Elements of the Undead - Omnibus Edition (Books One - Three)

by William Esmont

  Aboard Coast Guard RB-M #2

  Gulf of Mexico

  The deck throbbed beneath Chris’s feet as the twin turbocharged 825 horsepower engines of the RB-M strained to maintain their position against the churning current. The shoreline snapped into blurry green detail as he lowered his night vision monocular over his right eye. He reached up and gave the focus a slight adjustment. The shoreline jumped into sharp relief.

  Justin nudged his elbow. “What do you see?”

  Chris’s shoulders slumped in defeat. “We’re too late.”

  He focused his attention on the station, inspecting the building from top to bottom. The undead seemed to be clustered near the outside stairway. Some were already inside.

  “It’s overrun,” he muttered. “They’re all over the place, inside the perimeter fence, in the building. Everywhere.”

  “That’s bullshit,” Ben said. “We left that place locked up tight.”

  Chris took a deep breath. “It makes sense if someone drew them in.”

  Ben cursed in frustration and slammed his fist against the bulkhead.

  “The big question is,” Chris continued, “is whoever brought this swarm in still alive? They never answered our radio call, which means probably not. But they may have had mechanical problems. They could still be in there, trapped.” He inspected the dock and let out a sigh of relief. “The dock is clear, at least. I think we can get in.”

  Justin gave a nervous laugh. “And do what? If the building is surrounded, what’s the point?”

  Chris returned his attention to the Coast Guard building. “That’s a good—” He held up his hand. “Hold on. I think I see… yeah. There’s a light in the attic. Someone’s there!”

  Chris pulled off his night vision scope and stowed it in an overhead bin. He reached for the control panel, finding the switch for the searchlight by muscle memory alone. He toggled the powerful light to the on position. He let the beam shine steadily for ten seconds and then switched it off. He repeated the process twice more.

  They received a response after the third attempt. A light flashed back at them, repeating three times.

  Chris grabbed the radio microphone and keyed the switch. “Chris to Hines. Over.”

  The line crackled, and a second later, Hines’s voice came blaring through the speaker. “Hines here. Go ahead.”

  “We’ve got human activity in the station. We’re proceeding with our extraction. Over.”

  The line remained silent for an eternity. Chris envisioned Hines on the Gulf Star, hunched over his radio, rubbing his temples the way he often did when confronted with a tough problem. “Understood. Call me when it’s over.”

  “Will do. Chris out.” He returned the microphone to its hook beside the controls.

  “This is gonna be a bitch,” Ben grumbled.

  “Yep,” Chris replied. “It’s going to get ugly real fast.”

  He flashed the searchlight once more before turning to face Ben and Justin. “Let’s do this. We’re going to have to fight our way in. I don’t think we’ll be able to get all the way to the building, but we should be able to clear a path, at least for a minute or two, enough to give them a chance. Justin, you and I are in front. Ben, you’re going to make sure we can get back to the boat. Take more ammo than you think you’ll need. And remember save one for yourself.”

  Ben glanced nervously at Justin, and then back at Chris. “Uh, we were talking a little while ago, and…”

  Chris sensed a trap. “What is it?”

  Ben forged on. “Do you really think it’s worth it?” He nodded at the shore. “Going in there, I mean? It seems like we’re hanging out our asses pretty far for people we don’t even know.”

  Chris crossed his arms and set his mouth in a hard line. “Look. I know you’re scared—”

  “I’m not scared,” Ben snapped, straightening and squaring his shoulders. “I can handle any zombie motherfucker out there. That’s not the issue.”

  Chris sighed. “In case you haven’t noticed, Ben, there aren’t a whole lot of us left anymore. If we leave these people to fend for themselves, then what does that say about us? What if one of them was your father? Your sister? Your brother? Would you leave them to die because it was inconvenient? What if it were you?”

  Ben’s gaze fell to his feet. “No. I wouldn’t leave them.”

