The Zombie Uprising Series: Books One Through Five

by M. A. Robbins

  She opened the door, pistol at the ready. Her father lifted his head and glared at her, his yellow eyes boring into hers with a mixture of anger and hunger. He reared his head back and shrieked.

  She aimed the pistol at his forehead, her hands trembling. Calm down. Breathe.

  Arms grabbed her in a bear hug and pulled her back into the hallway. Her hand reflexively squeezed the trigger, sending a bullet into the wall. Struggling to wrest herself from her assailant's grip and keep hold of the gun, she shot several rounds into the room. One of the arms around her loosened, then a hand darted out and knocked the gun from her grip. Hatcher's nasal voice came from just behind her ear. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

  She struggled and loosened his hold enough to plant an elbow in his stomach. Hatcher gasped and released his grip. Backing up to the far wall, Jen searched for the gun. "I'm keeping my promise to my dad and you're not going to stop me."

  Hatcher stood, bent over, at the doorway. The gun lay on the floor just to his right. He scooped it up and pointed it at her. Still doubled over, he said, "I told you he's government property."

  "What are you going to do with him? You're leaving him anyway. Let me put him to rest."

  He shook his head. "We may be back. We may find we need him. I won't be responsible for losing a government resource."

  Angry tears stung her eyes. "I'm keeping my promise." She rushed him and rammed him in the chest, sending him stumbling backward. His arms windmilled, but he overcompensated and fell back into Jen's father, who clamped his teeth on Hatcher's neck and tore off a mangled piece of flesh. Blood pumped from the wound in time with his heartbeat, and he slid to the floor.

  "Help." He sat, propped against her father's legs, his eyes wide with fear.

  His hands were empty, so Jen searched the room and found the pistol under a desk. She picked it up and took position in the doorway again. Her father chewed and swallowed his meal. His yellow eyes were unfocused, giving the appearance of ecstasy. Jen aimed at his forehead. This is for you, Dad. Her hands steady, she squeezed the trigger. The pistol pushed back into her palm. A hole appeared in her father's head, and the back of his head exploded, painting the table and wall behind him in a crimson spray. His head fell forward and he was still.

  Jen closed her eyes. Tears welled and trickled down her cheeks. "Goodbye, Dad. Your pain is over."

  A gurgling sound came from Hatcher. She glared down at him. His eyes half-closed, he croaked, "Me, too. Please. Don't want to be like them."

  Jen lowered the pistol. "Sorry, Hatcher, but you're government property now."

  She took a step back into the hallway. Hatcher gaped and struggled to speak, but only gasps and croaks came out.

  Shit. I can't do it.

  Jen squatted in front of Hatcher and placed the gun to his forehead. "I'll show you the mercy you tried to deny my father."

  Hatcher closed his eyes and she squeezed the trigger.

  Click.

  Empty. Hatcher's eyes popped open, pleading, while he gurgled and coughed.

  Jen bit her lower lip. In such a hurry to take care of her dad, she'd grabbed the gun and forgotten to take any extra ammo.

  The alarm went off again. They were leaving. It's now or never.

  Hatcher went silent, and his head dropped to his chest. Jen left the room and closed the door. Hatcher would reanimate soon.

  She took one last look at her father and ran to the elevator, wiping her eyes.

  9

  When Jen stepped out of the elevator on the first floor Mark stood with his arms crossed, a frown on his face. "Just in time. I was gonna go look for you. Did anyone else hear the shot?"

  Jen shook her head. "No one else on the floor."

  "Good." He handed her two boxes of ammo and guided her to where Doc and Captain Lupone stood.

  "Ah," Doc said. "There we are. Time to load up. Y'all are riding with me."

  Lupone spoke into a radio. "Commence loading. Perimeter watch, keep your eyes peeled and report if you see anything. Even if it's only one zulu."

  "Anyone seen Hatcher?" Doc asked.

  Jen's heart skipped a beat. "He's on his way. Said he had to take care of something and it'll only be a minute."

  "Fine." Doc grinned. "He's been assigned a seat in the bus. At the back."

  Lupone opened the door and held it. "Dr. Wilson, you and your group have the first SUV."

