“God, I’ve never heard such good advice,” Dunn said.
“Done flirting, or are you gonna get down there?” Heard called from the cockpit.
Reimer went first. Gripping it with heat-resistant gloves, he gradually slid down his rope, using his feet to help control the pull of gravity. Dunn went directly after, descending just five feet behind the Corporal. The swirling air was warm and dusty, causing ripples across the pond’s surface.
An ear-piercing scream pierced the air, followed by the screams of the other two. Behind those screams was the sound of splintering wood. Reimer looked down at the roof.
Only two people were atop of it, moving away from the chimney. Jagged sections of wood and roof tiles marked the edges of a large gaping hole where they had previously stood. Through the space, Reimer could see movement in the attic. With the shade cast from the trees, he couldn’t get a clear look at the walking corpses inside. But the blood that splattered the edges was enough to know the civilian was gone. He could hear his screams resounding over the groans of living corpses as they tore him apart limb-from-limb.
The two remaining survivors huddled at the edge of the roof, standing twelve feet above the reaches of the undead that gathered below. The woman screamed and fought against the man’s grip in a futile attempt to save her husband who had been dragged through the roof. The man kept his arms wrapped around her while yelling at her to stop.
Reimer swung forward and landed beside the large hole. Hands reached up from the attic, the skin peeling from the fingers as they tried grasping his boot. What little light made it through the hole landed on broken teeth that clunked together in gaping jaws. He pointed his submachine gun and fired, spraying bullets into the faces of several corpses. Reimer reloaded as Dunn set down beside him.
“What in the name of hell? Those things couldn’t have pulled this down!”
“I’m not waiting to find out what did,” Reimer said. The two marines ran toward the remaining civilians. The woman was now in a state of shock, her eyes gaped wide and her teeth clenched. The man kept his arms around her waist, unsure if she’d attempt another hopeless rescue.
Reimer slung his weapon and unclipped the spare harness. The man released the woman and reached out for the marine to secure the harness around his waist. Dunn took the woman, who made one last struggle to get to her dead husband.
“Ma’am!” Dunn yelled to be heard over the wind. “He’s gone! I’m sorry, there’s nothing we can do!”
“We need to get you up!” the man said to her. Reimer stepped around him to fasten it tighter. He clipped it around his torso, then reached for the metal clip that hung from his own harness.
An explosive tremor burst under his feet, shooting fragments of roof up around his face. Two jagged arms extended from the newly formed breach. The hands were large, twice as large as a normal person’s. The fingers were elongated, extending nearly twelve inches from the knuckle. They grasped the man by the ankles, sinking curved nails through the battered jeans. The man yelled and grabbed at Reimer, who failed to hold him back as it pulled him below.
The woman screamed and staggered back from Dunn’s reach.
“NO!” Dunn yelled as he lunged for her. It was too late. The woman’s screams came to a sudden halt as she fell over the edge of the roof. She plummeted into the horde, breaking several bones as she hit the ground. Before her brain registered what had happened, she was looking at the countless hands that tore chunks from her body. One last scream escaped her lungs before her throat was torn from her neck. Rotting jaws munched on her flesh, separating the meat from the bone with their teeth.
“Damn it!” Reimer yelled.
Through the rupture, he could see the undead feasting on the man’s limbs, all detached from the body. One walked while holding his head close to its chest like a basketball. Through their snarling, the marines could hear a tense growling sound, resembling that of a grizzly.
“Take us up!” Reimer said. “Take us up, now!”
The marines held tight to their ropes as the chopper ascended. As they lifted, another heavy impact rocked the roof. The claws reached out, falling millimeters short from hooking their boots. Dunn gazed down. The ghoul, or whatever it was, had already dipped out of sight. All around the house, the undead were converging where the woman had fallen. Bodies crushed together as each one tried to squeeze in for a chunk of flesh.
The rope reeled up, bringing the two marines back into the fuselage. Dunn blew a sigh of relief upon feeling solid metal under his feet.
“Holy FUCK!” he yelled.
