Rotter Apocalypse

by Scott M. Baker

  Before the smoke had dissipated, the stench of kerosene mixed with charred, decayed flesh wafted along the beach. It was the most ungodly odor Ari had ever smelled. She swallowed the bile in her throat. Most of the others along the beach, including Doreen, puked into the sand.

  “When are we gonna get off this beach?” protested a private several feet down from Ari.

  “Relax,” said Mesle. “They haven’t even firebombed Golden Gate Park yet.”

  “Shit,” Ari mumbled.

  Mesle tapped her on the shoulder. “How are you ladies doing?”

  “We’re better off than they are.” Ari motioned with her head toward the park. “I almost feel sorry for them.”

  Mesle chuckled. “You should see what they have planned for the revenants on the other side of the city.”

  * * *

  The Abrams had traveled over half a mile and had crushed scores of vehicles beneath its treads when it came upon three tractor trailers side by side stretching across Route 101.

  “The road is blocked,” said Preston.

  “Go over it,” replied Hendricks.

  Preston accelerated and the M1 surged ahead. “Hang on!”

  Natalie grabbed the chicken handle on the interior hull and braced herself as the two trucks to the right loomed larger in her periscope. One was painted dark brown, probably belonging to UPS. The other bore the twin concentric circles of the Target logo. A jolt shook the Abrams when it collided with the cabs. Its speed decreased as the treads ground into the engine compartments, pulling the tank up over the hoods and windshields. For several seconds, the tank hovered at a forty-degree angle before toppling forward, the twin treads crushing the fronts of the trailers. The sidewalls exploded outward, sending packages and boxes spewing across the highway. A slight pause ensued, and then the treads regained traction. The M1 lurched forward, flattening the trailers beneath it, the twisted metal sidewalls scraping against the undercarriage. The tank crossed over onto a pair of sedans and continued down the highway.

  Natalie looked through the periscope again and gasped.

  “What is it?” asked Hendricks.

  “The highway is filled with rotters!”

  “With what?”

  “The living dead. Revenants. Whatever you call them.” Natalie switched her gaze to one of the forward vision blocks. Rotters wound their way amongst the abandoned vehicles, hundreds of them, all shambling toward the oncoming tank.

  Preston accelerated. “I see them. They’re no match for us.”

  Natalie saw the familiar snarling faces, gore-encrusted teeth, and milky white eyes she had witnessed so many times before, and the outstretched decayed hands grasping for her as they disappeared beneath the glacis plate. This time she felt secure. Rather than facing them down the barrel of a gun, she did so from the safety of an armored tank. When Natalie pivoted her periscope to the rear, her stomach threatened to heave. She had been battling the living dead for a year and had never witnessed such a slaughter. Every rotter in the path of the treads had been maimed. Some had limbs or heads crushed into the road. Others had been ground into the vehicles, body parts mixing with the twisted metal. Those few not trampled had begun following the tank.

  When Natalie spun the periscope around front, she saw their designated turn off point—the Bay View Children’s Play Area.

  “There’s our turnoff,” said Natalie.

  “Roger that,” said Preston. “Hang on. This is going to be bumpy.”

  Preston veered the M1 left and exited the northbound lanes of traffic. The tank slammed over the guardrail, clawed its way down to the empty access road paralleling the highway, tore through a chain link fence, and proceeded across the sandy lot at the base of the hill. After three hundred feet, Preston stopped the tank and let it idle.

  “What’s wrong?” Natalie asked.

  “Nothing,” the corporal replied. “I’m letting those things on the highway catch up to us. Let me know when most of them get here.”

  Natalie rotated the periscope one hundred and eighty degrees. A handful of rotters from inside the sandy lot had reached the rear of the M1 and clawed at the armor, leaving streaks of gore on the surface. Her eyes were not on them. Natalie focused her attention on the hundreds of rotters that flowed off the highway, through the ripped out section of fence, and staggered toward the Abrams.

