Black Tide Rising - eARC

by John Ringo

“No, we got this,” Colleen started to yell over the siren, which was still going, when an Overture tech casually shot her first zombie in the head.

  Solly and Erich spun around at the sound of the shot, never seeing the movement of a third zombie emerging from the subway entrance on the corner of Lex and 96th. It was rapidly followed by two more, then three after that.

  “Behind you!” she yelled as loudly as she could, trying to be heard over the sounds of the other BERTs. Her manner caused an Overture tech to turn around just as the first infected to reach him got it’s teeth well into his neck. His screams were actually audible over the ringing in her ears from the shot and the sound of the sirens. Non lethal ROE was now officially out the door.

  “Solly, go hot!”

  He didn’t bother to answer as he drew his sidearm and dropped the infected on the capture stick and then spun to engage the mass of infected lunging from the subway.

  Colleen had never seen so many infected at once. There were at least ten now. The Overture techs were all shooting, mostly with pistols but at least one carbine barked as the infected dropped, one at a time. Body shots accomplished nothing unless they hit a spine.

  More screaming, this time Erich was down, clutching his side. There wasn’t a zombie anywhere near him. Colleen guessed that he caught a ricochet from the Overture guys. Two of theirs were down, covered in infected and the rest were slowly retreating the short distance to their trucks.

  Solly started dragging Erich by his plate carrier while Colleen tried to make head shots. Except for the few on the two strange techs, the only surviving zombies were the ones still emerging one or two at a time from the subway entrance. She nailed her mag change, her hands steadying out, and started to heel and toe backwards to where her own truck sat idling.

  The rate of fire picked up from the Overture people as the survivors pulled more carbines from their trucks. The zombines in the subway entrance were not gaining any ground and the growing pile of corpses was impressive and horrifying.

  Erich was moaning in the rear of the vehicle.

  “Solly, are you seeing this!”

  “No likey boss! This one gets all my nopes,” he replied cheerfully.

  He attended Erich in the back, and was cutting his plate carrier side straps with a set of trauma shears.

  “Hold still and stop freaking out, man!” he said without sounding more than a little excited. “Let me look at this scratch and get a dressing on it. Ok, now give me your hand and push on this.”

  He guided Erich’s hand against the dressing to keep pressure on the gunshot wound. Someone mercifully turned off the siren in the other trucks.

  Colleen was trying to line up a shot on the last zombie who was still mounted on the form of a prone Oveture tech, but hesitated, worried about hitting the downed man.

  The fire was slackening as fewer zombies appeared at the top of the subway stairs. Then the prone Overture man stirred, and got to his knees.

  Overture’s men started yelling at him to come back to the safety of the trucks. Colleen could see the bite marks on his face and hands. His wide open eyes and jerky motions were a plain diagnosis. He turned and started moving more rapidly, straight for the MetBank team.

  “He is infected, don’t get close!” She couldn’t tell if anyone could hear her, especially if their ears were ringing from the gunfire as much as hers were.

  Solly had their carbine out and was right on target. She distantly heard the yelling from the other teams.

  “Boss?”

  “Do it.”

  Solly dropped the new zombie with a single round.

  “Motherfucking bitch!! That was Manuel!”

  She turned to see one of the Overture techs, a team leader judging from the radio and the jewelry. He was stalking towards them with a pistol in hand.

  “He was infected, you saw it as well as me,” Colleen answered. “Who was the genius who decided to try to take our assets? You! Who shot my guy first? Your assholes! Step off!”

  The other two surviving Overture team members were tense, covering their boss from their trucks.

  She heard police sirens approaching. This amount of shooting was a first, as far as she knew, so it wasn’t too surprising that someone had called it in.

  “You hear that, jackass? That is the cops. You might want to holster that before they get here unless you want to see them really excited. You know the ROE, and you shot first.”

