Hastings waved for Everson to take his place, and the old Marine crept forward. Everson was limping a bit, but the crusty old guy with the long hair and biker’s demeanor didn’t seem bothered by anything other than the dead gathering outside.
Hastings keyed his radio. “One Seven, send it!”
“One One, we’re approaching you now. Where do you want us? We’re in a five-ton with a fitty and five M4s in the bed. Over.”
“One Seven, stand by.” Hastings bent over Everson. “Ballantine’s about to roll up in a five-ton. I need to take a run around and see where the best pickup spot will be. Hold them back!”
“Oo-rah!” Everson shouted. If Hastings didn’t know any better, he would have thought the old guy was actually enjoying himself.
Hastings ran down the length of the barracks, looking out windows as he went. The view was much the same—zombies, and lots of them. When he got to the back door, he found the presence of the dead was substantially less. Still not a walk in the park, but it looked like a better bet than heading out the front, and people could jump out faster than if they tried to go out through the windows.
“Crusader One Seven—” Hastings heard the roar of the five-ton truck’s diesel engine. A moment later, it thundered past the side of the barracks, blasting right through the gathered zombies. He caught a glimpse of Slater manning the M2 .50-caliber machine gun in the cab-mounted gunnery ring. Slater was firing off to the truck’s right, away from the barracks. “Ah, One Seven, I’m thinking we’re going out the back. Over.”
“Roger, One One. It does look a bit lighter back there. Get them ready to go. We’ll circle back. Over.”
“Roger, One Seven.” Hastings ran back to the front door. He bent over Everson and motioned him to pull back and let another gunner take over.
“What’s up, Captain?”
“Ballantine and the guys are going to pick up folks in the back. I want you to get them organized. Looks like you have a bit of a limp going on, Mister Everson, so I don’t think you should be the last guy in here.”
“Appreciate the thought. Who will be, then?”
“Me,” Hastings said.
Everson frowned. “I don’t know if that’s—”
“I got nothing left to live for, Marine,” Hastings said. “Get them organized, and move them to the truck. Get it done.”
Everson obviously knew they didn’t have the time to get into it, but he hesitated for a second anyway before nodding and setting off into the barracks. He shouted orders, rounding people up as the big five-ton circled back, the .50 cal in its turret clattering away.
*
Ballantine half-leaned out the passenger-side window and turned toward the back of the truck. “Okay, get ready to move them out!” he yelled to the guys in the back.
“Ready!” Guerra shouted.
“Don’t fuck around out there, and leave someone behind for security!” Slater said. “I’ll hold the fuckers back on the front radial, but the rest of you joes need to slag ’em where you see ’em!”
The truck crashed through another echelon of reekers, leaving them pulverized and twisted into pretzel-like shapes. Dark gore splattered across the rig’s flat windshield, and the driver moaned like one of the dead.
“You’re not going to get sick, are you?” Ballantine asked the man.
“No, Sergeant,” the corporal replied, then he promptly threw up in his lap.
Ballantine shook his head. “Dude, just keep going until I tell you to stop. All right?”
“Sure thing,” the driver said, then he gagged again as the truck rolled over more ghouls.
The boys in back were already opening up, nailing stragglers that pursued the truck. There was no sense in letting them close up on it after the rig was stopped.
Ballantine watched the barracks building grow larger in the gore-encrusted windshield. “Okay. Okay, stop us here, man.”
When the truck ground to a halt, Ballantine rolled up his window and pitched open the cab door as Slater began hammering the zombies with the .50 cal. Expended cartridges rolled all around the top of the cab, banging off the hood as they fell.
“Don’t open your door, and sit here until it’s time to roll,” Ballantine told the driver, then he bailed out and slammed the door shut behind him.
Guerra, Reader, Tharinger, and Hartman jumped out the back. Stilley stayed in the truck bed and hosed the dead with a SAW, hooting and hollering about queer zombies and yogurt. The other guys advanced to the rear of the barracks and blasted a hole through the reekers there. Ballantine watched the bodies hit the deck without even having to fire a shot of his own.
