by J. J. Fowler
“No. Dagos is out there.”
“What?” asked Mifune incredulously. “What the hell is he doing out here?”
“You mean the lieutenant commander?” Murphy asked in horror.
“Yes.”
Drake’s men stared outside the window and saw their second-in-command tied to a stake. Harbinger stood near him.
“This isn’t a rescue mission,” Mifune replied.
“Do you want to lose another?”
Mifune felt ashamed. He knew they couldn’t leave Dagos there to die.
A fearful Murphy asked, “What do we do, sir?”
“We get him the fuck out of there.”
“How?” said Murphy.
“Good question,” Drake replied earnestly.
Chapter Thirty-Two
The entire deader horde was transfixed on Dagos. Many stood stupidly with their rotted mouths agape. Others gazed at him ravenously. Virtually all moaned in anticipation of the kill. Their collective moaning was so loud Dagos strained to hear what Harbinger was saying to him.
“What?” Dagos said to Harbinger.
“Are you ready?” Harbinger yelled.
“Piss off!”
One of Harbinger’s guards walked up to his commander and saluted him.
“Sir, we are set for the feeding. They seem particularly hungry today.”
“Yes, they do.”
Dagos futilely struggled with the ropes around his wrists. He wasn’t afraid to die. He just preferred it not be this way, as dinner for the deaders. This was every soldier’s worst nightmare, and it was about to come true for Lieutenant Colonel Dagos.
“Shoot me!” Dagos yelled.
Harbinger stopped speaking with his subordinate and cocked his head toward Dagos. “Shoot you? What would be the point of that? They don’t feed on the dead. They’re not cannibals.”
“Have you no honor?”
Harbinger paused for a moment to consider his answer. He never really thought of himself as particularly dishonorable, just a man trying to thrive in a world gone to hell. It was a dog-eat-dog world. Harbinger just preferred to do the eating, or at least, control the eating.
“That word is meaningless in this world. I think it’s about time that our prisoner…” Harbinger, facing his two closest guards, barely finished uttering the word ‘prisoner’ when he witnessed intruders slice a knife across their throats. It was Murphy and Mifune. Nearly simultaneously, Harbinger felt a knife press against his Adam’s apple. The deaders roared in fury. Their patience was running out.
Harbinger scanned for his other guards and noticed they were missing. What is happening? These aren’t nomads.
“What do you plan on doing?” Harbinger said. “Kill their master and they’ll devour you all. I’m the only one keeping this ravenous horde at bay.”
“Maybe, but all I want is the lieutenant colonel set free.”
Harbinger noticed several guards race out of the main bunker only to have their heads torn off in quick succession by something not quite human. The machine gunners atop the bunker were dead as well. “Ah, you sound like Captain Drake. Nice to meet…”
Drake pressed the knife harder against Harbinger’s throat, causing blood to travel down the commander’s neck.
“All I have to do is yell the order,” Harbinger said with a slight chuckle.
“All I have to do is move my wrist,” Drake replied with his own chuckle. “Call the deaders off.” Dagos, freed by Murphy, grabbed a rifle from a fallen guard. Mifune stood nearby, pointing his assault rifle at the massive horde of deaders slowly creeping toward them. Drake and his men didn’t have much time. “Call them off,” Drake ordered to Harbinger. “Now!”
A deader surged toward Mifune, who fired a shot into the beast’s head. The deaders howled in protest.
“I can’t. They don’t like seeing their food cut free.”
“Then we’re all going to the bunker.” Drake stepped backwards with the knife firmly against Harbinger’s neck, forcing the camp leader to move back with him. Murphy, Dagos, and Mifune followed Drake with their guns aimed at the enraged zombie horde.
“They’ll kill you all, you dumb bastard,” Harbinger said hoarsely as he reluctantly moved with Drake.
“Sir,” Murphy yelled. “We have to free the nomads.”
