When the Future Ended (The Zombie Terror War Series Book 1)

by David Spell

  “CDC One,” McCain answered.

  “A vehicle, it looks like a humvee, just came out of the garage of a house across the street from the front of the high-rise. There’s a side street just up from the LAVs and the vehicle is approaching the corner without any headlights.”

  “Roger,” Chuck acknowledged. Before he could take any other action, screams erupted over the radio.

  “Marine One to November Golf One! We’re taking heavy fire from a hummer at our three o’clock. I’ve got men down. Is that your units firing in our direction?”

  “Negative,” Colonel Clark answered immediately. “I see the vehicle but I can’t engage without shooting at you, Marine One.”

  “Marine One clear. The shooting just stopped, but I’ve got four Marines down. I’m going to need a medic and a medevac ASAP.”

  “Air One to CDC One, that hummer just did a U-turn and is tearing off down the street.”

  The medevac helicopter was circling the scene, hoping not to be needed. The pilot had heard the radio traffic, though, and called the Marine commander on the ground.

  “Medevac to Marine One. I’ll meet you at the designated pickup location immediately. Can you get the wounded there?”

  The designated pickup point had been decided ahead of time. It was a large grocery store parking lot four blocks away, out of sight of the gunfight.

  The gunnery sergeant hesitated. “Marine One to Medevac. One of the LAVs is damaged. I need to keep the other one on station. Do we have a humvee that can transport the wounded?”

  Lieutenant Colonel Clark jumped into the conversation. “November Golf One to November Golf Two.”

  “We’re already rolling,” First Sergeant Gonzalez answered.

  “CDC One to November Golf One,” McCain called Clark. “I need you to take command. We’re going after that fleeing humvee.“

  “November Golf One is clear and assuming command.”

  Chuck flipped over to the intercom system in the helicopter. “Major? We need to follow the hummer that’s trying to get away.”

  The Air Force pilot had been monitoring the conversation and swung the Pave Hawk in that direction. “I’m clear. Don’t worry. He won’t get away. We can take them out with the miniguns.”

  “Sounds good. If possible, though, I’d prefer not to kill them all. I’d like to interrogate at least one of them. If Corona is in that humvee, he’s better off alive than dead. At least, until I can have a chat with him.”

  There was a long pause. “Are you saying you want me to land after we disable that vehicle?”

  “Yes, ma’am, if at all possible. Even if you can’t get close, I’m sure you can find a place to set down and let me go in on foot. It’s that important. Those bastards might even have the virus with them in their vehicle.”

  Singleton didn’t say anything else, focusing on flying, trying to catch up with the fleeing vehicle.

  “Air One to CDC One, they just turned right onto Peachtree Road and are hauling ass north.”

  Less than a minute later, they saw the stolen military vehicle ahead of them, racing up the mostly deserted five-lane road. Suddenly, tracers arced up from the hummer directly at the helicopter. Multiple combat deployments had sharpened Singleton’s reflexes and she immediately jerked the collective back so that the bullets flew under them. The Air Force officer then pushed the controls to the side, putting the right door gunner in position to bring his machine gun to bear.

  “Weapons free, Tommy!” Major Singleton told Sergeant Thomas.

  The young crewman didn’t have to be told twice, sending a burst of return fire at the speeding vehicle. His first target was the gunner firing the M249 light machine gun at them. Something slammed into the side of the Pave Hawk, just as Thomas’ tracer rounds walked into the cartel gunner. He jerked and disappeared from view.

  “I got him!” the young sergeant exclaimed. “Now, let’s take out the driver.”

  The six barrels of the minigun spun as it fired, capable of spitting out over two thousand rounds a minute. Sergeant Thomas raked the side of the vehicle with minimal effect.

  “It must be one of the armored humvees,” he observed over the intercom. “I’ll take out the tires.”

  McCain recognized the area they were flying over as they approached a large intersection. They had just passed Lenox Mall to the right and were coming up on Phipps Plaza on their left, both of which were considered the most high-end shopping in all of Atlanta. Of course, now, they sat empty or held decaying zombies who had not yet been dealt with.

