Excerpt from War Without End: Surviving the Dead Volume 9

 

 

*****

“Clear the channel,” Gabe barked. The chatter on the radio died immediately. He moved back to the bench and I resumed my spot beside the porthole.

“All stations, this is Mission Lead. Acknowledge.”

They did. I put the scope back out the window and listened as well.

“Listen very carefully. We are dealing with a new strain of infected. Repeat, we are dealing with a new strain of infected. Acknowledge.”

The acknowledgements came in slower this time, the voices hesitant.

“These things are stronger and faster than other ghouls,” Gabe went on. “They look like Grays, only much fucking bigger. They’re strong enough tear off limbs and fast enough to run at a jogging pace. They can also jump about ten to fifteen feet. Acknowledge and repeat back.”

This one took a couple of minutes. The squad leaders of the cavalry units backed off to a part of the refugee district where the crowds had vacated. I could tell by the tremulous voices I heard the news was having a hard time sinking in.

“We need to change tactics,” Gabe went on. “Do not engage these things on foot. Repeat, do not engage on foot. They’re too fast and too strong. They’ll tear you apart. Stay in your vehicles and use your heavy weapons to put them down. Squad leaders, break up your units and fight in pairs. Do not make a run at these things unless you have a clear path of escape. Use hit and run tactics. Think of these things as small tanks. Infantry is useless. You’ll have to fight armor with armor, two on one. Best bet is to shoot for the legs and disable them. If you can hit them with grenades, do it. Just make sure there are no civilians in the kill zone. And for Christ’s sake, no friendly fire. Once these things are all down, we can go back and finish them off later. Acknowledge.”

The responder at the first station took a while to get it right, but Gabe pressed him until he seemed to grasp what was expected of him. The rest of the Blackthorns evidently learned from their comrade’s mistakes and responded correctly on the first try.

Just as they were finishing, Great Hawk broke in on the radio. “All stations, Eagle Two. The Army has arrived with reinforcements. Mission Lead, how copy?”

“Lima Charlie, Eagle Two. Take over command and control. Have Rossi get on the horn with Colonel Bryant and coordinate our response.”

A pause. “Who is Colonel Bryant?”

“Quick reaction force coordinator. Works with us all the time. Rossi will know what to do.”

“Roget that. What is our plan of attack?”

“We’ll start funneling civilians out the east gate. Have the police and the Army set up a secondary perimeter. They can catch any stray ghouls that get out. Captain Starnes, take three Humvees and proceed to the east gate. Maintain standoff and put down any of these new big Grays that try to get out. We cannot let them escape the perimeter. Repeat, do not let them escape the perimeter. Stop them at all costs. Whatever happens, I’ll take the heat. Do you copy?”

“Copy, Mission Lead. Sir, how will I know which ghouls are the new ones?”

“Trust me, Captain. You’ll know.”

Gabe paused a moment, gathering his thoughts. Then he said, “Guys, I’m not going to lie to you. This is worse than anything I’ve ever seen. Keep your wits about you and do what you have to do. Mission Lead out.”

The big man leaned forward and touched the pilot’s shoulder. “Roark, pick a target and bring us in on an attack vector. Holland, spin up that gun and prepare to engage. Riordan, look sharp.”

I looked at him and pointed at my carbine. “You think this will work on those things?”

“One way to find out.” Gabe keyed his radio. “Roark, take us in. Eagle two, maintain altitude and figure out how many of these things we’re dealing with.”

“Roger that,” Great Hawk said.

“Thompson, Riordan, strap in. Unauthorized high-dives are frowned upon in this establishment.”

The two of us gave thumbs up and complied. The helicopter dipped about fifty feet lower and began making a slow pass near the central avenue that bisected the eastern and western halves of the refugee district. In times past, this area had been something of a town square. The central avenue was broad and flat and connected with every other street in the grid-like district. There were market stalls, restaurants, taverns, liveries, stores, and everything else one would find in a small town. Except now the stalls were knocked over and strewn across the road and everything seemed to be on fire. People ran in all directions, no one seeming to know which way to turn. I saw a small child standing in the central square clutching himself, cheeks covered in tears and soot, his face a mask of naked, screaming terror.

Lock it down. Focus.

I had both eyes open, one on the scope, and the other taking in the wider tactical picture. The trick was to shift focus from one eye to the other. The skill had taken hundreds of hours of practice to master. And it was good that I had, because if my left eye had been closed, I would never have noticed the biggest damn ghoul I had ever seen emerge around a building and make a beeline for the kid in the square.