  Chris drew his SIG Sauer .40 and pulled the slide back a few millimeters. He consciously avoided Ben’s eyes, giving the man a final opportunity to save face. “So, are we good?”

  “Yeah,” Ben said grudgingly. “We’re good.”

  “Justin?” Chris asked, looking over at the other man.

  Justin gave a quick nod.

  Chris bit back a smile of satisfaction. “Okay then. Get your shit together. I want to be back here in a half hour.”

  Thirty

  Galveston Coast Guard Station

  Galveston, Texas

  Megan dug through Luke’s pack like a woman possessed. “Are you sure they’re in here?”

  Luke nodded. “They’re in a zip-lock bag, near the bottom.”

  “Why didn’t you say so?” She turned his pack upside down and shook it violently, sending the remainder of its contents pouring into an unceremonious heap at her feet. At the top of the pile was a translucent bag containing two yellow plastic walkie-talkies.

  She let out an excited whoop. “Yes!” Megan took the bag and split the seal with her finger. She pulled out one of the radios and thumbed the power button.

  “Here goes nothing.” She pressed Talk and put the radio to her lips. “This is Megan Pritchard calling from the Galveston Coast Guard Station. I repeat. This is Megan Pritchard calling from the Galveston Coast Guard Station. Come in.”

  She held her breath and waited. When no reply came, she switched to the next channel and tried again. She repeated the process through all fifteen channels. When she reached the end, she repeated the process in reverse.

  No answer.

  “Damn it! They must not be listening on this frequency.”

  Luke went to the window and looked out. “They’re still there. I think they’re getting closer.”

  The radio squawked, making Megan jump. A man’s voice came through loud and clear. “Come in, Coast Guard station. This is Chris Thompson in Galveston Bay. Come in.”

  Megan stared at the radio, dumbfounded. She raised it to her mouth again and pressed the transmit button. “This is Megan Pritchard. Over.”

  “How many of you are there?”

  Megan closed her eyes in relief. “There are four—no, three of us.” She prayed they had room.

  “That’s fine,” came the reply. “Are you ready to go?”

  She exchanged a glance with Jack and he gave her an enthusiastic nod.

  Megan keyed the transmitter. “We are. But you need to know… we’ve been completely overrun. They’re everywhere. We’re in the attic. Over.”

  “Understood. Can you get to that roof below the window?”

  Megan scurried to the window and stuck her head out into the rain. Six or seven feet below, an eight-by-ten-foot porch roof jutted out from the side of the building. She tried to remember what it covered and couldn’t. Probably a door. She kicked herself for not noticing it before. She keyed the radio. “Yeah. We can make it. Over.”

  “Good. We’re starting our approach. We’ll be at your position in fifteen minutes. Be ready to move.”

  “See you in fifteen. Over.”

  The radio crackled. “Hang tight. We’ll get you out of there.”

  Megan clipped the radio to her belt and got to her feet.

  “You heard the man. Let’s get moving!”

  Thirty-One

  Aboard Coast Guard RB-M #2

  Galveston Bay

  Chris cut the engines as they approached the dock, letting the boat’s forward momentum carry them the last few yards. He didn’t want to do anything to alert the creatures near shore to their arrival, and with the near-constant rumble o
f thunder and the pounding rain, he was gambling they could slip in unannounced.

  Less than a minute later, they were tied alongside the same weatherworn dock he had visited countless times over the years, where he had hoped to one day reunite with Dave. With the perimeter fence breached and the station overrun, that dream was dead. We’ll clear this place after the storm, he tried to tell himself. Or we’ll go somewhere else. Start over again. One thing was certain: without a safe berth in Galveston, life was about to get a lot more difficult on the Gulf Star.

  A bolt of lightning illuminated the cabin. A split-second later, the heavens exploded and thunder roared, seemingly directly overhead.

  “I fucking hate storms,” Ben grumbled.

  “You and me both,” Chris said through clenched teeth. “Let’s go.”

  Raising and cinching their hoods, Chris and Ben left the relative comfort of the RM-B cabin and joined Justin on the dock.

