LZR-1143: Redemption

by Bryan James

  I decided quickly, and knew that I was crazy.

  The mall had been advertising a big sale, and large banners were hung vertically on two sides of the atrium, stretching over the four floors. Anchored somewhere on the top floor, likely by gang wires attached to the handrail, the banners were only five feet wide.

  And one was hanging right in front of me.

  Sheathing the machete as fast I could, and straight-arming a nearby creature like an all-pro running back, I bolted for the edge of the floor, jumped to the edge of the four-foot wall, and directly into the thick canvas of the banner.

  My stomach lurched with the weightlessness of the leap, and my hands grasped the thick fabric for purchase, even as I heard the howls of hunger and madness from the walkway I had just escaped. The heavy gear on my back pulled me off balance as my right hand found a handhold in the folds of material, and I jerked to a stop, the straps from my bag digging into my shoulders. From below me, I heard a fierce volley of shotgun fire and the wild barking of a near-maniacal Vizsla.

  “Mike!” Kate’s voice was frantic and scared.

  I pawed for the transmit button on my comm wire, even as two bodies flipped comically over the edge of the wall above me, cart wheeling to the atrium below and smashing messily into the tile floor—a floor that was now mostly vacant, as the creatures had left it empty in their rush to the second floor.

  “I’m okay—go now, I’ll meet you there. Go!” I yelled the last and reached up with my free hand to stabilize my position.

  Three more bodies cart wheeled past me, and I looked up to see the myriad of rotten, pitted and lined faces, gray and bloodied, staring at me as I hung precariously from the banner between floors.

  Below me, the creatures in the walkway didn’t know what hung merely feet above their heads, and in the atrium, the remaining creatures shambled aimlessly, as if wondering where everyone went.

  My hands flew as I climbed down quickly, one after another, feet hanging uselessly in the air. Breathing heavily, I landed hard on my feet at the very bottom, near a lingerie shop and a pretzel stand. The red emergency lights above the exit to the parking garage glowed weakly, and I pulled the shotgun to my shoulder with a fluid motion.

  No time for stealth.

  The zombies turned to me immediately, the largest of them meeting me as I came down from the dead foliage surrounding the mold-covered pond. Quickly, I kicked a creature back, off the small rise of the interior garden as I changed the magazine in the Pathfinder back to normal rounds, and slapped it home. The stench of flora and fauna decaying in unison was sickening, and I swallowed the urge to vomit, even as I pulled the trigger of the shotgun and felt the reassuring thump of the stock against my shoulder. The large man who must have been the fattest and male-est lingerie salesman ever, exploded as the discharge took him from his feet and into the fetid water.

  The blast echoed in the large space, and I heard the groups join together on the stairwell in a chorus of moans, and flood downward again.

  The doors were sealed shut by some manner of electronic bolt, and I didn’t have time for an explosive charge. The shotgun bought me passage again, and I sprinted into the dimly lit garage.

  As I reached the concrete floor, I flashed back to King’s Park and our wild run from the psychiatric prison. I remembered Erica and No-Name, and Fred. I wondered what the fuck I was doing in a lame-ass mall in lame-ass Idaho.

  Life was really a bag of crooked dicks, sometimes.

  The parking lot was mostly empty, and I didn’t bother with the cars. I turned hard to my right, following the closest wall until I reached the elevator shaft and stairwell, and flew down the first flight, changing my nearly empty magazine and finding the transmit button on my comms.

  “Kate, you there?” I whispered softly, despite the heavy clatter of my unavoidably loud footfalls.

  “Yeah, we’re… heavy numbers on the… making our way…”

  The static was thick, and I transmitted again with no response.

  My blood was pounding as I reached the street level and slammed the rusty metal door on the bottom floor open, swinging it into the street.

  The popping sound of gunfire was thick in the air, and I saw the movement of a large machine in the distance, lights briefly flashing at the end of the street. I turned to my right, trying to find where the exit from the other side of the mall would have been, but the heavy report of a machine gun fired from a rooftop high and to the left made me dive instinctively for cover.

  A sandbagged nest of militia was perched on the roof of the building across from the mall, and a car burned fitfully fifty meters ahead of me, outside what must have been the exit that Kate and the others had used. The mall, located on a slight hill, rose up and to the right of me, and I knew that the train station wasn’t more than three blocks away—past the machine gunners.

  Moving quickly, I tried to roll out from behind the cover and make it to the other side of the street, but a spray of bullets tore the concrete in front of my hand, and I flew back behind the cover of the overturned food truck.

  I slammed my hand on the ground in frustration and tried transmitting again.

  No joy.

  I knew they’d have their guns trained on me so I didn’t try to put my head above the cover. Instead, I mentally inventoried my pack and my weapons.

  I didn’t have anything that could help right now. My shotgun was useless at this range, and the rest of the explosive charges were with Rhodes. My strength didn’t help, and my time was short. Looking around the ruined scene I had a sudden thought.

