Containment_A Zombie Novel

by B. A. Hippsley

  Then his radio sparked into life, swiftly followed by dozens of ring tones from all around him. Bodien punched the air, full of delight.

  “Damn it Brad, we’re back on line!”

  Eastman started to flick through his radio channels; the airwaves were full of voices. The whole town was talking at once. There were things he had to do, but first he had to ensure the fighting did not resume. It would only take some hot head to start it all over again.

  Eastman gestured to his radio.

  “Now let’s see if I can get these guys to give in.”

  “Yeah, but what frequency they gonna be on Brad?”

  “They were the ones spying on us remember.” Eastman smiled as he saw the penny drop and Bodien’s eyes lit up like a slot machine.

  “This is Sheriff Bradley Eastman, Armstrong Police Department. All military personnel in this vicinity are ordered to cease and desist hostilities immediately. Or you will be arrested!”

  “Did that feel as good as it sounded Boss?”

  Eastman looked over at Bodien, waited a few minutes then repeated the warning. He hoped that they’d see the game was over. It was pointless continuing fighting. However, what if they wanted to carry on? He didn’t want to go there. Suddenly his radio crackled.

  “Sheriff, this is Leo Spelvin. Those army guys are putting their guns down. I think they’ve given in.”

  “Okay Leo, keep me posted.” Eastman gave Bodien a smile. “Jedrey, bring the guys down and start rounding up these bozos.” He tapped Bodien’s arm and gave him a more serious look. “Do it real easy, I don’t want any trouble. You hear?”

  “Max Koneg to Brad Eastman. You there, Brad? Over.”

  Eastman held the radio away and rapidly cranked down the volume. “Yeah. No need to shout Max. What’s your situation there? Over.”

  “Sarge took the truck out and we got that missile in the bag. Well done Brad – you did it. You did it man!”

  “Not exactly me. Some Humvee crashed into the jammers and set a bunch of gas cans off. The whole lot went up.” He waited for Koneg to reply but the airwaves remained oddly soundless. “Max, you still there? Over.”

  “That Humvee it… Robert Pool took off in a Humvee a while back. Foster said it was headed towards you. Over.”

  Eastman stood watching the fire streaking into the afternoon sky and said nothing. There was nothing to say. His thoughts turned to Robert Pool. Armstrong saved by the town drunk? Now wouldn’t that be something else.

  ****

  “Sir, we just lost contact with Control One.” The soldier adjusted his headset and turned to General Stone. Stone got up from his seat and walked the short distance to the operations desk, deep lines of concern spread over his face. “What d’you mean Green?”

  “Sir there’s no communication with the vehicle or the operator’s comms. I should be able to raise at least one. I think the vehicle’s been destroyed.”

  “That’s it then. I want Warbird Two detonated right now!”

  “General, shouldn’t we get more info? We need to...”

  “Wait? Colonel, I think we’ve waited long enough don’t you?” Stone cut Steedman dead and pointed down at Green. “Green, start systems operation on Warbird Two.”

  Green brought up the firing codes for the warhead at the underground base. Within seconds he’d punched in the details. Stone inserted the code key into the fire control device on the desk in front of him. He reached over and flicked off the small plastic cap on the unit, revealing the firing button. He jabbed his finger, depressing the device with a dull tap.

  Frantically, Green started pressing his keypad as dozens of messages flashed up on the VDU. Something had gone wrong. “Sir, the programme’s not responding. Warbird Two is offline.”

  “What? Soldier, get that damn thing back online now!”

  Green’s fingers moved like a blur as he desperately attempted to remedy the situation. Then, after moments of intense activity, he shook his head fearfully and looked up at Stone.

  “Sir, the firing system’s been disconnected. I’ve tried to override it, but it’s impossible.”

  “Keep trying man!” Stone turned to the other operator sitting next to him. “Callahan, I want Major Naughton and Staff Sergeant Rai down that base. Find out what the hell’s going on.”