The breath I had just taken came out slowly. My left eye closed and I tracked the ghoul’s movement. It was faster than any ghoul I had ever sighted in on, but still not fast as a human at a full run. Its gait pattern was different as well. Ghouls tend to sway when they walk, their stride erratic and off balance. This creature, however, was neither unbalanced nor uncoordinated. Sluggish, maybe, but its head stayed in a mostly straight line and it did not exhibit the drunken stagger I had grown used to seeing. On the one hand, I saw this as good. A steady target is easier to hit. On the other, the monster’s increased speed meant the kid in the square only had a few seconds before a slathering nightmare tore him apart.

The Gray’s head was low. It walked half-bent in a predatory crouch, arms held out wide, fingers curled into claws. I watched its mouth open and had a clear view of rows—fucking rows—of long, sharp teeth. Both the upper and lower jaw were elongated, the muscles at the hinges rounded and bulging. In fact, ‘round and bulging’ was a good descriptor for all of the thing’s musculature.

There was a part of me that wanted to keep watching the ghoul, to evaluate and analyze, look for weaknesses. But a far larger part of me was screaming to just hurry up and kill the fucking thing.

I let out a breath, estimated the range, put the reticle slightly forward of its head to compensate for the movement of the chopper, and squeezed the trigger. The rifle bucked, and an instant later, the ghoul’s head snapped to the side. The creature collapsed immediately, sliding to a halt on the concrete. The kid heard the shot and looked behind him, saw the ghoul, and took off running. I relaxed slightly and watched to make sure the creature was down for good.

It wasn’t.

A sick, hollow feeling pulled at my stomach as the ghoul began struggling to its knees. I could see my shot had hit its target, but evidently had not caused enough damage to kill the thing. I aimed again, held my breath, and fired. Another crack, and this time, the ghoul stayed down.

Tough motherfucker.

I started scanning the streets again, but my view swirled and moved skyward. The helicopter banked hard left, gained a little altitude, and circled toward the eastern side of the district. For just an instant, I saw the other helicopter high overhead and Great Hawk’s head looking downward from the port side door.

“All stations, Mission Lead,” the headset squawked. “Three targets spotted in area designated Victor. Squads Bravo and Charlie, converge on Victor. Eagle One will pop smoke on the target area. Maintain standoff at one hundred meters. Eagle One will provide fire support. Bravo, Charlie, take down any infected that come your way.”

“Roger, Mission lead. Bravo en route.”

“Mission Lead, Charlie. En route to Victor.”

I had a glimpse of four Humvees changing direction, and then they were out of sight.

“Roark, find us a field of fire. Thompson, you got smoke?”

“Affirmative.”

Gabe motioned him over and pointed out the door. “You see that row of white shipping containers?”

Thompson nodded.

“Put a marker right in the middle of them.”

Gabe moved away and let Thompson take his spot. The ex-soldier removed a 40mm shell from his tactical vest, opened the breach on the M-203 mounted to his M-4 carbine, loaded the shell, and took aim. Two seconds later, the weapon’s recoil thumped him backward. The roar of the Blackhawk’s engines swallowed the noise from the shot. I could not see where it landed.

Thompson keyed his mic and said, “Smoke on target.”

“Bravo, Charlie, Mission Lead. Confirm visual on smoke.”

The two squad leaders responded they had visual and were on the way. Thompson backed away from the door and returned to the bench.

“Holland,” Gabe said. “Talk to me.”

“I got eyes on ‘em, but there’s civilians in my line of fire. Your call.”

Gabe’s expression registered an internal struggle. I’m no mind reader, but in this case, I didn’t have to be. My friend was weighing the cost of giving the order to fire, which would no doubt cause civilian casualties, against risking the safety of his comrades in order to give Holland a better shot. In the end, his lifelong devotion to protecting the innocent won out.

“Roark,” he said, “find a clearing and bring us down.”

The pilot banked left and circled, bringing us lower. I moved closer to the port side door.

“Roark, get us close to the deck but don’t land. Riordan, Thompson, get down there and draw those big Grays away from the crowd. As soon as they’re down, find a rooftop. We’ll come get you.”

I slapped Gabe once on the shoulder to acknowledge. Thompson did the same. The scope on my carbine was at its highest setting, so I dialed it down to one-power and did a tactical reload.

A not-so-small subconscious voice was howling this was a terrible idea. That going down there into that swirl of death and mayhem was the worst decision of my life. I ignored the voice and focused on taking in the battlefield picture. The beginnings of a plan emerged, but any measure of success was going to be contingent on a lot of things going right. And I knew from hard experience that Mr. Murphy tended to make his presence known in these situations.

Too late for second guessing. Just get it done.

The skids were four feet off the ground. I looked at Thompson. He looked back and nodded, indicating with his hand he would follow my lead.

“Let’s go!” Gabe shouted.