He pushed his way through the door as two gunners stepped out, civilians with sweat-drenched faces and clothing. He left them for Guerra to sort out.
Everson limped toward him, his furry brow furrowed and his lips compressed into a tight line behind his beard. “Ballantines! You’re up!” he shouted, pointing at Kay and the boys.
Ballantine ran toward his family, surprised at the sudden rush of emotion he felt when he saw his family safe and sound. For a second, he worried he was about to start blubbering all over the place. Let’s hold on to the man card just a little bit longer, okay?
“Come on, guys, let’s go!” he yelled, waving his wife and boys toward him.
He hustled them toward the back door, holding his rifle with his right hand, his left firmly clasping Josh’s shoulder. Behind him, Kay took Curtis’s arm with on hand and held her rifle in her other. Guerra had organized the civilians and the rest of the guys into a defensive formation to provide cover while the civilians were hurried out to the waiting truck. Ballantine led the way, shooting at the reekers one-handed and scoring some kills.
“Dad, that’s so cool!” Joshua said.
Ballantine rushed him to the truck and practically threw him into the bed one-handed while Stilley kept blasting away at the zombies walking toward the rear of the truck. He did the same with Curtis then helped Kay climb up onto the rig’s rear bumper.
*
Diana pulled back from the window she had been defending. The truck was right outside, its front bumper maybe twenty feet away.
“Diana, get the fuck out of here!” Hastings shouted over his shoulder as the rest of the civilians began falling back. “Take Kenny, and get out to the truck!”
“When are you coming?” Diana yelled, even though she was pretty much deaf at this point.
“Just go!”
The weird Special Forces guy was inflicting some serious punishment on the dead, while another man cowered inside the truck’s cab. Some zombies were making their way to the front of the truck, having successfully managed to evade being gunned down.
Okay. Time to go. She stepped back and turned to her left, where Kenny—
—wasn’t. He wasn’t sitting in the corner any longer, screaming and crying. She caught a flash of movement near the hallway leading to the rear. A glimpse of blue Reeboks made her get to her feet.
“Oh, fuck! Kenny!” Diana charged after him, slaloming her way around the other people who were starting to hurry to the exit.
She emerged from the back door just in time to see Kenny darting away. Everson reached out to grab him, but Kenny was too fast. Kenny was gone around the corner, screaming and crying as he went. Diana slammed into Everson, rebounded, and race after Kenny.
“Come back, you little bastard!” she screamed.
She flew around the corner as the .50 caliber opened up, tearing the air apart like thunder. Diana got a quick impression of Slater hauling the big machine gun around and lowering its barrel, his face finally registering a degree of surprise she thought was beyond him. Then, she saw Kenny running right into a knot of zombies. The dead reached for him with hooked fingers, their dead eyes suddenly alight with joy that such a tasty morsel was delivering itself right to them.
Diana slowed, raised the little Sig rifle, and began firing. One, two, three, four, five zombies went down. Each time a reeker touched Kenn
y, she killed it. Kenny suddenly froze, face turned up the sky, tears rolling down his cheeks as he wailed in terror and confusion. The .50 caliber stopped firing.
“Kenny, get over here!” Slater shouted.
Diana fired her weapon one-handed as she reached for Kenny with the other. A round blasted a hole through one reeker’s skull, and then the bolt locked back. The rifle was empty. Diana dropped it and seized Kenny with both hands as a ghoul grabbed his shirt. She kicked the reeker away, tucked Kenny in close, then spun around to sprint for the truck. A zombie grabbed her and sank its teeth into the padded shoulder of her leather riding jacket.
*
Ballantine climbed out of the truck bed as quickly as he could the second he saw Kenny dart around the corner, closely followed by Diana. He had no idea what was going on, but Everson was picking himself up from the ground, and Guerra had a shocked expression on his face as he shouted, “Get the kid! Get the kid!”
Ballantine watched as Diana blasted her way into the knot of zombies and grabbed Kenny. But by then, it was too late. The zombies had them both.
“Carl! Do something!” Kay screamed.
I am doing something, Ballantine thought. I’m saving my family.