  Moments later, the humvee veered to the left, turning onto Wieuca Road just as Thomas’ next burst took out both of the tires on the driver’s side. The speeding vehicle was already going too fast to make the turn. With two tires now destroyed, Carlos was unable to control the hummer which jumped the curb and slammed into a utility pole, snapping it in half. The speed of the big vehicle kept it moving forward to strike a large oak tree, coming to a sudden, jarring stop with steam rising from the smashed front end.

  The Air Force helicopter hovered over the scene, waiting for the occupants to exit. After a minute, however, it didn’t appear that anyone was getting out. Chuck searched the ground below through his NVGs. An enormous church was just a couple of hundred yards north of their location.

  “There!” Chuck pointed at the large open parking area. “Could you put down in that church parking lot? It won’t take long, but I’ve got to check that humvee.”

  The major didn’t answer, but he felt the Pave Hawk start to descend. She ordered her co-pilot and the two crew members to watch for power lines as she looked for the best place to set down.

  “Can I take Sergeant Thomas with me?” McCain asked the pilot as they touched down.

  The major turned around, clearly not happy with being on the ground. “Tommy, go with Agent McCain and make sure he doesn’t get hurt.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” The crewman unsnapped his harness and grabbed an M4 rifle.

  The second door gunner, Corporal Jarvis Baker, retrieved his own rifle to keep watch over the helicopter and his teammates. McCain and Thomas exited the aircraft, ducked under the spinning rotors, and trotted towards the wrecked vehicle. Both men glanced around as they ran, knowing that there were infected in the area. Chuck realized that he hadn’t let Clark know where they were.

  “CDC One to November Golf One, status report?”

  “November Golf One to CDC One. The casualties are in the air, heading towards the air force base. Marine One was hit, as well, but he didn’t report it. My medic is patching him up at the scene and he’ll be back in the fight in a few minutes.

  “Units inside the building are still searching floor-by-floor. Oh, and that cartel mobile patrol finally showed up. When November Golf Two was transporting the wounded to the medevac point, the gangbangers tried to ambush them. Private Merchant finally got to fire his grenade launcher and blasted all three vehicles into little pieces. What about you?”

  “I’m on foot,” McCain answered, “approaching the humvee. The gunner on the Pave Hawk took them out and they crashed. Now, we’re gonna check and see if anyone is still alive and search the vehicle. We’re on Wieuca Road, just off Peachtree, in case we need you.”

  “November Golf One clear. Be careful, McCain.”

  The smoking humvee was just in front of them now, Chuck moving slowly up on the driver’s side, the stock of his rifle pressed into his left shoulder. Sergeant Thomas was positioned behind a nearby tree to cover his approach and to make sure no infected snuck up on them. The back door of the hummer was slightly open and McCain silently pushed the selector on his suppressed rifle to ‘Auto.’

  The door suddenly flew open and a bloody cartel soldier stumbled out, attempting to raise a full size M-16. The police officer triggered a short burst, catching the gangster in the chest with three 5.56mm rounds, knocking him back against the open door. Chuck put a second burst into the gunman’s head, making sure that he stayed dead.

  T
hrough the opening, McCain could see the unmoving driver slumped over the steering wheel, but there didn’t appear to be anyone else in the front passenger seat. The machine gunner’s shattered body lay in the rear floorboard, blood pooled around him from multiple hits.

  A groan came from inside the hummer. Maybe the driver was still alive? he wondered. Chuck moved around to the passenger side. He held his rifle up, activating the attached flashlight, illuminating a figure on the front passenger floorboard. McCain jerked the door open with his right hand, prepared to fire with his left.

  The crumpled form groaned again, but another noise, the too-familiar sound of multiple growling zombies, came from behind the CDC agent.

  “Keep an eye out for those zombies, Tommy,” Chuck quietly called over to Air Force sergeant, his own weapon pointed at the two figures in the front compartment. “When you see them, let me know how close they are.”

  McCain couldn’t see the passenger’s hands, but the driver’s right moved slowly towards a holstered pistol on his hip. Chuck fired a single shot into the side of his head, blood and brains splattering the side window. The federal officer then reached in with his right arm, grabbed the passenger by the collar, and jerked him roughly out of the vehicle, prepared to shoot him, too. The Mexican cried out in pain as he was forcefully removed from the humvee, a gold-plated Beretta clattering against the door and falling to the ground. A rifle was slung across the man’s chest.