  I tore into the food truck through the ventilation port that was on the top of the vehicle—now the side closest to me. Inside, it was dark and smelled horrible—more rot and mold. I couldn’t fit my whole body inside, but I didn’t need to—I grabbed what I was looking for, attached to the wall with a thick canvas strap and connected to the portable stove with a thick rubber hose. Snapping the hose, I pulled it out with a loud metallic clatter.

  Turning around in triumph, I cursed loudly.

  My friends from the mall had followed me.

  Hundreds of creatures, now released from their commercialist captivity, were shambling along the street, pouring from the small parking garage and directly toward where I squatted, pinned down by the machine gun fire.

  I heard the indistinct yells of the men on the roof and saw a stream of bullets whip into the first row of the creatures.

  This was my chance.

  I rolled into the street from behind my cover as the next volley of gunfire ripped into the corpses, and held the propane tank in one hand as I sprinted toward the far wall.

  The building was only four stories high, and I knew I had at least two stories in me. I reached a position directly below the machine gun nest even as I heard them shouting and waving the gun to reposition.

  I threw the tank as hard as I could, straight up.

  Before they could react, I brought the Pathfinder to bear and fired.

  The explosion shattered the windows above me, and glass rained down on my face, small cuts slicing open my exposed cheeks.

  A large shard of metal from the propane tank bounced forcefully off the thick metal plating of my chest, and another smaller sliver embedded itself in the thick fabric of my left gauntlet.

  But above me, they were screaming. The tank had gotten nearly level with the sandbagged redoubt, and the propane tank had created an effective incendiary and anti-personnel device.

  With no time to claim victory, and with hundreds of creatures behind me, I crossed the next street, and headed toward the sound of gunfire.

  EIGHTEEN

  Kate and Rhodes weren’t responding to my radio calls, but I knew where they were heading, and I knew that we needed to be there soon. If it was on time, the train would be pulling out within twenty minutes. The gunfire ahead was like a beacon, and I moved quickly between parked cars and the wreckage of a small city brought to its early demise. Broken glass and debris littered th
e streets, and windows were in turn, either boarded up or shattered—either gaping holes into a dark unknown, or an awkward X facing the world outside.

  A large explosion rocked the nearest buildings as I reached a cluttered corner. A burned out sedan was parked at an angle to the next street, and I saw the fires and the movement of the militia in front of me. Men and women ran from the sides of the street to ammunition dumps and resting places protected from the return fire of the Army by large brick buildings.

  Above the chaos on the street, helicopters shot through the sky, moving quickly to avoid crossfire, and launching missiles to take out the last remnants of the militia’s dwindling motorized vehicles. I tried my comms again, expecting nothing.

  Static whistled in my ear, and I grunted once.

  Then, suddenly, “Mike, come in. We’re pinned down in a coffee place across from the station. We got around the militia but they spotted us, and we can’t signal to the Army guys on the other side of the barricade. It looks like they’re pulling back. Can you copy this?”

  Kate’s voice was anxious and hurried. Her near whisper was punctuated by gunfire and raised voices that reached a crescendo as the comm signal went silent.

  I yelled back into my own transmitter, but there was no response.

  Searching the nearby structures, I couldn’t see the storefronts or names, and couldn’t make out where they might be hiding. Time was flying, and I had to do something.

  So I just stood up and walked into the heart of the militia’s encampment.

  The figures running back and forth in front of me barely glanced up, and I made it into the center of the street before a man in an old green army jacket with a red bandana around his mouth and nose stood up from where he squatted against a fire hydrant.

  “Identify yourself,” he said curtly, rural accent thick through the red cloth.

  “Jake Sumter,” I said quickly, remembering the name of my first high school football coach.

  The guy was a true bastard, and I figured he might fit in here.

  “Unit?” he asked, eyes narrowing behind the cover over his face.

  I flicked my eyes down once, watching his hand tighten on his weapon as his eyes also took in my outfit, with its specially modified tactical additions.

  “Well…” I began, but never finished.

  It still surprised me how fast I could move.

  My hand shot out and was around his windpipe before he could tighten his grip on his weapon or raise a call. His arm came up, but I batted it down easily as I took him back to the ground and hunched over him, like we were talking. I spared a glance around, looking for others. A group was approaching from the rear, all heavily armed.

  His eyes were clouding, and I released the grip, letting him fall to the concrete, unconscious. My blood was boiling once again, and I fought the urge to finish him with my knife—an impulse that I put down quickly as unnecessary and blood thirsty, but one that I couldn’t extinguish completely.

  I bolted forward, toward the front lines, and reached the barricade. Several men were perched at the top, scanning the distance with large automatic weapons. Looking left and right, I thought I saw where the others might be concealed.

  The road I was on paralleled three to four other city streets that all dead-ended perpendicular to the access road for the train station. The main boulevard we had seen from the air was only one block over, to my right. Several small, one story commercial buildings lined the road, behind which was the large, historic station. Sandbags and cement embankments had been erected along that road, and the Army was making its stand there. Across the street from the commercial buildings was a large clothing store, and next to that, a small trendy coffee shop with large openings where the plate glass had been.

  To reach the shop, I could try to go through a small alley across the street, and I started toward it, paralleling the barricade.

