LZR-1143: Redemption (33 page)

Kate and I reached up, heedless of the bloody, pulpy, mass. I found a bone and pulled, bringing an entire body down to the ground, and whipping it into the coming bodies as the gunner from the tank fired again, slamming several more to the ground. In the flames and the spotlights, I could see the bodies pressing through the hole in the wall outside, the backstops now useless and broken.

Kate brought down an arm, and she cursed as it detached from the body that was jammed into the narrow track of the roller. I dug my hands into the pulpy mess and pulled, a shoe and a wadded up pair of gory jeans coming loose and falling to the ground.

A final body, the skull pressed awkwardly into the angled space between roller and metal track, waited as Kate turned to cut down several approaching forms. I reached the huddled form, both legs having been snapped by the crushing weight, and pushed out at odd angles. Wincing, as I put weight on my broken leg, I pulled the creature away from the mechanism, noting the movement of the wheel several inches as I moved the skull away.

“Let’s go,” I screamed, limping to Kate’s side, taking a stumbling form through the top of the skull with the thick blade. She turned and grabbed me under the arm and pulled me away, even as the machine gunner on the tank opened up again.

We pulled ourselves into the killing ground behind, and I balked as Kate put both hands under my arms and threw me up, onto the angled front of the large tank. She followed suit, and pressed the transmit button on her comms.

“Drop the gate!” she yelled, as two flamethrowers opened up from the top of the wall, pressing fire and flame into the gap beneath the containers. The crane shuddered once, and we heard the creaking of ropes and pulleys.

Flames blasted from underneath the metal as the tank moved forward, and the double-stacked containers came down in a rush of hot air. A crush of flaming creatures, caught beneath the containers, were slowly flattened as the containers met the ground, and as the heavy metal met the earth, the flames sputtered and died, leaving several outstretched, twitching hands the only memory of their existence.

I sighed and fell back against the cold metal, the tank moving slowly forward as bullets and flames still fell to our right, the assembled humanity inside making swift work of the surviving creatures, who shambled aimlessly, stumbling over the crumpled bodies of their comrades, sometimes several bodies deep in blood, metal, and flames.

Kate put a hand on my chest, scanning my body and noting the multiple wounds, finally resting her eyes on my leg, which I held in one burned and blackened hand as I met her eyes.

“So… wanna grab a burger?” I asked, smiling through the agony.

She appeared ready to return the smile, until she pressed her hand to her ear and cursed, listening for a moment and then looking back to me.

“It’ll have to wait. We have a situation.”

I shot her a glance.

“Okay, fine.
Another
situation.”

FORTY-EIGHT

“We’ve got the Doc on the horn with D.C. now, relaying the new serum, and giving their scientists the info. As you know, they’ve already pushed out the vaccine, as far as the Midwest now, but they’re going to have to push out the updates and the new stuff really fast. Doc is working with them.”

“How are the napalm supplies?” Kate asked, as I flexed my shoulder, rotating the arm again in the socket. It had taken only twenty minutes for the bone in my leg to set.

No surgery, no curative action. Just time.

I was still amazed—and more than a little freaked out.

“We have a supply line from the Coasties in the bay, and we have some more inbound from California. It’s gradually taking them down in numbers, but there’s a ton of ‘em out there. We’re dropping some sonic buoys behind them, trying to split them into more manageable groups. High explosive ordnance works okay, but we really have to burn them to the ground. That just takes time.”

He leaned over a map of the fort, pointing his finger at the breached area, then at several red lines nearly a half-mile distant from the fortress on all sides.

“This is the depth of the creatures. They seemed to have stopped arriving, meaning that they could have drawn as much as eighty percent of these things from around the area. But we’re holding our own. They can’t get up the walls, and as long as we’re careful with our gunfire from now on, there’s no chance of a breach.”

“How about the other gate?” Kate asked.

He shook his head, and Gaffney spoke quickly.

“Locked and dropped. The entryway has been lowered, and the third floor gate is sealed. No way they’re getting in that way.”

I nodded.

“How long can you hold out here, like this?” I gestured to the walls, and the constant gunfire and flames. “You’re just a tad outnumbered.”

Gaffney and Finnigan exchanged looks, and the older man looked up from the map.

“With these numbers, we just don’t know. We have supply lines that are well supported, and we have good tactics. But we’ve got several million of those things outside the doors, and if they keep piling up, the sheer press of bodies could pose a problem very soon. We have moved most of the civvies offshore and to Bremerton, but we can’t surrender this base unless we’re prepared to surrender hundreds of much-needed ground assault assets, munitions, food and fuel. We have to hold, and we feel like we can do it. We just need to take some big ass chunks out of those godless twats outside the doors.”

“Hooah” whispered Gaffney softly, and Finnigan smiled in response.

“So we just have to worry about the scouting report?” I asked, glancing at Kate and back to Gaffney, who turned to Garcia.

