by Dirk Patton
I went back to shooting, hoping Scott was hurrying, then another explosion sounded from behind me not far from Yee’s position. Had to be females climbing the fence from inside the compound. There was no way the males could have gotten in there. I kept shooting, but the mass of males was growing and they were approaching faster than I could put them down. Pausing to change magazines I glanced around when I heard a metallic scraping sound, relieved to see the bollards slowly descending into the road.
“Mount up.” I ordered over the radio when I saw Scott squirm through the hole he’d cut in the gate and run towards us.
We all piled back into the MRAP and Martinez hit the throttle. The truck bounced as we rolled over the bollards. Seems releasing the hydraulic pressure does lower them back into the ground, but the rounded tops remained sticking above the pavement a few inches. Nothing to even slow us down, she continued to gain speed, crashing the armored front of the vehicle into the center of the gate. I had braced for the impact, but didn’t even feel it as the 14 tons of hurtling steel tore through them like they were made of tissue paper. Two more land mines detonated to our left as more females tried to reach us.
“Don’t ram the gate!” I suddenly shouted to Martinez before she could destroy the last line of defense against the packs of infected that were pursuing us. She jammed on the brakes, the big tires screeching in protest as we came to a sliding stop with the front bumper only a couple of feet from the inner gate.
I briefly explained what I was thinking and Scott and Yee jumped out with me. Yee moved to the back of the truck to cover us from the infected while Scott and I checked the gate. This one was hinged as well, opening into the compound. Large hydraulic arms on each side were mounted to the bottom rail of each half of the gate, able to pull it open or push it closed. Scott clicked on his red lensed flashlight and examined one of them, jerking back when a female slammed into the chain link and tried to force her arms through to grab him.
“They can be released, but I can’t do it from out here.” He said, raising his rifle and shooting the female that was still banging on the gate.
I looked up at the top of the gate, 12 feet in the air with a thick coil of razor wire attached for good measure, then at the idling MRAP. Issuing orders over the radio I quickly got Yee moved out of the way, then Martinez made a series of K turns until the vehicle was reversed, backing up until the rear bumper touched the gate. Scott and I scrambled up over the hood and onto the roof which was about eight and a half feet high. Standing on the roof, the top of the gate was just above waist level and Scott used his bolt cutters to quickly dispense with the razor wire.
While he worked I looked back down the driveway. Yee was racking up a respectable body count, but just like earlier, the crowd was growing and despite his efforts the front edge was continually growing closer. Another land mine detonated, much too close, and Scott and I both ducked involuntarily when a piece of shrapnel pinged off the armored side of the vehicle we were standing on.
“Ready.” Scott called, storing the cutters and swinging one leg over the top of the gate. I moved up next to him and started taking out infected. There were several in the area, mostly females, and all of them were making a beeline for the rumble of the idling diesel engine.
“Go.” I said, shooting a sprinting female.
Scott grabbed the top rail in both hands, swung his other leg over and again defied his appearance by climbing down the gate with far more agility than I expected. He ran to the arm on the left and knelt over it with his multi-tool and I had to shoot more infected that were closing in on him. It took him less than 30 seconds to release the arm, then he ran to the other side and repeated the process. By now I was firing nearly every second, the number of converging infected inside the fence increasing. Another land mine detonated and Yee yelped.
“Talk to me, Yee.” I said on the radio.
“Took some shrapnel in the leg. I’m fine.” He said. I had to take his word for it, but his rate of fire never faltered.
“Done!” Scott called out and yanked the gate open, dropping to a knee to join the fight.
Martinez backed up until the MRAP was fully inside the gate. When she came to a stop I scrambled over the roof, down across the windshield and to the ground. Scott was keeping the infected knocked back for the moment and I grabbed a length of heavy chain out of the tool box mounted to the side of the vehicle, telling Yee to fall back over the radio.
“Yee needs help.” I heard Martinez in my earpiece and spun to see the young Sergeant sitting on the ground, legs splayed out in front of him, still firing his rifle at the quickly approaching herd. I ran over to him, seeing the spreading pool of blood he was sitting in as I approached. That piece of shrapnel had severed something big in his leg and he was bleeding out. The closest male was only a few feet away, hundreds more no more than ten yards behind him. I gripped the chain, cocked my arm back and swung. The end of the chain whipped around and crunched into the male’s head, shattering his skull and dropping him in his tracks. Hooking my hands under Yee’s arms from behind, I ran backwards as fast as I could, dragging him along.
Scott met us at the front corner of the MRAP, plucking the bloody chain out of my hand as I ran by with Yee in tow. Slamming the gates, he wrapped the chain around the two center posts, wedging the ends through the brackets that held the chain link mesh tightly stretched. This wouldn’t stop a survivor for longer than it took them to unwrap the chain, but the infected weren’t smart enough to figure that out. I hoped. Moments later the leading edge of the males crashed into the gate. It rattled and moved a couple of inches until the chain arrested its travel.