Hastings flew out of a window, right over Kenny and Diana, firing as he went, a real John Wayne moment if ever there was one. He landed on a zombie and crashing it into some others, making them topple like bowling pins. Two more, he shot at close range, then he reached out and grabbed the hair of the zombie chewing on Diana’s jacket. He pulled and got only a handful of zombie hair. He let go of his M4 and yanked the ghoul by the collar, tearing it away from her. The reeker spun and latched onto him. Hastings straight-armed it, holding it away from him.
“Ballantine!” Hastings shouted. “Get in the fight, God damn you!”
“Aw, fuck!” Ballantine raised his rifle and surged forward, gunning on the run.
He didn’t do more than slow down the zombies he hit, but they took notice of his impending arrival and turned toward him, giving Diana enough time to spring away. She rushed past Ballantine like a pint-sized wide receiver going deep. Overhead, the .50 rapped out a quick burst, chopping a zombie in two as Ballantine drifted to his right and shot another. Hastings broke the grip of the zombie wrestling with him then slammed it in the chest with both palms, driving it backward three full steps. Ballantine fired, tapping a small hole in the corpse’s right cheekbone. The round made a baseball-sized hole in the reeker’s skull as it exited in a plume of gray-black matter.
“Sir, you all right?” Ballantine asked. “You bit?”
Hastings glared at Ballantine. “No. Thanks for dropping by to ask. Get that fucking truck loaded up, now!”
Hastings raised his weapon and resumed firing. He fell back step by step, keeping the heat on. Overhead, Slater kept the .50 busy, slashing through the advancing dead.
Three minutes later, the truck was loaded, and by then, it was within only a few moments of being surrounded. Hastings lifted the heavy tailgate and held it up while the troops in the bed put the pins in to hold it in place. Hastings climbed up as quickly as he could, and he wasn’t even in the bed before the truck’s driver took off. Ballantine tried to help steady him against the vehicle’s sway, but Hastings jerked away and moved over to where Diana was sitting with Kenny. Kenny actually reached out for him as he approached, and Ballantine got the impression the Asian girl did the same, though he couldn’t see her hands. He was surprised to discover that Diana hadn’t been bitten; the ghoul that had attacked her had severely mangled her jacket, but the woman herself was unharmed.
Was I really going to let them die without doing anything? He was shocked almost numb by the question. He looked at Kay and the boys, sitting farther up near the truck cab. In front of my family, would I really have let them all die?
To his great shame, Ballantine already knew the answer. Yeah. I would have.
*
The truck pulled away from the barracks area and headed north, smashing its way through the zombie herds that were slowly taking over the entire post. The vehicle rocked and swayed as it rolled over the corpses, and the troops in back kept the sides clear, shooting any reeker that managed to find a handhold on the vehicle as it lumbered past. They headed for the rail yard where the trains waited. The truck was mostly alone. Occasionally, Everson saw another military vehicle, but none joined up with the lone five-ton as it pushed through the crowd of dead. Finally, the big truck left the majority of the ghouls behind, a path of crushed and struggling bodies lying in its wake.
Everson saw something outside, and he clambered to his feet. “Well, fuck me.”
Off to the side of the road was the van that Walker had stolen, its front end completely demolished and its windshield a spiderweb of cracks. As the five-ton approached, Walker emerged from the wreckage, waving wildly. A dark line of blood ran down the side of his head.
Everson pounded on the cab. “Stop the truck!”
Slater, still on the .50, swung the weapon around. “Yeah, let’s stop. I want to have a chat with this fucker. Everson, you want to take over for me?”
“Stay where you are,” Everson said as the truck ground to a halt.
“What’s that?” Slater said.
“I said stay the fuck where you are,” Everson snapped, every bit the Marine NCO, as he walked to the back of the truck bed.
Slater blinked. “Well. Okay.”
Walker hobbled over to the tailgate and hauled himself up onto the bumper, a frantic smile on his face. “Thank you for stopping! Listen, Everson, I’m sorry that I—”
Everson put one hand on Ballantine’s shoulder, raised his foot, and kicked Walker right in the face. Walker yelped as he fell. He crashed to the road on his back and lay there stunned as Everson laboriously climbed out of the rig.
