And now it was coming up fast.
Handon unbuckled himself from the front passenger seat and stuck his head in back. He could see everyone wedged into the bench seats, trying to make the best of it inside the bouncing truck. A vehicle designed to survive the most massive IED explosions known to man was not, alas, known for the smoothness of its ride or suspension.
But discomfort was perhaps about to become the least of their problems. The town up ahead, Berbera, had been home to nearly a quarter-million souls – now a quarter-million bodies. And while their new ride was probably the most invulnerable mode of transport yet created by man, that hadn’t prevented them from nearly getting wedged up and killed the last time they tried to surf through a tsunami of the dead.
Noise shouted down from the gun turret. “Multiple targets, spanning ten and two o’clock, range two hundred and closing. Shall I engage?”
Handon considered. “Conserve ammo,” he shouted back up. “Only engage thick concentrations, and only to our twelve.” Maybe the .50 could serve as sort of a long-range windshield wiper. Handon hoped so. He hoped they were learning something – they’d better be.
He turned forward and climbed back into the passenger seat. The view from up here, particularly since Brady cleaned the windscreens, was pretty great – or would have been if the view itself hadn’t been so terrible. Berbera was clearly a shithole of the first order – and had been even before the fall. Handon figured that even to Reyes, who had worked as a bounty hunter in south-central LA, this probably looked like the asshole of the universe.
Handon shook his head. Somalia had arguably been the most screwed-up place in the world, back before the fall. Arguably, it had also been the scene of the first battle of modern warfare, with the events of Black Hawk Down. So why was he not surprised that it had finally turned out be the starting point for the end of the world – and even less surprised it was where they had to go on what would almost certainly be their very last mission… to try and save what was left of the world.
Sand-covered roads with no discernible curbs snaked through one-, two-, and three-story tan buildings, all of which squatted in brown dirt. A few of the structures looked kind of colonial, but others were mere shanties. Telephone poles and antennas dotted the landscape, though many were now horizontal after having come down during or after the fall. The city fronted the harbor – but it was a working port, industrial and not the least picturesque.
The Apocalypse had of course provided dramatic accents to this tableau: burnt-out buildings, devoured bodies and bones on the ground, crap spilled and blowing everywhere – and, most conspicuous as well as dangerous, entire fleets of third-world vehicles jamming up Berbera’s roads and alleys.
As usual, the operators were learning about the next threat only as it materialized. Very soon, Brady was taking them up onto shoulders, onto porches, and finally onto and over cars and trucks themselves, as he tried to negotiate the maze of narrow roads and abandoned vehicles. It was like everyone had tried to drive out of Berbera at once – and all failed.
And now the stranded drivers and passengers were all stumbling around and converging on the MRAP, particularly as Noise started to put thunk-thunk-ing short bursts of .50-cal into the ones directly ahead. Their arrival was clearly the most exciting event in Berbera for ages, and everyone was coming out to see it.
Handon clenched his jaw. They had to drive through the city center to get to the connecting highway that led south. There was no way around it. And by staying buttoned up in the vehicle they were “safe” – but they also risked finding themselves jammed up in another building, or tangle of vehicles. But he tried to count his blessings – thinking how very, very shitty it would have been to negotiate this labyrinth in a regular vehicle, or even a Humvee or up-armored SUV. At least they could bash through obstructions with the MRAP.
As Brady and Reyes had enthused, this was no ghetto hoochie, but rather the Cadillac Escalade of MRAPs. So they had at least gotten some benefit from not killing Zorn, the deranged Command Sergeant Major and last survivor of Camp Lemonnier. They’d gotten some seriously hardcore transport.
Even if Henno wasn’t quick to admit it.
And, anyway, it appeared they had learned something – by knocking the dead down before the MRAP reached them, Noise was keeping them from piling up in front and obscuring their view. After a couple of nerve-wracking wrong turns and reverses, they finally found themselves on the road south out of town. This led up into some foothills that perched looking down on the coast – and as they descended the back side of them, they could see laid out very clearly what was at the bottom.