  Steedman moved to stand next to Stone. “General, we have to deactivate Warbird One. If the potentials get hold of that missile we...”

  “Deactivate? Like hell! I want that missile airborne. This has gone far enough.”

  As Steedman was about to argue his point, he noticed that the ECM monitors were showing no power output. He crossed to the console for a closer inspection, but the LED registered nil output. Steedman signalled to Callahan to join him. “Callahan, check this out.”

  Callahan checked and re-checked the readings and after a few moments, turned to look at the Colonel. “Sir, the ECM’s are down. The target zone has got full comms back. And...” His voice trailed off.

  “And what?”

  “Colonel, I’m picking up two way communications. Sir, they’re talking to the outside.”

  “Good Lord.” Steedman raised his fingertips to his temples. “Put it on speaker.”

  The operations room was flooded with the din of a whole town, speaking as one. But it was one solitary voice that leapt out at them; one voice that stood out from every other.

  “This is Sheriff Bradley Eastman, Armstrong Police Department. All military personnel in this vicinity are ordered to cease and desist hostilities immediately. Or you will be arrested!”

  “Damn! Steedman you still want me to wait?” Stone turned to Green. “I want that bird launched in the next ten seconds!”

  Green tapped the firing codes into his console and after a few seconds nodded his readiness to the General. Everything was now in place for the destruction of the town. Stone inserted his second key and flipped open the firing lid, placing his finger directly over the activation button.

  “General! Think of what you’re doing. That town is talking to the outside world. This mission is compromised. You push that button and you’re the biggest mass murderer in American history.” Steedman took his pistol and aimed squarely at the back of Stone’s head and waited. “I’m begging you, don’t do this.”

  Stone’s finger hovered over the button; beads of sweat ran down his face, into his collar. The veins in his temples stood out, fit to explode. Steedman’s finger tensed on his trigger. Stone’s head slumped low between his shoulders and he closed the plastic lid down.

  “Green, shut the programme.”

  Steedman replaced his pistol in its holster and walked over to the desk. “General, I think you made the right call Sir. But I need those fire control codes from you.”

  Without uttering a single word, Stone gave him both keys. He slumped into his chair and looked up at Steedman.

  “I had my orders Colonel. You can’t go far wrong, following orders.”

  “Isn’t that what they said at Nuremberg, General? I’m going to disarm that missile and go help those people down there. Operation Viking is hereby cancelled.”

  He gave Stone one last look before leaving the room.

  ****

  Taylor stood in the gloom of the entry tunnel, completing the last of the connections on the timer. The device was now reunited with the warhead but he was loath to switch the gadget on. There was a possibility that the second the timer took power from the warhead, any commands sent from Stone could detonate the device – as if it were a demented print machine, suddenly clearing, and all the print jobs arriving at the same time.

  He looked at the plastic connectors and shook his head. Taylor did not entirely trust King’s sudden DIY skills to hot wire state of the art missiles. He’d only connect at the last possible moment, by which time it would hardly matter anymore. Deep in thought, he skipped his flashlight around the rocky warren. At least they wouldn’t be able to use his blood now; at least Lenski would be smart enough to make
use of the samples he’d already provided.

  He stared at the power switch; most people had no idea of the exact time and means of their death. Taylor knew that pressing the switch would be his last ever act. It was like pulling a grenade pin and then waiting for the darn thing to cook off. Yet he was strangely calm, he felt no panic or fear holding the plastic connectors. He shut his eyes and –

  “Taylor! You God damn butt wipe! What in hell you still doing alive?”

  “Benteen!”

  “Who’d you think I was, your mother?”

  Taylor watched as Benteen trudged towards him, limping badly. As he got closer, Taylor could see that Benteen had been wounded many times, even in the poor light it was obvious he was in a bad way. Then he spied the wound on Benteen’s bare arm.

  “Have you been...?”

  “Yep. My arm, my neck, they even got me on my leg. Real hungry critters.”

  The big man leant against the cave wall, resting his chin on his chest.

