A Place Called Hope (Z-Day Book 2)

by Daniel Humphreys

  Aw, hell.

  He turned and looked as well. His eyes weren’t what they used to be, but the sudden blur of movement between the cluster of buildings to the west was all that he needed to see.

  April 3, 2026

  Lockheed Skunkworks

  Z-Day + 3,089

  Anne spotted the leading edge of the swarm as they entered the southern edge of the office park. By the time she keyed her radio to warn the others, they were out of sight below her. And no way was she going to peek over the edge to confirm. She hadn’t noticed any weapons, but from the speed at which the things moved, it was obvious that most of them were stage twos.

  “Icarus, contact west. Horde transiting south-to-north.”

  “Copy, Guglik. You secure?”

  “I think so, but you’ll understand if I don’t take a look.”

  Major Matthews chuckled a bit on the other end of the radio, but it sounded forced to her ears. “Roger that. The sides of your building that we can see, they’re passing you by. Your ladder looks secure.”

  “I’m solid for now, then. There’s no other way up here, even from inside the building. I— Hold one.”

  The trailing edge of the swarm that remained in view to the south halted, milling about. Even though it was doubtful they’d be able to see her through the camouflage cover, Anne found that she pressed herself down, nonetheless. It was like being a kid again—close your eyes and keep your feet under the blanket, and the monsters wouldn’t be able to get you.

  Guglik had told her own children there were no such things as monsters. She wondered if they’d felt betrayed at the end, then forced the thought away. She could drink herself into a stupor and weep over her losses when the mission was over.

  The desire to hide was moot. The swarm was trickling to the east, toward the warehouse. “Whatever you’re doing, stop it,” she hissed into the radio. “Something has their attention.”

  “Hold on,” Pete replied.

  She eased herself around, bringing the spotting scope along, and focused it on the roof of the warehouse. The Marines on top had gone prone. If she couldn’t see them, the zulus shouldn’t be able to see them. But the crowd to the south still crept forward, and as she watched, more trickled into sight below and to the left. The swarm had turned to the east as one, though the cautious advance was something she’d not seen before. “I don’t hear anything,” she reported. “I don’t know what they could be hearing.”

  “There’s a backup generator in here. Lockheed put it in a sound-dampening enclosure, but there’s still vibration. Ferris, cut the generator.”

  She still didn’t hear a thing, but moments after Pete spoke, the horde halted as one. They stood stock-still, attention still focused toward the warehouse, and after a few seconds of silent communion, the horde burst into action once more. They surged toward the warehouse—silent and indomitable.

  Her head sagged in dismay.

  Pete’s voice was resigned. “Best hunker down, Guglik. Light it up, Marines! Everything you got!”

  Chapter 32

  April 3, 2026

  Aboard the USS Jack Lucas

  Z-Day + 3,089

  At Captain Wilhite’s request, Lieutenant Commander Repko had cloned the feed from the drones closest to the warehouse onto the CIC’s man display screen. When the horde infesting the buildings near the warehouse sprinted toward the Marines’ position, the CIC fell dead silent.

  Captain Wilhite’s voice shattered the sudden paralysis. “I want every drone we’ve got to converge on the warehouse. Guns, be ready to provide on-demand fire. Comms—get the Sea Hawks on the horn, have them re-route south. We can’t afford to lose any more birds, and I damn sure don’t want to hit one in the crossfire.”

  The CIC burst into action around Repko, but something else had caught her eye. She stepped up behind one of the drone operators and leaned over the young man’s shoulder. “Pierson, pull up a bit. I want a wide-angle view.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he replied. The onscreen view shifted wildly, then stabilized as he leveled off and the auto-focus kicked in. Pierson rocked back in surprise, and Repko brought a hand to her mouth.

  Save for the small horde approaching from the west, the area immediately surrounding the warehouse remained empty. That was best described as the eye of the storm, however, because crawling masses of movement were visible in every direction. The spreading fire to the north had created some semblance of a barricade, but the horde from the north split in the face of it, cascading around either side. A similarly large group approached from the built-up area to the west. Though the areas to the south and west were far emptier, there were still plenty of infected there.