  Chuck recognized Antonio Corona from photos that had been provided by Admiral Williams. He threw the cartel leader face down and dropped a knee into his back, eliciting an agonized grunt from the gangster. McCain tossed the thug’s M-16 aside and patted him down for any additional weapons. Antonio’s left hand was hidden underneath him and Chuck roughly grabbed his elbow, pulling it slowly backwards to expose a hand holding a long blade.

  Corona fought to free his arm, but McCain’s strength prevailed, the Rambo-style knife visible through his NVGs. Tony the Tiger struggled to turn over onto his back, a position from which he might be able to bring the sharp weapon into play. Instead, the CDC officer put his left knee on the back of Corona’s arm and extended it out to the side. Chuck still controlled the hand holding the blade and jerked it backwards, his knee pinning the thug’s elbow to the ground. There was an audible snap as McCain broke Corona’s arm, an agonized cry escaping the criminal’s mouth. The federal agent tossed the knife away.

  The growling and snarling was getting closer, coming from the direction of Phipps Plaza on the opposite side of the street from them.

  “Agent McCain, I’ve got two groups heading our way. A group of around twenty-five and another of maybe twenty. They’re inside a hundred yards.”

  “Okay, I’ll be done here in a minute.”

  Chuck roughly rolled the cartel leader onto his back and straddled him, the criminal clearly in lot of pain. McCain saw that his right arm also hung at an odd angle, his shoulder appearing to be shattered, probably from slamming into the dashboard when they crashed. Two broken arms, Chuck thought. Sucks to be him, but in a few minutes it won’t matter.

  “Where’s the virus, Corona?”

  The Mexican managed a smile, displaying the bravado that he was known for. “American federale, eh? You arrest me? You read me my rights? I need hospital, gringo policía. I gonna sue you, puerco! I track you down and rape your wife while you watch, then kill your whole family!”

  “Arrest you?” Chuck answered with his own grim smile. “The most you can hope for from me is a quick death and you just lost that by threatening my family.”

  The gangster launched a wad of spit and mucus towards McCain’s face. It didn’t make it quite that far, landing on the agent’s body armor. A lightning-fast, straight left punch caught Corona flush in the face and knocked him unconscious, his head thudding into the hard ground.

  Chuck stood, eyeing the coming zombies. These all appeared to be slow-movers, decay having taken it’s toll on their bodies. They were still dangerous, but none of the Zs were runners.

  “How good are you with that rifle, Tommy?”

  “I qualified as a Marksman, sir.”

  “Well, go ahead and start shooting. Go for the closest ones, semi-auto, head shots only. I need another minute.”

  Sergeant Thomas began cutting down the infected, the crack of his M4 echoing around the intersection. Chuck glanced down, noting that Antonio was still out. McCain pulled the flashlight off his belt, quickly searching the interior of the hummer. The front and rear passenger compartments were empty.

  He pulled open the back hatch of the military vehicle and saw four backpacks, several gallon jugs of water, and two large cardboard boxes of food. McCain saw another bag hidden behind the backpacks. A thick black nylon bag. The CDC agent carefully opened it, shining the flashlight inside. The eight test tubes were there, still intact, the padded case having protected them, even when the humvee had crashed. A tag hung from the handle of the bag, identifying the owner as ‘Dr. Nicole Edwards, CDC Epidemiologist.’ A wave of relief swept over the police officer.

  Cursing came from the cartel leader as he regained his consciousness. Chuck left the bag and grabbed Corona, jerking him to his feet by his injured arms. McCain pulled the velcro straps loose from Antonio’s body armor, snatching it off of him and tossing it aside, the criminal’s broken bones causing him to cry out again. Corona was a fighter, though, and tried to pull free from the officer’s grasp. The federal agent slammed the cartel leader face-first into the side of the hummer, stunning him again and knocking the breath out of him.

  “How many, Tommy?”

