The Rising Horde, Volume One (Sequel to The Gathering Dead )

by Stephen Knight

  “But the horizon’s flat.” To prove his point, Switch pointed toward it. “You can see a man standing up out here a mile away, and at night through night vision devices? Should be even easier to spot the silhouettes against the sky.”

  “They crawled in on their bellies,” Gartrell said.

  McDaniels looked at him. “How the hell do you know that, Sergeant Major?”

  Gartrell looked at him evenly. “Because it’s the only way they could have snuck up on the teams, sir. Remember, ODA Zero-Three-Four wasn’t the only team out here during the overnight. And the SEALs made a rotation through the area at around twenty-three hundred, right, Commander?”

  “Yep,” Rawlings affirmed.

  “Looks like things are getting a little hot,” Switchblade said. “These things have enough advantages already, chief among them being that they’re already dead and don’t mind getting shot. But if they start using infantry tactics, that’s going to change things quite a bit.” He turned and looked at the corpses nearby, then called out to a pair of SF troops taking pictures of a zombie hide site fifty feet away. “Yo! Any of these things in uniform?”

  One of the Green Berets pointed at a corpse near the edge of the engagement area. “Well, that one over there has a UPS uniform.”

  “I mean a military uniform. BDUs, anything like that?”

  “Negative, sir.”

  Switchblade turned back to McDaniels. “Now that’s just plain creepy. No obvious indication of specialized training in their previous lives, and they still knew enough to come in covertly.”

  “Let’s not get that far ahead of ourselves,” Rawlings said.

  “I disagree. I think we need to start placing more importance on the possibility that it might be the stenches that will shape the battlespace, and not us.” McDaniels looked at the stilled corpse at his feet for a speculative moment and wrinkled his nose in disgust. “As unbelievable as it sounds—”

  Horns blared from the highway. At the same time, the buzzing rotorbeats of the MH-6 changed in frequency, and McDaniels looked up to see the aircraft pulling out of its orbit.

  Distant rifle fire cut through the air. All the troops stood up straight and pulled their weapons into firing position, looking for targets.

  “Hercules, this is Hercules Six. We hear gunfire from the highway. Over.”

  “Hercules Six, Hercules Ops. Roger that, we have stenches outside the wire. ESRT is on it, but the stenches are mixed in with the civilians. Over.”

  “Roger that, Ops.” McDaniels looked at the officers with him. “All right, let’s figure out what the hell is going down.”

  24

  McDaniels and the others caught a ride with the Special Forces team in their Humvees. The traffic on the northbound side of 385 had ground to a complete halt, and people were actively fleeing into the desert on foot, taking whatever they could carry with them. As the troops drew nearer, McDaniels felt that he had seen that particular movie before, and he wondered how long it would take for the zeds to make their special appearance.

  He didn’t have to wait long. One shambling monstrosity bore down on a woman who hobbled along on a pair of crutches. The stench was in pretty good shape, so it was overtaking her, its jaws spread wide and arms outstretched. Just as its fingers brushed against the woman’s long brown hair, the top of the stench’s head was blown off. The corpse crashed face-first to the shoulder of the road.

  The Rangers strode through the traffic, moving quickly and efficiently. Each soldier wore a Special Operations Infantry Combat System, an exo-skeleton created from high-tech ballistically tolerant composites. The SOICS wasn’t an elegant-looking piece of equipment, but its power lay in that it could allow a soldier to carry upwards of two hundred fifty pounds of additional gear without impeding the troop’s mobility. On top of that, integrated tracking and communication gear were built into the system and made available to the soldier in a graphic format through a multifunction display projected on the soldier’s helmet visor. Real-time information could be flashed to the SOICS-equipped soldiers, showing them the positions of all friendlies as well as OPFOR, the opposing force. A complex set of nanocomputers allowed the SOICS to mimic the actions of the soldier, so when the soldier ran, the SOICS would do the work for him and make him move three times faster. When the soldier jumped, the SOICS would translate the intended action into the desired result. When the soldier wanted to engage a target, the SOICS would designate the target—or any part of the target—on the soldier’s visor display and assist the soldier in lining up his weapon with the designated receiver. It was an awesome piece of technology, but it had only been in the field for two years. It was McDaniels’s first time seeing it in action.

