by J. J. Fowler
“Tyrene!” Murphy said. “Thank you.” Then Murphy saw a burst of blood squirt out of her stomach. The young woman disappeared from his sight. She was shot. Murphy pushed the dead weight of the zombie off him and crawled toward the wounded Tyrene. Mifune, Dagos, and Drake were still firing into the room to hold them off. Tyrene’s sister was nowhere in sight.
He reached the young girl and ripped off one of his sleeves. He pressed the cloth against the wound to stem the bleeding and looked at her soft, innocent face, now splattered with blood. “You have to hold this while I carry you to the rail car.”
She grinned again. Her eyes looked so brave to Murphy. There was not a hint of panic in them. He picked her up and gestured to Mifune that he was taking her to the railcar.
“Sir, Murph is taking the mute to the car,” Mifune informed Drake.
“All right. Where is the other broad?”
“Who knows?” Dagos said. “I’ll stay here and provide covering fire while you both move.”
“No deal, sir,” said Drake. “We all go or none do.”
“Don’t give me that hero crap, Captain. There isn’t time.”
Just then, the room in front of them exploded, sending body parts and debris all over them.
* * *
Out of the smoky haze, Drake saw Lara appear. He laughed and stood up.
“So that was you, was it?” he asked her with a hint of admiration. Dagos and Mifune stood up on either side of Drake.
Lara reached the men and gave Drake an assessing look up and down. Without warning, she grabbed Drake’s knife and sliced off both her ponytails, letting her uneven hair flow freely. As she gave the knife back, Drake felt a surge of lust. “Sometimes even us dumb nomad girls listen up when we’re being fucked. I knew the exit room was wired to explode for this very reason. Trouble was, I couldn’t quite remember the code to unlock the detonator.”
“I think you figured it out,” Drake said with a chuckle.
She looked over Drake’s shoulder and saw Tyrene lying on the flat, yellow railcar with Murphy tending her wound. Her heart sank. “What happened to my sister?”
Chapter Thirty-Seven
The wind felt cool against Tyrene’s skin, almost cool enough to dull the burning pain in her abdomen. Her sister crouched over her, pushing hard against the blood flowing from her. Mifune searched for bite wounds and mouthed orders at Murphy. She couldn’t hear what they were saying and didn’t really care. She was dying.
Dagos maneuvered the controls of the motorized railcar. A single light at the front of the railcar illuminated the tunnel. The car’s ancient engine alternated between humming quietly and creating piercingly loud clicking sounds, but kept chugging, moving toward Alpha, and perhaps their doom.
Drake observed the dying girl and tried to feel pity for her and her sister. Yet he could not feel the same sorrow for them he felt for the little nomad girl back at the camp. Drake considered his feelings back at the camp a moment of weakness. He needed to remain hard, impenetrable, and ruthless if he and the others were to survive. This was the way of things in this world. Humans are born to die, regenerate, and kill more humans. Now, Tyrene was a potential threat.
“We have to warn our men heading out for us,” Dagos said to him.
“We should’ve done that at the comm station.”
“Pointless. If it’s an emergency mission, radio silence is necessary for surprise.”
“Deaders listen in on our communications?”
“We’re not sure, but after our experience at the training camp, I think it’s a possibility, especially if they have human collaborators.”
“Did you know some of them can speak our language?” said Drake.
“Yeah. We’ve known that for some time.”
“Why not tell the base?”
Dagos gave Drake a mocking look. “You really need to ask me that?”
“What an asshole. What an asshole traitor.”
“It’s possible that the army may be using a special channel for this mission. We may find that in the control room at Alpha.”
“Well, then,” Drake said, “that’s what we have to do.”
“You don’t think the officers stationed in there will object? Tarte is no fool.”
“If they object,” Drake replied, “they die.”
“I will take care of the comm station, hopefully without having to kill our own.” Dagos glared at Drake. “That does leave Tarte, however.”
