“What the fuck is going on up there?” Sgt. Turner asked Matt as he reloaded his weapon and watched Rick’s horrid demise.
“I don’t know.” Matt said, his voice queasy. He couldn’t take his eyes off of the hellish feast below.
“Go check it out!” Turner snapped, cocking the actuator to chamber a round then raising his M-16 back to firing position. “I got this covered.” He began shooting the deadfucks who tore at the bodies just below.
Matt pulled himself away from the edge of the balcony and entered the bedroom.
Mac stood in the doorway with his M-16 pointed into the hall, guarding the stairs. His wounded leg was drenched in blood and his face was set into a grim mask of pained determination. Norris stood beside him, looking frightened and confused. He opened his mouth to speak but Matt hurriedly stepped past him into the hall.
“Upstairs!” was all Matt said, never looking back. Across the hall, through the other bedroom he could see his wife out on the rear balcony, targeting zombies below and firing with calm, calculated precision. Matt stepped over Scotty’s body and raced up the stairs, praying he was not to late to help David, Sharon and the others who had taken refuge on the third floor.
“Back him up! I can hold here!” Mac shouted to Norris, who nodded and ran after Matt.
Mac knew there was a massive pile-up of bodies in and around the main stairwell, making it difficult for the deadfucks to reach the second floor. Gritting his teeth against the pain he took a deep breath and slid down to a sitting position, white-hot needles radiating outward from his wound…
Zack abandoned his place atop the tank and sped across the yard with a burst of speed, the cool night air caressing his body like a silken sheet. Over half the drones had been destroyed, and without any Sentinels on the ground to lead them, their semi-coordinated attack had become a chaotic shambling. He hadn’t seen any of the white robed fanatics for some time now, and he suspected they had fled rather than face the firepower of the tank.
Zack neared the back patio entrance, which was where the majority of the two or three hundred remaining drones were massed. With a powerful telepathic wave of dominance, he parted the crowd of drones like insects away from fire, giving him a clear path into the house. He entered into the kitchen, which was crammed with stumbling, rotting drones, all pressed toward the foyer and the stairway beyond. He sent out another telepathic wave to clear them, moving toward the stairs. Zack did a psychic scan of the house, sensing three people on the second floor above, several people on third floor above and a single Sentinel in their midst.
With a snarl Zack bolted up the stairs. No sooner had he began to emerge onto the second floor landing than gunfire opened up on him. He felt a bullet chew into his right side and pass all the way through, another into his shoulder. He turned to face the shooter as two more bullets chewed into his chest and came out his back. His hybrid metabolism barely noticed the pain and was already at work repairing the damage. One more bullet slammed into his chest before the gunfire stopped and the shooter just stared at him in shocked, wide-eyed recognition. Zack too recognized this man from his human life, a soldier named McReedy. Zack had barely knew him, but he had looked out for David when things had fell apart at Ft. Douglas, helping the kid get Zack safely out of the hospital and back to the barracks.
“Zack?” McReedy asked with a voice laced with fear and pain. Zack could see a tourniquet and bandage around one of his legs.
“It’s me.” Zack said, once again taken aback by how deep and guttural his voice had become. For a moment he thought McReedy was going to start shooting at him again, and Zack could feel the Beast boiling just beneath the surface of his conscious control, agonizingly hungry and growling to be fed…But Zack held it in check. McReedy lowered his gun. Zack nodded his head softly before charging up the stairs to the third floor…
Corporal Philips brought the tank to the center of the yard, spun it around toward the house and stopped.
“Hold!” Commander King called from his seat. His sharp blue eyes scanned the battlefield, surveying the carnage.
There were hundreds of zombie carcasses strewn about the yard and back patio, dozens of them shot through the head by the balcony defenders but the majority had been blown apart by the Abram Tanks heavy .50 caliber cupola mounted machinegun or simply ground to jelly by the behemoths heavy tracks, but a few dozen deadfucks still remained. Most were clumped around the rear patio entrance, illuminated by the lights, trying to gain entry to the house, but several dozen were also congregated to the north end of the house, under the rear balcony. On the balcony itself he could see Sgt. Turner, standing up and leaning out over the balcony, shooting into the mob.
But it was what Sgt. King saw silhouetted on a balcony on the third floor that disconcerted him…a superzombie! Its helmet and body armor were gone and its head and torso looked badly damaged, but it was still active. On the north end of the balcony was the roof access ladder and King could see the boy David clinging halfway up, watching the superzombie approach. On the roof King could see the boy’s attractive, dark haired girlfriend Samantha peering over the edge, screaming tearfully. In her arms was her child; his wails appeared to match his mothers. Standing beside her was David’s mother Sharon. Her long blond hair fluttered in the wind and her face was a hysterical mask of emotion. She too held a screaming child in her arms, a toddler. For a moment King contemplated firing the .50 at the superzombie, but didn’t want to risk hitting the kid or the ladies on the roof.
“Get us under the balcony!” King called down to Corporal Philips, and within a moment the hulking tank was moving forward toward the house.