  It didn’t take long to determine the pattern in the ant-like writhing of the moving dots on the screen. They were all headed toward the warehouse.

  Desperate, Repko studied the screen and tried to decide what to do. Finally, she straightened and turned to Ensign Marvin even as she beckoned to Captain Wilhite.

  “Continuous fire mission,” Repko barked. “Either side of the wildfire!”

  April 3, 2026

  Ventura Pier, Ventura, California

  Z-Day + 3,089

  The Navy ship had moved a few miles to the south. It was still close enough to see, but far enough away that the noise of their ongoing activity didn’t attract any unwanted attention to the pier. It hadn’t been a discussion point; they’d just done it. It was a small gesture, but it checked off a positive mark for them in Nick’s book.

  Between the ear-splitting crack of the cannons on the front of the ship, the constant stream of drones flying to and fro, and the intermittent buzz of helicopters, the Navy guys had drawn quite a crowd. Every zombie in earshot was heading down to the beach, and a growing blob of gray swelled at the water’s edge. Nick and the others had never figured out if the things could survive underwater—waves, for one, seemed beyond their ability to navigate—but the ship was a good half-mile offshore. He almost wished they’d made the move over there already. If that horde got tired of trying to get out to the ship and decided to head this way, they were toast. There were enough bodies there to mound up and get onto the pier from below.

  He lowered Louie’s binoculars and gnawed on his lip. “How quick do you think we can get the boats ready if we have to?”

  The other man took the binoculars back and studied the horde for himself. The friendship might have been an unlikely one, but they’d developed an innate, unspoken understanding over the years. “Ten, fifteen minutes? We’ll keep an eye out. They start heading this way, we’re taking the crew fishing.”

  The tension in the back of Nick’s neck eased a bit. “Sounds like a plan.”

  Louie tossed the strap of the binoculars over his head and let them hang. He winked. “What do you think? Feel up to a supply run?” They’d never searched the buildings nearest the pier because the damn zombies had been crawling over the area ever since the outbreak. This was the clearest Nick had seen it in years, though there were still a few stragglers shuffling toward the zombie mosh pit down the beach.

  “Don’t get greedy, Lou. Anything left in there’s worthless after all this time anyway.”

  “Ah, I’m screwing with you, Nicky. You need to smile more, kid.”

  He glanced further down the pier. Amber and Kip Benson were attending to the stand-up vegetable and herb garden they’d put together over the years, ignoring the potential doom on their doorstep. He glanced at the slight swell at her abdomen and swallowed. “I’m working on it. We’ve got a lot more to lose now than we used to.”

  Both men jumped at the sudden cracks from the south. They turned back in time to see the flames belching from the muzzles of the ship’s cannons and to hear another pair of cracks. At first, he thought they might be dealing with the horde on the beach, but the angle of the guns was far too high for that. The vague streaks the shells left behind headed further inland.

  The last time the ship had fired off the twin guns, they’d fallen
silent in short order. Now, as the cannons kept firing in a consistent, metronomic rhythm, Nick’s eyes followed the trajectory of the shells to the east.

  What the hell have they run into?

  April 3, 2026

  Lockheed Skunkworks

  Z-Day + 3,089

  “Delta, Echo—reinforce west! Bravo and Charlie to remain in position, but give me fire support with your west corner belt-feds!”

  Pete stalked up and down the line of the roof. Part of him itched to break out the Savage so he could service some targets, but he couldn’t let himself narrow his focus. If anything, he shouldn’t have brought it, to begin with. This was different from the battle he’d fought for his home. He was still leading from the front, but he was juggling too many responsibilities to charge in with a rifle.

  That was a hell of a lot more desperate, of course. We ain’t at that point, not yet.

  He glanced over and saw Charlie hovering near the wall. At their current engagement range, his antique lever-action was useless. Pete eased the sling of the big .338 Lapua over his shoulder and shoved the rifle into his friend’s hands. “Scratch it and I’ll kick your ass.”

