Rotter Apocalypse

by Scott M. Baker

  “What happened to your husband?” Denning asked.

  Miriam lowered her head. “Early last night we stopped to rest. We were concentrating on the ones following us and didn’t see the group approaching from out of a side street. They would have gotten all of us if Paul hadn’t dove into them, sacrificing himself so we could escape. After that, fear and instinct kept me going, and the need to keep Rebecca and Philip alive. I got off the main road and came this way hoping to find a stream or something where I could lose those things. It’s a miracle I found you.”

  “You did,” said Windows, patting Miriam on the shoulders. “And you’re safe now.”

  Miriam fought back her tears. “All I ask is that you let us stay here a few days to rest up, and then we’ll be on our way.”

  Denning shook his head. “You and the kids are welcome to stay until the military gets this far south.”

  Miriam’s face showed signs of hope. “Are you sure?”

  “The only rule is that everyone pulls their weight, so you and the kids will have to help out with the chores.”

  “What type of… chores?” A note of apprehension seeped into Miriam’s voice.

  “They’re not that bad,” Windows reassured her.

  “I’ll teach you how to feed the chickens and Walther,” Cindy said to Rebecca.

  “Who’s Walther?” the little girl asked.

  “He’s Mr. Denning’s bull.”

  “Isn’t that dangerous?” Miriam asked.

  “Not at all,” answered Cindy. She looked at Rebecca. “Walther loves it when you scratch behind his ears.”

  “Enough of that, girls,” said Denning. “Right now Rebecca needs her sleep.”

  Miriam sighed. “That sounds so good.”

  “You take my room tonight,” said Windows. “I’ll sleep on the sofa.”

  “I can’t do that. We’ll—”

  “I insist. Tomorrow we’ll work out better sleeping arrangements. Cindy, will you show our guests to their room?”

  Cindy sprang from her chair. “I’d love to. Come on, Rebecca.”

  Windows waited until the others had reached the second floor before saying to Denning, “That was good of you, letting them stay.”

  “Well, I couldn’t turn them away, now could I?”

  Windows stepped up to him, leaned forward, and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek.

  “I am concerned about one thing,” he said.

  “What?”

  “Miriam said there were other survivors who had fled Montreal, and revenants that followed them.”

  “You’re thinking there may be more heading this way?”

  “Exactly.”

  “So what do you want to do?”

  Denning moved to the kitchen door to make sure no one else could hear, and then faced Windows. “We should take turns staying up at night to make sure no one or nothing shows up here without us knowing about it. You take the first shift until midnight, and I’ll take over until dawn. Keep your radio with you at all times, even when you’re sleeping.”

  “Sounds reasonable.”

  “Hopefully I’m being paranoid.” Denning headed for upstairs. “I’m going to go take a nap. I’ll spot you at midnight.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  Natalie fidgeted with the M50 general purpose gas mask, adjusting it so the fit would be more comfortable, and sending the half dozen flies resting on the faceplate into flight. By doing so, she inadvertently moved her headphones, pushing off the one covering her right ear, and something flew into the canal. Natalie shook her head to dislodge it and dropped the headphone back before another insect took its place.

  “Is everything okay?” Sergeant North, the leader of their twelve-man squad, asked over the headphone.

  “Yes,” she responded. She gestured toward the gas mask. “I’m not used to wearing one of these things.”

  “You never will be. It’s better than the alternative.”

  “That’s for damn sure.” Natalie had thought the most disgusting thing she would endure during the rotter apocalypse would be the drive through San Francisco in the Abrams, crushing tens of thousands of the living dead and wallowing in their stench and gore. This was far worse, because at least then she was inside a steel fortress that isolated her from the majority of the sights and smells. When she had signed up as part of the security detail for the clean-up crew policing San Francisco International Airport, she assumed she would walk the perimeter and provide fire support for any stray rotters that had survived the firebombing. She had no idea what special hell she had volunteered for.