  * * *

  Another series of fireballs erupted to the north. Ari found herself ducking from instinct, even though the explosions were a mile away.

  “That would be the PDS of Golden Gate Park,” Mesle announced.

  A whistle blast sounded farther down the beach. Napier walked along the line. “Move out and keep it tight. Remember, we’re here to clean out revenants, not see who can reach the Bay first.”

  Mesle headed up the stairs leading off the beach, with Ari and Doreen following. The entire line of troops surged forward from the beach and advanced inland, maintaining a tight line. As they crossed the highway, the troops checked each vehicle. A Coop just ahead of Ari held a single rotter, a young woman still wearing her seatbelt. The skin on the left side of her face, shoulder, and arm had been chewed away. It stared at the approaching food and snarled through half a mouth. For a moment, Ari hesitated. Mesle pushed past her, raised his M-16A2, and put a single round into its head.

  “We’re here to clean these things out,” he snapped. “Get your head in the game or get out of line.”

  “Sorry,” she said. “It won’t happen again.”

  Upon reaching the other side of the highway, the line flowed like a wave. Ari’s section passed through a copse of trees and entered the parking lot of the San Francisco Zoo. Several dozen vehicles sat at skewed angles around the main gate, in most cases the doors left open. Those troops that reached the exterior wall bordering the parking lot stopped. The rest flowed around the side walls and continued into the city, the occasional sound of weapons fire punctuating the day. Napier blew his whistle again and summoned his platoon to the main gate. They totaled forty-one men and women.

  Napier stepped up to Mesle. “You know what to do.”

  Mesle nodded. “I’ll take just my squad.”

  “Are you sure that’s enough?”

  “If I need back up I’ll call for it. If this goes south and we get overwhelmed, why lose more than that?”

  The master sergeant frowned but agreed with the reasoning and walked off.

  Mesle gathered up the eight members of his squad. “I don’t want anybody playing the hero in here. We go in, do our job, and get out as quickly as possible. If we run into any revenants, dispatch them without discharging your weapon. If there are too many, we fall back and abandon the mission.”

  “What mission?” Ari asked. “I thought we were bypassing buildings and enclosed areas.”

  “We are. In this case, we need to gather intelligence. So let’s move out.”

  The main entrance to the zoo had been barricaded from the inside. Two of the soldiers hoisted Ari to the roof of the Education Center on the left. She climbed to the peak and looked inside the compound. Some of the interior barrier had been taken down, and dried blood smeared the cement. She saw no signs of activity and backed down to the edge of the roof.

  “Everything is clear,” she reported.

  “Any chance of removing the barricade?” Mesle asked.

  She shook her head. “It’s wooden planks and sections of chain link fence held in place by cinderblocks, wooden beams, and metal poles.”

  “Then we go over. Everyone on the roof,” Mesle ordered.

  Five minutes later, the squad stood inside the zoo surrounding Mesle while he studied the mounted visitor guide map. He snapped his fingers to get their attention, motioned to the right, and moved out. In the distance was the distinctive moan of rotters, probably no more than ten. Ari raised her M-16A2 into the high ready position. The squad came to an open enclosure on the right that was set up to resemble the African Savanna. They climbed onto a pile of boulders overlooki
ng the interior. Seven rotters milled about. Two animal carcasses lay on the dried grass. One appeared to be a zebra based on the striped coloring of its leathery skin, with most of its midsection eaten away. The other animal was a giraffe, the neck of which had been picked clean of flesh and muscle. Those portions not devoured had decomposed and been baked by the glaring sun. Upon seeing the squad, the rotters issued a deep groan of hunger and stumbled toward the retaining wall.

  Several of the troops raised their weapons to fire. Mesle waved them down. “They can’t get to us. It’ll draw others.”

  “What do we do about them?” asked a young man with red hair.

  “Leave them for the clean-up squad.”

