Nurse Alissa vs. The Zombies | Book 6 | Rescue

by Baker, Scott M.

  Hoskins turned and saw the approaching pack. “Rogers, Murphy. Help her out.”

  As the two soldiers raced down the road, the rest carried Gary aboard the bus.

  A dozen deaders gathered around the front of Woody’s truck, scratching at the doors to get inside. He did not worry about them. Instead, he watched in his side mirror events play out at the crash site, breathing a sigh of relief when he saw the others had saved Brad and Gary. Relief turned to frustration when he noticed a dozen deaders had trapped Alissa around the stranded vehicle.

  Woody shifted into reverse. The beeping of the back-up signal drove the deaders around the Mack into a frenzy. He maneuvered into the right lane and accelerated. Ten of the deaders shifted their attention from Alissa to the truck and went after the new prey. Woody slammed into them with the rear of the Mack, knocking them under the wheels where the weight of the truck exploded them like ketchup packets, splattering blood and guts across the snow. He stopped the truck twenty feet from Alissa.

  She took the opportunity and ran, easily dodging the last two deaders.

  As she reached the Humvee, Rogers and Murphy arrived, taking down the pair with headshots.

  Alissa paused. “Thanks.”

  Murphy waved and he and Rogers fell back to their vehicle.

  Woody leaned out the Mack’s window. “Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine,” yelled Alissa. “Head to the marina. We’ll follow.”

  Woody shifted into drive and proceeded down Main Road, crashing into the pack of deaders blocking his path.

  Alissa jumped in the Humvee and followed, with the rest of the convoy behind her.

  Only a handful of the living dead remained, each reaching out for the vehicles as they passed. Within a few seconds, the convoy cleared the danger zone and headed for the marina.

  * * *

  The rest of the trip went by without incident. They continued to the hospital where Main Road became Pendleton Pond Road and continued to the location of the fallen tree. A minute later, the convoy passed the access road to the school. A handful of deaders wandered around where they had followed the bus after the initial encounter. The Mack tore right through them.

  Less than a mile later, Woody turned right onto the access road to the marina, which led past the office and repair facilities. Circling to the right, the convoy wound its way between the storage buildings and rows of stacked boats before entering the parking area in front of the dock. Woody pulled off to the right and parked by a stack of small boats. Alissa drove the Humvee up to the end of the dock, bouncing over something hidden under the snow. The other two vehicles parked behind her. The dock extended one hundred feet into the ice-encrusted water, with the tug tied to the far end.

  “We made it.” Kiera leaned to the side and offered her right fist to Alissa.

  “I won’t be satisfied until we’re off this island.” Alissa bumped the fist, then shifted to look at Nathan. “I’ll be back for you in a minute.”

  “Take your time. It’s comfortable here on this hard deck.”

  Alissa ruffled his hair and climbed out along with Kiera, the latter leaving her door open. Shithead took advantage of the opportunity. He barked, jumped over the seat, and ran after Alissa.

  Chris hobbled off the bus and, on seeing his dog, called to him. Shithead’s tail wagged furiously. He barked twice and raced through the snow toward his master, jumping into his arms and giving Chris a face bath. Alissa and Kiera joined them.

  Alissa smiled. “Somebody missed you.”

  “I thought you missed me, too.”

  “I did, but not enough to lick your face.”

  “I will,” said Kiera flirtatiously.

  Alissa and Chris turned to her and simultaneously replied, “No.”

  Kiera shrugged. “I tried.”

  Ames helped Saunders off the bus while Costas did the same for Patricia and Susie. Hoskins, Ramirez, and Ben exited last.

  Woody walked up to the group. “What now?”

  Hoskins gestured toward the dock. “We get aboard the tug and get out of here. Do you know how to operate it?”

  Woody shook his head. “Can’t stand boats. They scare the shit out of me.”

  “Does anyone here know how to operate one?”

  Patricia stepped forward. “My husband owned a speed boat that I knew how to use, if that’ll be of any help.”

  “It’s good enough for me.” Hoskins noticed Murphy and Roger approaching. “You two, escort Patricia and the young lady to the tug and make sure its clear. Patricia knows how to operate it.”