“What the hell was that?” Keegan said. “What happened down there?! Talk, Marine!”
“Don’t know if it was a zombie on steroids, but it wasn’t an ordinary corpse, I’ll tell you that much!” Dunn said.
“It tore the roof out right under us,” Reimer said. He fought to catch his breath. “We couldn’t move fast enough. One target was already gone before we even touched down.”
“We saw it,” Carlson said. “What the hell was it? An animal?”
“Shit, probably a bear,” Cable said.
“It was no fucking bear!” Dunn said. “Bears don’t have claws like that.”
“Claws? What claws?” Lowry asked.
“I don’t know, we only saw them for like a second,” Reimer said. “They were human, but…not.”
“Probably just an over-rotted dead guy,” Bolden said in his loud booming voice.
“Hey, Army, you do remember what happened to Darth Vader in Episode 6, right?” Dunn gripped his knife handle and grimaced at the Ranger.
“Keep in mind, Luke got his first,” Bolden threatened back.
“Alright, you all knock it off. NOW! Everybody shut it!” Keegan ordered. The cabin quickly became dead silent. The soldiers spaced out, some taking their seats. Keegan turned to the pilots. “Proceed to the objective!”
“You got it, Staff Sergeant,” Heard said.
“That was a supreme waste of time,” Dunn muttered to himself. He inhaled a deep breath through his nose, then approached the Sergeant. “Sir, I must urge you to abandon this mission.”
Keegan glared at him with pity and astonishment.
“Have you lost your nerve, Marine?”
“Sir, I’m telling you, this person is dead! And if she isn’t, I guarantee she’s nobody actually worth risking our lives for.”
“We’re soldiers,” Gordon called from the back. “That’s what we do! It comes with the job.”
“Dunn, I recommend you stow it,” Reimer said.
“Why don’t you stow this,” Dunn snapped, holding the middle finger to his teammates. “Sergeant! I’m telling you, there’s no cure. The General already admitted we lost contact. All we need to do is go to the site, hang around a bit, then turn around, head back, and report that Dr. Hill is deceased.”
“Son, you’ve lost your nerve,” Keegan said, his voice full of disgust.
“I’m six months extended from my contract!” Dunn said. “Not by my choice, either! I signed up for eight years of service. I’m on nine, now. I didn’t sign up to be killed needlessly chasing some woman who’s been playing with cadavers in the woods!”
“You don’t think getting the notes for the cure is worth bringing back?” Lowry asked.
“Give me a break,” Dunn said. “There’s no cure! Why haven’t we’ve heard of this until now? It’s pure nonsense, if you ask me.”
“Nobody did ask you,” Keegan said. “But I’ll tell you what, PFC Dunn. You are right. In my eyes, you have served your country. I’ll even attest that you’ve been a good marine overall. Despite your attitude, you have gone above and beyond, and have been through the shit. So, I’ll offer you a deal: Pull yourself together, get through this mission. Help us bring Dr. Hill back alive…and keep your damn conspiracy theories to yourself…then, when we get back, I’ll file an official request for your discharge.”
Dunn stood quiet, surprised and grateful at once.
“S
eriously, sir?”
“Seriously,” Keegan answered. “But, for chrissake, quit your damn complaining. You ARE going into this region whether you like it or not.”
Dunn exhaled sharply, his brain flooding with dopamine.
“Yes, sir,” he said. “You have my word.”
“Good.” Keegan stepped away from him and looked to the rest of the team. “Everyone! We’re thirty minutes out! Get your shit together. You think that was bad, you’re in for a real surprise!”
CHAPTER 11
Lieutenant Heard’s relaxed grin disappeared as he stared ahead. The horizon had disappeared behind a giant veil of fog. The fogbank was extremely vast, covering the entire stretch of forest. It was as though the atmosphere had fallen from the sky onto the trees. Twisting masses of vapor swirled around the rotors as the chopper punched through the outer wall.