  Climbing down from the rocks and returning to the main path, the squad continued until it reached a large open area near the center of the zoo. Three rotters blocked their path. Two wore casual street clothes. The third appeared as though something had mauled it. Half its face had been ripped away, one of its arms had been torn off, and chunks of flesh and muscle had been gouged out of its chest. The three rotters headed toward them. Ari stepped toward the mauled rotter. It reached out its one good arm toward her. She raised the butt of her M-16A2 and slammed it into the rotter’s face, then swung her right leg behind it, knocking the rotter’s legs out from under it. It fell to the ground. Ari pounded at its head with the butt of her weapon until it shattered. Doreen and the red-headed soldier did the same to the other two living dead.

  Moving on, the squad came across a scene of carnage outside of Cat Kingdom. Dried blood covered the area for a hundred square feet. The remains of a snow leopard, lion, and tiger, as well as eleven rotters lay scattered across the walkway. The snow leopard had its abdomen torn open and its insides emptied of all internal organs. A twenty-foot-long streak of blood trailed behind the tiger’s carcass, indicating that even in its death throes it had fought to get away. The lion had multiple bite wounds across its body and one eye gouged out. Each of the big cats had been brought down and eaten, although not before mauling their attackers, because interspersed among the melee were decayed human limbs and heads. The eyes on one of the heads followed the group as it approached, and its mouth moved in anticipation of a meal.

  “What happened here?” Doreen asked.

  Mesle stared at the killing zone. “Somehow the big cats got out and fought the revenants. From the looks of it, they gave as well as they got.”

  “How horrible,” Ari said.

  “At least they went out fighting, not like those other animals.”

  The red-headed soldier moved toward the rotter head and raised his M-16A2. Mesle stopped him. “Don’t waste the energy. We sti—”

  A moaning from further down the walkway and to their right caught their attention. Ten rotters approached from the front, and another seven on the flank, enough for the squad to handle. They raised their weapons to fire. Again Mesle intervened.

  “We’re almost done here. Fall back.”

  The squad had double-timed to the African Savanna section when Mesle ordered them to stop. “Wait here. Fire a shot when those things get to within fifty feet.” To Ari and Doreen, he said, “You’re with me.”

  Before they could respond, he ran up the stairs to the elevated walkway that ran through the Primate Discovery Center, with the two women behind him. He raced down the length of the walkway, pausing every few seconds to stare into the multi-story primate building off to the right. Because of the overgrown rainforest inside and the dust-covered windows, they could not see in. Mesle swore under his breath and backtracked along the front of the building. A single round of automatic weapon fire cut through the stillness. The women continued back toward the rest of the squad. Mesle turned left and circled around the end of the primate building.

  “What are you doing?” Ari called out.

  “I have to check something.”

  “The rotters are here.”

  “Go on. I’ll be there in a minute.”

  Ari told Doreen to go on without her and followed Mesle. The corporal raced to the reviewing area at the far end of the walkway overlooking the outdoor chimpanzee compound. Over a dozen chimp carcasses lay across the compound. Though a few showed signs of having been eaten, most lay near the base of trees and had died from starvation.

  Mesle studied the enclosure for a moment and then whispered, “Thank God.”

  “For what?”

  Before he could answer, a barrage of automatic weapons fire erupted from the walkway.

  “Let’s haul ass.” Mesle darted away from the reviewing area, making sure Ari was with him.

  They raced down the stairs to the walkway where the squad stood in line abreast, aiming at the approaching dead. Eight rotters lay in a crumpled heap ten feet in front of them, with another twenty or so drawing near. A second volley of fire cut that number in half.

  “Let’s move,” ordered Mesle.

  The squad fell in behind Mesle and they made their way to the front entrance. Napier had found a pair of ladders and placed them on either side of the Education Center, allowing Mesle’s squad easy access to and from the roof. The squad climbed out of the zoo, with Mesle being the last to leave. He and the red-headed soldier pulled up the ladder from inside the compound and laid it on the roof, then climbed down the second one to join the others. Napier greeted him at the bottom.

