Black Tide Rising - eARC

by John Ringo

  Colleen looked across to Brooklyn. She saw the Staten Island ferry still plying its route, outbound from Manhattan. There were no tour boats to Ellis or Liberty Island visible, or much other river traffic for that matter.

  Her boss spoke again. “I can’t see our management ceding control of our BERT’s to a known criminal. How long before the Oveture gang has some sort of quasi police status?”

  “It’s worse than that,” Colleen spoke up in front of the assembled leaders of the New York City BERTs. “I think that I saw one of their teams snatching a possibly uninfected person. We have all heard rumors about what happened to the Triad BERT. Big Mac has many more teams than we do. If the police give them legitimacy, there isn’t much margin for our teams’ safety. Problems could find themselves becoming…vaccine.”

  Grim looks answered her statement.

  * * *

  Colleen readied her crew for the night patrol. Officially, ROE was unchanged.

  “OK guys, I know that you know official ROE. Here is the No Shit ROE. No sirens. No subways. No Central Park. No parking garages. If we get stuck in, and we see more than two infected, we go hot. We avoid any confrontation with other BERTs. If Big Mac wants our infected, we give them up. We will respond to direct threats defensively.”

  She looked at Erich. “Erich stays IN the truck with one of the rifles. Clear?”

  “Clear.”

  She was relieved that he didn’t try to argue.

  “Solly, you and I move as a team. We stay close to the truck. If we have relocate, the truck comes with us. No chances, minimize risk. Do you guys have any questions or comments? No? Good. Mount up.”

  Their radios were tuned to the PD and Guard channels. The Army had pulled most of their people out of subways after the shoot. They had positioned several eight wheeled armored trucks at key points, to what purpose Colleen couldn’t say.

  As they drove north along Broad, poking into the side streets that meandered unpredictably, south of Canal, Colleen tracked her surroundings while Solly scanned his side.

  “Was it time to jump tonight? Bring back a load. Tell her guys, and then demand her vaccine and money from the CSO? Would he accept her departure? Could she convince him? Was it worth it to risk staying too long?”

  Outwardly she was calm, like her rock, Solly. Inside, she was starting to squirm.

  The radio started to chatter about the crowd at Sheep Meadow in Central Park being larger than usual, some band or other. Solly called out a possible infected a few blocks later. Female, black, stripping her clothes off haphazardly and screaming. By now the signs of infection were familiar. In a minute or less she was going to start getting bitey.

  A screech of brakes and Erich neatly stopped right next to her.

  Like a machine, Colleen and Solly dismounted.

  “Ma’am?” Solly called. The infected looked up, eyes wide and bright. A low growl replaced the earlier screams.

  “Tase her,” Colleen said.

  They shot the infected simultaneously, and smoothly bagged and zip tied her. As they maneuvered the infected to the truck’s rear gate, the bank’s BERT radio relay on Colleen’s shoulder sounded.

  “Any units, this is MetBank Zero Three. We are at Union Square with three infected in the back. We have three Overture trucks boxing us in, and lighting us with spots. Need immediate support!”

  Larry’s voice was clear. Colleen’s guts churned as she heard the fear in his radio call.

  “Zero Three, Zero One enroute. Four minutes. Lock the doors, don’t get out. If you can ram clear do it. If they ask for the infected, say yes and kick them out the back and leave. How copy?”

  There was no reply. Colleen repeated her call, struggling to modulate her voice.

  “Zero Three, Zero Three, acknowledge!”

  She switched to the all bank shared channel.

  “Any BERT, this is MetBank Zero One. We are responding to a help call at Union Park. Reports that contractor BERTs are confronting one of our units. Request support.”

  A moment later two radio calls stepped on each other. All she could make out was, “…Golf Actual…”

  She broke in. “Break, break—station Golf you are go, all other stations wait one, please.”

  “MetBank, this is Two Golf, Golf Actual with you.”

  Colleen checked the call sign chart. She was talking to the CSO from Goldbloom.

  “Golf, Zero One, can you support our unit at Union Square? They are not answering calls at this time. We are several minutes out. Ouch!”