  “Weapons?” Chris asked.

  They did final checks of their side arms. In addition to pistols, each man carried a battered aluminum baseball bat, a reliable and effective tool for dispatching the undead at close range. Stretching around the bat, near the grip, were a series of small black hash marks, each representing a kill Chris had made with the weapon. The marks stretched around the shaft, too numerous to count.

  A tall chain-link fence with razor wire running along the top separated the dock from the shore. A lone zombie wandered in aimless circles a few feet inside the gate, its attention focused on something only it could see.

  “What’s she doing?” Justin whispered, gesturing at the creature.

  Chris brushed water from his eyes. “She must’ve gotten separated from the rest.” He pulled free the heavy strand of wire securing the gate and hung it on the fence. “Okay, Ben,” he said, keeping his voice low so as not to attract the zombie woman. “If it doesn’t have a pulse, it doesn’t get through. Got it?”

  Ben gave him a wide-eyed nod and rested his bat on his shoulder. “No problem.”

  “Good,” Chris said. He turned to Justin. “I’ll take care of this first one. You get the next.”

  When Chris was almost upon the ghoul, he saw the creature was actually male. What he had assumed was the remains of long hair turned out to be a rotting scalp, peeled from the skull and draped down the zombie’s back like a thick, fleshy mullet. Chris swung like his life depended on it, and under the force of the blow from his bat, the zombie’s head popped like a ripe watermelon. The rank, diseased contents of its skull spurted out in a fan of gelatinous slime, and the zombie collapsed in a heap.

  Chris dipped his bat in a puddle to clean the gore, then did a quick survey of the area. Finding it clear, he motioned Justin forward. A rusty steel container emblazoned with faded Coast Guard logos obscured their final approach to the porch overhang. Once they were around the container, they would have a straight shot for the overhang, and for the waiting survivors.

  Chris tightened his grip on his bat.

  Now for the fun part.

  Thirty-Two

  Galveston Coast Guard Station

  Galveston, Texas

  Rain hammered Megan as she dangled from the window, her legs bicycling in open air. It’s only two or three feet. No big deal. She locked eyes with Jack and held his gaze. Then she let go. A surprised oomph escaped her lips as she thumped onto the asphalt-shingled roof and rolled onto her back.

  Jack shouted, “Are you okay?”

  Megan sprang to her feet and brushed herself off. “I’m fine. It’s not as far is it looks.”

  Jack nodded, then disappeared from view. Luke appeared at the window, swung one leg out, and straddled the sill. He said something to Jack, and then, with the reckless athleticism of a teenager, he twisted onto his stomach and launched himself out the window.

  Megan’s breath caught in her throat. Luke, however, knew exactly what he was doing. He landed cat-like beside her, sinking onto his haunches to cushion the impact.

  She put her hands on her hips. “Be careful! You scared the crap out of me.”

  Luke grinned and laughed. “I used to climb when I was a kid.” He paused. “With my dad.”

  Megan huffed and shook her head. In her mind, Luke was still a child.

  Jack reappeared at the window and tossed down their packs. Then he swung his leg over the sill. She and Luke moved into position beneath the window. With only one arm, there was no way he could lower himself. He was going to have to jump feet first, and they were going to have to guide him to a soft landing.

  Jack brought his other leg out and hunched over, squeezing his frame into the tight opening and balancing precariously on the edge of the sill. He muttered something and closed his eyes. Then he pushed away.

  The roof swayed sickeningly under the weight of his impact, and for a heart-stopping second, Megan feared it was about to collapse.

  “Fuck me!” Jack cursed as he looked back at the window. “That was a lot higher than it looked!”

  A gunshot rang out. Then another. Megan followed the noise and spotted a pair of men a dozen yards away and closing. Both wore yellow rain slickers and held pistols in their outstretched hands.

  “Come on!” the closest man screamed, waving at her. “We can’t hold them off forever!” He fired at something out of her view.

  Megan recognized his voice. He was the man from the radio—Chris.