  “Anybody else get away?”

  “Everybody. We thought you was dead, then a whole swarm of them SOB’s showed up. We followed the stairs up, just like you said, but someone had to hold them back.”

  Benteen swayed sideways but Taylor propped him against the warhead trailer.

  “You got this blasted box of tricks working yet, boy?”

  “Yeah but Houston, we have a problem. King damaged the timer… means it can only be fired manually.”

  Taylor dabbed at his chin and stared at the floor.

  “Oh that’s just great. Kinda like a damn suicide bomb!”

  Taylor shook his head. “No, a lot like a damn suicide bomb.”

  Benteen pointed to the bullet graze on Taylor’s arm. “You been bit too?”

  Taylor gently patted the wound. “No, that punk King shot me.”

  “Nice company you keep there, son. Okay, so I kinda think I out injure you! So how’s this pile of crap work?” Benteen stepped forward to get a better look at the contraption.

  “You sure about this? I mean...”

  “Ain’t fixing to end up like Al and them others. How’s it work?”

  Taylor stared at the big cop a few moments before carrying on. “These plug into the connector here,” he said, pointing to the device, “that gives you power. Then the menu comes up, you scroll down until you come to manual operation.”

  He paused and looked up at Benteen.

  “Yeah, yeah. Even I can operate the DVD. Just show me how to shoot the damn thing boy!”

  “Manual operation gives the fire or safe option. No prize for guessing which one you want. It’ll highlight fire, you push okay and that’s...”

  “Will it work? You said it was damaged.”

  That was the big question: would it work? And could Benteen work it? Still, the guy was prepared to give his life for what he believed in. Taylor wasn’t even sure what he believed in anymore.

  “It’s got to.”

  “How long you gonna need to get clear?”

  Benteen was getting worse, his breathing was slow and laboured and he had difficulty keeping his eyes open. But people like him were made of stern stuff, or at least that’s what Taylor was counting on.

  “This thing’s been positioned to maximize the energy release. Nearly all of it will hit the base interior. But we’re gonna have a lot of back blast, maybe as much as half a click. I’d say about five minutes.”

  He knew it was a lot to ask, considering the guy looked fit to keel over at any time. But not only would Taylor have to get out of the base, he’d need to get clear of the blast zone. Something that burned the very air was best kept well away from.

  “I’ll do the best I can. But don’t drag your feet.”

  Taylor looked directly into the other man’s eyes. The guy had to be the most unpleasant, unlikable individual he’d ever encountered. Yet here he was, about to lay his life down so Taylor could escape. Exactly what did you say to someone like that?

  “Taylor, I always fixed on you being no damn good, I never realised you’d be the death of me.”

  Both men laughed, Taylor nodded his head and turned on his heel, disappearing into the gloom. Drenched in sweat, Benteen braced his back on the trailer and eased himself onto the ground. Every inch of his body ached; even breathing hurt, all he wanted was to shut his eyes and sleep.

  ****

  Benteen’s eyes shot open. Damn! How long had he been asleep? He cursed his broken wristwatch; there was no way of knowing if Taylor had got clear. He doubled up as waves of pain swept over him. His gut felt like it was on fire and his head felt ready to explode. He knew he had to stay focused on keeping alert. Next time he might not be so lucky. Next time... The thought of turning into one of those crap heads turned his blood to ice. He’d be better off ending it now, and that’s what it was all about. This was Gerard ‘T’ Benteen’s last stand.

  He shot bolt upright at the sound of gravel crunching nearby and shone his flashlight in the direction of the sound. Some distance away, a ragged line of creatures was heading towards him. Instinctively, he touched the bite on his neck as he looked at the gallery of misshapen faces snarling at him. The wound was now oozing a foul, thick liquid. He struggled to his feet, took his pistol and gunned down the advancing abominations. He fumbled in his ammo belt for another magazine but found nothing. All the pouches were empty. Frustrated, he dropped his pistol into the darkness. From further down the passageway the high pitched wails were coming closer. Soon another wave would be approaching but this time he had no ammunition. With the fading light form his flashlight, Benteen took the small plastic connector between his clammy fingers. With other hand he located the porthole.

