quipped nervously.
Vindetti looked at the man and grinned savagely. “You afraid of a little dash and crash?”
“No, I’m afraid of getting my black ass chewed off,” Jackson responded.
“Okay, enough of the bullshit. Let’s get this party started,” Bishop ordered.
The men broke off into their respective groups and set about their tasks.
Vindetti and Jackson headed toward the roof to set repelling lines.
Scotty and Hooper “Hoop” began moving some of the larger debris away from the main entrance, taking care not to remove too much until the time came to bug out. They didn’t want to weaken the barrier while the entrance still teemed with the infected.
Bishop and Jones set about finding cleaning supplies; they headed toward the janitorial closet located at the end of the school over by the cafeteria.
The janitor’s closet was not so much a closet, but a mini storage room, complete with an exit door for easy access to the school yard for mowing. A large riding lawn mower set in the end next to a rust-colored rolling door. The first thing Jones grabbed was a small two-gallon gasoline jug and a can of motor oil; he shook the jug of gasoline and gave a thumb-up to Alex. Bishop spotted a large bottle of industrial cleaner. He grabbed the plain white bottle and flipped it over to study the label. He grinned as he spotted the ingredients he was looking for.
“We’re going to need to hit the cafeteria and probably the science room,” Bishop stated, eyeing the bottle.
Jones nodded in understanding.
The chemicals were a great find, but they needed something to house the improvised explosives, glass being their best option, as well as a few other ingredients that they would doubtfully find here. Bishop also found a box of nails and screws and stuffed them into a small trash bag that he had found during their search.
The two men exited the room and headed for the cafeteria. The bodies of three fat women still lay there in the kitchen area in pools of their own coagulating blood, stinking as they strolled in.
Jones covered his nose with a gloved hand. “Holy fuck! Smells like they’ve been in here for a week.” The bodies had already begun to bloat, releasing cadaveric gasses into the air.
“Yeah, they seem to be decaying much faster than normal.” Bishop observed with raised eyebrows, wondering why exactly that was. He pushed the thought aside, knowing that particular information wouldn’t help them in their current objective. Alex walked around the bodies, careful not to step in their contaminated blood, and opened a cabinet. After a short search, he found what he was looking for. He pulled out a large box of foil and set it on the countertop. He then handed Jones a box of dishwashing powder.
They stuffed the supplies into the bag and quickly took off down the hall in search of the science department. Glass and plastic bottles were what they were after, something to assemble the explosives in. After reaching the science room and gathering up bottles and rubber stoppers, they headed up to the roof. Jackson and Vindetti eyed them curiously as they saw the two men carrying a large black lawn bag through the door.
“What the fuck you gonna do with that, Cap?” Jackson asked.
“Oh, just a little science project, something to hopefully help buy us some time and maybe thin this herd out a bit.” Bishop smiled at his cohorts and set the bag down carefully on the tarred black roof. The sun was at its zenith now and blazing down on the four men, making their jobs that much harder. The black uniforms and heavy body armor didn’t help their situation either.
Bishop withdrew the glass bottles from the bag and set them up in a line. He handed Jones the gas can.
Jones started to fill the bottles with gasoline. He then added a bit of motor oil and then soap powder, effectively creating a homemade version of napalm. When lit, the explosive would burn like a lantern; then as it impacted their respective targets, the glass would shatter, allowing the viscous substance inside to cling to whatever it touched. You could stop, drop, and roll all you wanted, but it more than likely wouldn’t do you any good. He tore strips of fabric he had found earlier in another one of the classrooms and began stuffing them in the jars to allow them to wick up the flammable liquid.
Bishop set to work on his own concoction. He removed the box of foil and pulled out a large sheet. He tore the foil into strips and began dropping them into plastic beakers. He then filled the remainder of the containers with nails; he glanced over his shoulder at the two men who were awaiting orders to go up and over and start the distraction. “When I seal these bottles, you’ve got about thirty seconds to get up and over that wall. It will take about three minutes for this thing to explode, but once it does, you don’t want to be anywhere near it. I need you to get these dumb f
ucks moving toward you so these little bad boys can take some of them out. Hooah!”