“Hey, what’s going on?” Ballantine asked, rising to his feet.
“Sit down, Big Sarge,” Slater said. “Everson knows what he’s doing.”
A group of zombies shambled toward the truck, but they were still almost a hundred yards away. Everson regarded them for a moment then looked down at Walker. “So you decided to abandon women and children,” Everson said.
“I’m sorry!” Walker whined. He was bleeding heavily from his nose.
Everson held out his hand. “Give me your weapon and vest.”
Walker looked up at him. “Are you fucking kidding me? No way!”
“Okay, then. Enjoy the last thirty seconds of your life.” Everson shot Walker in the pelvis twice, and the big man screamed in agony. Everson kicked him in the face again, hard. “Shut up, and go out like a man!” His heart was hammering, and he could feel the blood coursing through his veins, driven by anger and hatred. He reached down and pulled Walker’s rifle out of his hands then yanked the vest over his head.
Walker began to sob like a baby. “Please! Please!” he cried.
Everson tossed the rifle and vest into the back of the truck, where everyone sat and stared. Slater met Everson’s eye and gave him a quick nod of approval. Everson didn’t return the gesture. He climbed up on the bumper, and Ballantine reached out, helping him negotiate the tailgate.
“Please!” Walker said again, struggling to get up despite his shattered pelvis. He spit out a bloody tooth as he looked at the approaching group of reekers only twenty-five yards away. “Please, you can’t leave me here! Please!”
“What? You don’t want us to do to you what you tried to do to us?” Everson asked. “Look at it this way, Walker. Maybe you’ll bleed out before they get to you… though I really hope you don’t.”
“Everson, you done?” Hastings asked.
Everson pushed his long hair out of his eyes and adjusted his wire-rimmed glasses. “Ready to move out, Captain.”
Slater slapped the cab, and the truck began rolling again. Walker screamed and tried to drag himself after it, but he didn’t get far.
From the fading screams he heard, Everson was sure the man was still alive and c
onscious by the time the reekers caught up to him.
*
The rail yard was full of activity as troops and civilians boarded the long train. Several flatbed cars were loaded with vehicles held in place by chains. More soldiers took fighting positions on those cars, sniping away at any zombies that managed to stagger into the area.
The corporal brought the truck to a halt next to the passenger cars. He immediately bailed out of the cab and vomited onto the ground beside the door. Slater shook his head with a snort as he opened the M2’s feed tray and removed the remaining belt of ammunition. Hastings got everyone out of the truck and directed Ballantine to get them loaded in the train.
Ballantine passed the mission off to Guerra then turned to Hastings. “Captain, listen—”
Hastings spun and rolled up on the bigger man, slamming his chest into him. “Ballantine, I get that you want to keep your family alive. I really do. But they were on the truck, being protected by your fellow soldiers. The next time one of our people is in trouble and you do nothing to help, I’m going to personally fuck you up so badly the only thing that’ll be on your mind is finding a nice, quiet place to die. Questions?”
“No, sir,” Ballantine said sheepishly.
“Then do your fucking job!” Hastings pushed off, leaving Ballantine to his own devices. He spotted Colonel Victor and the rest of the command group on one of the nearby flatbeds, where their vehicles were chained down.
Victor separated from the clutch of officers and moved over to kneel at the edge of the platform. “Hastings! I heard you were dead!” The colonel was in full battle rattle, and despite his diminutive stature, he did look kind of impressive.
“How’s that, sir?” Hastings asked.
“The troops I sent to round up your people said the barracks was fully involved, totally surrounded by the enemy. You weren’t there?” As he spoke, Victor looked up at the truck, watching the civilians being taken off and led to the passenger coaches.
“We were there, sir. Apparently, your troops didn’t want to stop and help.” Hastings turned and pointed at the truck. “Thankfully, Sergeants Slater and Ballantine were able to fight their way to us and pull us out.”
These Dead Lands: Immolation Page 51