“I…I’ll try,” Ginger replied. “Over.”
“Hurry,” was Saul’s sole response.
“Are they coming for us too?” Misty asked.
Richard shook his head. “They’d be dumb to try it. They’ve been lucky so far, but they risk getting hit by a mine or shot to pieces.
Even as he spoke, more bullets rained down upon the pit, and the trio ducked with their arms over their heads. Misty flashed an angry look at the sky. “If I get my hands on those pricks, I’ll shove that gun right up their asses.”
Richard laughed before sobering. “Listen, guys. When Jackson reaches Ginger’s position, this tower will likely redirect their fire at them. That gives us a slim chance.”
“A slim chance at what?” Misty asked, her eyes widening.
“To make a run for it,” Richard said.
“Run for it? Are you crazy? We can’t run across a minefield,” Misty cried.
“Nor can we stay here and expect the others to risk their lives for us,” Richard countered. “There’s a clump of trees not far from this location. If we can get there, we’ll be alright. I doubt they bothered to mine that far out.”
“What about Dan’s knee?” Misty asked.
“He’s right, Misty. Running is the better option,” Dan replied. “Don’t worry about me. I’ll be right behind you.”
With those words, he peeled off his jacket and cut the sleeve off with his knife. He tied the strip of cloth around his knee using his belt for extra support. Afterward, he gave his leg an experimental wiggle. “There. That’ll do.”
Misty stared at him. “Are you sure?”
“Sure as I’ll ever be,” Dan said. “When do we go?”
“On my signal,” Richard replied, peeking over the edge of the pit. As he’d predicted, the tower had shifted their aim toward Jackson’s Humvee as it roared across the open field toward the waiting Ginger. The man had managed to crawl out of the cab and sat hunched in a low crouch.
Richard raised the radio to his lips. “Saul. My team and I are making a run for it. We’re heading toward the woods. Once you have Ginger, get the hell out of there. We’ll meet you on the road. Over.”
“Roger that,” Saul replied after a moment’s silence. “Good luck, Sergeant. Over.”
“Good luck to you, too,” Richard replied. “Over.”
He tucked the radio into his pocket and glanced over his shoulder. “Ready?”
“Ready,” Dan said, straightening up.
“Me too,” Misty said, her face pale but determined.
“Let’s go,” Richard said, pulling himself out of the pit.
A glance showed him that the Humvee had almost reached Ginger, but he didn’t waste time looking further. The moment Jackson had Ginger loaded up, he’d cut and run, and the tower would lock onto Richard’s group again. If that happened, they were goners.
“Hurry up, guys,” he cried, reaching down to help Dan and Misty out of the hole. Once they were on their feet, he pointed at the woods. “Over there. Run!”
The trio set out in a headlong dash toward safety, each moving as fast as they could. The race was on, and the dice had been thrown. It was all up to fate now.
Chapter 16 - Misty
Misty fixed her eyes on the belt of trees and broke into a sprint. She pumped her arms and legs, going as fast as her short stature allowed. Richard was ahead of her while Dan stayed on her heels. She glanced at him now and then to check he was still on his feet. Despite his injury, he was making good time and kept pace with her.
As luck would have it, the gunner in the tower ignored them in favor of Jackson’s Humvee. Richard had been correct in his assessment that it would prove to be the preferred target. That didn’t mean the gunner wouldn’t change his mind, however, and her back crawled with the expectation of a bullet.
The thought of stepping on a landmine was worse, though. Every time her feet hit the ground, she expected the earth to explode. She tried to imagine what it would feel like. The white-hot agony of fiery flames expanding at hundreds of miles per second blowing off her leg.
Or both.
Or worse.
All the documentaries about war and its victims she’d watched in the past, flooded her mind. Tragic pictures of legless and armless orphans. Women and children, old people and young, disfigured by a heartless piece of equipment built for death and destruction. Please, don’t let it be one of my team or me.
Ahead of her, Richard shouted encouragement. “Come on, Misty. Dan. We’re almost there.”