“I doubt that pussy would lead men to their deaths. Let me take care of him.”
“Don’t kill him. You’ll be arrested. Just detain him.”
Drake turned around, leaned back against the control panel, and tilted his head toward the ceiling of the tunnel. Every twenty feet an incandescent light zoomed past them. He looked at the dying girl. “She’s not going to make it,” he observed.
“None of us ever do,” replied Dagos.
That was the same response Drake heard once as a child, when his brother died suddenly from an illness and his mother consoled him by telling him that no one ever survives in the end. Memories fade as well, he mused, because he could not remember his younger brother’s face. He was okay with that now. It had been another time, another life for him; it had no bearing on the present.
Drake snapped out of his daze when he heard Lara scream. He knew why. Lara hugged Tyrene’s lifeless body as tears streamed down her face. She mumbled incoherently and gently rocked her sister back-and-forth as if she were a baby. Murphy kindly put a hand on her shoulder to console her and she swatted it away. He was taken aback and looked at Drake for an answer. Drake shook his head at him.
“You bastards killed her. You killed her. You all killed her. You killed us all. You killed everyone.” Her accusatory eyes went from one man to the next, trying to shame them about her sister’s death. Then came a barrage of profanity, yelling, and more tears.
Drake was fed up with her emotional crap. He pulled his pistol out of its holster, stepped past Mifune and Murphy, and yanked Lara off her dead sister. She screamed ‘no’ just as he fired two rounds into Tyrene’s head. After the echo of the last gunshot faded, no one talked. Lara didn’t even cry. The only noise they heard was the droning of the railcar’s engines carrying them forward into the unknown.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
The giant, lumbering freight train came to a halt beside a rusted platform. Several of Tarte’s troopers manned machine gun nests on top of each car. As the hissing of the engine quietly died, Tarte exited the first car with two soldiers. He took a moment, and observed the rusted platform and crumbling concrete station with dismay. “Don’t we have men here?”
The two soldiers flanking the colonel glanced at each other, unsure of whether they should answer him. Tarte didn’t wait for a response. He headed toward the decaying station house and opened the rotted wooden door to find several decomposing bodies inside. “I guess not anymore,” he said.
He removed his pistol from his holster and ordered, “Unload the men.” The two soldiers behind him saluted and then hurried off to relay his command.
* * *
Hundreds of troops lined up neatly before Tarte and his second-in-command, the blonde-haired, youthful, Officer Captain Rhodes. The entire length of the rusted platform was covered with the mass of Tarte’s men. Another officer, a lanky man with a long beard named Captain Steiner, stepped forward from the neatly organized troops and saluted his commander. “The troops are in order, sir,” Steiner said.
“Good,” replied Tarte. He turned his attention to Rhodes and said, “We should only be a mile or two from the supposed destination of our missing men. Correct?”
“Yes,” said Rhodes. “I believe that was intel’s assessment.”
“All right, Captain. You’re in command now.”
Rhodes looked shocked.
“Sir?” Rhodes practically whimpered. His thin lips letting the final syllable hang there as if hoping the colonel were fooling him, but he knew he wasn’
t. Tarte never fooled with anyone.
“Alpha must be attended to, Captain. I shall observe this rescue mission from Alpha and direct you in any way necessary. It’s best I have an eye at home and an eye here.”
Neither Steiner nor Rhodes appeared convinced. “Sir,” Rhodes replied. “With all due respect, I think you should lead this mission.”
“No. I need men like you who can prove they can lead Alpha’s men if I’m gone. You will do just fine in the absence of Lieutenant Colonel Dagos and myself.”
A light abruptly blasted upon the three men and a whirling roar thundered above them. The entire formation stared up at the mysteriously hovering object rapidly descending toward them. “Have you men have never seen a helicopter?” Tarte yelled with amusement to his two officers. They didn’t respond as the small black chopper touched down a dozen meters from them.
