Deadrise 2: Deadwar (22 page)

“So far so good.” Major Farrell said and gave the nod to proceed. Pvt. Carville opened the door and Pvt. Belasko took the lead, charging down the steps ready to shoot any zombie he encountered. The door at the bottom of the stairwell was open, giving way to a floor of office cubicles and bullpens. The only light was the morning sunlight streaming in through the dozens of windows that encircled the entire building. As they swept through the area they encountered a handful of deadfucks and quickly disposed of them with a single shot through the head as they moved past. They quickly and efficiently cleared two more floors and a dozen more deadfucks before they came to a halt near the stairwell in a marbled foyer.

“Administration levels secured, General.” Major Farrell reported back to Jenkins.

“Good work Major. Proceed.”

The Team entered the stairwell and quickly descended to the garage level. Arial recon from the chopper had revealed the garage security gates were down and they were betting on it being relatively free of zombies. There were no zombies to greet them, just the cold dark emptiness of the garage. They moved with a purpose, flashlights probing the darkness for zombies, finding instead half a dozen police cruisers parked neatly in a row against the far wall. But they didn’t come here for patrol cars. They moved deeper into the garage until they came to the SWAT division where they found a large Armored Personnel Carrier parked near a small loading dock. Several bodies clad in SWAT uniforms were strewn about, killed long ago. Farrell & Carville kept watch while Belasko and Sanders searched the vehicle, whooping with delight when they found it fully gassed and partially loaded with weapons, ammunition, body armor, explosives and other tools of the trade. Major Farrell quickly radioed the good news to the General…

Jenkins held the chopper one hundred feet above the rooftop, watching the crowd of deadfucks slowly gather around the building. But what amazed Jenkins the most was how few zombies there actually were in the area. On the trip here, he had noticed much of downtown Salt Lake City zombie population had thinned out. He knew from Intel provided by Hill AFB that superzombies were herding tens of thousands of zombies north to keep the pressure on the Base, and south to Camp Williams, another US Army base located near Provo that had repelled the dead and was now a tiny bastion of humanity struggling to survive the onslaught. There were still zombies in the city, but Jenkins could count their numbers in hundreds rather than thousands.

This city is ripe for the plucking.

A smile spread across Jenkins face. This raid to the SWAT HQ for weapons and ammo was a test run for their eventual Salt Lake City blitz. Evanston and Green River had been sweet salvage but SLC was going to be the
mother load.
It literally made Jenkins head reel when he thought about the amount of resources that were simply waiting to be salvaged. All of the food, weapons, ammunition, medicine, clothing, vehicles and gasoline they would need for one hundred years! And with the superzombies leeching away the cities zombie hordes their numbers were beginning to look manageable for his Militia. The news from the SpecOps team raiding the building only bolstered his confidence.

Things had been working out as well as could be expected for some time now. The Militia was strong, loyal and well seasoned, the community safe, secure and its coffers stuffed full. There had been minimal clashes with the Council, which also meant things were going well with Patty at home. Jenkins had quickly learned the two were inextricably intertwined as their domestic problems usually arose from heated discussions over policy differences. But that was the nature of their relationship.

Odd movement from the visible zombies in the area caught his attention. They had all been slowly but surely advancing towards the noise and movement of the chopper, but now their attention suddenly became more focused, a visible wave of excitement pulsing out like a wave as they zeroed in on the building. It instantly got Jenkins nerves jangling. It was how deadfucks behaved when there was a superzombie in the area telepathically directing them.

“What’s your status Major?” he said into the mic.

“Just finishing up with the loading.” Farrell’s voice was full of exuberance.

“Wrap it up and get the hell out of there. And keep sharp! I think a superzombie is in the area.”

“Sir?” Exuberance had become alarm.

“Get the hell out of there! I’m going to circle about and see if I can see anything.”

“Yes sir!”

Jenkins arced out over the building, circling several time’s, eyes peered for any sign of the superzombie. Suddenly bullets tore into the starboard fuselage of the chopper, one smashing into the co-pilots video console. Jenkins cursed aloud and swung the bird hard to port and climbed…

“General?” Major Farrell said into his mic. The rest of the team had stopped what they were doing and looking at him.

“I’m under fire! Evacuate to the rally point!”

“Yes sir!” Instantly the team snapped into action, grabbing up the last of the weapons and armor they had hauled from the storage locker at the rear of the loading dock and loading it into the APC while the Major kept watch, sweeping his light back and forth into the nether regions of the garage.

“Fucking superzombies!” Lt. Carville cursed aloud, trying to ease the tension. If anything, it only exacerbated it.

Somewhere in the deep darkness of the garage, they heard the door to the stairwell open, its bang echoing in receding waves.

“In the APC! Now!” Major Farrell hissed. Sanders slipped behind the wheel and turned the keys; they had been found among the dead SWAT members out in the garage. Sanders flipped on the headlights, twin beams slicing through the dark. Then they were moving forward, Private Belasko letting out a nervous chuckle behind him. Sanders turned a corner, then another, heading toward the garage gate. As they rounded another corner, two figures appeared in the headlights…Superzombies! They wore the remnants of body armor battered to rags and clutching assault rifles which were aimed right at the windshield of the lead APC! Sanders ducked low just before both opened fire, the bullets turned aside by the bulletproof glass, but not before cracking and starring in several places. Both superzombies dove aside and the APC roared past. Sanders sat up straight and accelerated toward the gate blocking the main entrance, which was now visible in the headlights.

“Brace yourself!”

The APC crashed through the gate, steamrolling a trio of zombies as it plowed into the street. Sanders brought the vehicle under control, turning north onto the street. The crowd of deadfucks around the building wasn’t too dense, and Sanders had an easy time pushing through them at a steady 15 mph. Major Farrell Stood next to him looking out the window.