  “Come on!” Chris shouted. “Get off that damned roof!”

  “We can’t wait,” Luke urged, grabbing their packs and tossing them to the ground.

  Megan took Jack by the good arm and hustled him to the side of the roof closest to the building. Peering over, she discovered a lush clump of bushes directly beneath them. No zombies. “We’re clear.” She inclined her head at Luke. “Go ahead.”

  Luke plopped onto his rear and dangled his legs over the side. With a yelp, he pushed off and plummeted straight down, vanishing feet-first into the dense foliage below. Megan let out a sigh of relief when, a second later, he rolled out and clambered to his feet, brushing bits of leaves and twigs off of his clothes.

  She put a hand on Jack’s elbow. “Your turn. Last one. I promise.”

  Jack rolled his eyes. “It had better be.” He took a seat and, without a word, slipped away from her.

  Megan followed as soon as he was clear. Chris was there when she got to her feet. He seemed taller from ground level, close to Jack’s height. His eyes were black stones in his gaunt, unshaven face.

  He took careful aim and squeezed off a shot at an approaching zombie. “We need to go.”

  The man with him stopped firing to reload. “C’mon, guys! Let’s get this show on the road!”

  Chris scooped up the backpacks and set off at a loping run. Megan and the others followed. As they rounded a derelict shipping container, she nearly collided with a third man. He urged her on with a wave of his hand. They dashed down a short flight of concrete stairs and onto the dock. Megan paused before the gate to look behind her. Chris grabbed her by the elbow and dragged her through with a shout. The other men raced past, and Chris slammed the gate shut and threaded a heavy curl of wire through, securing it.

  She was about to board the boat when she heard a sound that nearly took her breath away—the frantic pounding of feet against wet concrete, heading in their direction.

  The leading edge of the swarm arrived a few seconds later, plowing into the gate and nearly toppling it over.

  “Fuck you!” Chris stuck the barrel of his pistol through the chain link and pressed it against the nearest creature’s head. “Fuck you all!” He pulled the trigger, and the zombie’s head exploded in a grainy cloud. The monster crumpled to the ground, but was instantly replaced with another. The fence rattled and sang, the mesh straining with the combined weight of dozens of thrashing bodies. They had only seconds before it gave way and the undead were upon them.

  Megan turned and leaped onto the heaving deck of the boat. As soon as everyone was aboard, Chris darted into
the cabin, while his men set to work untying lines and preparing to cast off. The engines roared to life a few seconds later, and the boat lurched and heaved away from shore. Megan put one hand on Jack and her other on a railing for support.

  Jack pointed at the dock. “Look! They’re through!”

  Megan followed his outstretched hand and watched in horror as the undead horde swarmed over the flattened fence and poured onto the dock. They came in a boiling mass, the unrelenting press of their decayed flesh sending body after body cascading into the churning waters as they tried in vain to bridge the impossible divide.

  Relief flooded through her, and for the first time in days, Megan felt a glimmer of hope. She didn’t know where they were headed, or what their fate held in store for them, but for now, they were alive. They had a second chance.

  With a determined grin, she set out for the cabin. It was time to find out who their mysterious saviors were and where they were taking them.

  Thirty-Three

  Aboard Coast Guard RB-M #2

  Galveston Bay

  As soon as the door slammed shut, Chris shrugged out of his raincoat and dumped it on the floor beside the control panel. He waved an arm at his men in introduction. “This is Ben and Justin. You already know who I am. Who the hell are you?”

  Megan was caught short by his abruptness. She took a tentative step forward. “I’m Megan. Megan Pritchard. This is Jack Wolfe.” She inclined her head at Luke. “And that’s Luke Franklin.”

  “Welcome aboard,” Chris said, splitting his attention between the controls and her. “So what’s your story?”

  Megan took a deep breath and recounted their journey, starting in Tucson and working her way through to the attic of the Coast Guard station. She intentionally left out all the people they had lost along the way. They would come later.