I scooted forward, ducked my head, and pushed off the side of the chopper. The moment I hit the ground, I moved to my left. Behind me, I heard a grunt and Thompson appeared at my side. The roar of rotor wash was too loud for speech, so I motioned for Thompson toward a space between two shipping containers where no one appeared to be. The chopper’s engines sang a louder tune as the pilot throttled up to gain altitude. I watched for a moment to see which way they would turn.

And then the whole world went sideways.

There was a moment of pure disorientation. My left shoulder hurt and a weight on my side was making it hard to breath. Then the weight moved off me, grabbed the pull handle on the back of my vest, and yanked me upright.

“What the hell?”

Thompson pointed. “Look!”

A big gray monster, standing as tall as Gabe and equally as heavy-looking, spared us a glance as it trotted past and leapt for the helicopter’s retreating skid.

No way. It’s too high.

I struggled to catch my breath, slowly realizing Thompson had just saved me from the roaring monstrosity currently flying through the air. The two of us watched its leap in horrified fascination, mouths agape, unable to believe what we were seeing. The creature seemed to hang in the air an impossibly long time, its clawed hands outstretched toward the Blackhawk’s skids. The helicopter was moving away, but not quickly enough. The hands hit the skids and clamped on. The creature swung until its legs were under the belly of the aircraft. I saw Holland dive backward and Gabe clutching at the door as the Blackhawk dipped to port under the sudden weight. The pilot quickly righted the ship and regained altitude.

“Contact right!”

I brought my attention back to the ground and saw a group of six infected coming toward us. The rifle came up on its own, took aim, and fired. A head snapped back and the ghoul went down. Opening my left eye, I acquired another target and fired. The shot dropped it, but there was no more time to aim. Thompson started running backward, one hand waving at me to do the same. I let my rifle hang by its sling—the infected were too close to use it now—drew my Glock, and sprinted to gain distance over the approaching ghouls.

The situation was deteriorating quickly. All thoughts of the chopper and home and my family and everything that didn’t involve running and shooting fell away. I had the presence of mind to snap my helmet’s face shield down an instant before everything became a stir of motion and noise.

Faces appeared in my vision, snarling and howling. I put the front sight of my pistol between their eyes and fired again and again. The faces went down, giving me a little space. Thompson broke hard right, and I went along with him. The next thing I knew we had circled around behind the last two infected pursuing us. A gun went off beside me and a short, skinny woman with a ragged hole where her throat used to be collapsed. I aimed at a little boy with half his left arm missing and pulled the trigger. He took two more steps before falling face down, the top half of his delicate skull blown apart.

And then the movement stopped. I checked my flanks. Saw Thompson doing the same. Nothing inbound. We stood in a small eye at the center of a swirling maelstrom of chaos.

The chopper.

Looking up, I found the Blackhawk. The big Gray had levered itself up and gripped the chopper’s deck with one hand. It was hard to tell from where I stood, but I could have sworn the thing’s fingers had actually punched through the metal floor.

Gabe’s head appeared, and then his hands. He was clutching his Sig Sauer and aiming at the ghoul’s head. There was a flash, and the thing’s head snapped back. I expected it to fall, but to my surprise, it held on, still trying to haul itself upward. Gabe shifted, found his balance, and fired twice more. The ghoul went limp but did not fall, somehow still clinging to the Blackhawk. Gabe holstered his pistol, drew his falcata, and chopped at the hand still holding on to the helicopter. The ghoul finally tumbled free.

In that instant, it occurred to me my assessment had been correct. The fucking thing’s fingers had punched through the helicopter’s skin deep enough to use it as a handhold. I tried to imagine that same hand gripping a human throat and found myself recoiling from the thought.

“Did you see that?”

“Yeah, I saw it.” I looked around again. A few infected had noticed us and were turning our way. They looked like normal ghouls.

Except…

“Shit. Ethan, look.”

He turned to where I pointed. Another knot of a dozen or so infected were headed toward us. But these did not exhibit the swaying, lurching shamble we were used to seeing. Rather, they were steady on their feet, approaching at a jogging pace. Faster than a walk, but not as fast as a run. And there was none of the usual stumbling or tottering, no twitching spasms or jerking limbs. It reminded me of the way the big Grays moved, which led me to a deductive connection that brought me no comfort at all.

“What the fuck?” Thompson said, his voice high and anxious. “That last bunch was the same way.”

“You mean faster?”

“Yeah.”

“Didn’t notice. Too busy trying not to die.”

Thompson glanced behind us. “More coming from the west. We need to move.”

I ran after him toward a cluster of shipping containers. At the same moment, the air shifted and swirl of dust and black smoke down from the north, obscuring my view of the streets. The cold, biting air sliced through every layer of clothing and armor I wore. My eyes watered and stung, but I kept moving, coughing and blinking the whole way, hoping against hope I was not mired in quite as deep a cluster-fuck as it seemed.

Something, however, told me I was about to be disappointed.