She tried to snort but was too short of breath. The belt of trees didn’t look any closer to her eyes, and she figured she’d never get there. Almost there? Really?
Still, she kept going even when her lungs began to burn, and a stitch took up residence beneath her ribs. A glance showed her that Jackson had reached Ginger’s location, roaring to a stop in a cloud of dirt and dry grass. The metal body pinged and sang under the barrage of gunfire directed at it, and she hoped her teammates would make it out okay. At the same time, she hoped the tower kept firing at them instead of her. It’s incredible how selfish a person can be when it’s a matter of life and death.
“Come on, Misty,” Richard shouted. “Move your ass.”
“I’m trying,” she cried, but despite her best efforts, she was slowing down as exhaustion set in. No matter how hard she pushed herself, she couldn’t go any faster.
“They’ll start shooting at us soon,” Richard added, his voice a dim roar in her ears. “We need to get to the trees now.”
Misty nodded, but she was drawing on her last reserves. Even in school, she’d only ever been good for sprints. A burst of speed over a short distance was the best she could manage. It was the reason she chose martial arts over other sports. That, and the fact that she grew up as the youngest and only girl in a house full of boys. Five, to be exact.
After suffering through years of boyish pranks, impromptu wrestling matches, and bruised limbs, she signed up for classes in Kung Fu. It turned out to be the best decision she ever made. In Kung Fu, it didn’t matter if you were short or petite. She quickly learned to use her opponent’s strength and size against them.
That counted for zombies, too, the only reason she survived the outbreak. Even now, her training was proving its worth as sheer determination kept her feet moving. The kind she’d learned after hours and hours of training when she longed to collapse from exhaustion. Biting on her lower lip, she muttered. “Come on, Misty. You can do this.”
Sweat stung her eyes, and the ache in her ribs grew more intense with each second that passed. A roar signaled the departure of Jackson’s Humvee, and she knew their short reprieve was over. Any second now, a hail of bullets would rain upon them.
Despite his injury, Dan drew level with her and threw her an encouraging nod. “I’m right here, Misty. It’s you and me.”
“Thanks, Dan,” she managed to say, her voice hoarse.
The distance between them and the woods shrank, and a tiny kernel of hope blossomed in her chest. Richard reached the first tree, a stunted oak that extended bare branches up to the sky. He paused by its side and looked back. “Come on, you two. Move, move, move. My grandma runs faster than that.”
Misty grinned. “Screw you, Rich—”
“Watch out,” Dan cried, throwing his arm out to block her way.
His fist connected with her chest and the breath left her lungs in a whoosh of air. Her forward momentum ceased as Dan knocked her backward. Her legs lifted into the air, and she experienced a brief moment of weightlessness before she slammed into the ground with a brutal thud.
Gasping for breath, she looked up in time to see Dan fall into the earth. For the space of a single second, their eyes locked as he twisted around, one hand reaching for the edge of the hole. He disappeared beneath a swirl of dirt, dried leaves, and other debris.
“Dan!” She struggled to her hands and knees, crawling to the lip of the hole. “Dan, answer me!”
A garble
d cry reached her ears, and she looked down at a sight she could never again unsee. Dan lay on his back, blood bubbling from his open mouth. His eyes stared up at the sky; both hands clutched a wooden stake that protruded from below his sternum.
“Dan, no!” Misty screamed, tears streaming down her face. “I’m coming, Dan. Hold on.”
She moved to climb into the pit, but strong hands grabbed her shoulders. She fought against their hold, her gaze fixed upon Dan’s face. “No, no, no, let me go.”
“Come on, Misty. It’s too late. There’s nothing you can do for him now,” Richard said, hauling her away from the edge.
“But he needs us. We have to help him,” she cried.
“It’s too late,” Richard insisted. “He saved your life. Don’t waste his sacrifice.”
Misty sobbed, fighting against the truth in his words. “We can’t leave him like that.”
“We can, and we must,” Richard said, dragging her into a stumbling run.
Misty shook her head, but the patter of bullets sped her feet. The gunner in the tower had turned his attention to them, at last. She allowed Richard to pull her into the relative safety of the woods, barks, and splinters showering their heads as bullets tore through the trees. They kept going until the gunfire died away, and still, Richard refused to stop.
