by David Spell
"It looks like about two thousand now, coming straight for us. And they're moving fast. The lead group of six or seven hundred is about five minutes in front of the others. When I drop these guys off on the bridge, the Zs should just be coming into view."
"Ok," said McCain. "I've briefed them to be ready to pull out when the Zs get inside a hundred yards. The rabbit will be under the bridge. When you take off, the rabbit will haul ass down to the next bridge, making enough noise to keep them all coming this way. Repeat the same thing on the Akers Mill overpass and then again on 285. After that, bring the guys back here and then, can you monitor everything from the air?"
"Yes, sir. We can do that. We're here to support you. We could support you a lot better with our mini-gun, though."
McCain nodded, patting the pilot on the shoulder. Chuck would have preferred to be on the helicopter with the officers. Since he had been given tactical command of the scene, however, he knew that he needed to stay in the command post. This would allow him to monitor all the radio traffic and move officers around as needed. He knew that with the number of zombies coming their way, he would be in the fight eventually.
Scotty peered through the range finder scope mounted on the Remington bolt-action rifle in .300 Win Mag. The first of the infected had just come around the bend, about five hundred yards south of the Chattahoochee River. When they reached the river, they would be a thousand yards from the Cumberland Boulevard bridge. For now, they were roughly fifteen hundred yards from the shooters.
Smith would have preferred a prone position from which to shoot. The bridge had a two-foot high solid concrete wall, with a four-foot chain link on top of that, to discourage people from committing suicide or throwing things onto the traffic below. A support pole ran the length of the fence. He would have to shoot standing, using the pole as his base. Not the best position to shoot long distance from, but it would have to do.
He slid the muzzle of the rifle through one of the fence openings and cinched the sling tight around his left arm. The stock of the gun rested on the horizontal metal pole. He pulled a hand towel out of a cargo pocket, rolled it up, and slid it under the stock. According to the rangefinder on his scope, the Zs were now at one thousand three hundred and eighty yards. The lead zombie was a stocky white male wearing a red and white Atlanta Falcons jersey. The zoom on the optic allowed Smith see his bloody face and the man's mouth opening and closing. The right side of his neck was torn open with blood covering the zombie's jersey and right arm.
Behind the Falcons fan, hundreds of other infected people had come into view. The virus was no respecter of persons. Black, white, Asian, Hispanic, male, female, young and old. They all were moving north as if on a group mission.
"I need a spotter," Smith said. "I'm going to start engaging but I need to know where I'm hitting for the first shot or two."
He had not shot this borrowed rifle yet, although he had used one like it on many occasions in Iraq. The SWAT snipers had zeroed it at a hundred yards, common practice for police sharpshooters and military snipers. Scotty still needed to fire a couple of shots to see where the rounds would be impacting on his targets.
One of tactical snipers with a scoped rifle set up next to Smith as his spotter to help him get the .300 Win Mag zeroed. The other SWAT sniper also settled into a shooting position on the other side of Smith and asked, "When do you want us to start shooting?"
"Let's wait until they get closer. I used to shoot at this distance a lot when I was in the army. I think I can put a few down. Who knows, maybe if I hit a couple, the rest will get scared and run off."
Jimmy laughed. "Big Guy, if you can do that, you'll have my undying affection."
Without looking up, Scotty said, "Bro, you told me I already had it."
To his spotter, Smith said, "Front Z wearing a Falcon's jersey. They sucked this year anyway."
The sound of the shot echoed over the empty interstate. Two seconds later, the spotter said, "Miss, no, wait, you hit the big black girl on his left. She's still moving but the round hit her in the right shoulder. Man, that pretty much blew her arm off at the shoulder. I'd bring it to your left about a foot and up about six inches."
Scotty made two adjustments to the scope. He sighted on the same man and squeezed the trigger again.
"Hit!" the sniper yelled. "Holy crap, that round took the top of his head off and hit the Z behind him in the chest."
"Ok, I'm dialed in now. Let's see what we can do," the bearded man said.
By the time the zombies crossed the Chattahoochee River, Smith had taken out fourteen. Two of his shots had dropped four of the creatures. The .300 Win Mag is a powerful cartridge and he desperately needed to use that to his advantage by taking out multiple targets with one round.
Only head shots would stop someone who had been infected with the virus. The densely packed mob meant that most of Smith's shots had punched through the first target and also hit another zombie behind them. Even if the shot did not find the second Z's head, Scotty hoped the big rounds did enough damage as they penetrated to at least slow the creatures down.
As the mob surged over the river, the two SWAT snipers started engaging with their Remington Model 700's in .308 caliber. This is a traditional sniper round and also performs well at long distances. Within seconds, they were adding to the kill count.
At around five-hundred yards, Andy and Jimmy began firing their Colt M4s. While not configured as sniper rifles, they did have EOTech optics on them with a distance magnifier for longer range shots. And, they were both Marines. Of all the services, the Marines place the most emphasis on marksmanship. "Every Marine a rifleman" is their mantra. The other SWAT officers also fired into the ranks of the infected, just not as accurately.