  The Rangers fanned out in a jagged formation and ran down the shoulder of the road, easily moving at ten to fifteen miles an hour. Civilians scattered, and McDaniels touched the shoulder of the Green Beret driving the Humvee.

  “Follow the Rangers. They might be on to something.”

  “Follow the tin men, yes, sir.” The soldier turned the wheel, and the Humvee cranked hard to the left, its diesel engine bellowing. The Humvees paralleled the Rangers from a range of thirty yards, and each vehicle’s .50 caliber machinegun was manned and armed. The motorcycles and ATVs the rest of the alpha detachment used followed. Overhead, two armed AH-6M Little Birds crossed over the highway, then entered into a sweeping right turn.

  Gartrell leaned forward and looked through the windshield at the small attack helicopters. “The Night Stalkers are establishing a high cap downrange.”

  “Herc Ops, this is Hercules Six. Is there a tally on the necromorphs? Over.”

  “Hercules Six, Herc Ops. Roger, necros are reported to be mixed in with civilian traffic approximately seventy yards south of the perimeter fencing. ESRT and attack aviation are on it. Over.”

  “Herc Ops, this is Six. Roger that, we’re moving on it as well.”

  “Six, this is Hercules Ops. Ah, Leonidas wants you and your senior staff back inside the compound. Over.”

  The Special Forces captain in the front right seat looked back at them. “Colonel, you want us to halt here and wait for a Little Bird to pick you up for transport?”

  “Negative, Captain. I want to keep going. I want to find out how the zeds got here, and if there’s any connection between them and the necros that tried to shag our guys in the desert.” Into his boom microphone, McDaniels said, “Hercules Ops, Hercules Six. Pass on to Leonidas that we will be back inside the fence as soon as possible, but we’re following a hot trail. We have enough protection to ensure our safety. Over.”

  “I guess Jaworski’s a little anxious that someone important might get deep-sixed and leave him with a great big hole in his meeting schedule,” Gartrell said.

  McDaniels snorted. The Air Force colonel was very likely on the ceiling that McDaniels, Rawlings, and Switchblade Lewis were out in the field chasing moving stenches as opposed to looking at dead ones, which had been the original plan. Jaworski hadn’t wanted them going outside SPARTA’s defenses in the first place.

  “He’ll just order up some more special operations types to keep him company,” McDaniels said.

  “Stenches to the right, in the traffic!” the Special Forces captain said.

  “Let’s bail and go to guns,” McDaniels said without hesitating. “Captain, you form your men into a skirmish line just off the shoulder of the road. We’ll let the Rangers handle the initial contact, but I’m thinking their suits might not have been designed for fighting in bumper-to-bumper traffic.”

  “Roger that, Colonel.” he captain said as the Humvee braked to a rough halt.

  McDaniels threw open his door and leaped out, followed by the others. The Rangers pounded up, their SOICS units making tiny little whining noises as hydraulic and electric motors worked in concert to give them mobility. McDaniels turned and recognized the first Ranger—Sergeant First Class Roche.

  Roche nodded to him from behind his tinted visor. “Six, wh
at are you doing out here in Indian Country, sir?”

  McDaniels didn’t waste time with pleasantries, and he pointed at the traffic. Three or four zombies moved from vehicle to vehicle, trying to get at the occupants.

  “Can your guys effectively fight and move in that kind of traffic?”

  “It’s going to be a challenge, sir. We don’t have the same kind of lateral mobility in the suits that we would usually have,” Roche said.

  “Then take out however many stenches you can from out here. We’ll go in for the close and dirty.” McDaniels nodded to the Special Forces captain. “We’re on.”

  “Sir, are you sure this is what you want to do?” the captain asked.

  McDaniels didn’t answer the question. He just started forward with his HK at his shoulder. Gartrell was right behind him, his new AA-12 at the ready. They’d played the game before and knew how to fight the stenches in close quarters. They led the Special Forces team and the other operators into the traffic, shoving aside civilians who got in their way. McDaniels yelled for them to get back in their vehicles and lock the doors; some actually heeded his commands.