“What in the hell is this?” he said to himself. The fogbank was a light grey, looking as deathly as the undead that lurked beneath it. It was thick, though not so thick that he couldn’t see ahead. The tops of the trees were still easily visible. From Heard and Zucco’s perspective, they almost resembled shark dorsal fins cutting through water beneath them.
“How far from the drop zone?” Keegan asked.
“A thousand meters, roughly,” Heard answered.
“Where’s the town?” Keegan said.
“Half a click to the east.”
“Take us over the town. I want to get a look at how bad it is,” Keegan said.
“You got it,” Heard said. “Ensign, you’ve got map duty. I’m gonna be a little busy.”
“Rotate seven degrees to starboard,” Ensign Zucco said.
In the cabin behind them, the mixed-branch team stuffed their vests with spare magazines, grenades, med-kit equipment, and knives. A microphone protruded from the side of their helmets over their mouths. An M4 Carbine was strapped tightly along their back, while in their hands they held their silenced AK-9 or M3A1.
In addition to his AK-9, Reimer held his Accuracy International rifle. He slammed the five-round mag in place and adjusted the scope. Beside him, Private Lowry loaded his M3A1. He pressed his helmet over his head, his appearance now lacking fear. Fresh from boot camp, the training was fresh. “Do not show fear!” The young rookie was now in combat mode. But behind that composure was a very nervous kid, and Reimer could see it. For him, it was easy to detect. After all, he was masking the same fearfulness in the same way.
“Remember your training and you’ll be fine,” Reimer said to him.
“Yes, sir,” Lowry said.
“What was your marksman score?”
“Three-one-nine, sir,” Lowry answered.
“Jesus! Are you serious?!” Gordon called out, overhearing the conversation. “Freaking expert!”
“I moved a lot between Oklahoma and Texas. What can I say?” Lowry said, smiling.
“So, you mean to say there’s actually a marine that knows how to shoot?” Bell joked.
“We can shoot AND we know the difference between East and West,” Gordon bantered.
“Hey, at least we’re not Navy sailors, who only go south if you know what I mean!” Bell kicked his foot out, tapping his boot on Dallas’ rear.
“Hey, cut it out, fag!”
“Someone’s embarrassed,” Carlson joked.
“Alright, fun’s over,” Keegan called out. “Assemble at the ramp. We’re gonna disembark in three!”
Keegan leaned in between the pilots as he watched the fog swirling over the windshield. The trees were more spaced out as they neared the town, eventually opening into an enormous clearing near the base of a mountain.
The downdraft from the rotors sent swirls of fog rippling out like shockwaves from an explosive detonation. Beneath that fog was the town of Atkinson, Montana. Once a lively area, now a ghost town. Grocery stores lay collapsed, with many bodies rotting in the pavement. The chopper passed over churches and residential communities, seeing several homes and buildings either abandoned or in shambles. When the plague hit this area, it didn’t come quietly. There were clear signs of riot and looting, and much of the damage was due to shell fire from the National Guard. Cars, many overturned and others blackened by fire, lay in pileups along the streets. SOS signs were scribbled on several roofs, a last reminder of those who attempted to hold out when the plague grew beyond control.
Atkinson was once a busy town, home to at least a thousand people. In addition, thousands of tourists visited the area every month, during all four seasons. And Keegan was looking at them all, lumbering between the buildings and streets. There was hardly a square-inch of ground visible between the enormous crowds.
“Christ,” Zucco said. “If it’s this bad here, how bad will it be at the drop zone?”
“Only one way to find out,” Keegan said.
“Before we go there, let me do a roundabout and take us out of sight,” Heard said. “Otherwise, these things will attempt to follow us. Unless I’m mistaken, I’m under the impression you won’t want a thousand of these things converging on you while you disembark.”
“No. I do not,” Keegan said.
The pilots accelerated speed, taking the chopper through a thick wall of fog. They turned to port, following a winding path to their drop point. The trees towered around fifty-feet in this region, which would allow the team to fast-rope.
Heard squinted and removed his aviators as he looked down at the trees. The grey fog had suddenly turned black as smoke. The blackness rose in one large mass, which fragmented into individual bodies as it engulfed the Super Stallion.