Below them, from under the bridge, the officers could hear additional shooting. The 'rabbit,' Emily's ambulance, was parked on the interstate below the overpass, facing north. Her partner, Darnell Washington, had volunteered to act as bait to a flesh hungry multitude of zombies. Emily had wanted to drive but Scotty had threatened to handcuff her to a fire truck if she even tried.
In the back of the ambulance, Marshall, Estrada, and Rogers began shooting at the oncoming threats out the open back door. Eddie and Hollywood fired from a prone position on the floor of the vehicle, while the smaller framed Chris stretched out on the stretcher and picked off Zs. No one was rushing as they fired. At this distance, it was much more important to focus on the fundamentals and make good, quality shots.
"Team One Alpha to Team Two Alpha," Andy called Eddie.
"Team Two Alpha, go ahead."
"Can you have Darnell turn the lights and siren on now?"
"10-4, will do."
In seconds, the siren on the ambulance was blaring from the stationary vehicle. The red and white strobe lights were flashing and it was the perfect draw for the oncoming zombies. They had no understanding that their zombie comrades were being shot around them. The virus caused their bodies to respond only to stimuli. The loud noise with the flashing lights got their attention and they continued to move forward.
Both sets of officers, those on the bridge and those under it, were firing as the infected closed to within three hundred yards. It did not seem that they had made any kind of a dent in the mass of creatures although they had killed at least seventy-five. Over the noise of the idling helicopter, the growl of over two thousand infected was clear. When the Zs passed two hundred yards, it was almost time to go.
"Wrap it up, guys, and let's get out of here," Fleming ordered. The men made their weapons safe and trotted towards the helicopter.
He called Eddie on the radio and told him it was time for them to head to the next interchange. The zombies were clearly agitated by the siren and flashing lights, with many starting to run towards the loud noise. Darnell began driving north at thirty-five miles an hour and stopped under the Akers Mill bridge.
Major Campbell made a perfect landing on top of the Akers Mill bridge and the shooters quickly move
d into position along the top of the overpass. The Zs were already inside seven hundred yards when the bullets began tearing into them. At this distance, Scotty was able to take two heads off with one shot a few times. The SWAT snipers and the other officers were also doing their part, dropping one infected after the other. The problem was that nothing slowed the pack down. They just kept coming.
Eddie and the CDC agents in the ambulance accounted for a number of kills themselves. Darnell left the siren and flashing strobe lights on, trying to keep the infected on the interstate rather than getting off the exit ramps. As bullets tore into the ranks of the Zs, those behind them often tripped over their bodies, causing others to trip as well. It did not matter, though. They continued to get to their feet and push onward.
Within minutes, it was time to move again. Fleming directed the men on the bridge to the helicopter and ordered the ambulance to pull back to the I-285 interchange. This would be the last overpass before they got to Windy Ridge Parkway and the staging area and command post. They would try and hold that position as long as they could and kill as many Zs as they could before they had to fall back.
Andy estimated that the twelve shooters on the bridge and the three in the ambulance killed close to two-hundred at the first two bridges. That was not enough to stop the onslaught of two thousand. The staging area was looking more and more like it was only going to be a speed bump for the surging zombies.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Broken Arrow
Cobb County Chamber of Commerce, Saturday, 0915 hours
Hakeem thanked Allah that the parking lot of the Chamber of Commerce was mostly empty. Just up ahead, he could see the police cruiser parked in the middle of the intersection with its strobe lights flashing. Hakeem turned into the big parking area of the C of C before getting to the officer's location. His research earlier on the imam's computer had led him here. He and Omar parked their vehicles on the far end of the building. A few cars were scattered across the parking lot but the three terrorists did not see any other people as they prepared to attack the Americans.
All they had to do was walk through a small wooded area, cross the street, and they would be across from the staging area. The command post was on the far side of the parking lot but Hakeem knew that he, Abdul, and Omar would do much damage here. The police were focused on the large group of infected people coming towards them on the interstate. They had no idea that they were about to be attacked from the rear.
The zombie virus was a masterpiece, Hakeem thought. Hopefully, Allah would reward those who created such a powerful weapon. The news broadcasts he had watched earlier showed thousands of these zombies in Atlanta, New York, and Washington, D.C. According to a police spokesperson, law enforcement had staging areas set up in strategic locations along all of the interstates in Atlanta. The police were spread very thin as they attempted to kill the infected.
As far as Hakeem could tell, only local and some federal police were manning these positions. He could not understand why the United States military was not bringing their incredible might to bear. As good as the American police were, they had no chance of stopping these creatures. This was another blessing from Allah.
The older terrorist led the way through the trees, his AK-47 held at a low ready. He did not have any web gear but he did have a magazine holder hung around his neck. It contained three thirty round mags, while Hakeem had one in the rifle and a fifth tucked into his rear pants pocket.
In minutes, the terrorists were at the edge of the wood line, looking across the street to where the police were preparing their defense. The staging area was a scene of people and vehicles in motion. Fire trucks and ambulances were being turned and positioned for quick getaways. Heavily armed police ran towards the bridge to get into position.