  The horde stumbling toward them had covered half the distance between the office buildings and the warehouse. Pete mentally marked the road running north to the runway as his first red-line. Once zulu crossed that, the next obstacle was the fence.

  Tracers reached out from the corner positions, raking the front line of the horde. Bodies tumbled in the wake of the fire, but it wasn’t enough to stop it cold.

  “Lucas, we’re going to need everything you’ve got.” He was surprised to hear how calm his voice sounded.

  “Copy that. We’ve gone to continuous fire on the rail guns. There’s a larger horde to the north, once they’re clear we’ll be free to fire on the western group. We’re speeding up drone operations, as well. If you need fire on a particular target, call it out. Otherwise, we’re hitting the largest clusters and rotating them in for rearming. We’ve got steel in the sky for you, Major.”

  Sure would be a hell of a lot more comforting with a gunship. Pete pushed the thought away and keyed the radio. “Copy that. Icarus out.” He glanced to the north. Smoke from the wildfire filled the horizon. Puffs of brown announced each impact, and the whistle of shells overhead was almost an afterthought with the continuous crackle of rifle and machine-gun fire. “Pile ‘em up, Marines!”

  With the 240s on the corners, they kept most of their firepower focused on the outer edges of the western horde. The growing piles of downed and destroyed zulus forced the ones in the rear to the center, and the approaching line turned into something more like an arrowhead. The top of that arrowhead crossed the road. Pete cursed and keyed his radio again.

  “Lucas, need fire support. Approaching element in the open, crossing the road. Do you have a visual?”

  “Copy, Icarus. Firing.”

  The surface of the road rippled as two streaks slashed in from somewhere behind Pete—bombs, then, not the rail gun artillery. The road surface heaved, then erupted as the penetrators exploded. The blasts threw bodies and pieces of bodies for dozens of yards. Before the last of the debris could even hit the ground, Pete bellowed, “All fire to the center! Bottle them up!”

  He didn’t know if it was their attraction to the sound, but as the fire of a more than a dozen Marines and SEALs poured into the narrow opening defined by the fallen bodies of their brethren, the zulus became almost frantic. From what he could see, the rear ranks crawled over each other, intent on the choke point, until the channel was a squirming mass of undead flesh. It swelled to the point that their combined fire could no longer push them back, and the mass surged forward, bound for the opposite side of the road and the wide-open path to the warehouse. “Lucas! Again!”

  A quartet of streaks plunged down this time—the combined fire of two drones. He supposed that he should ask how many were available, but the rapid series of explosions shook the roof of the warehouse below his feet before he could voice the question. He staggered, trying to keep his balance. By the time he steadied himself and studied the line of attack, it was over.

  “Cease fire! Cease fire!”

  Wisps of smoke clawed for the sky from the smoldering pit at the center of the horde’s position. Bits of movement rippled through the mass of torn flesh, but any zulu that had survived their fire and the drone bombings was combat ineffective at the very least. A ragged torso with a lone remaining arm pulled itself out of the mound as he watched, clawing in their direction.

  A rifle cracked, and the thing’s head exploded. Pete let himself smile, and he called out, “Save that brass, Charlie.” His friend worked the action of Pete’s Savage and tucked the spent casing into a pocket with a wink. “Designated marksmen to engage,” Pete called out. “Delta, Echo, return to your positions. Everybody water up and reload.”

  As the roof grew quiet, save for the intermittent crack of sniper fire, Pete realized that the whining scream of artillery had ended as well. “Lucas, we clear?”

  “Northern horde is no longer an issue, Major. Helicopters are five minutes out.”

  “Roger that. Have one of them pick up Guglik. She need to pop smoke?”

  “Negative, we’ve got her position marked.”

  “Copy. What’s our overhead situation?”

  “Two drones up, three shots remaining. We’re cycling the others back through and scouting for residual activity on the way back.”

  “Copy. Out.” Pete stepped back to the impromptu command post. He took his own order and pulled his canteen out. When he lowered it, Charlie had moved to his side. He cradled the Savage, offering it. “Keep it,” Pete said. “Nice shot.”