  Jen kept her empty pistol in her hand and followed Doc and Mark out the door. She tried not to look down as she crossed the threshold, but couldn't help herself. She stepped over the dried blood and bits of flesh, but stumbled as she nearly stepped on the brown-stained baby blanket. Bile rose in the back of her throat and she swallowed it back down. No time for that. Shit is getting real.

  She and Mark climbed into the back of the SUV, while Doc sat in the front next to the soldier at the wheel, who turned to look at each of them. "Welcome aboard. I'm Specialist Grant. My orders are to get you safely to your plane at JBER."

  Doc shook his hand. "Dr. Wilson, but please call me Doc."

  Grant looked back. Mark put his hand up. "I'm Mark."

  Grant's gaze swept to Jen. He looked like a kid dressed up to play Army. What is he, twelve? "I'm Jen. Where are you from, Specialist Grant?"

  "Kodiak."

  Jen hadn't thought much about anywhere else in Alaska. The kid had to be worried about his family. "Any word on how they're doing?"

  Grant shook his head. "Nothing for a few days. They had a few zombies pop up when I was last able to check in, and they kept ahead of them. But who knows now? It didn't take long for Anchorage to become infested."

  Jen nodded. Infested was an interesting word choice. She took out empty magazines and loaded them. "I hope they're doing OK."

  "I'm heading out on that plane with you. Then I plan on finding a way back home."

  Doc smiled. "Now that's the spirit. I truly like a positive attitude."

  The radio squawked. "This is Captain Lupone. From now on, I'll be addressed by my call sign Whiskey One. That's the lead Humvee. Whiskey Two is the Humvee that will take up the rear of the convoy. Both Humvees are armed with Mark 19 forty millimeter auto grenade launchers. They'll clear the way if we run into a horde."

  "Grant, have you used those grenade launchers yet?" Jen pushed a magazine into her pistol and jacked a round into the chamber.

  He smiled, and his eyes glistened in the light. "We took out a horde of over a hundred just outside Girdwood. It was a hell of a battle and was over in a couple of minutes."

  Mark nodded at Jen. "What are you thinking?"

  Jen frowned. "Girdwood's isolated down the highway and has a population of less than two thousand."

  "So, what's your point?" Grant snapped.

  Someone's a little touchy. "So if you get a horde of a hundred from a population of two thousand, then with Anchorage's population, the equivalent would be about fifteen thousand. Something tells me those grenade launchers won't be too effective against something like that."

  Grant scowled and faced forward. "Captain Lupone knows what he's doing. I served a tour in the Middle East with him and he got the whole unit home safe. My money's on him."

  Jen shrugged. "Just saying."

  Mark gave her a sideways glance. He hasn't experienced a swarm, but I'll bet his convoy experience is setting his radar off about now.

  Lupone spoke again. "The first SUV with Dr. Wilson in it is designated Bravo One, while the other is Bravo Two."

  Another voice came over the radio. "Sir, what's the designation of the bus?"

  "Bus," Lupone deadpanned.

  Grant laughed. "That's how the captain is, serious when the situation needs it, but he's one of us."

  "Let's move out," Lupone said.

  The vehicles started and the convoy rolled onto the Old Seward Highway.

  Jen's pulse quickened. She scanned the abandoned cars and silent buildings. No sign of zombies.

  Vibrations from the Humvee in front of t
hem traveled through the SUV. Damn thing is loud, and there's two of them. "I don't think this will work."

  "Huh?" Grant said. "What are you talking about?"

  "The vehicles, especially those Humvees, make too much noise. Noise attracts the creatures. We'll never make it."

  Grant shrugged. "Captain says we can do it, so we can."

  He's just blowing me off. Asshole. "I'll bet Custer's men said the same thing."

  Lupone's voice came over the radio. "Whiskey One to convoy. Our intent is to move at the fastest speed possible. From what we see up front, Old Seward is littered with abandoned vehicles, so our speed will be limited as we navigate around them. If this continues, we may cut over to the New Seward Highway."

  Jen watched the scenery pass by. She guessed they were going no more than twenty-five miles per hour. All of the cars they passed were empty, some with doors left open, and some with blood spatters on the windows and finish.