  “Roger that, sir.”

  Brad knelt on the seat in front of where Gary lay, watching Boyce check his vital signs. “Will he be all right, doc?”

  “He should be, though the chances are good he’ll have a concussion. Your friend will be fine once we get him to a hospital.”

  “Do you have a stretcher we can put him on?”

  Boyce shook his head. “I can fireman’s carry him.”

  “What’s going on?” asked Nathan. “Why is it taking so long?”

  “I don’t know.” Rebecca sat sideways and looked out the rear window at the group gathered around the bus. “Looks like they’re planning something.”

  “As long as it’s our escape.”

  Murphy and Rogers led the way across the parking area to the head of the dock, scanning their front and flanks.

  “I’m cold,” whined Susie as she pushed her way through the accumulated snow.

  “I know. Just keep going. We’ll be aboard the tug in a few minutes.”

  “But my feet are wet and I can’t feel—” Susie tripped and fell face first, disappearing in the drift.

  Patricia bent over and pulled her up, brushing the snow off her face. “Are you okay?”

  “Yes.” Susie began to cry. “I tripped over something.”

  Patricia glanced into the snow to see what caused Susie to stumble. Her eyes widened in terror.

  “Dear fucking God.”

  Shithead stopped licking Chris and growled. His ears folded back and his tail curled between his legs. For a moment, Alissa thought the dog might attack Chris. Shithead dropped off his master and stared out into the parking lot, the growling becoming more intense. Hoskins raised his carbine, took several steps away from the bus, and scanned the area in a three-hundred-sixty-degree arc. Nothing approached from behind the buildings or stacks of boats.

  “Does anyone see deaders?” he yelled.

  The others were also looking for danger but could not see anything.

  A hand shot out of the snow and clutched Alissa by the knee. She cried out. A second hand reached out and grabbed her leg. A deader pulled itself up, hand by hand, dragging itself onto Alissa.

  All around the marina, close to thirty deaders stood from where they had been covered in snow.

  Chapter Twelve

  The weight of the deader climbing up Alissa knocked her off balance. She fell against the bus.

  Shithead reacted first. He leapt from in front of Chris to Alissa, ripping the deader off her and pinning it to the ground. Hoskins rushed over, pushed the dog out of the way, and fired a round into the deader’s skull.

  Another thirteen of the living dead surrounded the bus and surged in for the kill.

  Rogers rushed over to Patricia and Susie, inserting himself between the women and the deader buried in the snow. He ushered them to one side. The deader opened its eyes and snarled. Rogers put two rounds into its head.

  Murphy raised his carbine and turned to Patricia. “You ladies, on my six.”

  Murphy headed down the dock with Patricia and Susie huddled close behind him. Rogers brought up the rear.

  “What the fuck?” Rebecca shifted in her seat to gaze out the rear window.

  “Is everything okay?” asked Nathan. He could tell by the terrified expression on her face it wasn’t.

  “Deaders are buried all over the parking lot.”

  “We have to help them.” Nathan futilely
tried to sit up.

  Rebecca placed a hand on his shoulder and pushed him down. “You’re in no shape to—”

  Something thudded against the window beside Rebecca. She cried out. A deader in a National Guard uniform, the skin and tissue chewed off its right arm, clutched at the window with its left hand. Its teeth scraped against the glass. Rebecca futilely searched the cab for a weapon.

  Thwarted in its efforts, the deader stumbled around the Humvee, searching for a way to get in. As it moved around to the passenger side, Rebecca realized Kiera had left her door open. Jumping up, she crawled between the front seats, desperate to close it. She slipped and fell, picked herself up, and reached for the handle.

  The deader centered itself in the door and snarled.

  Boyce noticed the dead rising out of the snow. They had minutes at most to get Gary to safety.

  “Can you carry your friend by yourself?”

  “Yes,” Brad replied.

  “Good.” Boyce grabbed his carbine and moved to the front of the bus. “Let’s go.”

  Brad lifted Gary in a fireman’s carry and joined the medic.

