Rotter Apocalypse

by Scott M. Baker

  “That’s weird,” said Akers. “I wonder why they left it.”

  Branson pointed to the fuel gauge. “Probably because it’s almost on empty. Maybe we can siphon some gas from those vehicles to use in this one.”

  Akers ran off. Branson shut down the engine to conserve what little fuel he had left.

  * * *

  Mesle and Doreen approached the truck while Stephenson wandered off to check out the rest of the fairground. The back deck had been left down and, even at this distance, he could see nothing was in the bed. The two right rear tires had gone flat and the gas cap lay on the ground, indicating the military had siphoned off the fuel. What a shame. They could have used it to help clean out the valley.

  Motioning for Doreen to follow him, he went around to the driver’s side door. Doreen raised her M-16A2 into the high ready position. Mesle opened the door and jumped back, a comical gesture since there was nothing inside the cab. Crawling up, he rummaged around for anything that might be of value.

  “Find anything?” Doreen asked.

  “A few empty MRE packages and a map of the San Francisco Bay area.” Reaching down to the floorboard, Mesle picked up a pack of crackers and offered them to Doreen. “Are you hungry?”

  “I’ll pass.”

  Mesle dropped the crackers. “Let me check under the seats.”

  * * *

  Natalie and Ari approached the Humvee on each side, their weapons in the high ready position. Natalie stopped by the engine and checked under the open hood.

  “Do you know what’s wrong with it?” Ari asked.

  “Not a clue. It must be something serious otherwise they wouldn’t have left it.”

  Moving over to the driver’s door, Natalie opened it. “Holy shit.”

  “What?” Ari sounded concerned.

  “Somebody fucked up big time. They left an M240 machinegun sitting in back with several belts of ammunition.”

  “Dibs.”

  “No way,” said Natalie. “Finders keepers.”

  Ari flashed Natalie a seductive smile. “How about I trade you for it?”

  “Now that’s a possibility.” She handed Ari her M-16A2. “Hold this while I get this thing from the back.”

  * * *

  Stephenson stepped up to a door along the rear wall of the windowless building. If the military had used the fairground as a camp, then they must have set up some type of headquarters or supply room inside. If he could get in, maybe he could find something they could use. He tried the knob, and it was locked. Moving along the rear wall, he made his way down the left side of the building, trying the next door he came to. It was also locked. There must be something valuable inside if the military had secured it this good. Stepping down to the double doors in the center of the building, he grabbed the knob.

  At that moment, Branson started the ambulance at the other end of the building. Stephenson looked toward the sound as he opened the door, and didn’t see the hundreds of rotters trapped inside until the horde pushed its way through the exit. Caught off guard, he didn’t have time to react. Seven of the living dead swarmed him, grabbing hold of his arms and chest and knocking him down. They had already begun to gnaw on his flesh and rip open his abdomen before Stephenson’s body hit the dirt.

  The rest of the rotters fanned out and stumbled toward the humans gathered around the truck and the Humvee.

  * * *

  Doreen had seconds to respond. She raised her M-16A2, switched to full automatic mode, and fired into the horde until the magazine was empty. Only two rotters went down with head shots. The remaining bullets either slammed into dead flesh or missed. The horde still surged toward her, now only a few feet away. Doreen dropped to the ground and crawled under the truck.

  Bent over checking underneath the front seats, Mesle was vulnerable when the living dead attacked. He climbed into the cab. Because of the awkward position his foot slipped on the landing and he fell onto the floorboards, his legs dangling out. Dead hands clutched him. Mesle kicked, preventing any of the living dead from getting a hold and pushing several away. That gave him the seconds he needed. Crawling into the cab, Mesle grabbed the door and pulled. Several pairs of hands wrapped around the edges, preventing him from closing it. He slammed it several times, and each time he did more rotters clasped the door. When they yanked it open, it knocked Mesle off balance. Several rotters grabbed him by the legs and dragged him out of the truck. He thrashed around, but there were too many to escape. Dozens of dead hands clawed at him, stripping off his uniform and tearing away chunks of flesh. Others ripped open his chest, plunging their hands inside and tearing out his internal organs. A rotter in a tattered and discolored lab coat clutched Mesle’s intestines and unwound them. A dozen of the living dead fought over the length like dogs over a link of sausages. Mesle remained unaware of any of this; his mind already had shut down from pain and fear.