Drake ignored Murphy. The nomads were not his concern. His concern was to get his men out of here alive. As they neared the entrance, the steel door suddenly closed. Chosin appeared confused. “What is happening?” Murphy said to Drake. Harbinger chortled. Many of the zombies now were armed with their rifles pointing at Drake and his men.
“Release the commander,” a familiar voice said. Drake tilted his head toward the voice and saw Vlad standing atop the bunker.
“Master?” Chosin said incredulously. “What are you doing?”
“I’m doing what our kind needs.”
“You are betraying them!”
“I fucking knew it!” Mifune screamed. He swung his rifle around and fired at Vlad.
The old vampire bore his fangs and leapt off the bunker roof toward Mifune.
Chosin dove and crashed into his old master before Vlad got to Mifune. The two vampires hissed as they rolled across the dirt, perilously close to the deader horde.
“Murphy, get the door open!” Drake ordered.
“Yes, sir.”
Several deaders attempted to chase Murphy to the door keypad, but were instantly shot by Dagos.
“You cannot open it,” Harbinger said to Drake.
“You’re right. We can’t, but you can.” He swung Harbinger around and flung him into the steel door. Several more deaders raced forward when they saw their commander injured. Dagos and Mifune responded with the same deadly force.
“Open it!” Drake screamed and kicked the older man in the face. Harbinger lurched back from the blow, his nose instantly broken. A geyser of blood shot from his nose and the despotic commander wailed in pain.
Drake grabbed the commander’s fatigues, forced him to stand up, and pushed his face against the keypad. “Do it!”
Murphy stood nervously next to them. Drake glared at him and said, “Cover us, dammit!”
The two vampires, meanwhile, continued slashing at each other with their razor sharp nails. Vlad was clearly the stronger vampire. He delivered three quick slashes to his subordinate’s face and a kick that sent him reeling to the floor.
Several deader bullets tore into Vlad’s back, infuriating the vampire. In one single motion, Vlad swung around and beheaded several of them with a swipe of his arm. He then spat on their rotting carcasses. Before the elder vampire could turn around and finish his subordinate, Chosin was upon Vlad’s back, tearing and slicing into his former master’s aged flesh. Vlad roared, flipped his attacker to the ground, and then pounced on him.
“I knew I couldn’t inform you. You always had a sick sense of honor, even toward humans.”
“At least I am not a traitor.”
“A traitor? You call this treachery? They are humans! Food! You are a traitor to the strigoi.”
“These men are our allies.”
“No. You are their ally.”
Vlad grasped both sides of Chosin’s head and pushed hard against his skull. He was crushing Chosin’s head.
“This will be your redemption—the final death, my old friend.”
Just then a wooden spike drove into Vlad’s back and punctured his dead heart. He lurched back and wailed so loudly and so high-pitched it echoed across the entire camp and into the mountains beyond. The deaders, frozen by the peculiar sound, turned their heads in confusion, as if trying to locate the source of the wail. Vlad fell silent and slumped forward on top of Chosin. Mifune pulled the stake out of Vlad’s back and kicked his body off Chosin.
Chosin was shocked. Is he going to kill me next?
“Get up, Chosin,” Mifune said hoarsely. “We have to go.”
* * *
Harbinger punched in a long code, and the steel d
oor began to creak open. Drake kneed him in the groin and pushed him to the ground.
“Fall back inside, men!” Drake hollered. Without hesitation, Murphy and Dagos hurried inside. A few moments later, Mifune appeared with Chosin, who leaned on Mifune for support. “Get inside, you two.”
Mifune saluted and helped the wounded vampire inside the bunker. This left only Drake and Harbinger outside with the famished horde of zombies quickly descending on them. Harbinger cackled hysterically.
“Why are you laughing, asshole?” Drake demanded.
“I’m picturing my minions ripping you and your friends to pieces.”
Drake grabbed Harbinger’s hair and pulled his head back. He sliced Harbinger’s face and neck, making sure none of the wounds were fatal, but that all were bloody. Harbinger chortled.