  “Stupid puta, I don’t care if Ramon likes you. He tell us you are competition now. I don’t care about the fucking cops either. Overture is gonna end up running this city. After that happens, I will get back to you for shooting Manuel, bitch!” He holstered his pistol and spun on his heel.

  “Load these guys in the trucks. We can still get some spinal tissue and make quota!” he yelled at one others.

  Colleen slowly relaxed her white knuckle grip on her pistol, just becoming aware of how hard she was squeezing the grip.

  “Erich, how are you doing?” she called.

  “Been better,” he coughed. “Can we get to a hospital sometime? Today is good.”

  The police sirens grew closer.

  “First we deal with the cops, and we call another truck to come get you.”

  She turned to Solly. He had let the carbine hang from the friction strap and was calmly checking Erich’s dressing. “I’ll call it in. Then we can see if any of the dead zombies that those assholes are leaving are worth bringing in.”

  The first black and white pulled up and killed the siren. The cops got out, guns drawn and looked at the bodies piled up at the subway and all the spent brass.

  “That is a fucking lot of zombies.”

  One yelled at the BERT techs from both companies.

  “Who is in charge here?”

  Without breaking a beat, Colleen and her opposite number yelled back, “They are!”

  * * *

  This time the conference wasn’t held at Goldbloom. No one particularly trusted them despite the reality that the safety procedures anywhere are usually followed with exquisite perfection right after an “incident.” The Chief Security Officer at Bank of the Americas had suggested that they meet outdoors in the gardens of the Elevated Acre located well below midtown. It had the virtue of taking advantage of both the warm August weather and the large number of exits from the conference dais area. The setting was less luxurious, but after the shock of seeing so many zombies in one place, Colleen really appreciated the longer sight lines and multiple exits.

  The evening after the mass zombie attack and confrontation with Overture’s BERT, Colleen’s Metbank CSO had shared the information about their experience using NYSI. Reactions ranged from disbelief to near panic. The after-action pictures, as well as the eighteen dead zombies that their BERT, reinforced by the other two teams, returned for processing, forestalled most of the disbelief though not the fear. Larry’s team had been first to respond after the cops, and Colleen had to tell him to snap out if it—his palpable fear had plainly affected the other two in his truck. It took several minutes of reassurance before they would approach the pileup at the top and along the steps leading down into the Green line.

  Sarah had been ready to leave town that night, and Colleen almost agreed. She was torn, feeling a compulsive need after she led them one more time, and give them her own “jump” order. The exaltation she felt following the fight, when she realized that she AND her team were alive and victorious, was headier than wine. She understood a little better about what her dad had tried to tell her about his experiences fighting in the Army. The profound sense of duty to her little team and was amplified beyond reason when the doctors pronounced Erich’s bloody wound mostly superficial—staples, a dressing and some T4 and he said that he felt good as new. There wasn’t another driver available, so she planned to keep him in the truck for future calls.

  The fallout from Overture’s group was scarier, in a way. Ramon didn’t respond to any calls. She saw him in Big Mac’s group as the dif
ferent BERT teams, law enforcement and the city government mingled prior to the meeting. The portable tables and A/V system delineated the meeting space, but multiple layers of security faced outwards from the group. Once her CSO’s check in was complete she started to head towards the Big Mac group for quick word but was forestalled by Ramon’s look and headshake.

  “Alright everyone, take your seats,” called the Smith, the BoftA CSO. He had a no nonsense look about him. “I have talked to His Honor the Deputy Assistant Major Sphalos, and he has graciously allowed me to expedite this meeting. There will be only two agenda items, a summary of the MetBank and Overture BERT response on 96th and Lex and a discussion on what we are going to do differently to ensure further safe operations.”

  Yelling threatened to drown out the end of his remarks, when Smith moved a microphone near a speaker to produce ear splitting feedback long enough for the yells to die down. “There will be a complete discussion of the tactical situation, the Rules of Engagement and discussion on asset territory. There will NOT be a general yelling match.”