  Erich had driven over a tall curb to bypass a light and Colleen smacked her head against the passenger window. She missed the next couple calls.

  Then she heard: “Zero One—yeah, we are about to turn into the square. We see three, four, five trucks. Looks like they are loading…fuck! They are loading BERT personnel in the back of their truck!”

  “Golf, can you engage?”

  “Shit, shit—taking fire! Joe turn le…” The Goldbloom transmission stopped.

  Solly didn’t need to check the GPS. “Two minutes, maybe less. Are we doing this alone?”

  Colleen though furiously. If her guys were alive, they weren’t going to stay that way. But they were her guys. Five to one odds were bad—but if she shot first? She couldn’t just leave them, could she? A little voice in the back of her head started whispering I told you so’s.

  “Ok, here is the deal. If we just drive in, we are toast. We stop at the edge of the square, no lights, no siren. We see what we see. If we spot the container truck with our guys, we disable it, buying time for more help to arrive. The cops gotta be enroute with all the shooting. Got it?”

  Silence answered her. Solly looked at her, his hands tight on a chicken bar, braced against the movement of the truck. Erich kept his eyes on the road, but didn’t respond either.

  “Hey! Got it!?” Colleen yelled.

  Erich said, “Yeah. Edge of the square. No lights, no siren.”

  Solly slipped the M4 from the door sock and checked the mag, then looked back her silently. His eyes were calm, but his fingers were white against the black rifle.

  What the fuck? thought Colleen.

  There was no time, she could see the landmark Washington Statue and the open MetBank truck nose first into its pediment, doors open and lights on. Steps away she could see a trademark Overture Suburban and in its headlights, the open back end of a Hyundai lowboy trailer. Bodies were stacked neatly, bare feet and boots both clearly visible.

  “Oh, this is not on. Erich stop where you can hit them with the highbeams when I say. Solly, priority to anyone you see with a long gun, then everyone else. If I shoot, or they shoot, don’t wait for my call to light them up.”

  Erich eased to a stop, engine running. Solly opened his door, aiming towards the scene. Colleen did the same on the front passenger side. She spotted Emmanuel, that prick, talking into a cell phone and waving his arm. She’d ask him nicely. Once.

  Aiming carefully, she said, “Erich, lights, now!”

  As the headlights and cab mounted spots blindly lit up the Overture crew, Colleen used her weak hand to key the bullhorn.

  “Hey Emmanuel. Don’t move. You really don’t want to even fucking twitch. Tell all your men to stop moving, and we can have a little talk.”

  He couldn’t see her, Colleen knew. He knew the voice apparently.

  “Hey puta, that you? You want some zombies. Come help yourself! Plenty here!”

  Colleen saw his men dodge behind their trucks, leaving their lead pinned in the light.

  “Next man moving gets shot Emmanuel. No warning.” Colleen wasn’t feeling calm. She unkeyed the bullhorn. “Solly, be ready.”

  “C’mon, MetBank. Come get your zombies. You might recognize some!”

  Colleen knew at that moment that she wasn’t getting her team back. She knew that cocksucker was waiting for any opening to add her, Erich and Solly to his take.

  Aiming with exquisite care, she shot him in the mouth, snapping hi
s head back and crumpling his body to the ground. She heard Solly shoot, and then a heavy, persistent chugging and muzzle flash appeared from behind the Suburban.

  Solly yelled, “Thats a fucking machine gun, we can’t fight that! Move!”

  Colleen yelled, “Get in, get in, Erich go gogogogo!”

  The truck lurched backwards, gathering speed and Colleen heard bullets striking her vehicle. The windshield fractured. She gave up trying to close her door and held on, looking over her shoulder.

  Erich tried to pull a Rockford, banging the front of the truck across parked cars, but getting the vehicle turned around.

  “Head south, keep going.” Colleen yelled. “Solly, you okay?”

  She looked in the rear. Solly was belted in and bleeding from small cuts on his face, changing his mag, and looking at her evenly. “I’m good.”

  “Erich?” Colleen asked.

  He didn’t answer, but drove with one hand and held his head with the other. Blood streamed down his arms.

  “Erich!”