  “Colonel! Stench up ahead and to the left. Looks like it’s gotten inside that Tahoe there!” Gartrell said.

  McDaniels looked and saw the pewter-colored SUV just ahead. Its right rear passenger door was open, and the stench lurched toward it. McDaniels heard a child screaming. The zombie ducked inside the vehicle, and McDaniels fired three rounds into the stench’s body. They were ineffective. He charged toward the vehicle.

  “Get ready, Gartrell!” He slammed into the stench with his entire body weight, driving it against the door. The door’s hinges shrieked at the sudden abuse, but if the zombie even noticed, it hardly reacted. McDaniels grabbed its filthy black T-shirt with both hands and yanked as hard as he could. He ripped the zombie away from the Tahoe and sent it whirling into a neighboring pickup truck. That got the zombie’s attention, and it whirled toward McDaniels with a hiss. Its maw was as dark as a black hole might have been.

  Before it could do anything more, Gartrell shoved McDaniels aside and stepped toward the zed. It leaped at Gartrell, arms outstretched. Gartrell slammed his fist into its face, driving it back. He then waded in and started beating the zombie with his hands and feet. McDaniels was shocked by the sudden display. Why didn’t Gartrell just shoot the thing?

  “Come on, you fucking piece of shit,” Gartrell said as he punched it in the ribs with his gloved fists. “Come on. Show me just what the fuck you can do!” He smashed it in the face with a vicious punch that flattened its nose and sent the stench reeling. If it had been a live human being, it would have dropped right then and there. But it was a stench, and it had no problem with the beating. The zombie kept coming back for Gartrell, emitting a dry, dusty screech through its broken jaw. One of its arms hung at its side, and bone protruded through the forearm. Black, syrupy ichor oozed from the injury. Gartrell snarled and treated it to a vicious spin kick, booting it halfway across the Tahoe’s hood. It rolled off and fell to the highway, then flailed back to its feet, its dead eyes focused on the rangy NCO. Gartrell cursed and kicked it in the face with enough force that he likely cracked some of its cervical vertebrae. The zombie fell onto its back, but then groped its way back to its feet. Gartrell stood over it, breathing hard, sweating in the Texas sun.

  “Gartrell! Shoot that Goddamned thing!” McDaniels said. “You keep beating it, all you’re going to do is tire yourself out, and then you’re dead meat.”

  Gartrell glared down at the zombie with pure hatred as it rose up and walked toward him on unsteady feet. Gartrell spat in its face and pushed it back with the heel of his hand. McDaniels pulled his rifle to his shoulder, but before he could shoot, Gartrell finally snatched his Mk 23 pistol from its holster and drilled a single shot right into the zombie’s forehead. The zombie collapsed to the highway and lay still. A thin puddle of black ichor slowly leaked from its decimated skull.

  “Fuck you, you piece of shit,” Gartrell said.

  A thin cry came from inside the Tahoe. McDaniels spun toward the vehicle. A toddler wearing a bright white shirt and dark blue coveralls was strapped into a carseat. The boy’s head lolled; the zombie had ripped a huge chunk from his neck, and blood trickled from his torn carotid artery in a weak fanning movement. They were too late.

  “Oh fuck,” Gartrell whispered. Something in his voice struck McDaniels, something he had never heard from Gartrell before. Pleading?

  Other than the dying boy, the Tahoe was empty. Apparently, the child’s family or caregivers had fled and left the boy behind. The boy was in deep shock and only moments away from death. Also, he had been bitten.

  McDaniels raised his rifle and fired one shot, ending the boy’s suffering then and there.

  “Jesus, Colonel!” The Special Forces captain was right behind Gartrell, and behind him was Sergeant First Class Roberson. Roberson looked at McDaniels with horror in his eyes, and McDaniels wondered if he would ever hearken back to the Martin Luther King dinner where McDaniels had spoken at the Fort Bragg Officers Club with quite the same adoration he had shown earlier that morning.

  “The kid was infected, Captain,” Gartrell snapped. “What the hell did you expect him to do, let him turn into a fucking stench?”