“How do things look skipper?” Corporal Carey asked from the floor. King took his eyes away from the view port and looked down at Carey, his frog face pale from blood loss. When the superzombie had fired into the tank Carey had taken two hits, one in the right shoulder and another in the bicep. Both had torn him up pretty good, splattering the interior of the tank with his blood, and although painful as hell, Carey would survive if he got medical attention soon.
“The deadfucks have breached the house and there is an Alpha on the third floor balcony.” King said flatly and turned back to the view port.
“And I thought I had it rough.” Carey said with bitter jest, laying his head back down and closing his eyes.
“GET SOME MOTHERFUCKER!” Philips screamed from the driver seat as the tank plowed through a knot of deadfucks near the back patio. Several more were sent tumbling to either side, those on the right falling onto the gore-splattered lawn while those on the left pitched into the swimming pool. “GET SOME! GET SOME!” Philips swung the tank north to run parallel to the house, bulldozing the writhing pack of deadfucks that clustered under the balcony, seeming to fight with one another over some bloody remains. “GET SOME MOTHERFUCKER! GET SOME! GET SOME!” Philips was whooping with adrenaline, rage and delight all at the same time. The tank passed the north end of the house and Philips swung it right, out into the yard, turning around for another pass…
“CLIMB DAVID!” Samantha screamed from the roof above him.
“DAVID! DAVID! GET UP HERE DAVID!” His mother shouted beside her.
But David was doing his best to ignore them both because the superzombie required all of his focus and attention. It was missing the left side of its head, its chest and throat were shattered and gaping with wounds. The eyes was missing from the remaining right side of its head, the socket gaping and leaking with a black, slimy mess, yet it still seemed to be smiling at him with the remnants of its shattered mouth, the blackened stub of its withered tongue slinking around its broken face like a worm. It’s right arm was held to the side, the forearm broken in half, leaving the lower half of the arm to dangle down, held on by black, leathery skin. The superzombie began to advance, reaching out with its left hand, the talon tipped fingers clawing at the air. For just a moment longer David clung to the ladder, frozen with fright, his mind filled with the images of Jennifer, baby Tiff
any and Rick falling into the mob below but then his fear turned to adrenaline and he turned and started climbing the ladder.
“HURRAY DAVID!” His mother screamed.
“FASTER!” Samantha followed.
David pushed himself harder, knowing that the superzombie would grab him any second. He heard the tank rumble by just below and out of the corner of his right eye saw it for just a moment before it was gone.
Faster! Faster! It’s right behind you!
His fingers grabbed the rooftop lip and he hurried to get his feet up the last few rungs of the ladder, relief starting to flood through the adrenaline buzz…and then his foot slipped on one of the rungs, causing his legs to flail out and his chin bang against the rung in front of his face. He felt his hands lose their grip on the rooftop and he was half falling, half sliding back down the ladder. Electric panic filled him, causing him to scrabble at the ladder…finally managing to lock his fingers onto a rung and get both of his feet under him, his knees digging into the wall. Before he could even breathe a sigh of relief he felt the superzombies strong hand grab him by the back of the ankle. He screamed aloud and twisted his lower torso to shake the hand free, but its grip was strong.
Images of Ron and that strange fungal rash growing on his body where the superzombies flesh had chaffed against his own filled David’s head and he screamed again, thrashing and twisting harder. He let go of the ladder with his left hand, spinning around to face the superzombie and dangle with his right hand. It worked! The deadfucks grip was torn loose. David kicked out with both feet, catching the superzombie square in the shattered chest, splattering his shoes with its thick, black blood. It stumbled back against the balcony railing and David spun back around to grip the ladder with both hands and started climbing again.
“DAVID! LOOK OUT!” He heard his mother scream from above just as he felt the superzombie grab him by the back of the pants. He tried to power his way loose but felt the zombies grip tighten on his belt and begin to pull him down. He strained against its grip, but he could feel his fingers begin to pry loose from the rungs.
“DAVID!” His mother and Samantha screamed simultaneously from the roof, both now in hysterics.
David’s strength was fading fast, his fingers hot with pain as he poured all of his willpower into keeping his grip on the ladder.
I’m going to die.
But just as quickly he rejected the idea, the thought of his father fighting and dying valiantly to save his family filled him with a new strength. His mind was racing and a desperate plan forming in his mind. He looked over his right shoulder, down into the yard. The tank had made crème pie out of the zombies clustered below, leaving a blood and viscera smeared patch of lawn free of zombies, and the remainder of the nearby deadfucks were fairly spread out as they staggered about in confusion. He couldn’t see the second floor balcony below him, but he hoped Matt would spot him and give him cover fire.
The superzombie gave a tremendous yank, and David felt something pull in his left shoulder with a thick, hot flare of liquid pain. His left hand came free of the ladder and his right hand alone was no match for the inhuman strength of the superzombie.
It’s now or never!