  “He might not be able to hear you,” Solly said.

  The trucked lurched as they turned right and then left again, throwing them around the cab. She tapped Erich shoulder to get his attention and pointed south. He nodded.

  Cops, call the cops! she thought.

  She transmitted on the bank channel.

  “Any station, this is MetBank Zero One. Our Three unit is gone. The other guys have machine guns and shot us up. Were hurt and running south. Recommend that all BERTs disengage. Request call to law enforcement.”

  A few responses, including one, “Holy fuck!” from someone holding the transmit button down inadvertently, were plain.

  “MetBank BERT, this is the NYPD, pull over and stop.” A loud speaker sounded behind them. Erich looked in his rear view at the same time and spotted a blue and white with its flashers running, but no siren. He took his foot off the gas.

  No siren. Huh, smarter cops than average, Colleen thought. She looked closer. The driver wore his hair in braided dreds.

  “Erich, punch it, that isn’t a cop. Go!”

  He didn’t respond. She punched hard in the shoulder and pointed forward screaming in to his ear, “Go!”

  The truck accelerated again.

  Solly was looking left and right behind them.

  “Two cop cars. Three. I don’t think we can outrun them.”

  The BERT was blowing down Broadway, coming up on Houston, when more cop lights showed in front of them. Colleen punched Erich again and pointed right. He reefed the truck towards the Hudson at the next block.

  Solly yelled over the windroar, “Where are we going? Bank is the other way?”

  “Overture has the cops in his pocket. They aren’t gonna arrest us, you understand!?” she yelled. “We have to go around, we can pick up West Street, or the Greenway and get past them. If you haven’t figured it out, it is time to jump!”

  Solly nodded, but the fingers on his right hand, holding onto the bar between the front and rear, started tapping.

  The truck started lurching more, and side swiped a parked car, nearly spinning them. She looked at Erich. He was starting to sway.

  “Solly, shoot the cop cars up, get us some room. I gotta drive!” Colleen yelled.

  As soon as the fire started, the blue and whites fell back more than a block. Colleen recognized the neighborhood, this was West Village. She was only blocks from home.

  She started tugging on the wheel to get Erich’s attention. Solly’s rifle popped consistently as he peppered the cop cars, pushing them further back.

  She pointed left towards Seventh. The truck slowed as Erich turned. He looked more ghastly than the yellow street light glare warranted, Colleen recognized. She had to switch places. She looked back after the turn.

  “Do you see them?”

  “Naw. They dropped back too far, maybe they are giving up?”

  Colleen wasn’t feeling that lucky. She motioned to Erich to stop and hopped out to get in his door and push him over. The front of the truck was heavily damaged from gun fire and the reverse turn. The sides of the truck were scratched too. She had good tires, it appeared, and the engine roared when she goosed the accelerator. Erich sort of slumped against her now closed door.

  Could they make it all the way to Tribeca on 7th? The streets were empty of all traffic. She spotted runners—pedestrians maybe, but infected probably.

  Sarah—I have to get to the bank, then get Sarah and go! Her gut burned with regret and fear as she remembered her decision to make it one more night. Stupid stupid stupi…

  She never saw the blue and white that perfectly crashed into her truck, punching them diagonally across Seventh. The blue and white took the brunt of the collision, and swerved crazily, hitting a building wall, the driver buried face first in an airbag.

  She shook her head, seeing more lights behind her again. No headlights. The brake pedal felt weird, spongy. Her door was slightly dished in.

  She tested the gas and the engine responded as she aimed back onto 7th. A a loud scratching and rubbing sound accompanied her efforts to push the truck past thirty-five or so. She wasn’t going to outdrive the blue and whites.

  She spotted a narrow loading alley next to a street side restaurant and turned into at speed. The truck ground into the alley, striking sparks and making even more noise.

  She turned to get Solly and Erich. Her driver’s head was laying past a right angle on his back. His neck was clearly supported only by muscle.

  Solly looked back at her, his jaw muscle jumping.

  She keyed the radio mic. Dead.

  “C’mon, get out through the windshield!” Colleen said. We can try to find another car while they work to get around the truck.