“You’re still doomed!”
“You first,” Drake retorted, and kicked him to the ground. Several deaders nearly grabbed Drake, but were shot down by his men before they could bite him.
“Captain, come on!” Mifune yelled.
Drake realized it was time to go, time to leave this camp, time to head home, and time to move on in his life, if he could. He ran inside the bunker and slammed the steel door shut behind him.
Harbinger struggled to stand up. The blood in his eyes made it difficult for him to see his dead army. “My pets! We must destroy the invaders.” He tripped over himself and fell into the dirt. The deaders were mesmerized, confused by their commander and the blood oozing out of him. Their hunger needed the satisfaction of a kill. The only food left in the camp was their leader.
“Form into regiments!” Harbinger hollered as he pushed himself up from the ground. He cleared the blood from his eyes and noticed his army of the dead wasn’t moving. They gazed at him rapaciously, completely ignoring Harbinger’s command.
“I said, fall in, you swine!”
Some of his dead troops obeyed. However, more ignored their leader and surrounded Harbinger. Finally, one of the ghouls moved forward and bore his blackened teeth, its puss-covered tongue protruded out its mouth. It licked the blood on Harbinger’s face. Harbinger pushed it away and swore at it. Then, most of the horde thundered in rage and descended upon their leader. They tackled him to the ground, ripped open his abdomen, and dined on his intestines, stomach, and liver while the fallen commander screamed in horror.
Two zombies pulled at Harbinger’s head as the leader made one final moan of pain before he was decapitated. The two beasts inspected his head and then proceeded to eat the flesh on his face. Other deaders reached into Harbinger’s severed neck and pulled out human tissue to consume. It was a frightful orgy of blood and entrails, an illustration of the power of the living dead. To control them, as Harbinger knew and ultimately failed to do, would be to control the world; or rather, what was left of the world.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chosin felt weak, weaker than in the dark days after the nuclear blasts that annihilated much of their human food supply. Even then, he had subsisted on the blood of small mammals, however unsavory the taste and devoid of human nutrients essential for vampire health it was. This feeling of fragility was altogether different. He felt worse than when he was bit by a deader earlier in the journey. He couldn’t even stand anymore. Mifune propped him against a wall. He heard Drake order the two corridors covered while the captain figured out what their next course of action would be. Clearly, whatever Drake decided, Chosin knew he couldn’t join them.
“You’ve been bitten again, multiple times,” Mifune said to Chosin as he inspected a bite wound on the vampire’s forearm.
“That is why I feel this way,” Chosin replied. “I have too many bites.”
“Can you move at all?”
“No.”
Outside, the deaders were firing fruitlessly at the steel door, hoping to break through and devour the remaining humans inside.
“What can I do?” Mifune said with grave concern. His anger toward Chosin was gone. He knew he had been wrong not to trust the dying vampire.
“Nothing.”
“Can my blood save you?”
“There is no time. Leave.”
“Sergeant!” Drake yelled. “Come here.”
Mifune raced to his commander, who was pacing back and forth in the center of the chamber, clearly uncertain of what to do next.
“What are your thoughts on our situation? Dagos ordered me to retain operational command. He’s shaken up.”
“The sewer,” Mifune offered.
Drake shook his head. “No way. Every one of those things are gonna be wound up by all this shit.”
Several bullets flew through the barred windows and crashed harmlessly against the concrete walls. Dagos and Murphy ignored the shots as they stoically guarded the two corridors leading to the main chamber. None of the men knew for certain if any of Harbinger’s soldiers were still inside, but they thought it likely.
“What about the nomads in the dungeon?”
“What about them? We gonna head back in a fucking caravan?”
“Sir, I request you let myself and Murphy free those people. It won’t take long.”
Drake swore under his breath and then sighed. “All right, but we still have to find a way out of here. The sewer is off limits.”
“Why not try the control room?” Mifune suggested
“There is one?”
“There’s always one.”