  A deader rounded the rear of the bus and shambled toward those gathered by the door. Hoskins took it down with a single shot to the head.

  Another deader crawled underneath the vehicle. It grabbed Ramirez by the ankles and yanked, dropping him face first into the snow and dragging him under the vehicle. Ramirez rolled over and grabbed the chassis, holding on for dear life and kicking at its face to break free.

  “Get me out of here,” he screamed.

  Hoskins and Costas each grabbed an arm and pulled, but the deader refused to let go. It crawled farther up Ramirez until it reached his upper leg. Panic overcame him, which turned into resignation when he felt its teeth dig into his flesh.

  “Fuck!”

  Ames leaned Saunders against the side of the bus, fell prone, and fired into the deader’s head. Without the weight holding Ramirez down, Hoskins and Costas were able to pull him free.

  The lieutenant stared at the fatal wound. “I’m sorry, man.”

  Ramirez leaned against the bus, wincing from the pain. “Give me your pistol.”

  “I’ll do it for you if you want.”

  Ramirez shook his head. “I’m going to distract these mother fuckers as long as possible.”

  Hoskins unholstered his Sig Sauer and handed it to him. “Good luck and God bless.”

  “Thanks.”

  The lieutenant turned to the others. “Let’s move or we’re dead.”

  Alissa heard a scream coming from the Humvee. A deader climbed inside to get at Nathan and Rebecca. She bolted from the others to go help them.

  Kiera ran after her, pausing long enough to call Shithead. The dog looked up at Chris for guidance.

  “Go help Alissa.”

  Shithead bounded through the snow.

  Having no weapon, Woody ran over to his Mack, bodychecking out of the way a deader in civilian clothes. Once at the truck, he removed an ice breaker from its mount on the side of the vehicle and raced back.

  The deader he had shoved aside started to rise back to its feet. Woody swung the ice breaker like a baseball bat, smashing the weapon into the side of its head. The deader collapsed face first. Woody raised the blade and brought it down on the deader’s neck, severing its spine. It lurched and moaned in protest. He continued chopping at the neck until its head tore free from its body and the deader went limp.

  Boyce exited the bus to join the others. Three deaders stood between them and the dock.

  Hoskins fired a round into the head of the closest, dropping it. He did the same to the second. The bolt on his carbine locked back.

  “I’m out.”

  As the lieutenant reloaded, Boyce stepped forward and fired two rounds into the third deader. One punched into its chest with no effect. The last tore its head from its body.

  “Move.”

  Hoskins and Costas led the way. Ames followed, helping Saunders. Robson assisted Chris. Brad and Ben fell in behind them, the former carrying Gary. Boyce brought up the rear.

  Murphy reached the tug and helped Patricia and Susie on board.

  Rogers jumped on. “What now?”

  “Can you start this thing?” asked Murphy.

  Patricia nodded. “I think so.”

  “Then let’s get to pilothouse.”

  Rogers led the way to the bow.

  Ramirez banged his left hand against the side of the bus and yelled to attract the deaders’ attention.

  “Come on, you fucking sacks of meat. Get your nice, warm meal and give me a chance to send you all to Hell.”

  The seven closest to the bus moved in for the kill while the rest pursued the others.

  Ramirez aimed at the nearest deader, its eyes frozen shut, and fired a single round that hit the center of its forehead. It staggered a moment then continued its advance. He fired again, this time lower, ripping off its lower jaw and dropping the body. Switching to another, Ramirez took it down with three shots, then continued the attack and killed two more until the slide on the Sig Sauer locked in the open position. He had hoped to take his own life with the last bullet and be spared the fate of the living dead, but had lost that opportunity when he misjudged the number of rounds he had remaining. His options were limited.

  Ramirez yelled at the top of his lungs and charged the remaining three deaders. He bodychecked the nearest, knocking it over. Dropping to his knees and using the Sig Sauer as a hammer, he bashed its skull repeatedly until the bones shattered and caved in. Even then, he continued pummeling its head until he destroyed the limbic system and it stopped moving.