“Birds!” Zucco yelled.
They were birds of all species, many the size of ravens. All at once, they bombarded the aircraft. They battered the windshield like stones, smashing their bodies in kamikaze flight. Audible alarms blared overhead, while streaks of red flashed through the cockpit. The Centralized Warning Panel came alive, notifying the pilots of fuel pressure droppage, rotor speed slowing, and engine trouble.
“Damn fucking featherbrains!” Heard yelled. “They’re getting into the engines!” Showers of red rained down all around the Super Stallion as birds found themselves sheared in the rotors.
Heavy turbulence rocked the chopper, forcing the pilots to adjust the trajectory and speed. Hundreds of bodies bombarded the fuselage, the hull reverberating as though in a hail storm.
The team couldn’t see anything but black as the birds had completely covered the aircraft like an enormous python.
“What the hell is this?!” Dallas yelled. He pressed his face to the window. “They’re attacking the Stallion!”
He jumped back as a black crow smacked into the window. Its body hugged the glass for a moment, showing a red bulging, veiny eye. The feathers were ragged, many having fallen from its body, exposing diseased skin. It pushed itself away and flew off as another bird smashed head-on in its place, splattering its head against the glass.
“Get us out of this!” Keegan yelled to the pilots.
“Working on it!” Heard said. He pulled up on the controls in an attempt to elevate. Gears crackled from outside as the rotors began to seize from the jampacking of birds along the shaft.
“Sir, we’re gonna have to set down now!” Zucco said.
“How much distance can you make?” Keegan said.
“Not much,” Heard said. He accelerated the Super Stallion in a downward angle, brushing the belly along the tops of numerous trees. He watched the terrain through the fog and the birds, seeing nothing but thick forest. “You’re gonna have to fast-rope out of here.”
Keegan marched to the cabin. “Men! Get your gear together right now. Get your rifles and silent weapons and get ready to bail out! Bell, you better have those explosives.”
The team slung M4 Carbines over their shoulders and prepared the fast ropes around the center hatch. Reimer and Lowry worked together to fasten the ropes. As they did, an unending assault of pine branches scraped against the hull. Heard descended another five fe
et, keeping the top rotor just above the tree-line. The birds kept the assault, many of them getting caught either in the trees or torn apart in the blades. Before long, their numbers thinned out. Finally, like a swarm of bees moving in unison, they backed off until disappearing behind the fog.
But they could still see black. The port engine was sparking. In the cockpit, the alarms were screaming at Heard and Zucco. They reached up, diverting power to the third engine to keep the rotors going.
“What’s the status?” Keegan asked.
“Fucking birds got caught up in the engines,” Heard said. “Hate to tell you this, Sarge, but one way or another, we’re going down.”
“Open the hatch!” Keegan yelled back. The soldiers stepped out from the middle of the cabin. In its center, two doors opened up, showing the edges of several pine branches swaying in the draft.
“We got freaks on the ground!” Dunn said.
“We’ll just have to deal,” Reimer said. He lowered the ropes fifty feet until they touched the ground.
“I’ll go first!” Carlson said. “Let the Air Force show the rest of you pussies how it’s done!” He grabbed the rope and slid down. “YEAH BABY!”
Reimer went down after him. The chill in the air hit hard with the swirling downdraft. Pines scraped against his uniform as he descended between branches. He looked down, seeing Carlson below him. As he passed through another wall of pine green, he saw the ground.
And the dozens of ghouls that awaited him.
Carlson yelled, unable to stop his descent. Drooling jaws gaped wide, filling the air with gurgling growls. Two heavyset corpses reached at him from the center, their lumberjack overalls and flannel shirts tearing as they stretched.
“PULL UP! PULL UP!” Reimer yelled.
It was too late. Deathly grips tore into Carlson’s fatigues. The Airman yelled as he tried holding onto the rope while grabbing his weapon. As he fumbled, the strap of his M1A3 slid off his shoulder and disappeared under the crowd. Six or seven sets of hands were ahold of his legs, pulling him further down the rope.
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