“We need to get to the road,” he kept saying until it rang through her head on a loop.
The road. The road. We need to get to the road.
Chapter 17 - Dylan
Dylan gripped her rifle with both hands, ready for anything. As their Humvee neared the gate, a familiar sensation of anticipation mixed with fear sang through her veins. Her eyes were locked on the enemy in front, but she exchanged a quick smile with Rita in the driver’s seat. “Are you ready for this?”
“I am so ready,” Rita said. “King won’t know what hit him.”
“That’s the spirit,” Dylan said with an approving nod.
Behind them, the rest of the convoy peeled off one by one, each heading toward their target. It happened with smooth precision, precisely as Saul had wanted. Within seconds, they were all in position except for Jackson’s team on the far right, and Richard’s group on the far left. A hush descended over the occupants of the cab—the calm before the storm.
The moment they were within range, Saul opened up with the fifty caliber. The powerful bullets punched into the guard’s station next to the gate, knocking out one spotlight. The guards returned fire with their rifles but lacked the range of the Humvee’s mounted gun.
Saul laughed, and Dylan joined in. Her initial worry melted away as more gunfire issued from the other teams further up the fence. Adrenalin rushed through her system, and her senses sharpened as the battle ensued. A distant boom reached her ears, but she ignored it as part of the chaos.
“Take a sharp right up front and drive past the gate, Rita. Give me a good field of fire before you head to the tower,” Saul shouted from his perch behind the fifty.
“Will do, Serg—” Rita was cut off mid-sentence when the Humvee hit an invisible wall. At least, that’s what it felt like to Dylan.
A blast of hot air hit her from the side, and her body slammed up against the door. Rita screamed, her voice melding with the screech of twisting metal. Dylan grabbed onto the dashboard and held on for dear life as the Humvee flipped end over end.
It was the strangest feeling of being airborne one moment before crashing into the ground the next only to have the cycle repeated. She rattled about the cab like a ping-pong ball, smashing into the roof, door, Rita, and the dashboard with bone-jarring force. Once, twice, three times, they rolled before coming to an abrupt stop.
Dylan fell upon Rita as the truck settled onto its side. She groaned, sure she’d broken every bone in her body. “What the hell was that?”
Beneath her, Rita stirred before breaking into heaving sobs. “It hurts; it hurts. Someone help me, please.”
Dylan quickly forgot her own concerns and hauled herself upright. She searched for footholds, planting her legs in a wide-legged stance. With searching hands, she examined her body for injuries but found nothing other than numerous scrapes and bruises. Every muscle and bone ached, but she’d live. “Thank God, I was lucky.”
She turned her attention to Rita and reached down to the injured woman. “Rita, I’m here. Where does it hurt?”
“I don’t know. Everywhere,” Rita cried, her moans rising in pitch.
Dylan looked her over, unable to find the cause of Rita’s pain from her vantage point. The woman lay huddled in a ball on her side with the mangled remains of the door beneath her.
“Can you sit up?” Dylan asked.
“I don’t know. Help me. Just help me,” Rita repeated.
Suddenly, Saul was there, his eyes glazed with shock. Blood gushed from a cut above his cheekbone, and Dylan searched for the first-aid kit she carried in her pocket. She pulled out a wad of gauze and handed it to him. “Here, press that against your wound.”
He took it with muttered thanks. “How’s she?”
“I don’t know. I can’t see it. We need to get her out,” Dylan said. “Can you help me?”
“Of course,” Saul said, mopping the blood from his face. He tossed away the bloody gauze, and Dylan leaned over to tape a band-aid over the gash.
“There that should hold you for now,” she said, tucking the kit back into her pocket.
“Can you reach up and open the door?” Saul asked.
“I’ll try,” Dylan said, reaching upward to test the handle.
“Rita,” Saul said. “Are you alright?”
“I don’t know, I…” she said, trying to sit up before falling back with a pained cry. “My arm hurts, and I can’t get up.”