“Hooah!” the two men replied in understanding. Bishop pulled out the bottle of cleaner; he popped off the spray cap and started emptying its contents into the plastic beakers. He swished the concoction around in the vessel and stuck a rubber stopper firmly in each one.
“Go!” Bishop shouted as he began to drop the plastic bottles over the side of the building. Several of them bounced and rolled off to the side. Bishop hoped they would be in the right position when the infected came stumbling around.
Jackson and Vindetti grabbed the repelling lines in tandem and began their descent over the rear of the building.
Vindetti’s boots hit the ground first. He quickly unsnapped the rigging lines and brought his MP5 up to bare, and then scanned the area for any immediate threats.
Jackson landed just after and followed suit.
“Getting slow there, kid?” Vindetti asked in his gruff voice.
“Don’t worry, old man. I’ll make sure I run faster than you,” Jackson replied, looking the slightly older man up and down.
Vindetti grinned.
“Let’s get this done.” Vindetti crept around the side of the building just to make certain none of the infected were right there, waiting to chomp down on them.
Jackson keyed his shoulder mic. “It’s go time, everyone,” he whispered, letting his fellow men know they were about to proceed with the distraction, and to get their asses in gear. They only had one shot at this, and they needed to make it count.
Jackson and Vindetti stepped around the side of the building and began to shout.
“Hey! Hey dumb fucks, over here!” Jackson shouted at the top of his lungs, waving his arms around like a madman.
Vindetti stood behind him and covered their backs, being that with his twenty-plus years of smoking Camel Wides, he wasn’t screaming at anyone.
Slowly one of the infected stumbled around the building to investigate. It paused for a moment as if confused, and then let out a horridly, sickening wail. This seemed to get the attention of the other dumb fucks at the front of the building.
“Yeah, hey you, asshole! Over here! Come see if you can get a bite off my black ass!” Jackson said, starting to have fun with this distraction.
Vindetti eyed him dubiously. “Why does everything have to be about your black ass?” he quipped.
“You wouldn’t understand, whitey.” He shot a look back at his partner, who just simply rolled his eyes.
After a moment, the group of infected began to stumble around the side of the building, being drawn by the noise and commotion. One of them took off in their direction, sprinting toward them.
“Oh shit!” Jackson shouted to Vindetti and started to back up hastily.
Vindetti raised his MP5 and smoothly dispatched the fast mover. He hit the ground hard and slid several feet before coming to a halt.
The others began to pick up speed, heading in their direction.
“Now?” Jackson asked.
“Now!” Vindetti concurred.
The two men turned and began to jog in the opposite direction. They had only gotten about thirty yards away when an explosion ripped through the moaning horde. Jackson and Vindetti hit the deck as nails shot out and whizzed past them, tearing limbs away from the group of infected. Another explosion fired off merely a second later. The two men watched in amazement as the shrapnel tore into infected flesh, tossing blood and body parts into the air. The men covered their heads as bits of flesh and gore rained down around them.
“Shit, I think some got in my hair!” Jackson shouted.
“Worry about it later, princess. They’re still coming,” Vindetti said, pointing at the remaining hundred or so infected that rounded the school.
“Holy shit!” Jackson exclaimed as he and his partner scrambled to their feet.
At that moment, the duo spotted a flaming bottle pitch over the side of the rooftop, landing squarely on the infected below. They watched as flames engulfed the advancing figures. Amazingly, the bastards didn’t seem to mind that they were on fire. They just kept coming.
“Time to roll, hoss,” Vindetti said, grabbing Jackson by the strap of his vest and hauling him forward.
The two men took off toward the woods. The remaining infected polarized on their position, some of them breaking into a drunken run. The men tore into the forest, branches whipping into their faces and legs. They hoped that they would be able to lose the sons-of-bitches in the thick overgrowth, and then double back to the SUVs without being noticed.
A moment later, they heard the sounds of footsteps come crashing into the woods behind them. “We got to put some distance between us and these assholes,” Vindetti said with an exhale. He could almost feel the infected people gaining on them.
“What do you think I’m trying to do? Christ, I think I just got a thorn up my ass,” Jackson said irritably.