“Can you see the chopper?” Sanders asked.

“No” The Major said with annoyance.

Sanders turned east at the next intersection, mentally plotting a course for the rally point. Although they were in the heart of Salt Lake City, its location along the foothill of the mountains provided access to half a dozen heavily forested canyons less than five miles away. The rally point was
Dell Lake,
a small manmade fishing lake located a few miles up
Emigration
Canyon. Now all Sanders had to do was get there, which was easier said than done.

The road ahead was free of abandoned vehicles, and fewer than a dozen deadfucks staggered in the road ahead. Sanders accelerated the APC up to 30 mph, weaving around the widespread zombies.

“Just steamroll those motherfuckers!” Lt. Carville whooped.

“I think I see the chopper!” Pvt. Belasko hollered from the back of the APC.

Things are looking good.
Sanders smiled, anticipating getting back home to his wife Stephanie.

As he began through the next intersection, another vehicle came into view from the right…a large Cadillac convertible, driven by a superzombie and headed for a T-bone collision course with the APC! Without even thinking Sanders floored the gas and the APC sped through the intersection. All four of the men screamed aloud as they prepared for the impact of the collision… The Cadillac plowed into the right side of the APC with a thunderous crash, sending both vehicles spinning out of control; The Caddy spun away and smashed into a minivan parked on the side of the street while the APC flipped onto its side and skidded to a screeching halt…

The screaming woke Private Sanders.

When he opened his eyes, his vision was clouded red with blood and he blinked it away. He moved slowly, his entire body a mass of aches and pains…but nothing was broken, only a gash on his head that bled into his eyes.

The screaming continued.

Sanders looked about. The APC lay on the driver's side. He was still behind the wheel, laying flat against the door. The windshield was smashed out and he could see two zombies, fifty feet away, shuffling closer.

The screaming continued. It was behind him. He twisted about painfully, extracting himself from the seat and stood up, looking into the back of the APC. Major Farrell and Lt. Carville lay in a tangled heap on the ground, broken boxes of weapons and ammunition strewn about them. Beyond them, near the rear door lay Private Belasko, his left arm and leg were jagged and broken, spilling blood in a spreading pool beneath him. The rear door had been busted open in the wreck, and through it Sanders could see a zombie approaching. Sanders looked around for his rifle, but it was nowhere to be seen. He pulled his sidearm, 9mm automatic, and stepped out of the APC through the gaping front windshield.

Where is the superzombie?

He knew the crash was not enough to kill a superzombie. It had survived, and it would be hunting for survivors.

The two zombies were now within thirty feet. Sanders took careful aim and put a single bullet through each ones head. He then circled around the APC, looking for the superzombie. He didn’t spot it, but he did see there were at least fifty zombies closing on the wrecked APC, Belasko’s screams like a dinner bell.

A single gunshot rang out from inside the APC, and Belasko fell silent. Sanders hurried around to the open back door to see Major Farrell emerging, a large shoulder bag over one shoulder.

“Sanders?” He looked surprised to see him.

“Major!” a huge smile spread across Sanders face.

Lt. Carville followed behind the Major, his left arm bloody and limp, his nose broken.

“General? This is Farrell, do you copy?” The Major was speaking into his radio. The chopper circled overhead.

“Copy Major. I see you. There’s a warehouse district a few hundred yards west of your position. I should be able to land the bird on one of those rooftops.”

“Affirmative.” The Major put away his radio. He looked Lt. Carville up and down. “Can you make it?”

“You're damn right I can!”

“Lets move!”

The three men took off in a trot, heading west, blasting zombies as they approached. They proceeded this way for several blocks, entering the warehouse district. In the intersection one block ahead of them, a black van screeched to a halt. The three men stopped, panting with exertion.

“What the fuck is this?” Carville asked. Blood was dripping from his left hand, and his dark skin was turning a shade of grey. He couldn’t lose much more blood.

The tires on the van squealed and it shot forward, accelerating toward then with murderous intent.

“Inside this warehouse!” the Major barked, running for the nearest one. They hurried up the stairs and through the will call entrance just as the black van can to a halt behind them. As Sanders hurried inside the darkened will call office, he looked back to see a pair of superzombies exiting the van.

They hurried through the office and out into the warehouse proper, a huge room filled with rows of pallet racks, stuffed with boxed merchandise. It was dark inside, the only light coming from Plexiglas skylights set in the roof. But it was enough to see by.

“We need to get upstairs.” Carville said.

“I know.” The Major said. “Most of these warehouses have stairwells in the back.”

Behind them, in the dark, the door from the office to the warehouse slammed open, echoing in the large chamber. The superzombies had entered.

As they delved toward the back of the warehouse, a foul, rotten stench filled the air, pungent and ripe. Carville gagged. A low buzz of insects could be heard, slowly growing louder.

“What the hell is that?” Sanders asked, fighting to keep from gagging. But then they emerged into the rear section of the warehouse; a wide, open bay with three loading docks spread along its length and his question was answered.

There was a small pile of bodies in the center of the bay, dead and rotting. A thick cloud of flies had swarmed over the pile, buzzing loudly. Slime trails could be seen running about the entire bay. There was a small, enclosed shipping and receiving office at one end of the bay, and a wooden stairwell leading up at the other. In the center of the bay, near the pile of bodies, an open stairwell was set into the floor, accessing the basement.

“What is this place?” Carville asked.

“They feed here.” Sanders said. The slime trails led right to the open stairwell set into the floor of the bay.

“Who?” Carville snapped.

“The Krylok. They feed here. Look at those bodies. All of them punctured through the eyeball.”