A bridge.
And that bridge was a total parking lot, completely blocked by cars and trucks – only some of them upright.
Brady slowed as they approached.
Once again… there was little choice.
* * *
“Why the hell can’t we just bash through that, too?” Fick asked. He’d stuck his head up front both to scope the situation, and to confer with Handon.
“We could bash through the vehicles. But I’m a little worried about what happens to the bridge underneath.”
Brady concurred. “That bridge may or may not be rated for a thirty-thousand-pound truck in the first place. And with all the other vehicles already on it, never mind the stress and jarring of us shoving them all off…”
Handon got up, swinging into the back and pushing Fick ahead of him. “Okay,” he said. “Everyone dismount and push out.” Someone was already opening the hatch. “Ali on overwatch, Brady and Reyes pull front and rear security. Everyone else gets to work clearing the bridge.” Almost before he’d said it, they were on the ground getting to work.
Juice said, “You do know none of those vehicles are going to start?”
“Yeah, but they’ve all got wheels. And they’re virtually all small and light.”
“Except for that one,” Juice said. He was pointing at a big six-wheeled cargo truck that was on its side, sitting half on and half off the bridge at its other end. It looked as if it had slid into position, pushing cars ahead of it.
Handon acknowledged this. “We get the other vehicles cleared, then we winch that one out of there.” He was already swinging around to the rear of the MRAP. He wanted a look at the hill behind them – not far over which Berbera still swarmed with dead. And he could already see the tops of distant heads cresting the hill. Naturally, they’d been followed. So the clock was ticking – yet again.
But Handon could also already hear Ali taking suppressed shots from the roof. How the hell she got up there so fast, he didn’t even know.
Coming back around, he took a look down the slope that swept underneath the bridge. There was a white Chevy Tahoe down there on its roof, riddled with bullet holes and bad scorch marks. It was also surrounded by a veritable mountain of destroyed dead – now rotted down to skeletons. It looked like they had all been converging on the rear of the vehicle.
Handon couldn’t quite picture what had gone down there.
But he was glad he hadn’t been around for it.
And they didn’t have time to worry about it anyway.
Little Velociraptors
Somalia - Bridge South of Berbera
“I’m sorry, but I’ve seriously gotta take a shit.” Predator was singlehandedly dragging a badly clapped-out pickup truck off the bridge, and now pushed it over the lip of the slope. It rolled away toward the trees below and picked up speed, and he started walking down after it. “Be right back.”
He didn’t talk about it (obviously), but Pred had been having tummy trouble since not long after they found themselves on the carrier. When he snuck down to the hospital to get checked out, Doc Walker had told him it was almost certainly the diet on board – too much rice and potatoes. All the starch overfed the bacteria in the gut, tending to make them rampage out of control.
“It’s a shame,” Walker had said with a twinkle. “Good bugs gone bad.”
�
�What does that mean?” Predator rumbled.
“Your microbiome. The trillions of bacteria in and on you, many of which do critical jobs – like helping you digest your food.”
“Are you saying I’m infected?”
“You and me both, big man. Look, just try to lay off the rice and potatoes.”
“That’s all there is!” And for many meals that was true. They were two of the few foods that could be grown in the hangar deck farm that had enough calories to keep body and soul together. But they also resulted in too many people not being able to do their jobs unless they were thirty seconds from the head.
“We’ve had increasing cases of IBS and IBD,” Walker said. “It’s a problem.”
“Oh, good. Another one.”
Doc Walker had squinted up at him. “You are a very big smartass, aren’t you? Like a bratty eight-year-old blown up to the size of Sasquatch.”
“Sorry,” Pred said, lightening up. “It just gets me down when I can’t do my job.”
Walker nodded. She got that. “Okay, look – I’m going to give you some cortical steroids. These should tighten up your gut enough to let you operate. They’re not good for you, and definitely not a long-term fix. But it’ll keep you on your feet – and off the shitter.”