  The liquid-gel air-fueled explosive dropped yesterday afternoon had incinerated the estimated eighty-three thousand revenants in and around the airport and its runways. Except for a few hundred of the living dead inside the terminal that had been protected by the blast, all the others had their skin and muscles either seared off or burned to the point that the bodies could not move, leaving behind piles of charred skeletons. The runways around the airport had been turned into a killing field littered with bodies that stank like barbecued decayed meat, and the security detail stood on the outer fringes. The gas masks and headphones had been provided to the crews not to prevent infection, but for their comfort.

  Natalie ignored the scorched sea of living dead that stretched around her and concentrated on the construction equipment that went about the mundane task of clearing the runway. The clean-up crew had been following the same routine since half a dozen Chinooks had airlifted in four front loaders and two dump trucks after dawn. The front loaders scraped up bones and ash and placed them into the bed of one of the dump trucks. When full, the truck would drive to the southeast end of one of the runways and unload the remains onto a barge moored on shore. Here, a second crew distributed the debris around the barge until it was full, covered the mound with a tarpaulin, and towed it to a tugboat anchored four hundred feet off shore. An empty barge would take its place and the process would continue. Once the airport was cleared, the barges would be towed to the commercial docks where they would be loaded into a derelict supertanker that would be taken fifty miles off shore and sunk. Natalie knew similar operations were proceeding in the other RCZs. Working this way over the past eight hours, the clean-up crews had managed to clear a thousand-foot section of the twin runways they had been working on. The seventh barge had pulled away from shore when Natalie heard a helicopter approaching from the north, a Sikorsky UH-60 making its way across the bay and heading for the cleared section. It swung around and came in from the southeast, setting down between the shore and the construction equipment. The backwash from the propellers blew a cloud of ash down the runway. By the time the engine had shut down and the blades had slowed to a stop, all the crews had gathered around the UH-60.

  A tall Asian man in a well-starched ACU stepped out of the rear compartment. He wore the eagles of a colonel and had the name NAKAJIMA embroidered in the nameplate on his chest. He didn’t wear a gas mask. If the stench bothered him, he never showed it. “Who’s in charge of this detail?”

  “That would be me,” the man to Natalie’s right mumbled through his gas mask.

  “What’s the revenant situation like here? Can you spare your security team?”

  “For the rest of the day?”

  “Permanently.”

  “I guess so,” the clean-up foreman hesitated. “There are a few hundred revenants held up inside the terminal, but we’ve seen nothing out here in hours. What’s up?”

  “We’ve run into heavier than expected revenant activity near San Jose. Secretary Fogel wants to send in reinforcements.”

  “Are we in danger of being swarmed?” someone asked off to the right.

  “The Apaches and the napalm are keeping them at bay. However, there are so many that the going has been slower than anticipated and the troops on the line are getting tired. We’re looking for relief who can spot those on the front and get the advance moving again. The Secretary is pulling troops from those sectors in San
Francisco where revenant activity is light and shifting them south.”

  “I can spare my security team,” said the clean-up foreman.

  “Thanks.” Nakajima nodded. “Don’t take any chances. If you see revenants, abandon your equipment, take a barge over to the tug, and call for backup.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Your relief chopper should be here in about an hour.” Nakajima climbed back into the UH-60. “What are you waiting for? We’re heading for the fighting. Come on.”

  Natalie and the others climbed on board. Five minutes later, the Sikorsky was airborne and heading south for San Jose.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  Robson tried to sleep and save his energy for what he knew would be a difficult night, which was easier said than done. He had meant it earlier when he had told the others that Vladimir didn’t want them dead or he would have killed them back at the reservoir. What he didn’t mention was that he had no idea what Vladimir intended for them, although he knew it could not be good. Nor did Robson mean it when he told the others that as long as they lived they had a chance of getting out of this situation. He knew his group could never overpower eleven vampires and escape, especially in their condition. The only ace in the hole he could count on was Dravko.