“Fine. Dagos and I will find it. You take the vamp and Murph with you. Then…”
“He’s dying.”
“Who is?”
“Chosin.”
Drake looked down in sadness. After what Chosin had done for them by fighting off Vlad, he genuinely respected him.
“That’s…too bad.”
“A bunch of bites. He says there’s no time for us to give him blood.”
“Figures.”
Drake stared past Mifune at Chosin, whose skin was now a deathly purple instead of its typical milky pale. The virus was killing him.
“Will he turn?”
“I don’t think so,” Mifune replied somberly. “But I don’t know how it works with them.”
More gunfire ripped through the windows. The banging on the steel door grew louder and faster. The hinges holding the door slowly started to bend to the relentless attacks by the deaders. Mifune and Drake knew there was no more time to waste.
“Keep your walkie-talkie on,” Drake said to Mifune as he hustled over to Dagos. “I’ll radio you where we are once you let the nomads out.”
“Yes, sir.”
Drake abruptly stopped and looked again at Chosin. Chosin lifted his head slowly and painfully and then saluted the human. Drake returned the salute and hurried over to Dagos.
Chapter Thirty-Four
The bodies of the nomads lay in a large pile at the rear of the dungeon. Their corpses were mangled by gunfire with no signs of bites from deaders. It was obvious to Mifune they were murdered by the guards.
“Who did this?” Murphy said.
“Not deaders,” came Mifune’s quiet reply.
Murphy stepped into a pool of blood near the dead and crouched down. He wanted to see if any of them were still alive. Fortunately, the guards had the foresight to shoot each man in the head to prevent reanimation and more chaos.
“They’re dead, Murph,” Mifune said sympathetically. “You can’t save them all. Trust me. I know.”
Murphy vomited and then replied angrily, “I never hated these people the way you and the others did. I pitied them.”
“I know you did.”
“Why would they murder them all?”
“Standard procedure. With the base falling apart and deaders running everywhere outside, you can’t take these prisoners with you. You don’t want to leave them to the deaders to create more deaders. You have to shoot them. We’d do the same thing.”
“No, we wouldn’t.”
“We have before.”
“We’ve killed humans?”
“Why do you think we hate the nomads so much? They used to be nearly as big of a pain in the ass as the deaders are.”
“I never knew.”
“That’s why the nomads are so far from Alpha these days. We killed them on sight.”
“But why?”
“I don’t remember why. I just remember we did it a long time ago.”
“No wonder they wanted to execute us.”
Mifune spat into the still-growing pool of blood.
Murphy stood up and glared into his sergeant’s eyes. “We don’t deserve this world,” Murphy said solemnly.
“Yep, but…”
A dead hand unexpectedly grabbed Murphy’s ankle. A snarling deader moved in for a bite until a bullet tore through its brain before it could reach its target. The dead hand loosened its grip on Murphy’s ankle and the young man jumped away, clearly startled. Mifune put his smoking pistol back into its holster and locked eyes with Murphy. Then he finished, “…neither do they.”
* * *
Drake and Dagos flanked the entrance to the control room, which was small, smaller than either of the men anticipated. Inside, three computers and a few monitors displayed the chaos occurring in the camp as the deaders continued to attack the bunker.
Finding the control room wasn’t difficult for the veterans. They found none of Harbinger’s men wandering the corridors of the bunker—at least not until they reached the control room. Inside the room, a bloated young man with a balding head and a large scar across the back of his neck was busy speaking into a headset and typing furiously on a computer.
“Yes, sir,” the operator said. “We are being attacked.” He listened for several moments, and continued to type at maddening speed.
Drake wondered what exactly he was typing. Was he sending out a message to some sort of relief force?
“He’s dead, sir, but the troops are already in position. The fully trained ones have left the camp under the direction of the red commander. It’s these partially trained deaders that are attacking.” He paused again to listen.
Dagos and Drake looked at each other for a moment and Drake made a gesture indicating once the fat man was off the line they’d pounce on him.