27
Yee’s heart stopped less than a minute after Scott and I muscled him into the MRAP. The shrapnel had severed his femoral artery, and even if we’d gotten to him immediately after the injury, there was nothing we could have done to save him. We sat looking at him for a moment, then removed his weapons and piled them to the side. Scott dug through a locker and found the stash of lightweight body bags that are commonly hidden away and we took the time to get Yee’s body zipped inside.
Martinez and Scott were just sitting and staring at the body bag, lost in their own thoughts, but we didn’t have time now for mourning lost comrades. There would be time for that later, hopefully. I snapped at them to get their shit together and focus on the mission.
While we were sitting there, infected had started arriving, pounding on the sides of the vehicle. I looked up at Martinez and she nodded and turned back to grasp the steering wheel and get us in motion. She backed away from the gate that was now solidly packed with infected trying to push through. As she backed up numerous infected were crushed, but I noted they were all males, the females leaping out of the way. Swinging us around, Martinez started following the road that skirted the perimeter of the parking lot.
It didn’t take us long to come to an intersection. The MRAP’s headlights reflected off a large sign that pointed to the left for Staff Parking and the right for Loading Dock. I had moved into the front passenger seat and pointed to the right. Martinez turned, crushing a few more infected as she drove along the side of the building. The road was wide, obviously built for large trucks, but immediately to our right was another fence with the same warning signs that were posted along the public road. Behind us I heard the crump of another land mine detonating, but didn’t bother to turn my head to look.
Soon we reached the back corner of the building, the road emptying into a very large parking area. A large sign warned drivers to stay in their vehicles until escorted by security. There were no infected visible in the lot, but close to a hundred males and females were following us. At the far end of the building, nearly half a mile away, what looked like a giant, metal barn stuck out from the wall, a pair of tall doors blocking access. It clearly looked like an addition to an existing structure, and was exactly what I had expected to see.
Los Alamos does research and development of all types of offensive and defensiv
e military projects. Materials, as well as the completed prototypes being taken to the field for testing, had to come and go. The government didn’t want our enemies, or even our allies for that matter, to be able to see what was arriving and departing with their spy satellites, so these types of sheds had been added to any facility that didn’t have drive-in loading areas. When either a loaded or empty truck arrived it would pull into the shed and close the outside doors, hiding its activity from prying eyes.
“When we get there, swing around so you can back in when we get the doors open.” I said to Martinez, pointing at the shed. She nodded and accelerated to open some distance from the trailing infected. Scott had been paying attention and raised his rifle to look at the doors through his night vision scope.
“Any idea how hard it’s going to be to open those?” He asked, rifle still to his cheek.
“None. But we’ll figure it out.” I leaned forward to look at our followers in the rearview mirror. “Looks like we’ll have two minutes at the most before we have company arriving.”
“What do we do if there’s already a truck in there?” He asked. I hadn’t thought about that, and didn’t have an immediate answer for him.
Martinez steered around a parked 18 wheeler, slowed to make a sharp turn to line the rear of our vehicle up with the shed and jammed on the brakes. Scott and I were already moving, jumping out to the asphalt and running to the entrance. We took a moment to scan down the sides of the shed and around the corner of the building to make sure there weren’t any infected in close proximity. Finding none, we turned our attention to the doors.
They were hinged on the outside and appeared to swing out. We couldn’t tell if they were electrically or hydraulically operated as that equipment was on the inside. To the right of the door a small keypad was set into the wall, a dim, red LED glowing in the center of the number pad.
“Power on, or battery?” Scott asked. We couldn’t tell. None of the parking lot lights were on, but that didn’t really mean anything. The building could well have had a generator that was running and we just couldn’t hear it. There were no external windows, a security feature, so there was no way to know.
“You’ve got about 90 seconds.” Martinez’ voice over the radio, updating us on the approaching infected. I resisted the urge to look over my shoulder, focusing on searching for an emergency release for the big doors. I told Scott what I was looking for, hoping some safety manager had forced the issue when they built the shed, and he started checking to the right while I looked over the left.
“60 seconds.” Martinez said, her voice sounding rock solid calm. But then she was sitting inside a 14 ton, armored vehicle. Why shouldn’t she be calm?
Seemingly forever later, but before we received our 30 second warning, I found what I was looking for. A heavy, metal plate, nearly two feet tall, a couple of inches above the pavement on the left side of the shed. It was painted the same color as the building and set flush with the surrounding metal. At the bottom, a small finger hole was filled with dirt and debris. Jamming my finger into the hole, I cleaned it out enough to hook the edge of the plate and lifted it up. The hinges were stiff with age, old paint and I suspected a complete lack of maintenance.
“30 seconds.” Martinez finally sounded a little stressed, calling out the time as I shouted for Scott to bring his flashlight.
He skidded to a stop on his knees next to me and aimed the red light into the opening, revealing a thick lever, hinged at the bottom. I grabbed the top with one hand and pulled, but it didn’t budge. Sitting my ass on the pavement and bracing my feet against the wall, I grabbed with both hands and pulled for all I was worth.