  Rifle fire rang out behind them. McDaniels pushed past Gartrell and shoved the captain back into Roberson. “There are more of them out there. Let’s pull it together and find them!”

  The captain nodded and turned away. He preceded McDaniels and Gartrell into the fray, where the rest of his men had found the apparent source of the zombie uprising: a battered, dusty blue Chevy panel van. Four more zombies emerged from the vehicle’s half-open side door.

  One of the Special Forces troops stepped up on the front bumper and peered in through its filthy windshield. “Just stenches inside!”

  The fight didn’t last for more than two minutes, and it was actually quite anticlimactic. Well-placed shots took out the zombies inside the van, and the Rangers managed to drop three others as they pursued motorists through the column of traffic. Overhead, the AH-6Ms continued to orbit, and their pilots reported negative visual contact with additional necromorphs. It wasn’t even ten o’clock in the morning, and the forces from SPARTA were already getting a full run-up.

  “Hercules Ops, Hercules Six. Let’s keep top cover and the Ranger ESRT on-station for the time being until we can piece together how this outbreak occurred. Pass on to Leonidas that we had to take out an infected civilian, a minor who had apparently been abandoned. ESRT might have some video of that should it become a legal matter. Over.”

  “Uh, roger that last, Six. Over.”

  Commander Rawlings was already looking over the van. In the desert behind them, the Rangers waited in the exos, scanning the traffic column for any additional threats. High above the orbiting helicopters, a small fixed-wing aircraft flew at a thousand feet or so. It was one of SPARTA’s unmanned aerial vehicles, looking for any evidence more zombies were in the area. Behind the Rangers, more vehicles pulled up: SEAL Desert Patrol Vehicles. Apparently, Rawlings had been in touch with his people and invited them to the party. That annoyed McDaniels.

  “The SEALs were due to relieve the alpha det,” Rawlings said when McDaniels looked in his direction. “That’s why they’re here, sir.”

  “All right.” It made sense, so McDaniels locked away his annoyance and didn’t pursue it further. Besides, he’d already had a pissing match and saw no sense in starting another. He moved closer to the van. Judging from the blood and assorted ripped clothing, many more bodies had been in the front. There were no windows in the back, which was separated from the driver’s seat by a metal gate. That gate was padlocked shut.

  “What was this, a delivery van?” McDaniels asked.

  “Of a sort. We see this kind of thing in California on occasion. I’m pretty sure it’s almost an unknown occurrence over at Bragg. What we have here is a coyote for hauling illegal aliens north fo
r work.” Rawlings regarded the bloodied interior of the van for a long moment. Flies were already buzzing in. “Looks like one or more of them were infected, got sick, died, woke up, and started chowing down. Must’ve infected all the others, too.”

  “That sounds pretty plausible to me,” Switchblade offered. He leaned forward, peered into the van, and shook his head. “See, illegal immigration is the bane of this great nation. Now the Mexicans are starting anchor zombies.”

  McDaniels shook his head at the comment, but couldn’t quite suppress a smile. Switch had always had a peculiar sense of gallows humor. “Let’s get this thing pulled out of traffic and off into the desert. Then, unless the medical folks back at SPARTA have any requests to the contrary, let’s burn it to the ground. This thing’s got to be full of that virus, and I can’t see any reason to leave it where it is.”

  “Roger that.” Switch turned and hollered for the alpha detachment’s commander to bring one of the Humvees up with tow chains.

  As the Green Berets set about enacting the order, McDaniels moved to the shoulder of the road. A crowd of civilians had gathered, and McDaniels suddenly found himself face to face with a pretty female reporter dressed in the latest Banana Republic fashion.

  “Hi, I’m Andrea Benenson from KWES in Odessa. Can I have a moment of your time?”

  “You may not,” McDaniels said.

  “Are you in command here?”

  “No comment.” McDaniels noticed the cameraman had focused a professional-grade video camera on him, and he frowned behind his goggles.

  The reporter ignored the rejoinder. “Can you tell us what’s going on at the InTerGen facility up the road? Why has it been militarized? Does it have something to do with the zombie virus that’s making the dead walk? Did they have something to do with its creation, or perhaps a cure?”