  "Whiskey Two to Whiskey One. We have zulus coming onto the road in the rear. Count three—no, four."

  "Roger, Whiskey Two. Don't use the Mk on them. Have your gunner take them out with a rifle."

  "Roger, Whiskey One."

  Jen leaned up behind the driver's seat. "Can I talk on the radio?"

  "Are you kidding?" Grant said.

  "Then you talk. Tell them not to shoot."

  "Why the hell not?"

  Doc coughed. "I believe she's concerned that the noise will draw more zombies." He wiped his mouth with a handkerchief. "She's surely right."

  Grant scoffed, picked up the mic, and keyed it. "Bravo One to Whiskey One. Dr. Wilson suggests we not fire. He says it will attract more zulus."

  There was silence for a minute, then, "Whiskey One to Whiskey Two. You have your orders. Bravo One, tell Dr. Wilson that I appreciate his concern, but we have a time line to adhere to, and I'm confident we can handle more zulus."

  Jen put her head in her hands. "Even if they don't swarm us, you'll run out of bullets before we get to the plane."

  Grant chuckled. "You've never seen an Mk 19. Effective firing range is over fifteen hundred yards. We shot a few at Gridwood, then took the rest out with small arms fire."

  Jen looked out the window. They were in the roundabout at Huffman Road. The businesses down Huffman were quiet, and only a few zombies stumbled around.

  "Whiskey One to convoy. We have five Zulus ahead and the road is clearing up. We're going to pick up speed and run them down. How is the rear, Whiskey Two?"

  "Whiskey Two to Whiskey One. "Threat neutralized."

  Grant glanced over his shoulder. "See? What'd I tell you?"

  The SUV picked up speed. Jen held onto the armrest. No way the trip would be that easy, just running over zombies like they were roadkill.

  The SUV jumped and bounced. Jen didn't want to ask what they were running over.

  "Woo hoo," Grant yelled. "Five more zulus down."

  The bus's brake lights went hard red, and Jen was thrown against her seat belt as their SUV screeched to a stop. She glanced at Mark. His face had gone hard and his eyes kept moving. He leaned slightly forward as if ready to jump out at any time. I don't want to know what memory he's reliving.

  Jen looked ahead, and all she saw was the fat-ass back of the bus. She pressed her head against the window, trying to see around it, but it was a waste of effort. She looked outside her window at an old video store parallel with the SUV. The single-story building had peeling paint and looked as if it might fall over in a strong wind. Its windows covered in old movie posters, it added to the eeriness of the day. She'd been there a couple of times with her mother when she was young, renting kids' movies. It was a dump back then, too.

  A chorus of high-pitched shrieks came from ahead of them, beyond the bus. "Holy shit," Jen said. "There's got to be a ton of them."

  "Whiskey One to convoy. We have a mob of zulus converging rapidly on our position from one o'clock. Estimate one hundred. We took out the same number in Girdwood, we'll do it again. Stay calm and stay in your vehicles. Whiskey One is deploying the Mk."

  A chunk, chunk, chunk followed by boom, boom, boom came from ahead.

  "More damn noise," she whispered to Mark.

  Mark nodded, beads of sweat forming on his forehead. "This isn't going to end well."

  Jen looked at the other buildings nearby. A warehouse with large open doors was the closest place to run to. Too open.

  "Whiskey Two to Whiskey One. Zulus approaching the rear at a run."

  "Whiskey One to Whiskey Two. How many?"

  "Damn. Two, three hundred."

  "Whiskey One to Whiskey Two. Deploy Mk. We cleared the hundred up here, but more are attacking. Whiskey One to convoy. Stay in your vehicles and keep them locked."

  Jen grabbed Mark's arm. "We need to get the hell out of here. They're swarming."

  Grant's head jerked around. "Didn't you hear the captain? We need to stay put."

  Doc began to speak, but was cut off by a chorus of shrieks. They were coming not only from ahead and behind but also from the Huffman side to their right. The only open direction was toward the video store.

  Jen threw the door open. "Follow me if you want to live."

  10

  Jen sprinted across the road to the video store, pistol in hand. The door was nailed shut, and she yanked on it, but it wouldn't give.

  A second set of hands grasped the handle. Mark.