With a mixed scream of pain and determination David let got of the ladder with his right hand and pushed off from the wall with all the strength in both legs. He was fifteen years old, in excellent condition and naturally athletic, and his lithe young body arced up and away from the house. The superzombie kept its grip on his belt and it was pulled it to the edge of the balcony, against the rail, which cracked and splintered, but held. The superzombie hooked the stump of its broken right arm under one of the beams to keep it from being pulled over the edge as David swung down…the arm that held David tore loose from its socket at the shoulder with a sloughing of putrid flesh and dark ichor. David felt the slight jerk and then was falling, the ground rushing up to meet him frighteningly, and painfully quick.
He gritted his teeth against the impact to come…White-hot pain in his left leg as it broke upon landing, a deep, liquid pain in his left shoulder and arm, a jarring, teeth smashing pain in his mouth as his face impacted with his knees and a smashing, sickening fist of pain in his ribs and abdomen as his body folded to the ground.
He blacked out. For how long he wasn’t sure but when he opened his eyes he was looking up into the blue morning sky with three rotting deadfucks just shambling into the periphery. He felt numb. For a moment he wasn’t even sure that he still inhabited a body so intense was the cloud of numbness on which he floated, but he willed himself to move anyway. And somehow, his body responded, with a cacophony of pain from all quarters.
His vision swam as he lifted his head and sat up.
The three deadfucks were just ten feet away now, their arms outstretched, their mouths filled with pus and blood and drool. He took a deep breath and tried to stand, but hot agony shot through his left leg and he fell to the ground onto his injured left shoulder no less. His body convulsed with pain.
This is really it! I’m going to be eaten alive by zombies!
David curled into a ball, praying Matt or Mac or somebody would shoot him in the head and put him out of his misery before the zombies tore him apart. He already missed his mother and sister, and Matt. And when he thought of Samantha, a new pain filled his chest, the pain of a broken heart that had just found love, only to lose it. That was perhaps the worst pain of all.
Please God? Give me a merciful death?
The loud thunder of machinegun fire suddenly rattled the air, filling David’s ears with its roar. He uncovered his head and looked around, surprised to see the nearest deadfucks being chewed apart by heavy gunfire. But where was it coming from? He craned his neck around, his eyes going wide with surprise as he saw the Abrams tank bearing down on him less than thirty feet away, a hot stream of death issuing from the .50 caliber in the cupola on top.
At first he was relieved, but to his horror he saw that the tank was not slowing down and not turning but coming straight for him. Did they see him? Had he been saved from one horrid death only to fall prey to another? Before his pain-fogged mind could even comprehend the situation, the tank was right there, passing noisily, yet harmlessly over him, its treads several feet to either side of him and the underbelly three feet above his face. The tank came to a halt over top of him, the engine still running and the machinegun still firing, wiping out the last encroaching deadfucks.
David closed his eyes and said a silent prayer of thanks. He had been hoping for cover fire when he first hatched the plan on the ladder, but getting the protection of the tank was far more than he had expected. The machinegun fell silent, and a few moments later there was a creak of metal above his head, and a small emergency escape hatch lifted open in the center of the tanks underbelly. Private Philips dark face popped into view, a wide, gap toothed grin spread ear to ear.
“How’s it going there little brother?” Philips asked with a laugh.
On the other side of the hatch Commander King’s strong chinned face came into view. “I bet you could use a lift.” He said with a smile of mock arrogance.
David’s pain was temporarily replaced by euphoria at the joy of being rescued. He had accepted his death and prayed only for a quick mercy killing by his friend’s just moments ago, but now he was saved. His joy brought tears to his eyes, and his laughter turned to sobs and Philips and King reached down and pulled David up into the tank as gently as possible…
Matt ran into the back bedroom on the third floor and stepped out onto the balcony just as the mangled, yet still functional superzombie pulled itself back over the edge with the stump of its right arm. It was missing its left arm and black pus was leaking from the open shoulder socket. Matt could hear screaming from the roof above and with a quick glance saw Samantha and Sharon, both clutching children, their faces tear streaked masks and their mouths open and wailing.
Where the hell was David?
Matt went to aim at the superzombie but it mo
ved with blinding speed and kicked the M-16 out of his hands, out over the balcony. It kicked at him again but this time Matt was able to dodge aside and step back into the bedroom. Norris was just entering the bedroom from the hall, his M-16 in hand.
“SHOOT IT!” Matt screamed, leaping onto the bed and rolling for the floor on the far side.
Norris raised his weapon and fired as the superzombie stepped into the room. His weapon was only on single shot and the bullet slammed into it’s already pulverized chest, passing through it’s body and exiting its back with almost zero resistance. Norris fired again and again, the bullets not even slowing the zombies momentum. It’s broken, bullet riddled, skeletal frame jumped up and kicked Norris in the chest with both feet, a flying dropkick, sending him flying back across the room where he smashed into a small bureau and mirror with a loud crash.
Matt rose to his feet on the opposite side of the bed, drawing his machete from his hip. The superzombie stood up and circled around, its single, pus filled eye socket staying fixed on him. Behind him, Norris groaned with pain, mingled with the tinkle of glass shards falling to the floor as he tried to extricate himself from the broken remains of the bureau. Matt sensed someone else entering the bedroom from the hall and he turned to look, his eyes going wide with shock and surprise.
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