“Let me help you,” Saul said, before glancing at Dylan. “You climb out, and I’ll hand her up to you.”
“Okay.”
“But be careful. They might shoot at us. We’ll need to get to cover right away,” Saul added.
“Got it.” Dylan unlatched the door and placed both palms against it. With a heave, she flipped it wide and scrambled through the opening. She climbed onto the side of the Humvee and reached down with both hands. “Come on. Hurry.”
Saul grabbed Rita by her good arm and shoulder, pulling her upright. She screamed, but he ignored her. There was no time to waste. With Dylan’s help, they hauled her through the opening and down the side of the vehicle. As they dropped to the ground, bullets punched into the Humvee’s roof and whined over their heads. It was a close call, but they made it.
Once on the ground, Dylan examined Rita. Her upper arm was broken with the jagged ends sticking through the flesh. The muscle looked like it had gone through a meat grinder, mangled, and torn. Rich, crimson blood pumped from the wound, and Dylan sucked in a horrified breath. “This is bad.”
“We need to stop the bleeding, or she’ll die,” Saul said, removing his belt. He strapped it onto Rita’s arm right below the shoulder, and the flow of blood slowed to a steady ooze. “Where’s that first-aid kit?”
Rita moaned, shaking her head from side to side. Sweat glistened on her forehead, and her eyes had a glassy look that foretold trouble. “Please, it hurts.”
Dylan handed over the kit, her gaze drawn to Rita’s terrible wound. “Here.”
Saul removed a bandage and wound it over the exposed flesh and bone. At the same time, he looked around through slitted eyes. “We hit a landmine.”
“A mine?” Dylan asked with a gasp.
“Look over there,” he said, pointing at the crater.
Dylan stared at the dark hole with horror. “They mined the place?”
“They did,” Saul replied with a grunt. “I think Rita took the brunt of the explosion on her side of the Humvee.”
“Damn,” Dylan said, unable to process it all.
“Call the others on the radio. We need to get out of here,” Saul said, ducking his head as more bullets cut through the air above their heads.
“
Alright,” Dylan said, glad for something to do. She pulled the radio from her pocket and held it to her lips. “This is Dylan. We hit a landmine, and we’re pinned down by heavy gunfire. Can anyone assist us? Over.”
“This is Richard. We also hit a mine, and we’re trapped inside a pit. King booby-trapped the entire field. Over,” Richard replied, his voice brisk.
“No shit,” Dylan replied, her heart sinking into her boots. “Can you get to safety? Over.”
“Doubtful. They’re shooting at us too. Over,” Richard said.
“This is Ginger,” another voice came over the radio. “My entire team is down. I repeat, they’re dead. It’s just me, and I’m stuck inside the truck.”
“Shit,” Dylan said, closing her eyes for a couple of seconds. It was all playing out just as Nick had feared. We should’ve listened to him.
A different voice sounded over the radio. “This is Jackson. We’re still operational, and we took out another tower. That leaves two. What should we do? Over.”
Dylan threw Saul a questioning look. “What are your orders?”
Saul leaned over and took the radio from Dylan’s grasp. “Forget the last tower. The attack failed. We need to retreat. Can you get to us, Jackson? Over.”
“Almost there. Over,” Jackson confirmed.
“When you get here, use our vehicle as cover,” Saul said. “We’re taking heavy fire from the gate. Over.”
“Roger that. Over,” Jackson said.
Saul sighed as he tucked the radio into his pocket. “It’s over. The best we can do is retreat while saving as many of the group as possible.”
Dylan nodded. “We’d better get ready for Jackson.”
Minutes later, Jackson arrived like a bat out of hell. He slid to a stop mere feet from them, and the back door swung open. “Get in. Now!”
With bullets tearing up the turf and ricocheting off the body of the Humvee, Dylan and Saul dragged Rita into the back of the vehicle. She slammed the door shut, jerking back when a bullet punched into the frame. It flew away with an angry wail, and she heaved a sigh of relief. That was close.
Rise of the Undead (Book 5): Apocalypse Z Page 10