  “Did you get the information we needed?”

  Mesle nodded. “It’s good news. We’re safe.”

  “Excellent. I’ll tell the lieutenant, and he can forward it to Secretary Fogel.” Napier shook Mesle’s hand. “You all did a great job. Now muster the rest of your forces and go support Abercrombie. He ran into a pack of revenants on Sloat Boulevard and could use some back up.”

  “You heard the master sergeant!” yelled Mesle. “Fall in behind me and let’s double time it. We have a city to liberate.”

  * * *

  An increasing number of rotters gathered around the Abrams, nearly one hundred in the past fifteen minutes, with several hundred still coming from the highway. Natalie wondered how many would have to swarm them before the Abrams would not be able to move. A voice coming through the headphones of her CVC interrupted her thoughts. “RCZ4/3, what’s your location?”

  Hendricks keyed his microphone. “We’re off of Route 101 less than a quarter mile from the collection zone. We’re waiting for the revenants to catch up.”

  “Forget about that. Units One and Two have already been extracted. The MC-130 is airborne and ready to deploy. Proceed with the rest of your mission. The Chinook is standing by to extract your team.”

  “Roger that.” Hendricks rekeyed his microphone so only the crew could hear. “You heard that. We’re heading in.”

  The Abrams lurched forward, pushing away those rotters gathered on its flanks, and crushing the few that had moved around to the front. The tank skirted the base of the hill before turning right, cutting down an access road between two sets of apartment buildings. Preston swung left onto Harney Way and gunned the engine. Candlestick Park towered over the roofs of the surrounding apartment complex. The M1 raced out of the side street, across Hunters Point Expressway, and into the stadium parking lot.

  “Oh my fucking God,” Natalie mumbled into the microphone.

  The southern parking area was one mass of rotters that extended from the stadium to the far ends of the lot, and stretched from the expressway around the front of the building. Tens of thousands of the living dead, perhaps one hundred thousand or more, with their attention centering on the Abrams as it approached.

  “Hang on,” said Preston. “This is going to get interesting.”

  The Abrams crashed into the rotters, its weight and speed slicing through the ocean of living dead. Natalie could hear the moans of hunger and the crunching of bones over the roar of the tank’s engine. Even worse, the destruction of so many rotters sent airborne the flies and wasps feeding off their bodies. So many attached themselves to her periscope and vision blocks she could not s
ee.

  The Abrams slowed. Preston keyed his microphone. “I can’t see a damn thing because of these insects. Natalie, you need to direct me.”

  “Mine are blocked, too.”

  “Then go topside and direct me from there.”

  Natalie reached up, unlatched the hatch, and pushed it open. The stench of a hundred thousand of the living dead wafted into the turret, gagging her despite the gas mask. She pulled it off and vomited across the top hull of the turret, which only made things worse. Without the mask, the smell was overpowering. It stung her eyes and infiltrated her sinuses, making it difficult to breathe. Flies and wasps hovered around her face, threatening to get into her mouth and nostrils. Every time she flicked her head or brushed them away with her hand, others replaced them.

  “Talk to me,” said Preston.

  Natalie used one hand to wipe her mouth and the other to push the microphone close to her lips, cupping it so no insects could get inside. “Where are we heading?”

  “There’s a truck entrance on the north end of the stadium.”

  “Continue straight. I’ll tell you when to turn.”

  “Roger that.”

  Natalie shifted around to avoid the swarm of flies and wasps the tank passed through, and wished she hadn’t. The treads kicked up a splash back of blood that sprayed the rear end of the Abrams and left a wake of gore in the ocean of living dead. The nauseating stench of decay mixed with the overpowering odor of ammonia from hundreds of ruptured stomachs and intestines. Natalie retched again, spilling what remained in her stomach down the open hatch.

  “Jesus!” complained Hendricks as the puke splattered off his helmet. “What the fuck is going on up there?”