“Yeah, well. That’s the new hitch in our giddy up, isn’t it? We always have two helos doing close air support and medium range scouting. Usually, they just do a slow circle of the larger metro area to make sure we’re not surprised by anything. About twenty minutes ago, they spotted an inbound train.”

“And it’s not ours,” I filled in, having gotten the quick back-story from Kate on the tank.

“It’s not ours, and worse, it’s not cargo containers. We think it’s militia, and at this point, we don’t think it’s friendly. It’s more than a hundred and forty cars, all filled with various combustible substances. Propane, kerosene, fuel… you name it, it looks like it’s carrying it. It’s all on the way here, and will be at that wall in about twenty minutes, if it stays on course.”

“Any contact with the driver? How do you know it’s not one of the friendly militias in this area?” Kate asked, her arm around Ky’s shoulders, both of them leaning tiredly against a stack of ammo crates.

“Negative. Total radio silence. We work with most of the militias in this area—shit, most of them are on the walls right now. No contact, no information at all. Only thing we hear from the train is a little odd.”

“What is it?”

Finnigan glanced at Garcia and crossed his arms in front of his chest.

“Music.”

I could feel my eyebrows lift, and I chuckled once.

“Music?”

Gaffney interjected.

“They’re blasting what appears to be the entire Spaghetti Incident album from Guns N’ Roses,” he said matter-of-factly.

Great album.

But what’s the point?

Why announce their presence more than necessary. For that matter, why outfit an entire train with external speakers?

The only point to that would be…

“Colonel,” the radio operator looked up, catching the older man’s attention.

“Colonel, we’re getting reports from Overwatch,” he said, referring to the airborne scouts.

“What is it?”

“The train sir. It’s slowing down.”

He looked up at Garcia and Gaffney then back to the operator.

“Colonel,” I began, wanting to convey my hunch. Kate spoke at the same time.

“Colonel, I don’t think—”

He interrupted both of us quickly. “Ask them to report location, and tell them they are
not
cleared to engage, understand?”

“Yes sir,” he said, speaking again into the boom microphone.

“Thoughts?” said Finnigan, looking up.

Ky spoke up before Kate and I could.

“Isn’t it obvious?” she said, voice exhausted and slightly edgy. She looked from face to face, then to me. As I caught her earnest expression, I smiled.

“They’re friendly,” said Gaffney, also catching on.

“Duh,” said Ky, leaning back against Kate, who ruffled her hair and smiled.

“Sir, Overwatch reports that there’s a small crew on board and they’ve come to a stop approximately two miles away. Nearly a mile from the edge of the horde outside.”

“Are they…” Finnigan began, but the young man held up a finger, listening to the radio.

“Sir, they’re trying to communicate.”

“How?”

The kid chuckled.

“Poster board, sir.” He spoke into the microphone again and flipped a switch, putting the scout’s reports on speaker.

“Overwatch, you’re on with SeaTac actual. Please repeat last, over.”

“Copy that. Message reads: ‘Take men off walls. Bring the bastards to us.’ End of message,” the pilot relayed, the dull thump of the blades in the background.

Finnigan looked up, and I spoke quickly.

“They’re trying to help, Colonel. They’re going to blow the train. Or ask you to do it. Think of it. If you got even half of these bastards to get close enough to that kind of explosive power… it’s perfect!”

He smiled briefly, and his eyes lit up.

“Gaffney, pull the men from the walls ASAP, turn off the spots and shut down the flame throwers. Pull the men from the walls, and have them monitor via infrared cameras from inside. Kill the internal lights and switch to emergency lights only.”

Gaffney sprinted from the room and Finnigan turned to Garcia.

“Get six helos prepped, and load the C-130’s with napalm and any other damn thing that will burn. If we’re going to get an assist, let’s make the best of it. Get me the CAP commander and the Cav commander on the line. And make sure my six helos have PA systems, and let’s see if we can honor our friends’ music selection,” he said. Garcia nodded and left.

“Folks,” he added, shrugging into his jacket and looking at us. “Feel like a barbeque?”

*

Kate and I grabbed our packs, laying forgotten next to the doorway. A nice corporal, noticing that we had had the shit beaten out of us, and were now officially without firearms, brought us replacement pistols, a pair of simple M-5 carbines, and a decent stock of ammo. Without time to go to our tent, we had no choice but to stick the materials into our packs and shoulder the weapons as we made our way to the airstrip.

“Who do you think these guys are?” Kate asked, stepping quickly as we walked through the lines of tents, soldiers running past, dousing lights and prepping the camp for a blackout.

“Got me. But if they weren’t friendly, they wouldn’t have stopped.”

She grunted once in agreement.

We reached the line of waiting birds, and Ky clapped once for Romeo, as we boarded one of the helos. Rhodes, joining the military command in the other bird, ruffled the dog’s head as he leaned down between the two choppers and whispered something to Ky. Smiling, she bolted to our helo as Rhodes lifted a hand to us before following Gaffney and Finnigan to the chopper next to us. The crew chief followed us inside and slammed the door.