  “I’ve shot maybe fifteen, sir. There are more coming from across Peachtree Road. We need to get out of here.”

  “Take off. I’ll be right behind you. I’m almost done.”

  “I don’t want to leave without you, Agent McCain.”

  “Go! I’ll be right there.”

  Sergeant Thomas turned and began trotting towards the helicopter. The closest zombies were inside fifty yards converging on Chuck’s position. McCain let his rifle hang from it’s sling and began walking towards the Zs, dragging Tony the Tiger with him, one hand holding the back of his collar, the other hand grasping the back of the criminal’s pants.

  Corona quickly surmised what was happening, hearing and seeing the approaching infected. He struggled to get free but was no match for the CDC agent. Chuck walked out into the street and hurled the Mexican across the concrete median that ran down the center of Wieuca Road. The injured man landed on his face, busting his nose open on the asphalt. The clicking of zombie teeth intensified as the smell of fresh blood filled the air.

  The cartel boss managed to push himself to his feet, his desire for survival suppressing all of the pain that he was feeling. He began running blindly towards Peachtree Road, not realizing that he was running directly towards one of the approaching groups of flesh-eaters. Suddenly, Antonio Corona’s fat body spun around as one of his legs collapsed, sending him back to the asphalt.

  Chuck’s shot had struck the running man in the back of his left leg, shattering the femur. Tony the Tiger tried to get his leg to work to no avail, screaming curses at McCain in Spanish and English. The zombies from Phipps Plaza turned their attention towards the meal that was making the most noise to go along with the strong scent of blood. McCain saw another large group of infected crossing Peachtree Road, focused on the hefty man who was now trying to crawl away.

  The CDC agent rushed back to the humvee, grabbed the padded bag, and sprinted towards the waiting Pave Hawk. Ahead of him, Tommy’s rifle fired several times, letting him know that they weren’t out of the woods yet. Suddenly, a piercing scream filled the night air as dead hands and teeth grabbed Antonio Corona, ripping him apart, devouring the gangster.

  Chuck could hear the shots and see the muzzle flashes up ahead of him as the young sergeant fired into a group of Zs closing on him. The non-commissioned officer was wisely shooting and slowly retreating, the decaying zombies shuffl
ing after him, only thirty yards away. McCain continued to run, wanting to get back to the helicopter as quickly as possible. He was almost to Thomas, when a running figure burst towards them, a freshly infected Z coming from the back side of Phipps Plaza.

  The fast-moving zombie was making a straight line towards the sergeant, just twenty-five yards away. Chuck stopped and raised his rifle, out of breath and his heart pounding. He led the runner, sighting just ahead of him as he ran, and squeezed the trigger. Miss. McCain fired again. Another miss. Chuck fired a third time, this round slamming into the right cheek of the sprinter, sending him to the pavement at the sergeant’s feet.

  Major Singleton had the rotors spinning as the two men dove inside the aircraft. Another group of Zs was slowly crossing the church parking lot, their growls and groans drowned out by the noise of the helicopter. In seconds, the Pave Hawk was high over the scene, enroute to the still-raging gun battle.

  Buckhead, Atlanta, Wednesday, 0450 hours

  “CDC One to November Golf One, I’m back on station, assuming command.”

  It had taken less than five minutes to return to their orbit around the Peachtree Summit Luxury Condominiums. It appeared that the gun battle outside the building had completely stopped, although an occasional muzzle flash came from one of the high-rise’s windows. Each time, it was met by blistering, accurate return fire.

  “November Golf One is clear. CDC One is in command.”

  “CDC One to CDC Two.”

  “CDC Two,” Fleming answered.

  “Corona’s dead and I have the virus. He had all eight of the vials with him. Change your mission objectives to clearing floors until you meet up with the SEALs and the SAS.”

  “Roger, CDC Two is clear.”

  Now that the fighting had ended outside, McCain released his reserve force, Tim and Tom, to clear the two smaller buildings that the cartel had been using. The former Delta and SEAL operators quickly mopped up the few gang members who still had any fight left in them. The 25mm chain guns on the LAVs had devastated most of those who had tried to make a stand there. An occasional shot rang out as the two men dealt with wounded criminals.