  Shortly after nightfall, activity inside the barn woke Robson from his slumber. He heard the others chatting amongst themselves, as well as the sound of footsteps approaching from outside. Pushing up into a sitting position, Robson leaned against the roof support he had been chained to and brushed himself off, wanting to display as much confidence as he could under the circumstances.

  The footsteps stopped by the barn doors. Chains rattled and the doors swung open. Vladimir led the coven inside. Except for the Master, each vampire held a kerosene lamp. They spread out and formed a circle among their captives, the light from the lamps illuminating the interior. Vladimir grabbed an old wooden chair that sat inside the barn and carried it over to Robson, placing it so the rear faced him. Vladimir straddled it and rested his arms on top of the back rest.

  “Do you remember me, human?”

  “You’re Vladimir. You used to be part of Elena’s coven.”

  “Until you banished me.”

  “Banishing you was Elena’s decision. I only enforced it.”

  “Fair enough.” Vladimir nodded. “Still, you both threw me out to certain death.”

  Robson motioned toward the rest of the coven. “You haven’t done too badly for yourself.”

  “Because I was exiled while I still retained my vampire instincts, while I still lusted for the hunt and remembered my superiority over humans. I built this coven so it’s strong. Elena turned hers into a pack of tamed dogs for you and Paul. Look what she did to them.” Vladimir motioned with his head toward Dravko. “He’s nothing more than a puppy that follows you everywhere. Tibor is the only one who still has strigoi blood running through his veins, and you keep him on a very tight leash.”

  Robson leaned to one side to see the two vampires from his group. Tibor glared at him with the same disapproving sneer he had come to know all too well. Dravko lowered his head and refused to make eye contact. He seemed emotionally beaten down. Robson ruled out being able to rely on Dravko as his ace in the hole. He directed his attention back to Vladimir.

  “If you want to take revenge on me for banishing you, go ahead. None of these people were involved, so let them go.”

  “First, anything I do to you is not revenge, it’s justice.” Vladimir stood up and spun around so the others could see him. “As for the rest of you, I cannot let you go. However, you do have a choice. You can join the coven as one of my progeny, or we can feed off of you.”

  “It’s not going to work,” Robson said. “None of us—”

  Linda hobbled to her feet and stood on her one good ankle. “I want to join your coven.”

  Vladimir stepped over to Linda. “Why do you want to be one of us?”

  She met the vampire’s gaze, her eyes burning with anger and passion. “Ever since this outbreak began, I’ve been raped, beaten, and taken advantage of. I’ve had enough. I’ve seen how strong and confident Tibor is, and how he’s not afraid to take on half a dozen walkers at once. I’m tired of being scared and vulnerable. Make me one of you.”

  Vladimir clasped her hands. “You realize that if I sire you, you are beholden to me as the leader of this coven, and must give me your loyalty.”

  “I’ve been forced to obey someone else for the past year. This is the first time I get to do it of my own free will.”

  “You can’t be serious,” said Robson.

  Linda glared at him. “Don’t you dare try and stop me. This is not personal. You’ve been good to me, but I’m tired at being at everyone else’s mercy. It’s time people fear and respect me.”

  Vladimir flashed Robson a snide look, knowing full well that he had won.

  “I’m ready,” said Linda.

  “So be it. This will hurt only for a moment, and then you’ll drift off into death. When you wake up tomorrow night, you’ll be one of us.” Vladimir positioned himself in front of Linda and placed his hands on her upper arms. “Close your eyes.”

  When she did, Vladimir morphed into his vampiric form, leaned forward, and plunged his fangs into her neck. Linda’s body tensed and she yelped when the fangs pierced her skin. After a few seconds, she relaxed as Vladimir drank from her artery, draining away her life blood. Linda’s face showed an erotic pleasure. Her expression changed to one of inner peace, and soon became vacant as the last vestiges of life slipped away. She slumped forward into Vladimir’s arms. He wrapped his right hand around her waist and held her up. Removing his mouth from her neck, Vladimir bit his left wrist. Blood flowed from the wound. He placed the wrist over Linda’s mouth.