Two soldiers dressed in black exited the chopper and approached Tarte. They saluted him and he returned the salute. “We ready, gentleman?” Tarte said to the soldiers in black. They yelled an affirmative over the whir of the chopper’s blades.
Tarte faced Steiner and Rhodes and shook both of their hands. “Good luck, men. Don’t disappoint me.” Steiner and Rhodes said nothing. They stood silently next to each other as their commander boarded the chopper and lifted off.
Then Steiner broke the silence. “Did that just happen?”
Rhodes felt no need to respond to the obvious. He knew they needed to move out and execute this mission. He intended to do just that, with or without Colonel Tarte.
“Let’s proceed,” Rhodes said.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Drake squinted his eyes and noticed a bright light approaching them. “I think this is it,” he said to Dagos. “We should stop it about fifteen meters away from that light. That’s got to be the station and we ain’t exactly supposed to be on this thing.”
“I agree, Captain. I’m going to start slowing her down now.”
Drake looked at his men. They appeared exhausted, in no mood for another fight. Then he noticed the girl grinning at him. “You want to say something to me?” he said to her.
“No,” Lara snarled. “I’m just looking forward to you dying.”
* * *
Dagos experienced little trouble getting the ancient rail car to come to a halt before they reached the small underground station. The group hopped off.
Drake ordered Murphy to watch Lara and make sure she didn’t do anything crazy. If she did, Drake commanded, shoot her.
Drake led point along the train tracks to the surprisingly well-lit station. He signaled for the group to wait while he checked things out. He crawled along the tracks next to the elevated concrete platform and peeked his head over the top. There were no guards, no cameras, and no security whatsoever. It looked too good to be true, and Drake thought it probably was.
He stood up and signaled for the rest of the group to join him. When they did, they quietly stepped onto the platform and walked toward the iron door hopefully leading to Alpha. “It’s probably locked,” Dagos whispered to Drake.
“Let’s find out.”
He grabbed the handle and yanked it hard. The door opened. Everyone felt relieved except Drake. Something wasn’t right.
* * *
The helicopter carrying Colonel Tarte landed gently atop Alpha. The men in Alpha’s machine gun nests stared in awe at the curious machine. Most of them had heard of helicopters. Virtually none of them had actually seen one in person.
Tarte stepped off the helicopter and ducked his head from the still swinging blades. The moment he was clear, the chopper lifted off and headed toward Freetoria.
* * *
Drake and his comrades paused when they reached the giant corridor running through the length of the base. Very few troopers were around. A couple orderlies were tending to the wounded leaned against the walls, but there were no security personnel in sight. Alpha was left naked.
“Where is everyone?” Mifune said.
“I imagine they’re all involved in this so-called rescue mission,” answered Dagos.
Drake spied a cigarette lying on the filthy floor and picked it up.
“Anyone have a light? Mine’s gone.”
Mifune lit it for him.
“Sir,” he said to Dagos. “I’m heading to the control room. I’ll see if Tarte is in there, the fucking coward. I think you and Mifune should head to the comm station.” Dagos agreed with him.
“What about us?” Murphy said. His hand was on Lara’s arm and the young woman glared indignantly at Drake.
“Find some room to stay in with the girl and lay low.”
“But I want to come!” Murphy protested.
“Murph,” said Mifune. “You heard the captain.”
He sighed and then reluctantly agreed to play babysitter to Lara.
“If she starts running and babbling, we may all be dead,” Mifune said as an explanation for Drake’s command.
“We may all be dead anyway,” Drake quietly whispered to himself through a cloud of cigarette smoke.
* * *
Rhodes ordered his men to halt as they approached a valley between two massive piles of rubble. He felt uneasy bringing his men through the perfect place for an ambush.
Steiner appeared his side and said, “Sir, their destination was somewhere beyond this.”
Rhodes examined the mountainous rubble on either side of them, but saw nothing. “This doesn’t feel right. No deaders wandering since we arrived.”
“Yes, sir. I agree.”