Now, as Predator recalled all of this, he started to get himself out of sight of the others, partially behind a tree. There were plenty of combat situations where crapping in sight of your teammates was necessary. But this probably wasn’t one of them. Then again, Pred was a lot wider than all the trees around here. He hoped no one saw anything traumatizing.
As he took care of business, he heard something rustling in the underbrush nearby.
The hand he wasn’t wiping with went to the knife on his chest rig.
* * *
Reyes was posted to the south side of the bridge, the far one from the parked MRAP. He tried to ignore the noise of cars and trucks being rolled off the bridge, accelerating down into the gully, and crashing into trees – not to mention the steady suppressed firing back toward the town. He simply faced away and covered his sector, his mind on his job. This was important not least since coverage was thin – him to the south, Brady to the north, and Ali up in overwatch.
Everyone else had to get out and push.
He stole a quick look over his shoulder as he heard the MRAP’s winch spinning up – and saw the overturned truck being slowly but powerfully dragged off the bridge. They were close to getting it clear – and thus close to getting out of there.
Scanning to the south, he could see there were a few vehicles on the road – and a fair number of what looked like they used to be bodies, strewn on the blacktop and the shoulders. There wasn’t much left of them now. Mainly clothing, bones, hair, and the tang of regret. Options foreclosed. Things over forever.
Reyes’s vision snapped to the foreground again and he brought his rifle to his shoulder, as he heard rustling in the underbrush nearby – just past the shoulder of the road. He advanced a few paces to investigate. The brush was low, and the trees were small and sparse, so he didn’t think there could be anything human-sized hiding back there. Wildlife, maybe.
Sure enough, a dark nose on a tan snout stuck itself out from a low bush. As it emerged further, it looked like some kind of mole or beaver – tan fur on its belly, shades of brown on top. Whiskers and cute little ears. Then again, its fur was pretty patchy, showing mottled gray skin underneath – and the eyes, which were black underneath, had an unhealthy-looking milky coating. But things were probably tough all over the whole ecosystem. Reyes could relate.
Instinctively, he stopped moving, to avoid spooking it and to get a better look. But, pretty quickly, the creature demonstrated it had no fear of man. It scuttled forward out of the bushes, front paws first.
Reyes knelt down. “Hello there, chula. What a cutie pie.” He startled slightly as it began to make some strange chirruping or singing call – like a little velociraptor maybe. Within seconds, four or five more snouts poked through the bush. And now the first one issued a tiny bark.
Reyes hesitated. He was a little weirded out by this, but not worried. Yet.
But then he felt a strong hand on his shoulder, grabbing him and yanking him up out of there – and simultaneously heard Graybeard hissing, “Get the fuck back, dumbass” – right as he saw the blur of one of the little creatures launching up and forward. It smacked into his plate carrier, teeth and paws extended – basically right where his face had been before Graybeard relocated it.
He and Reyes staggered back – as the small creatures leapt after them.
They were being chased by moles.
* * *
“Dude – what the fuck!?”
Brady had just watched Handon cut one of the furry creatures in half with his sword. Suddenly, in seconds, these things were coming out of the woodwork, scurrying over the ground at the foot of the bridge, toward the MRAP and the operators – and attacking, flying at them viciously.
It was both scary and completely comical, like getting ambushed by an army of otters – or like the killer rabbit in Monty Python. On the other hand, they also moved fast as hell and were tough to hit. And they seemed to be going for the operators’ faces and necks. Most everyone was using melee weapons to defend.
Graybeard and Reyes backed toward the truck, side by side. Reyes echoed Brady: “Seriously – what the fuck is this?”
Graybeard seemed unperturbed. “Did you see their eyes?” Belatedly Reyes remembered that their eyes were weirdly opaque – as if covered with cataracts. “No fucking way,” he said. “Can’t be.”