  “Drink.”

  Linda slurped with hardly any effort.

  “You have to take as much of my blood as you can. That’s the only way you’ll become one of us.”

  Linda pressed her mouth down on his wrist and sucked. Blood pooled around her lips and ran down her chin. She drank for several seconds before slumping forward, dead. Vladimir lowered her to the floor and gently placed her head onto the dirt, then stood and pointed to Tibor.

  “Take her back to the house and put her in the upstairs bedroom with the blacked out windows. No one will disturb her during the transformation.”

  “My pleasure.” Tibor placed his kerosene lamp on the dirt and came forward, scooped up Linda’s body in his arms, and exited.

  When Tibor had left, Vladimir walked around the barn, making eye contact with each of the humans. “You see how easy it is? A few brief moments of pain, and you drift off into immortality. When you wake up, you’ll have nothing to fear, from either the living dead or other humans. Think about it. I’ll be back tomorrow night to see if anyone else wants to join us.”

  Vladimir walked out, followed by the rest of his coven. None of them bothered to look at the humans, not even Dravko. Once outside, they closed and chained the doors, leaving their captives alone in the barn with nothing but Tibor’s kerosene lamp.

  The lamp cast only a meager amount of light through the barn, leaving most of the interior in shadows, which was okay with Robson. He bowed his head and stared at the dirt, grateful that no one glanced in his direction or bothered him. Vladimir had made a fool out of him. Robson had hoped that by presenting a united front they might be able to bargain their way out. Those hopes were dashed when Linda joined the coven. He felt reasonably certain some of the others would, too. Everyone who did would weaken the resolve of the others. His leadership over those whom his people had rescued from Price’s camp had been tenuous to begin with, now it had become untenable. After fighting off thousands of rotters over the past year, he found it ironic that he would lose to an overconfident vampire who had once been part of the group.

  Resting his head back against the support beam, Robson closed his eyes and forced himself to sleep. Anything would be better than
waiting for the next humiliation.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  Ari sat on the open rear hatch of the Stryker with a bottle of water and a sand-colored MRE. MEAL, READY TO EAT was printed across the front. The military personnel in her unit always laughed at that, joking that neither was an accurate description. Ari disagreed, although she never admitted it. She thought the MREs were pretty good, especially after what she had been eating the past month. This one contained spaghetti and meatballs, one of her favorites, even if she ate it for breakfast. Ripping open the top, she emptied out the contents, picked up the Flameless Ration Heater, slipped the entrée packet inside, added water, and closed the top. She leaned it at an angle against the hatchway and checked her watch. It would take twelve minutes for the chemical reaction inside the heater to warm her spaghetti. In the meantime, she opened the packs with crackers and peanut butter and snacked on those, gazing out on the row of Jersey barriers blocking the street two hundred feet in front of the line of recon vehicles.

  On the other side of the barrier, a few score of rotters clawed at the cement, frantically trying to get to the humans.

  When the rest of Tango Alpha had reached the Forward Area Rearm Point across from Mineta San Jose International Airport yesterday afternoon, they had established a defensive perimeter on Route 101. In a bit of good fortune, one of the squads had discovered a number of Jersey barriers stored on one of the side streets, ostensibly for use by the local police to control the flow of traffic escaping from San Francisco and never put into play. These were used to barricade the highway and some of the adjacent roads. Barnes had ordered his men to make noise to attract the living dead, flushing out any from the surrounding neighborhoods so the troops could keep an eye on them. Not that many made it to the barricade. Apaches had spent the afternoon sweeping back and forth across San Jose. If they found any large concentrations of rotters, the pilots called in a rocket strike from the M270s or handled it themselves. The position of groups was radioed to the local ground commanders who gathered together all available information to piece together an intelligence assessment for the next stage of the operation.