Outbreak (Book 1): Emerald City (32 page)

“Are you guys okay?” Williams called through the window from the cab.

“Yeah,” Tasha said, holding the smoking machine gun.

“Speak for yourself,” Cleveland said. “You scared the shit out of me.”

“Hold on!” Ortiz yelled and Tasha felt the truck turn hard to the left. She looked through the viewing window just as Ortiz drove the truck into the gate. The lock exploded and they were outside the fence, driving hard through the rain and any creepers unlucky enough to be standing in Ortiz’s way.

CLARK

“Rocha!” Clark screamed as loud as he could to be heard over the intense downpour of rain. Since the sky had opened up, the rain had come down in a torrent, literal sheets of water falling from the sky. The day had turned so dark that to Clark it felt like night instead of the middle of the afternoon. Rolling thunder boomed and was followed by a harsh flash of lightning. Clark crouched against the side of the nearest building in an attempt to protect himself from the rain and watched as infected crawled, walked, and stumbled out of everywhere and everything.
I had no idea so many were still in the city
, he thought. The monsters came out of cars, buildings, alleyways, and even storm drains.
Jesus, where is Rocha?

Clark and Rocha had reached the highway the soldier had been looking for, a four lane road between the edge of the city's industrial sector and an inlet from Puget Sound. When they got there, they found hundreds of cars and trucks of all sizes piled up. Evidently there had been some kind of catastrophic accident on the road during the outbreak. It was a dirty, rusting mess now and Rocha had convinced Clark to stay put while he scouted ahead to try to find a safe way through. It had seemed like a good enough plan at the time, but now, standing soaking wet in the downpour with his arm in a splint and infected coming out of everywhere, it was sounding downright stupid.

Clark continued to follow the wall of the building with the hope he would find some kind of shelter not already occupied by more infected. His arm throbbed but he tried to ignore it. In the back of his mind, he was sure that if he did not get surgery soon, he would lose everything below the elbow. Looking down, he saw his hand and fingers were swollen beyond recognition and were an ugly purple.
Damn Rocha, why did you tape the splint so tight?
Clark wondered. The morphine was also wearing off fast and everything from his shoulder down throbbed painfully with every beat of his heart.
I really need to get out of this rain.
“Rocha!” he yelled again but got no answer.

Clark reached the corner of the building and saw it had, once upon a time, been a house. Since then, it had been converted into a hardware store. There was a covered front porch so Clark stepped underneath to get out of the rain. He crouched down and thought about dumping his defibrillator backpack. It had only gotten heavier as it became soaked in the rain and he was beginning to worry about the documents inside getting wet. “Rocha!” he tried to call again, but he had trouble getting a deep enough breath and he knew his cry came out weak.
I’m dying,
he thought.
I have got to get inside somewhere. I just need to rest for a second.

He stood up and looked in the window of the hardware store and could see through the glass the face of an infected. It groaned against the inside of the window. “Goddamn it,” was all Clark could think to say.
So much for camping out in there
. He turned back to the street and scanned around again for Rocha. All he saw were two more infected running in his direction from down the center of the street, splashing through the growing puddles like two kids playing in the rain. They ran past a big brown, square delivery truck sitting in the center of the highway. It had been turned onto its side during the accident. Clark stepped back further on the porch and hoped the two infected would not see him.
Please just pass me by,
he prayed but as they got closer, they changed direction and began to sprint straight for him.

“Rocha!” Clark cried and turned to run. He jumped off the porch and back into the rain, racing for the corner of the next building. He pulled up short when he saw more of the infected coming at him. He was trapped and knew he was going to die.
I’m going to die a failure
, he thought. He had just wanted to get the documentation back to Command, to try and do the right thing.
Now I’m going to be slaughtered
. He reached for his pistol hoping to make a last stand but he could not reach it with his good hand and the movement sent renewed pain shooting through his arm. It hurt so bad he could hardly breathe. Clark let out a roar of pain and frustration.
Damn this whole worthless infected world!
Giving up, he sat down in the rain, closed his eyes and waited.
Maybe the infected will leave enough of my corpse so I can stumble around with the stupid defibrillator on my back and be found someday
. He barked out a hysterical laugh at the image.
I’m losing it,
he thought. He could hear the stomping feet of the infected as they splashed through the rain to get to him. He braced himself for the pain and suffering.