  Charlie shrugged. “That’s a nice scope. And here I thought you were some kind of wizard all these years.”

  Pete tried not to roll his eyes. “Talk to me when you can hit something a half-mile out, smart ass.”

  Charlie grinned. “Touchy, touchy.” He nodded to the west. “How many, you think? More than home?”

  “Yeah. We got lucky.”

  “We got lucky at home, too,” Charlie pointed out.

  “I hear you.” Pete stared north. The fire had spread a bit, but the obvious flames had died down, and the smoke had gone from black to gray. Not all that much left to burn, he guessed. He shook his head. “We’re going to miss that gunship.” Charlie didn’t say anything, and he fixed his friend with a serious look. “Stay close. When it hits the fan, it’s going to be bad.”

  “When?” Charlie asked, but both men turned to the south at the sudden noise of helicopters. At first, the pair of Sea Hawks approached in close formation, but as they neared, one peeled away and headed toward Agent Guglik’s chosen building.

  Pete hit his radio. “Ferris, the choppers are here. You guys ready down there?”

  “Standing by, Major. We’ve got a couple men headed up top to direct traffic.”

  “Copy,” Pete replied. He switched to the Marine channel. “Keep your eyes out, Marines. We’re going to have some sustained noise while the choppers load up.”

  Lieutenant Ross and Chief Foraker stepped up and joined the circle. “Anything we can do, Major?”

  Pete nodded his greeting. “Thanks for the assist on the wall. Grab what’s left of Echo team and reinforce Charlie on the south wall. I doubt Sergeant Jackson will give you any grief, but they’re two men down without the Hansen brothers.”

  “You’ve got it,” Ross replied. “And I’m sorry about your men.”

  The SEALs pulled away just as the Sea Hawk came overhead. The mention of the Hansen brothers spurred a question in Pete’s mind, but conversation was an impossibility at the moment.

  Overall, the operation proceeded much faster than Pete had expected. With the Seabees directing it from the edges of the roof opening, the Sea Hawk hovered over the warehouse. The crew inside of the helicopter threw down a rolled-up mess of strapping and harnesses. Despite any temptation to the contrary, Pete didn’t
step forward to look down into the warehouse, but within five minutes, the men on the roof signaled, and the helicopter rose.

  This was the touchy part. The roof opening didn’t large enough to Pete, but the container—now secured in a web of straps—rose into the air, dangling from the belly of the Sea Hawk. Once clear of the roof, the Seabees signaled, and the first helicopter moved away.

  He brought his head close to Charlie’s and shouted over the wind and fading engine noise. “I heard you saw some weird shit downstairs.”

  “Yeah.” Charlie explained, then said, “Call me crazy, but it looked like something came from the inside out.”

  Pete gnawed on his lower lip. “Weird and crazy have been going hand in hand for a while now. Makes me wonder if your funky body doesn’t have something to do with what happened to my Marine up north.” He looked that way. He’d been able to see the tower, before, but the smoke obscured the area now. God willing, that thing burned to a crisp, whatever it was.

  The arrival of the second Sea Hawk put a damper on their chat. Before it moved into position above the warehouse, the pilot held it in a hover a few feet off the surface so that Agent Guglik could jump out. She hit the roof of the warehouse, rolled out, then came up on her feet and headed toward Pete with a full head of steam. He groaned inwardly as she stepped up and bellowed over the engine noise.

  “Sorry, Major, don’t believe I fall under your chain of command. I’m sticking around.”

  “Sure, what the hell do I know, I’m just the commanding officer of this operation,” Pete replied. The funny thing was, he was more annoyed than mad. He told himself it was another shooter and tried to ignore the fact that the CIA agent had ignored his order.

  He gave her gear a once-over. She cradled a suppressed MP7 submachine gun. She must have been keeping it in her ruck. He hadn’t noticed it when she’d originally loaded up. Nice for close-in work, he supposed, but pretty much useless at extended ranges.