  “Come look what I got for you, you God damn freaks!” Benteen’s laughter echoed around the cave as he switched on the device and power surged into the timer.

  Chapter – Twenty-Eight

  “O’Brian! Ever thought of using blocks when you threw this place up?”

  O’Brian scowled back at Langley. “You know how much alimony is these days? And I got three of them bleeding me dry!”

  The small wooden shack rocked under the relentless onslaught of the creatures outside. Several wooden panels had been forced open, revealing chinks of light from the outside world.

  “How many of them are there, do you reckon?” said Majors, hammering the last of the nails into the damaged panels.

  “Do you think I got some kinda X-ray vision going on here? How the damn hell should I know? Help me get this against the door.”

  Majors shrugged and joined O’Brian in dragging the metal cabinet to the door. O’Brian watched him closely. Now was not the time to come un-glued. The wails and groans from the creatures were starting to prove too much for the shopkeeper. Majors held his hands over his ears and shook his head from side to side.

  “Why can’t they just shut up? Shut up!”

  “Stow that crap, sailor! Don’t go lame on me now.”

  Langley moved in between the two men. “Take it easy will you. Them things are about enough for anybody.”

  “I’ve had about all I can take of this sorry son of...”

  O’Brian was cut short as the little room was filled with voices. The radios had erupted into life. The men stared at the sets, unable to comprehend what was happening. They’d waited for what seemed like forever to hear something other than harsh static. Now the powerful radios were picking up calls from all over America.

  “This is Burnsville News Channel calling Armstrong. Is anybody online?”

  O’Brian almost pulled the mic off the table in his excitement as he responded to the call.

  “I read you. This is Pat O’Brian. We read you loud and clear Burnsville. Over.”

  “This is Karolina Frost BNC; we’ve been getting some pretty wild stories from you folks out there. What can you tell me, Mr O’Brian?”

  He looked over at the other two, his face divided by a wide grin.

  “You gonna have yourself one hell of a stor
y here, lady. The town is under attack by some kinda terrorist group. I don’t know how many dead we got, but these guys are all over the place. Over.”

  Majors pointed in horror at one of the damaged sections of the shack, as several creatures forced the gap wider open. Grey, decayed hands grasped at the air in a vain attempt to feed. Langley swatted at the hands with his claw hammer, allowing Majors to close the breach with the table. The three men knew it would only be a matter of time before the ravenous things got inside.

  “Mr O’Brian, do you know why they’re attacking you? What do they want?”

  “They got some type of missile set up, I reckon they’re gonna shoot it off at some place. You gotta send help. Over!”

  As O’Brian continued his talk with the news station, Majors moved to stand with Langley, a confused look on his face.

  “Terrorist missile? Why not tell her the truth?”

  “Cause folks still recall the Super Bowl and Times Square bombings, Oscar. Terrorists are real: you go on about zombies and she gonna switch off.”

  Both men looked skywards at the sound of footsteps clattering around on the tin roof.

  “How the hell they get on the roof?” Majors jerked his finger upwards in disbelief; the things could hardly move in a straight line, let alone clamber onto the roof. Things were now well beyond normal.

  O’Brian called across from his radio bench. “Fellas, we gotta keep transmitting. The net’s crashed and the landlines are overloaded!”

  “Ain’t surprising, it was never made for this kinda use.” Langley shrugged, rubbing his cheek. “But we did get out to people, right?”

  O’Brian gave them a huge smile. “Hell yeah, I got CBS, CNN and a whole bunch of others waiting on the line. We’re big news guys.”

  The sound of gunfire drowned him out as volley after deafening volley rang through the air. But almost as soon as it had started, the gunfore stopped and the small shack returned to total silence, except for the incessant radio babble.

  “Reckon we ought to take a look boys. Majors, you...”