  The second deader moved up behind him, bent forward, and sunk its teeth into the back of Ramirez’ neck. Ramirez groaned from the pain. Reaching behind him over his shoulder, he felt the thing’s face. Upon finding its eyes, he jammed his index and middle fingers through the orbs until his knuckles struck the sockets. The deader continued to feed.

  The third staggered in front of Ramirez and fell on him, pushing him back into the snow. One of his kneecaps ruptured from the weight. The deader landed on him, its mouth falling on the front of Ramirez’ neck. Ramirez attempted to punch it in the side of the head but had grown too weak. The deader bit deep and arched its head back, tearing out a portion of his larynx. Ramirez choked on his own blood, coughing and hacking until he died.

  Rebecca fell back into her seat as the deader climbed inside. It crawled between the two seats. She kicked it several times with her boot. The third strike dislocated its bottom jaw. The thing persisted in reaching for its prey.

  Shithead reached the Humvee first. He grabbed it by its leg and pulled. The deader lost its footing and fell onto the console. Shithead continued yanking on its leg, preventing it from getting to his friends.

  Alissa arrived next. Grabbing the other leg, she yanked the deader out of the Humvee. Using the butt of her carbine, she bashed it repeatedly in the head until its skull caved in.

  Making her way to the rear of the vehicle, she opened the hatch and tapped Nathan on the leg.

  “It’s about time you showed up.”

  Alissa smiled. “I’m getting tired of saving your ass.”

  Rebecca jumped out and moved to the back. The two women lifted Nathan, wrapping an arm around each of their shoulders. Alissa handed Kiera the carbine and pouch of spare ammunition.

  “Cover us.”

  “With pleasure.”

  The group made their way to the dock.

  Hoskins led the others toward the dock. As they passed the Mack, a hand reached up out of the snow and grabbed Brad by the leg. He tripped and dropped Gary. The deader flipped over and attacked Gary, sinking its teeth into the unconscious man’s neck.

  Brad jumped up and grabbed the deader by the hair, pulling it off Gary. The thing’s scalp came off in his hands. It spun around and lunged at Brad, biting him in the thigh and tearing out a chunk of flesh. Blood spurted from the severed artery, shooting out onto t
he snow where it steamed.

  Costas rammed the stock of his carbine against the side of the deader’s head, knocking it down. Hoskins stepped up and fired a single round into its head.

  Boyce fell to his knees and checked the two wounded men. He glanced up at the lieutenant and shook his head.

  Woody joined them. “How bad are they hurt?”

  “They’ve both been bitten,” Boyce answered.

  Brad knelt in the snow, his eyes pleading. “Don’t let me die like this.”

  Hoskins raised his carbine but Woody placed his hand on the barrel and lowered it. “Let me do it.”

  “Are you sure?”

  Woody nodded.

  Hoskins motioned for Costas to give Woody his Sig Sauer, which he did.

  Woody aimed the weapon at Brad’s head. “Sorry, buddy.”

  “Don’t be.” Brad forced a smile. “Thank you.”

  Woody fired a single round that entered Brad’s forehead. When he hit the snow, Woody fired one more round into his head and two into Gary’s, then handed the weapon to Hoskins.

  “Keep it. You’ll need it.”

  Nine deaders shambled toward them, none close enough to pose an immediate danger.

  “Let’s get to the boat.”

  Rogers climbed the outer stairs of the tug and paused at the landing to the pilothouse. He tried the door. It was unlocked.

  He turned to Murphy. “Things are finally breaking—”

  The captain of the tug, dead for two days, lunged from inside the pilothouse. Being freshly reanimated and not effected by the cold, it possessed full mobility. It struck the door hard, flinging it open, and landed on Rogers. Both tumbled over the gunwale and onto the ice surrounding the vessel, breaking through into the freezing water beneath. Rogers let go of his carbine and elbowed the deader in the face, breaking its grip. The deader sank beneath the surface. Rogers knew what would happen if he became trapped under the ice and desperately swam for the hole he had fallen through.

  He broke through and called out to Murphy. “Throw me a line.”

  The corporal searched around for something. Patricia handed him a life ring with a rope attached. “Use this.”