  Doreen had made it halfway under the truck when several pairs of hands grabbed her ankles. Rolling onto her back, she wrapped her hands around the axle and held on, kicking furiously and breaking free of their grip. More and more hands clutched at her. One rotter in a Navy ACU and missing its right arm crawled under the truck. Doreen struck at it with her left foot, ripping off its nose. She slammed her foot into its face three more times. The first two kicks shattered several of its teeth and tore open its gums. The third caught it under the chin and bent its head at an awkward angle, snapping its neck. It went limp, blocking others from getting under the truck.

  In her struggle, Doreen had not noticed the five rotters that circled around the front of the truck and doubled back along the other side. They dropped to the ground and crept under the vehicle. One bit into her left shoulder, the other into her right hand. The pain caused her to loosen her grip. When she did, the pack on the other side of the truck pulled her out. More than a dozen rotters tore into Doreen’s body and fed off of her.

  Those that did not get close enough to feed swarmed around the truck and headed for Natalie and Ari.

  * * *

  When the horde burst out of the building, Napier had seconds to assess the situation. Stephenson was down, and Mesle and the women were about to be overwhelmed. So far, none of the horde seemed aware of Branson and his people. Under normal circumstances, he would dispatch troops to assist them. Doing that, however, would endanger the entire line. He needed at least a hundred and fifty men to engage the revenants in hand-to-hand, which meant pulling off a quarter-mile section of line and exposing the northern and southern sectors of the line to a flank attack. He could not sanction that for the lives of four people. When he saw the horde drag Mesle from the cab of the truck, he knew he had made the right decision.

  Napier called out to those troops closest to him. “Hold the line and don’t let any of these motherfuckers past! Fire at will!”

  * * *

  Branson heard a commotion on the opposite side of the building. He motioned for his men to be quiet and shut off the ambulance’s engine. It sounded like a horde of revenants. His fears were confirmed when gunfire broke out along the line.

  “Follow me. Stay close to the building, and be ready for anything.”

  * * *

  “Fuck,” said Ari. “We’ve got company.”

  Natalie pulled her head out of the back of the Humvee in time to see the rotters from the building converge on Doreen and Mesle. Unslinging her M-16A2, she and Ari were about to rush over and help their friends when a pack tore Mesle out of the cab and another crawled under the truck and set upon Doreen. The rest of the horde approached their Humvee. Natalie reached out and stopped Ari as a hail of gun fire shot across the fairground, most of it aimed at the rotters grouped around the deuce-and-a-half. Because of the angle at which the truck was parked, it stood between the line and the horde, making the soldiers’ aim inaccurate. The few rotters that had circled around the vehicle to get at Doreen and some of those still emerging from the windowless building went down. Most rounds slammed harmlessly into the side
of the truck. Many went wild, shooting past Natalie’s head or ricocheting off of the Humvee.

  One struck Ari in the right leg above the pelvis. She cried out and collapsed, dropping her M-16A2 into the grass. The rotters were only twenty feet distant. Natalie bent over, wrapped an arm around Ari’s back, and lifted her to her feet. The two women limped as fast as they could to the Humvee. Ari nearly tripped, but Natalie held her up and dragged her along. When they reached the vehicle, Natalie shoved Ari inside and slammed shut the door. Before she could make it around the front of the Humvee, a female rotter in an Air Force ACU reached the fender, and a second in a California Highway Patrol uniform grabbed her by the shoulder. Natalie body checked the latter, knocking it into the approaching horde. Climbing onto the Humvee’s hood, she ran across, jumped down on the other side, and ran for the driver’s door. A stray round impacted against the back plate of the Humvee, sending a tiny fragment of metal ricocheting across the roof and into Natalie’s left eye. Involuntarily closing both eyes, she felt around for the opening and slid into the driver’s seat, closing the door seconds before the horde swarmed around the Humvee, closing around it in all sides four or five deep. Those closest to the vehicle clawed to get in, leaving streaks of gore across the glass.