  “Hey, get your ass up here and help out,” a loud voice spat from the top of the fortification of broken cars and office furniture. He looked down, trying to make out my form in the broken light of makeshift fires and torches. Then, he looked up, and a flash of horror shot through his features. His gun came up, but it wasn’t pointed at me.

  I turned, and the popping of gunfire intensified. But it wasn’t directed at the Army.

  Thousands of the living dead had found the battle.

  And they were ready to party.

  NINETEEN

  Sprinting for the alleyway, I ignored the screams for ammunition and the yells of pain as the first of the creatures made their way into the camp. My friends from the mall had joined with our friends from the interstate, and they were really making themselves known.

  I marveled at the stupidity of these men and women, to take on an Army for a train and leave their rear guarded by a skeleton crew. A helicopter roared overhead, missiles exhausted and turbines screaming in the night air. Another flew past, and another. I looked up, as they turned, banking hard and taking a wide circle back toward us.

  They were herding them toward the militia.

  That must mean the train was leaving.

  Shit on a candy stick.

  Ahead of me, the next cross street was in flames, and several shambling forms were backlit at the intersection, moving awkwardly toward the light. A red door marked ‘Beantown Service Entrance’ was visible on my left, and I slammed into it, cursing as it failed to open. My hand was at my mic as the forms heard my movement and turned toward me. Behind me, the screams were filling the night air, and the gunfire had nearly stopped.

  “Kate, I’m at the door,” I yelled.

  No response.

  “Fuck,” I screamed at the door, and leveled my weapon at the lock. The powerful rounds tore into the thin aluminum and the door sprung open into the alley. The inside of the store was dark, and I could make out a counter, and several displays that had long since been relieved of their coffee. Beans and grounds littered the floor, and the remnants and shards of broken crockery and glass was everywhere.

  “Kate, can you read me?” I yelled, slamming my finger into the transmitter. Static hissed for a split second, and my blood pounded in my ears.

  “Mike? Jesus, Mike. We’re out of the shop. Get to the train!” Her voice was loud, and chaos ruled behind it.

  Voices.

  Shouted orders.

  A train clattering against tracks.

  They were safe.

  “Are you on board?”

  “Yes, but they’re leaving now! Hurry!”

  I didn’t wait for more and my eyes drifted down to the floor as my foot slipped slightly. Expecting a pool of water, I frowned when the dim light reflected off of a syrupy mixture of blood and dirt behind the counter.

  Gunfire erupted from the alleyway behind me as the choppers flew low and tight again, toward their own lines. I started for the front of the store, watching zombies stream into the street from either side of me, knowing I had only seconds to get over the large defensive perimeter in front of me.

  If there was anyone still manning the lines, I’d be cut in half.

  The door slammed open behind me, and a line of rotten corpses burst into the small space. Hunger was on every emaciated, torn face. My decision was made, and I bolted through the metal frame of the formerly plate glass door that hung crookedly from its hinges.

  The creatures were everywhere, two large hordes converging in the street before me, all being driven toward the station. I could no longer hear gunfire behind me, in the encampment of the militia. The helicopters had moved off, and the lines in front of me were silent.

  A large bus with plates of steel welded to the windows was the wall before me. I pushed my shotgun back until it hung behind me, and flashed an elbow around as a meandering creature lunged in front of me. The impact from the titanium plating took him in the jaw, sending teeth into the air and his body spinning to the street. More of them were coming, and were only seconds from cutting me off from the bus. I sped up and leapt, pushing ba
ck against the ground as hard as I could and springing into the air.

  I expected to find my hands on the ledge of the bus.

  Instead, I simply cleared it, flying over the barricade by feet.

  Well, now. This was fun.

  Behind me, the moans hit a fevered pitch as the bumbling creatures saw their dinner fly away. I hit the ground running, noting the abandoned embankments and the emptied supply depots. Blood and glass and spent ammunition littered the ground amongst overturned newspaper dispensers, recycling bins, and advertisements for local realtors.

  Then I heard it.

  The train was moving.

  The helicopters were buzzing miles to the west now, and I could see their hovering forms, saw them spitting gunfire down near the tracks far away, clearing a path through any militia that would threaten the tracks or the train in a last minute fit of desperation.

  The heavy sound of the large machine was thick in my ears as I hurdled discarded equipment and abandoned vehicles. The barricades behind me were falling, I could hear the toppling crates and the urgent moans as the dead made this place their own. The large double doors of the old station were cocked open, and I slammed through into a large lobby. On my right and left, old ticket booths with neatly drawn horizontal blinds and digital displays that sat dead and lifeless greeted me as I sprinted through a gap where turnstiles used to be.

  Outside a large glass picture window, I watched the last of the train slip past the station, moving slowly but picking up speed. Crates and debris crashed to the ground in the courtyard, as the horde of creatures—now amplified in number by those that they had taken from the ranks of the militia—made their stately progress toward the station.

  Toward the only living human now within their reach.

  Me.

  I didn’t pause. I sprinted after the lurching vehicle, decorative brick flooring disappearing under my churning legs. The lobby was behind me, and I was on the platform.