  He looked around the open table. “As the largest BERT operator here, I will confirm that this agenda suits Mr. Overture. Sir?”

  “Sure, sure. As long as you get clear on why da fuck there so many zombi and why my boys got shot!” Big Mac’s statement had the flavor of prepared outrage.

  More yelling yielded to the requisite audio feedback. “Fuck, stop yelling already!” Overture commanded once the Smith stopped the feedback. Instantly his large group quieted.

  Colleen swallowed. She knew that a lot of the hostility was directed towards MetBank. Ok, nearly all of the hostility. And most of it was aimed squarely at her, easily recognizable as the only woman attending in a security role.

  “First item,” Smith continued. “Between MetBank and Overture, a total of thirty-seven infected were recovered. This represents the largest group of zombies, by a factor of ten, recorded anywhere.”

  “In the US?” asked the Cities Bank rep.

  “Anywhere,” Smith replied. “Anywhere that we have access to data that we trust. Second, a thorough reconnaissance of the immediate subway platform at the scene showed evidence consistent with the number of dead infected recovered.”

  “What the hell?” came from down the table.

  “What hemeans is that the amount of crap and trash at the station matches the number of zombies we killed, shithead!” This from the team lead that confronted Colleen.

  “Thank you,” Smith injected. “This number is not by itself the total issue. That we didn’t know that infected could gather, and in effect, coordinate a response however automatic is as significant as the number present. It appears that loud noises in certain frequency ranges serve to strongly attract infected. There is general agreement that the sirens on the BERTs, left running, served to stimulate the emergence of the infected group. We have tested this in a limited way by testing sirens and other loud noises near subways. In most cases, no infected appeared, but in two cases since yesterday’s incident, a single infected has appeared if the sirens were left running for more than one minute. More complete testing is precluded by the limited number of assets available to respond.”

  “I have asked MetBank’s CSO to present some additional details.” Smith gestured at Colleen’s boss, who stood and started talking.

  “My team brought back some more useful information. You need to make head and spine shots in order to instantly incapacitate an infected. In this urban environment, you have to be certain of your backstop in order to prevent ricochets from striking friendly personnel. This is especially true for carbines and rifles. One of my drivers caught a bouncer from the only carbine in use at that time in the engagement, operated by Overture’s BERT.”

  “BULLSHIT! I call Bull. Shit. We didn’t shoot nobody but fucking zombies! It was this puta bi…”

  Overture’s BERT lead stood up, drowning out the MetBank CSO. This time Overture didn’t intervene, but Ramon stood and put his hand on the shouter’s shoulder.

  “Easy, Emmanuel. Let me.” He gently pushed the man back from the table.

  “We are sure sorry that one of MetBank’s people got shot. I used to work there, I know those guys. But you know, I am even sorrier that I lost TWO good men because the MetBank BERT couldn’t and wouldn’t coordinate their operations, although I tried to talk their lead several times.” Ramon’s English was precise, perfectly suited to his audience.

  “I am sorry that their team lead, standing right there, had one of her boys, also standing right there, put a bullet in the head of one of mine, without checking the diagnosis of infection. I am sorry that their lack of capacity placed everyone at risk. The good news is that we are ready to completely coordinate and deconflict the city wide BERT management.”

  Colleen had flicked her eyes around the key players near her as Ramon spoke. Smith was listening intently, and seemed to be making small hand motion behind the podium. Solly had a slight grin, but had his light windbreaker was unzipped and his right hand empty. Her boss was openly pissed and getting ready to jump in. Looking over her shoulder, she could see multiple pairs of Big Mac’s people with clear sight lines to the conference group. Counting under her breath, she realized that there was as many of Big Mac’s “security” as the rest of the PD and BERT tactical personnel combined.

  Several people, including the MetBank CSO, stood and tried to talk.

  Smith held his hand up. “No, please let him finish. Everyone just hold on for the moment. Mr. Gutierez, please continue.”