“20 seconds.” Martinez was definitely getting antsy now.
Sweat popped out on my forehead from the exertion and I was about to stop and have Scott grab on to help when I felt the lever start to move. As it moved, there was a loud, metallic squealing sound that started. My back and arms were burning, but the lever was still moving, slowly, and I wasn’t about to stop and give up the progress I’d made.
“Danger close!” Martinez shouted on the radio and a heartbeat later Scott started firing at the swiftly approaching females. The lever had travelled perhaps a third of the way to full extension, the squealing/screeching sound from the doors growing louder.
“Might want to hurry it up there, sir. They’re coming faster than I can shoot.” Scott shouted, never pausing his steady rate of fire. With a scream of effort I pulled with my arms and pushed with my legs, the lever moving faster until it suddenly hit a release point and flopped free into a horizontal position.
“Doors are open. Bay’s empty. Let’s go!” Martinez shouted as she goosed the throttle, the big truck roaring back into the shed. I rolled, coming up on my knees and raising my rifle to face the infected.
“Oh, shit!” I breathed involuntarily, immediately acquiring and firing on a target. There must have been close to 100 females sprinting directly at us, the closest ones inside 50 yards. A world class athlete could sprint 40 yards in just a hair over four seconds. I was willing to bet an infected female could outrun him.
“Legs!” I shouted at Scott, flipping my rifle to burst mode and aiming for knees. I knew this wouldn’t kill the infected, but right now I would be happy to slow them down so we could dash around the corner of the building and through the open doors.
Each of us pulled our triggers repeatedly, sweeping through the front ranks of the infected. The females crashed to the pavement when our bullets shattered knees, femurs and hips. They didn’t give up, starting to crawl towards us, but we were slowing the advance.
“The doors are closing!” Martinez screamed at us over the radio. Time to go.
Scott and I each fired a final burst, leapt to our feet and ran. Rounding the corner I saw the 20 foot tall doors swinging in towards each other, gaining speed as they closed. I sprinted, tracing the path in my mind that I needed to follow to run around the moving door and through the rapidly shrinking opening. Screams from very close gave me an extra burst of speed and I dashed through with inches to spare, trying to stop and sliding on the smooth concrete floor inside the shed.
As soon as I cleared the door I looked behind me to check on Scott. A step behind, he crashed into the right door as he tried to make the turn, losing momentum. He was still trying to get his body moving forward again when a female slammed into his back, knocking him through the opening and coming along with him. Another one slipped through the narrow gap, spotted me and changed direction to attack. A third one tried to make it but wedged herself in the space, reaching through with her arms and screaming for a moment before the doors completely closed with a solid boom, crushing her between them. Blood and other fluids I didn’t care to inspect closely were splattered across the floor where she died.
I was completely off balance from the slide on the floor and couldn’t bring my rifle up as the female leapt at me. Instead of fighting my own momentum, I let my body skid, pulling the Kukri and preparing for the fight. Before I could engage the female, a dagger suddenly appeared in the side of her head and she fell lifeless to the floor. Martinez strode forward, retrieved the blade she had thrown with perfect precision, and turned to help Scott.
He was on his back, infected straddling his chest. He had both thick hands wrapped around her throat and held her at arm’s length, choking the life out of her. Martinez ran up, grabbed the female’s hair from behind to control her head, and thrust the dagger deep into her brain stem. She immediately went limp and Scott tossed the body to the side with a disgusted grunt. I was on my feet by now and walked over, extending a hand to help him up. Martinez bent to clean her dagger on the infected’s lab coat.
“Captain, if you’re half the pilot that you are fighter, the Russians are fucked.” I said, clapping her on the shoulder. She smiled, slipping the dagger into a sheath hidden in her clothing.
“Where did you learn to use a blade like that, ma’am?” Scott asked her, checking over his equipment.
>
“I grew up in Juarez.” She replied with a smile. “You think this is dangerous? You should have tried walking home from school in my old neighborhood.”
28
The lights were on inside the shed, which was a relief. Without NVGs we would have been severely hampered in our movements in complete darkness. There was a constant banging from the doors, the infected we had escaped pounding their frustration. What would the Russian pilot think if he flew back over and saw them clustered around an entrance to the building?
Hopefully, if he did spot them, he would dismiss it as likely that a survivor was in the building and the infected were trying to get in for a snack. But even if it didn’t immediately raise an alarm with the Russians, how long would it take him to mention it to someone who would think it was worth investigating? Maybe I was worried about nothing, but the faster we got our hands on the nukes and got the hell out of there, the better.
We each took a moment to check over our gear and for Scott and I to load fresh magazines into our rifles. The MRAP had held a cache of ammunition and we replenished what we'd already expended. Weapons ready, I pulled out the paper Captain Blanchard had given me on the flight from West Memphis to Little Rock.
It was written in a precise hand, detailing the information from an inventory register that had been read to him over the phone. The SADMs were in a sub-basement of the building we were in. They were stored in vault W, five levels beneath us. Great. I was getting tired of big buildings full of infected.