Rhodes kicked the dust with his boot several times and then coughed. After he cleared his throat, he ordered Steiner to send scouts up either side of the massive rubble to ensure it was safe to march through the valley.
“Are you expecting an ambush?” Steiner inquired after receiving his orders.
“I don’t know, but something very odd is happening.”
“Maybe they’ve retreated into their camp?”
“I doubt it. Deaders don’t retreat.”
* * *
Drake stood outside the entrance to the control room, took a deep breath, checked his assault rifle, and opened the steel door. The usually busy control room was largely empty, save for two radio operators communicating with troops in the field. On the massive monitor in the front of the room, Drake saw a giant blob surrounded on either side by two other blobs. It was Rhodes’ men. They were flanked on either side by deaders.
Tarte exited his private room without noticing Drake and spoke quietly to his two operators. He held a pipe in one hand and a cup of whiskey in the other. Drake felt rage boiling inside him. One of the operators swiveled his chair around to face Tarte. He didn’t notice Drake and said, “Sir, the scouts Captain Rhodes sent are having a hard time ascending the rubble. Should I tell the comm station to break radio silence and warn him of the enemy troops on his flanks?”
Tarte shook his head. The operator looked incredulous and was about to protest when his commander waved him off. “No,” Tarte said sternly.
“Relay that warning!” Drake yelled.
* * *
Mifune pointed his pistol at a terrified communications officer. The youthful man’s hands were shaking, and sweat was pouring down his brow.
“This is the last time we ask you. Break the silence,” Mifune said.
“Do it,” ordered Dagos. “I’m in command here.”
“I don’t have authorization for this from Colonel Tarte. He gave direct orders for radio silence to be maintained at all times. The enemy can understand us. They have become more sophisticated. That’s why…”
The young officer’s explanation ended abruptly when Mifune’s pistol collided with his head. The young man slumped and fell to the concrete floor.
“I see you’ve been learning from Drake, Sergeant,” Dagos said with obvious approval.
“It’s good to learn from the best,” Mifune replied with a grin.
* * *
Inside the cont
rol room, the two terrified operators’ hands were high above their heads. Tarte, in contrast, stood facing the large monitor placidly smoking his pipe and sipping whiskey. “Clear out of here,” Drake barked to the two operators. They nervously exchanged glances and then looked at their commander. Tarte said nothing. “Are you both deaf?” Drake yelled.
One of the operators fear was replaced with relief when he realized it was Captain Drake. “Captain Drake?” the man said.
“Can we get a live feed from the cameraman?” Tarte asked suddenly to the operators. He oftentimes equipped soldiers with cameras to give him a live feed of operations via the weakened, ancient, but still occasionally reliable, communications satellites still circling the globe.
They both looked at Tarte as if he’d gone mad.
“Sir? We need…”
“Answer the damned question!” Tarte demanded.
“Well, yes. Yes we can,” said the operator who recognized Drake. The other operator was too frightened to say anything.
“Do it.” The operators looked to Drake for permission and saw no objection. Then they swung their chairs around to punch in the live feed.
“Hello, Captain Drake,” Tarte said indifferently. He finally turned around to acknowledge his officer and shook his head when he saw Drake’s sordid appearance. Drake’s face was covered in dirt and blood. His uniform was torn, and his thinning hair was a mess. His body was emaciated and his skin paler than usual. “You look filthy.”
The massive monitor suddenly divided into dozens of smaller screens depicting Rhodes and his men slowly and carefully moving into the ominous valley. Tarte turned to the monitor and smirked. “They’re out there to save you.”
“Tell the comm station to relay the order to withdraw.”
“I’m afraid that’s not possible, Captain.”
“Why?”
Tarte suddenly dropped his pipe, whipped out his pistol, and shot both of the operators in the head. Drake pulled his gun and fired several rounds at his commander. He hit Tarte in the shoulder, but not before Tarte fired more rounds into the operator’s stations, sending sparks and puffs of smoke into the air as the machines died.