  Ramon looked startled for a moment, expecting more argument from Smith. Colleen blinked. How the hell did Smith know the name of a mid level guy like Ramon?

  “Like I was saying, we are a family. Any of use could have lost these people today. If we work together, it is avoidable. We don’t have to have poor communications and competition. This tragic loss of personnel doesn’t have to be repeated. Our organization will oversee and coordinate all the BERT efforts. We can embed NYPD observes from the NYSI into our operation center to provide top oversight.”

  The acting Deputy Police Chief appeared to perk up.

  There is a shot…Colleen thought.

  “We recognize that we have been harvesting more, heh, raw materials for the critically needed medicines that all of our organizations and indeed the entire city must have. We propose to sell your companies up to thirty percent of our total production at cost if we can directly manage ALL of the BERTs and are given access to the facilities AND staff at Mt. Sinai.”

  …and that is the chaser, she finished silently.

  Murmurs, then louder conversations spread throughout the meeting. Colleen met Ramon’s eyes. He looked directly at her without expression. The BERT team lead, Emmanuel, smirked greasily over Ramon’s shoulder. Overture still sat, lighting a cigar and looking supremely at ease.

  Smith spoke again. “That is a very interesting offer, and provides a lot of things for us all to think about. However, speaking for the financial services groups now present and for those whose proxies we hold, I think we need a day to confer with our regional officers and respond authoritatively.”

  Overture waved his cigar expansively, while keeping a grip on his walking stick. “Sure mon. Tomorrow is good.”

  “Wait a minute, I want to respond!” Another bank rep stood up angrily.

  Smith easily deflected the comment. “Joe, not a problem but can you table this just for now? Let me talk to you right afterwards. We can get a sense of how all the banks are feeling. Bear with me, ok?”

  The plainly aggravated speaker looked less than sure, but subsided.

  Overture turned to the small group of city officials. “Mr. Assis’ Mayor, would you like to be talking after this? I can tell you more details. ’Course, your police are welcome to join.”

  Colleen saw Smith gathering up his opposite numbers by eye, so she was ready when her CSO waved her towards the entrance. Solly cooly brought up the rear.

  Smith and CSOs fr
om half a dozen banks, all of them running their independent collection teams, were gathered on the landing.

  “Gentlemen, I don’t know how far you have made it towards your minimum required dose stock for the critical staff that you need to run operations outside the City. Bank of the Americas has not completed its topline requirements. Nonetheless, I very much doubt that maintaining operations while being under the city approved oversight of Big Mac will yield much further progress,” he said.

  “First things first! Why the hell did you close debate up there? You don’t speak for all of us!” Colleen’s boss replied.

  “Item the first: I hope that you all got a good look at the number of men that Overture brought along. I have been looking into the spread and martial capabilities of his group since he told us how many trucks he was running,” Smith started. “Item the second: do any of you really think that the city staff and PD are hearing this proposal for the first time today, at this meeting? I don’t, and I think that it is nearly all wrapped up. Pushing back now could lead to a…less advantageous negotiating position. If you are certain that you want to work for Overture, your best chance is to get clear of this meeting now, consult with your boards and then decide.”

  “What about you?” asked Cities Bank.

  “We’re still twenty percent short on primary personnel and fifty percent short on likely dependents. We need a few more days of collection, and we may take them up on the offer to buy the balance, if quality is high. I don’t see us working for them under any circumstances. If we jump, we have to move our processing area to a jurisdiction that might not be as…flexible. So we collect as long as we can. Gangs I understand. Zombies are the larger unknown.”

  A few other banks representatives nodded.

  “We’re similarly situated at Goldbloom,” the CSO there stated. A thirty year gold shield from the NYPD, he looked stunned at the turn of events. “But we already shifted half of our key personnel from the West Street trading floor across the river to the Jersey City secondary. I am not confident that we can predict when the bridges and tunnels will become…a problem.”