  They wrenched the door open a few feet and ducked into the building. Doc and Grant followed moments later.

  Mark pulled the door shut.

  Jen eyed Grant. "Thought you'd go down with the ship."

  The soldier glared at her. "I'm not abandoning my post. My orders are to protect the three of you and get you to JBER. I can't do that if I'm not with you."

  The zombie howls stopped, but the ground vibrated and the windows rattled. It sounded like a damn stampede. Jen put a finger to her lips and knelt behind the window, peeling back the corner of a movie poster.

  The Whiskey One gunner continued to shoot grenades at the horde attacking from the front, keeping them back, but just barely. Whiskey Two did the same, but the sheer number attacking from the rear had the horde creeping closer.

  A tidal wave of undead gushed out from between the buildings on the other side of the road, washing over the two SUVs and the bus. All three vehicles were toppled and covered with the zombies ripping at doors and windows. The screams of those trapped inside were muted, but clear.

  The Whiskey One gunner glanced back and yelled something down to the Humvee crew. A mob of zombies climbed the back of the Humvee, and two of them pulled the gunner out and sank their teeth into his flesh while he screamed for help. He managed to rip an arm away and grab his pistol. Bellowing, he put it to his temple and pulled the trigger.

  A skinny bare-chested teen zombie dove into the open gunner hatch, followed seconds later by two more. Gunshots rang out and muzzle flashes painted the inside of the hatch.

  Whiskey Two had fared worse. The horde pushing in from the front had made it to the Humvee's hood when another wave attacked from the back. The gunner unloaded his pistol and tried to duck into the hatch, but a tall woman with a breast chewed off grabbed his head and pulled. The gunner held on and seemed to be winning the battle when two more undead grabbed his arms and jerked him out. The tall woman bit into his neck, sending a plume of blood over the horde.

  The driver's door flung open. A soldier jumped out and raced toward the video store, but only made it ten feet before a mob of zombies tackled him and he disappeared beneath the feeding frenzy.

  The undead rushed the open door. Gunfire erupted inside the vehicle, but bullets were ineffective against the mob. Within seconds, the gunfire had ceased.

  Jen's heart raced. The whole damn convoy was gone.

  A zombie streaked by an inch in front of her window. She dropped the poster corner and fell back. Did those monsters know they were in there?

  Mark stood next to her, his face pale in th
e gloomy store. Doc had his arms crossed and mumbled to himself, while Grant turned away from the window, his hands closing and opening.

  Jen waved to get their attention, then put a finger to her lips. They had to be quiet and stay out of sight. If the horde knew they were there, they'd bust down the shabby old store's walls in a heartbeat. She gestured for the others to follow her.

  She led them to the lone back room and pulled the curtain over the entrance. A sliver of light shone from the top of a poster-covered window and provided enough light for her to know where each of the others stood. "We have to be quiet and wait for them to disperse," she whispered in the dark.

  No one answered. Good. They get it.

  Something banged into the wall next to her and she flinched. Other thumps came from around the building. So many zombies out there, they were walking into buildings.

  Three hours after they'd hidden in the room, the thumps finally died off, and Jen dared hope the zombies had moved on.

  Something banged into the front door. Jen held her breath and aimed her pistol at the curtain. The others tensed up too, but they all relaxed after another hour passed and they heard nothing else.

  Grant whispered, "We'll stay here the night. Move out in the morning." He stood next to the curtain. "I'll keep watch."

  Jen sat in a corner and leaned back. Hours passed, and the occasional growls stopped. The sun set and they were blanketed with darkness.

  Exhaustion conquered fear, and Jen fell asleep.

  11

  Light filtered into the room, landing on the curtain. Awake the past few hours, Jen had kept her pistol pointed at the curtain.

  Tilting her head, she listened. Nothing but the normal creaking of a piece of crap building.

  Jen slid over to the curtain and pulled a corner of it aside. The store lay quiet and empty in the dingy light filtering in through the movie posters.

  She stuck her head out and scanned the room, then padded between the rows of empty, dusty video display cases to the window she'd peeked out from the day before. She stepped on a loose board and it squeaked. Her pulse pounded in her ears, drowning out any slight noise.