They were all collapsing on the MRAP, as the overturned truck was still being dragged across the near end of the bridge. The human dead were still coming over the hill behind them, much closer now. Nonetheless, Ali abandoned her perch and appeared magically on the ground, sword out and swinging.
“They’re rock hyraxes,” she said, backing away, pivoting, and dodging all at once. “Local to Somalia. Just little herbivorous mammals… I remember them as cute and harmless.”
“Scratch the herbivorous part,” Pred said, swinging his bat powerfully – and missing completely. One of them landed on his chest, its sticky paws grabbing on – and its burrowing face going for his neck. “Motherfucker,” he barked, pulling it off and throwing it all the way into the ravine.
“Do not get bitten!” Ali shouted.
“This is bullshit,” Reyes said. “Animals don’t get infected!”
Handon came on the squad net to reach everyone. “Collapse by sectors to the vehicle. We’re Oscar Mike.” On the move.
Backs to the center, they all swatted and stabbed and retreated back to the MRAP. Some covered while others mounted up. It was still all completely surreal and borderline hilarious. Then again, the threat of infection kind of killed the humor. And these things were still moving damned quickly…
There were now at least a dozen of them visible on the ground – ones that had been whacked, stabbed, or shot by the operators – but some were still crawling, barking, or just wriggling. A few with crushed heads lay still.
Luckily, within seconds, both teams were all mounted up, buttoned up – and driving the hell out of there. Amazingly, the hyraxes were still attacking the MRAP – hurling themselves at the windows, tires, and cast-iron body.
Have fun with that, Pred thought, looking out one of the louvered side windows in disbelief. Up front, Handon had his fingers dug deeply into the armrest again, as they rolled out onto the first few feet of bridge.
Because they still had to get across the damned thing without it collapsing.
It looked like it was still just one-damned-thing-after-another day. Handon reminded himself to deal with one thing at a time.
They cleared the bridge and accelerated south.
Bombast
JKF - NSF Ops Room
Wesley took a long, slow, nervous look at the faces all staring wide-eyed at him around the ops room. All of the surviving and he
althy Naval Security Forces were crammed in – including Melvin and Browning, men Wesley had worked and fought with since taking command, all the way back to Virginia Beach. Three of that original crew no longer present were Scott (killed by runners in VA), Anderson (abandoned the others to die, infected in the flight deck battle, now being kept alive with the serum), and Derwin (shot in the runner fight, nearly bled out, now recuperating in the hospital).
They were all packed in there for the briefing – his briefing.
And it would be Wesley, now Lieutenant (junior grade) Wesley, who would be leading this group out on a new shore mission – one into the remains of an artificial city in Saudi Arabia, to try to retrieve a DNA sequencer. This would allow Dr. Park to complete the critical last step after getting his early-stage virus sample – namely sequencing its entire genome – and thus speed completion of his vaccine, all before they got back to Britain.
If there even was any Britain left, by the time they made it back there.
And it was Wesley’s NSF team who were being asked to execute this mission – after Commander Abrams finally approved it – because, simply, there was no one else left. And it was Wesley who was in charge of NSF because… well, actually, he didn’t have the faintest idea how or why he’d been put in charge.
But here he was.
In addition to the old hands, also in the room were NSF’s numerous replacements – those from the survivors they had pulled out of Virginia, including their tattooed hardman leader, Burns. Also several who had been shanghaied from Stores crew, including the tall and strong Jenson, with whom Wesley had fought in the flight deck battle, and who had further demonstrated his steadiness in the sweep for lone Zulus in the lower decks.
Also attending, but not so much participating, were Dr. Park – whose big idea this whole mission was in the first place – and Sarah Cameron, who would be going along as Park’s eyes and ears, essentially the technical consultant, to identify the sequencer they needed. And, finally, there was Marine Sergeant Lovell, who had basically planned the whole mission while Wesley and Sarah tried to keep up.
The Flood Page 2