  He pointed silently ahead of them. There was nothing but a blank wall, not even fifty feet away.

  “Well, fuck. Fuck fuck fuck and more fuck. With little fuck sprinkles.” Colleen wasn’t thinking too straight. Her left arm was really starting to hurt too.

  She could see the flashing cop lights reflecting in the alley.

  “Hey Colleen, that you?” a loudspeaker sounded behind her.

  Ramon. Perfect.

  “Fuck you, Ramon.”

  “What?”

  She screamed, “Fuck! You! Ramon!”

  “Colleen, let me help you, we got an ambulance. We can get you out. All you have to do is chill out. We just want to talk.”

  “Fuck you, Ramon,” she whispered.

  Solly limped back from checking the walls of the alley. He shook his head.

  “Solly, you there man?!”

  Solly jerked his head up, eyes wide.

  Colleen shook her head.

  “Solly, don’t be stupid, man.” Ramon went on, “You can live through this. I remember you from before, I know you and Colleen roll together, big man. Tell her that she has to chill out!”

  Solly looked at her, his eyes still wide. “We are out of rounds for my rifle. I don’t see yours in the truck, must have lost it somewhere. We got two mags of pistol each. This is not going to end well. Maybe…”

  Colleen shook her head again. “Do you want to be vaccine?” She leaned back through the windshield. The engine was still idling but was suddenly drowned out by the BERT truck siren.

  “What do you think you are doing?” Solly demanded.

  “Siren. We are a couple hundred meters from the Canal Street Station.” Colleen was feeling even more dizzy and her entire left side throbbed. “All we gotta do is keep that asshole Ramon from comin’ over the top of the truck long enough for the fucking infected to show up.”

  Solly looked at her. “You are fucking crazy, you know that? Give me your pistol, you aren’t in shape to shoot. I will watch the top, because those Big Mac assholes are going to figure this out quick.”

  She could hear the loudspeaker over the siren, barely.

  “Nice play, Colleen, but it’s no good. We got enough firepower for a few zombies!” Ramon’s voice was faint, bu
t clear.

  She heard some shots strike the back of the van. “Much good that will do them, with a locked armored panel between the cargo and the cab.” She laughed to herself. She must be getting really loopy and felt even dizzier.

  The siren kept wailing. She could hear steady gunfire now, but nothing striking the truck. It sounded like a machine gun was shooting without stopping. Good way to get a jam, she thought. The firing went on for minutes it seemed, then tapered.

  She could hear screams over the siren, faintly, but the firing stuttered and ended. A little while went by. The siren suddenly shut off and she looked up.

  Solly sat down heavily next to her, with an angle to see under the front of the truck.

  “I want to hear what is happening before I poke my head over or under,” he explained.

  Her ears rang. Her vision seemed bright but blurry. It was too bright. She tried to marshal her thoughts. The bank. Vaccine. Sarah.

  Solly fired a few rounds at a scrabbling form under the truck. Then he fired a few more. “I think that was your friend Ramon.”

  “Did he say anything?”

  “Well, if growling is saying something, sure.”

  Huh. Near instant karma. Nice…thought Colleen.

  Solly stood quietly, but jerkily. “I’m going to listen at the panel.”

  He came back some time later.

  “It’s quiet. I peeked through the spy hole. No movement, no infecteds in view. No cops. No one. If we move quietly, we can try to get to a car.”

  Solly sounded a little jittery. “That’s weird—if the bad guys are gone…” Colleen tried to focus. “You think?”

  “Sure. Let me help you.”

  Slowly, with Solly helping, they crouched through the armored divider, then slowly eased the rear door open. Colleen noted that their sole infected capture of the night had been shot.

  The street was clear of any living thing. The yellow streetlights didn’t show blood well, but dark puddles collected near scores of corpses. Most were naked, or nearly so—infected that had attacked from the subway. A few bodies wearing uniforms were visible, but were hard to make out, being mostly disassembled.

  They stumbled south a few blocks along the Greenway, dodging the ever present NYC construction debris, traffic cones and orange plastic fencing. The West Expressway, normally busy with traffic, was empty. They turned east towards the 9/11 memorial pools.