“Quit your bitchin’ and get moving, or would you rather they chew it off?” Vindetti said, pointing backward toward their rear.
Jackson thought about it briefly and picked up the pace.
The two men cut a wide swath through the woods moving in a half circle so they would emerge on the far left side of the school, where they could make their way around to the front and escape to the SUVs. At least, that had been the plan.
Jackson emerged from the forest first, looking behind himself as he did so. He could see Vindetti shouting something, but he couldn’t quite make out what he was saying. All of a sudden, Jackson ran headlong into the body of an infected. Apparently, not all of them had been stupid enough to follow them into the woods; several of the creeping bastards stayed on the outskirts and followed the noise—basically triangulating their position.
Jackson went down tripping over top of the beast whose face had been ruptured and torn to pieces. Several nails protruded from his head, face, and extremities. Jackson screamed as the man snapped his head down and bit hard into his forearm. The infected tore a chunk of flesh away from his arm, exposing bone and sinew. Blood poured from the wound as the beast chewed and swallowed and lunged for another helping. Jackson screamed in agony and raised his uninjured fist and slammed it into the forehead of his attacker. The infected’s head snapped back with a crack, effectively shattering his spinal column.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” Jackson screamed as he realized five other infected converged on his position.
Vindetti burst out from the tree line and opened fire on the assholes that were attacking his friend. Bullets tore through them, but did virtually nothing, being that none of them found their mark in Vindetti’s haste to get to his fallen comrade. Sal reached down and grabbed his friend and hauled him to his feet.
“Get up, soldier!” Vindetti said through gritted teeth.
“I’ve been bit,” Jackson said, shock starting to overtake him.
“Never mind that now. We’ve gotta roll, hoss!”
Shots rang out above their heads as Jones and Bishop targeted the infected surrounding the men on the ground. Jackson and Vindetti took off running toward the front of the building.
Jackson clutched his bleeding arm and fought with everything he had to avoid collapsing from blood loss.
Vindetti spotted Jones and Bishop as they raced to the other side of the roof, presumably to repel to the street and into the cars.
As Vindetti and Jackson rounded the building, several infected held in tow.
Bishop and Jones had just made it to the asphalt.
Scotty and Hoop stood at the SUV, doors held open, and shouted at their compatriots to haul ass and get in. They opened fire on the infected that chased behind the distraction team and bought them enough time to dive into the vehicles.
Jones and Bishop hurriedly launched themselves at the cars, quickly jumped inside, and fired up the ignition. Scotty and Hoop were the last to get in. Bishop hit the gas, not waiting for anyone to get strapped in, and tore off out of the parking lot just as the remain
ing hundred or so infected started to show themselves from around the opposite side of the school building.
Jackson clutched his arm and cursed as they drove off. Vindetti studied the wound and flinched as he saw the distinct pattern of bone underneath the blood-soaked rags of his shirt.
Bishop looked in the rearview.
“What the fuck happened?” he stated with an edge of anger encroaching in his voice.
“Jackson, Sir. He was bitten. Some of those bastards took him by surprise,” Vindetti said somberly.
Bishop cursed under his breath. “Okay, what’s done is done. Sal, apply a tourniquet to that arm, and then dress the wound as best as you can. There’s a med kit under the backseat. Hopefully we can get it before the infection has time to set in.”
Vindetti nodded and reached his hand down to locate the medical kit.
“Jones, get on that locator, and get us a position on that case. I want to get this shit done once and for all. Hoop, start reloading mags,” Bishop barked out the orders to his men and took off down the street.
Interlude 4
Director Hammond scrambled to reach his magazine as the door to his office exploded open. He finally managed to grasp hold of the slippery bastard, and slap the clip home, as a large man decked out in black BDUs and balaclava stormed into the room, brandishing what looked like an M16A2 fully equipped with laser sights and scope. Hammond’s hands trembled as he pointed the gun in the direction of the man.
“Sir, put the weapon down. We’re to take you out of here!”
Hammond relaxed, slightly lowering the weapon, realizing the man that had entered was one of his own. Several other black-clad men filed in and remained in the hallway, apparently keeping watch on their backs.
“What the hell is going on?” Hammond spat out in irritation.
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