“What was that about?” I asked curiously, watching Ky strap herself in.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” She responded cryptically.

That couldn’t be good.

The helicopters lifted off sequentially, and the crew chief punched a button on the console and music that matched our friends’ tunes in the approaching train began to blast out of the PA system as we crossed over the now-darkened walls.

Surreal didn’t begin to describe the experience, as the epic rock music blasted out of the belly of our hovering chopper, moonlight casting shadows on the writhing humanity below, bodies churning and pressing forward in confusion. The walls, once manned by an endless supply of food, were empty. Lights, once a beacon to the poor vision of the undead, were now dark. Music played over the herd below, and for once in the long night, gunfire and flames were absent. In the odd calm, the creatures milled. They seemed to press less urgently against the walls, and as we flew over the walls, rotor noise and music invading the night air, they followed.

And they hungered.

In a complicated sequence of circles and banking maneuvers, the helicopters weaved a pattern of musical lace above the heads of the waiting zombies. After ten minutes, we were sure that we had their attention.

Finnigan’s voice called over the din of music and rotor blades.

“Hit the south side,” he said softly, directions reaching the circling cargo planes loaded with liquid death.

Thirty seconds later, a blossoming fireball began at the water’s edge to our right, and erupted in a line of flame and smoke, dividing the large herd on the southern side, and pushing the creatures mindlessly toward where the helicopters hovered, music blasting into the night air. Three of the birds banked away, music going silent for several minutes as they looped behind the massed creatures, and then going loud again as they sought to lead them away—away from the fortress and toward the waiting train.

Slowly, they pressed ahead, those furthest from the walls the first to engage with the loud helicopters, the creatures further removed from the fortress never having been close enough to remember the sight of men on the walls or flames falling from the sky. They were hungry, and they followed the food.

Hundreds of thousands of creatures below, streaming between buildings and over roads and cars and gravel and grass. Over the remnants of a city that would never live again. Over the leftovers of a civilization that had died. Over the pieces of a world that had fallen and would never see sunlight again.

We glimpsed the train with the assistance of our enhanced vision and in the glare of a sullen moon. Like a fat snake, stretched over miles of track, it sat alone in the night air. Music pumped out of an elaborate network of speakers, and already, thousands of creatures had reached its steel sides. Tank after tank of flammable material stretched into the distance, as the track curved to the east and out of sight, so did the train.

Lights suddenly erupted from the large machine, and for a moment I feared that the flammable material had exploded prematurely. Instead, I realized that they were adding a visual stimulus to their show. Flood lights and spot lights lit up like flares, illuminating the thousands of creatures surrounding the massive machine, their rotten bodies pressing against the sides, ignorant of the fiery death waiting inside the large tanks.

We were in an industrial area, and as the helicopter looped back, making one more run to the herd behind us, looking to push them further until they locked on to the train’s music, I noted the tubes and pipes surrounding the train and running primarily toward several main buildings that stretched far and low to the north and south.

Ky spoke from the opposite side of the cabin.

“You know,” she said, face pressed against the glass. “We’re probably going to want to be really far away from here when this train blows.”

Kate spoke softly, “That’s the plan, kid. Those cars are full of gas and fuel.”

“Yeah,” she said, drawing out the word. “That’s not it. This area, these buildings. You see that sign over there?”

I squinted, making out the logo on the billboard, and on the sign that sat on the neatly manicured lawn near the parking lot on our right.

“Shit,” I said as Kate spoke into her microphone.

It was a natural gas refinery.

This was going to be an explosion that destroyed more than fifty city blocks.

And hopefully, millions of the undead.

Kate looked up at me after speaking briefly over the comms, broadcasting the information over the net.

“I warned Finnigan. He acknowledged, and said they’re still trying to establish contact with the train.”

“There!” I shouted, pointing.

Another signboard had popped up.

I laughed at the statement: ‘Explosion on timer. Can we get a ride?’

Finnigan’s chopper broke from the swooping formations, which had quickly succeeded in delivering more than half of the creatures from the walls of the fortress to the waiting train. It hovered over the engine, where three figures climbed slowly up the dangling rope ladder, eventually boarding the helicopter waiting above.

“Cut the music,” said Finnigan over the comms. “Our friends from the Portland militia here tell me that we have approximately ten minutes to gain minimum safe distance, so let’s stay on station for five more minutes, try to draw as many of these guys in with our rotors, then cut out. All copy on that?”

The pilots responded in sequence, and we all watched as the helicopters adopted a circular pattern over the train, music still blaring from the speakers below.

Time slipped away, as the herd continued to flood forward, hundreds of thousands strong, bodies pressing forward, hands searching.

“Kind of reminds me of opening weekend of my first movie,” I said softly, hand on Kate’s shoulder.