  Ari had removed her belt and used it as a tourniquet to stop the flow of blood in her leg.

  “How bad is it?” Natalie asked.

  “It didn’t hit an artery, but the bone might be fractured. It hurts like a… Oh, my God.” Ari moved closer to Natalie. “Are you okay?”

  “I got something in my eye, that’s all.”

  “It’s worse than that. You’re bleeding.”

  Natalie studied her reflection in the rear view mirror. When she opened the lid, pain stabbed through her face and her eyes shut. Opening the left lid with her fingers, she examined the pupil. She could see a tiny fragment of metal lodged in the eyeball. Natalie carefully closed the lid. “Do you have anything I can put over this?”

  “Hang on.” Ari unbuttoned her ACU and pulled out her t-shirt. Removing her hunting knife from its scabbard, she cut off the bottom two inches and passed it to Natalie. “Here.”

  Natalie wrapped the makeshift bandage around her face, covering the left eye.

  “What do we do now? Sit here and wait for them to come and save us?”

  “Screw that.” Natalie tied the bandage tight in the back so the pressure would keep her lid closed. “I still have a lot of fight left in me.”

  With that, she crawled between the seats and into the back where the machinegun was.

  * * *

  Branson and his men reached the end of the building where Akers waited for them. When he heard them approach he spun around and aimed, stopping when he realized it was his own team.

  “What’s going on?” Branson asked.

  “We have three men down. Two women are stuck in the Humvee. I think they’re both wounded.”

  “Bites?”

  Akers shook his head. “Friendly fire.”

  “Shit.” Having them trapped inside the Humvee limited his options. He couldn’t risk firing at the horde without the possibility of a stray round punching its way into the vehicle and wounding or killing one of them. With that many revenants swarming the Humvee, it wouldn’t be long before they smashed their way in.

  “What are we going to do?” Akers asked.

  “Go down to the other corner of the building by the med tent and keep watch. Don’t let anything sneak up behind us.”

  “Copy that.” Akers rushed off.

  “The rest of you, switch to single shot. Concentrate your fire at the revenants at the front and rear of the Hummer.”

  “We’ll never take them down doing it like that,” said a private.

  “I’m not trying to take them down. I want to draw them to us so the women have a chance to escape.”

  * * *

  Napier saw the ineffectiveness of the line’s fire against the horde and ordered his men to stand down. He was recalculating his options when he spotted Branson’s team moving along the edge of the building. That gave him an idea.

  “McDaniels, Jonesy— take your squads and reinforce Branson. The rest of you, tighten up the line and make sure nothing gets past us.”

  * * *

  Natalie picked up the M240 and the belts of ammunition, and dragged them up front.

  “How many rounds do you have?” Ari asked.

  “I don’t know. Hopefully it will be more than enough.” Natalie draped one belt around her neck and handed the extras to Ari. “Start linking them together so I have one continuous belt.”

  “Be careful.”

  Natalie crawled over the SINCGARS radio in the central console and onto the transmission tunnel. She popped open the hatch, hefted the M240 through the opening onto the roof, and stood up through the hatch. The rotters worked themselves into a frenzy upon seeing her. Mounting the machinegun onto its pivot base, Natalie fed in the belt of ammunition, chambered the first round, and fired a one-second burst into the horde. At this range, the 7.62mm rounds ripped the rotters apart. Heads exploded and torsos ruptured, spewing blood and chunks of flesh across the side of the Humvee. Natalie rotated the machinegun back and forth, firing a few bursts every few seconds so as not to burn out the barrel. Except for those next to the vehicle and out of the machinegun’s lowest declination, every burst took down the living dead.