Marked and unmarked law enforcement vehicles were parked on the right side of the large parking area, closest to the interstate. The largest group of officers were in position on the Windy Ridge Parkway overpass. Around thirty nervous-looking police were facing south down I-75, waiting for their turn to fight. Another twenty were on the exit ramp. The two groups of officers formed an L ambush, Hakeem noticed.
The exit ramp was where the fight was going to get nasty. Officers clutched their rifles, shotguns, or pistols tightly. The news anchor had said that law enforcement officers had been ordered to stand and fight as long as they could. No one really knew what that meant. 'As long as they could?'
On the left side of the large parking lot, the fire trucks and ambulances were standing by. The fire fighters and paramedics huddled close to their vehicles. They were close enough to render aid but far enough away that they could escape if it looked like the CP was going to be overrun. Several large tents were set up near the fire trucks. Another tent was set up on the backside of the staging area between the police and the EMS personnel.
That must be the command post, Hakeem thought. Uniformed and plain-clothes police officers were talking on their radios or cell phones. A man wearing an FBI windbreaker spoke to two men wearing black and carrying assault rifles.
The sound of rotor blades filled the air and a Blackhawk helicopter suddenly appeared over the three terrorists concealed in the woods. Hakeem felt a surge of panic, knowing that the helicopter was about to kill him. Many of his friends had been killed by the air power of the infidels and now they had come for him. He raised the AK-47 to his shoulder.
#
Staging Area, Braves Stadium Parking Lot, Saturday, 0920 hours
Chuck stood next to the CP, having just gotten off the phone with his daughter, Melanie. He had not spoken to her in a couple of days and wasn't sure how today was going to end. He hoped the assembled law enforcement firepower would kill all of the zombies. At the very least, he hoped they could eliminate the majority and then pull everyone back before engaging the Zs again.
Maybe the walking dead would just stay on the interstate and keep moving north. The officers could just keep shooting them from the overpasses. Once the zombies started exiting, however, it was going to be bad. From here north, the metro Atlanta area was densely populated and had not been evacuated. The local TV stations had been broadcasting an emergency message for the last few hours to those who live in the Metro Atlanta area. People were being told to stay inside their homes and not try and flee the city. They were also told that the police had the situation under control.
In his heart, McCain knew that there were too many infected and not enough people with guns to stop them. For the moment, Melanie was still safe with her boyfriend, Brian, and his parents who lived up near the South Carolina line. If the zombies continued unchecked, though, they would be in her neighborhood in less than forty-eight hours.
After talking to his daughter, Chuck asked to speak with Brian's dad, Mark, and told him a little of what was going on. Chuck told Mark that it was time to head for their relatives' farm in the mountains of North Carolina.
"But the news coverage says that you guys have this under control," said Mark.
"Not even close," said McCain. "The President has tied our hands and the zombies are going to keep marching and killing, eating and infecting everyone they come in contact with. Please get out of there and take care of my daughter for me."
The two men had never met but there was a feeling of connection. "Don't worry, Chuck. We'll take care of Mel. We're going to start packing right now and be on the road in a few hours. Hopefully, you and your guys can handle this and you can come visit us. We look forward to meeting you in person and we're praying for you."
As he disconnected the call, McCain heard the Blackhawk coming in for a landing. Burns and García watched with Chuck as the helicopter went into a hover, preparing to land on the far side of the parking lot, near the fire trucks.
Scotty saw the staging area come into view out the right side window of the helicopter. A line of officers were in position on the bridge and another group were waiting on the exit ramp. Smith estimated that they had eliminated over two hundr
ed and fifty Zs from the three overpasses, around ten percent of the infected. The rest were coming straight towards them. Yep, it was about to get ugly. He had just eighteen rounds of .300 Win Mag ammo left and then he would have to start engaging them with his M4.
After clearing the I-285 interchange, the rabbit vehicle had kept its lights and siren on until most of the mob had followed them under the bridge. Darnell then shut the emergency equipment off and accelerated back to the staging area. He stopped at the top of the ramp to let the officers out of the back of his vehicle.
Sirens suddenly filled the air and ten police cars with their emergency lights flashing came into view. They had been sent by a neighboring jurisdiction. Each car had at least two officers in them and some had more. As they entered the large parking lot, they turned their emergency equipment off.
The Blackhawk was descending, now fifty feet off the ground, as McCain tried to count how many officers had just arrived in the line of police cars. At least twenty-five, he thought. I hope they all have rifles.
Luis had stayed by Chuck's side in the CP. He could move on his injured ankle, just not very well. He had been helping his boss keep up with the radio traffic and the logistics.
"Luis, can you go meet those new officers and get them in position? Put most of them on the bridge and the rest on the exit ramp. Tell them to take all their ammo with them and get ready to start shooting. I think we only have about five minutes..."
Out of his peripheral vision, McCain saw two figures run out of the woods from across the street. One was charging straight for the helicopter that was about to touch down. The other was rushing towards the CP. García turned and saw what Chuck was looking at, immediately recognizing the threat. He started running as fast as his injured ankle would allow him towards the helicopter. The sound of gunfire carried over the sound of the helicopter's rotors.