  Every time one rotter went down, another climbed over the body to take its place.

  * * *

  When Branson saw Natalie emerge from the top hatch of the Humvee with the M240, he ordered his unit to shift their fire from the horde around the Humvee to the deuce-and-a-half. As McDaniels’ and Jonesy’s squads arrived, they joined in. It took only a few minutes to clear the area around the truck. Those around the Humvee were too intent on getting at the women inside to care about his squads.

  “What now?” Akers asked.

  “We move up to the other side of the truck and get ready to get the women out.” Branson waved his hand over his head. “All of you, on me.”

  The three squads moved toward the truck.

  * * *

  Ari finished linking the last belt of ammunition to the main line when the driver’s door flung open. A rotter in a Scoutmaster’s uniform centered itself in the doorway and climbed into the cab. Ari had dropped her gun outside when she got shot; thankfully Natalie had left hers resting against the center console. Ari leaned over and clutched the barrel as the rotter lunged for her. It missed, and Ari yanked the M-16A2 toward her. The barrel faced away from the rotter, and she had no room to maneuver it around, so she used the butt to hammer the Scoutmaster rotter in the face. Each blow disfigured its features, fracturing the skull or knocking out teeth. With each strike, the rotter drew a little closer. The fifth blow dislocated its lower jaw. The sixth broke open its skull along the top of the forehead, exposing the brain. With the seventh hit, the butt smashed into its brain. The rotter shuddered once and fell onto Ari, spilling blood and gore into her lap.

  Another rotter attempted to crawl over the Scoutmaster to get to her.

  Ari grabbed Natalie’s pants leg and pulled. Natalie stopped firing and yelled down the hatch. “What’s up?”

  Ari pointed to the driver’s side of the Humvee. “I could use a little help here.”

  When Natalie saw the rotters climbing in through the driver’s door she swung the M240 around and fired on the living dead along that side of the vehicle. Each one fell under the fusillade of fire, except for the one half inside the Humvee and the five gathered by the door.

  * * *

  Branson saw Natalie rotate in the open hatch to shoot on the opposite side of the Humvee. By now, only eighteen of the living dead remained on the passenger side, so he took advantage of the situation and moved forward. When within ten feet, he signaled for his men to stop and fire. Each of the revenants went down with shots to the head. Those last five on the driver’s side went after the new source of food, no
t making it more than a few steps before they were also taken out. With the last shot fired, an eerie silence fell across the fairgrounds.

  “McDaniels, Jonesy, stay here.” Branson pointed to the mound of bodies piled up along the passenger side of the Humvee. “If anything so much as twitches, put a round in its head.”

  “Copy that.”

  “The rest of you, let’s get the ladies out of here.”

  * * *

  Natalie dropped down inside the Humvee and gasped when she saw the Scoutmaster and the pile of gore in Ari’s lap. She crawled over the transmission tunnel and placed her hands on Ari’s shoulders. “Are you okay?”

  “I look like shit, but I’ll live.”

  Branson stuck his head inside the Humvee. “Jesus H. Christ. Are you two all right?”

  “We’re banged up pretty bad,” said Natalie.

  “Give me a few minutes to clear out some of these bodies and call up a medic, and then we’ll get you out of here.” Branson stood up and shouted orders to his squad. He bent over and leaned back into the Humvee. “Congratulations, by the way.”

  Natalie was confused. “What for?”

  “Wounds like you two ladies have will get you yanked from the line and placed in a cozy desk job somewhere. For you, the war is over.”

  Ari reached up and squeezed Natalie’s hand. “We made it.”

  “Thank God.” Natalie leaned forward and wrapped her arms around Ari from behind, embracing her tightly.