Thwip! Thwip! Thwip! Thwip! Thwip!

Clark opened his eyes and saw Rocha crouched next to him in the pouring rain. “What the hell, man?” Rocha asked. “Get up. We need to move. Wait. Shit.” Clark watched as Rocha stepped away from him and shot a half dozen more infected running down the street toward them.

Thwip! Thwip! Thwip! Thwip! Thwip! Thwip!

Rocha looked at Clark again. “Seriously,” he said. “Get up.”

“I can’t,” Clark cried. “I’m dying.”

“Not today,” Rocha said and grabbed Clark by the defibrillator backpack and lifted him to his feet. Clark let out a scream of pain.

“I need more morphine,” Clark whined.

“Later. We need to move,” Rocha ordered and dragged Clark forward with one hand and gunned down four more infected with his rifle in his other.

Thwip! Thwip! Thwip! Thwip!

“Where are you taking me?” Clark asked as they weaved between the broken down cars to the center of the accident. They stopped at the overturned delivery truck.

“Get on top of this truck,” Rocha said.

“What?”

Rocha pushed Clark toward the brown truck. “Get up there,” Rocha said. “They won’t be able to reach you.”

“Why?” Clark asked. He really didn’t want to be stuck on top of a truck in the middle of a lightning storm surrounded by infected.

“Because I need you out where they can see you,” Rocha said.

Clark was appalled. “Who?” he asked. “The infected?”

“No, you dumb shit. The military. They’re going to be driving by here any second. I set up a marker directing them this way.”

“Are you sure? How do you know they’ll follow it?” Clark asked.

“Get down!” Rocha yelled and pushed Clark to the pavement. He went down hard and hit his arm on the ground. His whole world became pain. He temporarily saw nothing but white and was pretty sure he threw up.

Thwip! Thwip! Thwip! Thwip! Thwip! Thwip! Thwip!

Lightning flashed and Clark’s vision cleared as he watched Rocha fire everywhere at once. Clark was reminded of when he first met Rocha. Rocha had been on the firing range, shooting targets just feet away from him. Rocha moved now just as he had then. Fast, efficient, and deadly.

“Out of ammo!” Rocha said dropping his rifle and pulling a grenade from his vest. He threw it down the street and after a few seconds the grenade exploded with a loud
Whomp!
The infected not taken out by the blast were instantly distracted and turned toward the concussion of the grenade. Rocha turned to Clark and picked him up with both hands. “Wait!” Clark cried, but Rocha ignored him. “Wait! My arm! Aaaaaahhh!”

Rocha threw Clark, soaking wet, defibrillator pack and all, up and onto the side of the truck. Twisting just in time, Clark landed on his hip and was able to keep from hitting his arm again. He turned to swear at Rocha for throwing him up there when he saw another large swarm of infected coming at them. “Behind you!” Clark cried out and Rocha turned around just as an infected slammed into him, knocking him to the ground. Infected were suddenly all over Rocha and surrounding the truck. Clark watched Rocha roll on top of the first infected and punch it in the face. The infected was stunned, so Rocha stood up and stomped it on the head with his combat boot.

Clark thought of his pistol again and put all his effort into pulling it from his leg holster. His arm screamed and Clark’s head spun from the pain but he got his hand on the grip and pulled the gun free. With his left hand, he aimed into the mob of infected and pulled the trigger as fast as he could. He did not care if he hit anything, he just wanted to keep the infected off of Rocha. Out of the corner of his eye, Clark saw Rocha draw his two
Gurkha Knives. In an instant, the man
became the
bladed demon that Clark had seen before in the supermarket. Rocha attacked, ruthless and efficient, fighting and slaughtering the infected in the rain and wind. He moved into the mob and left a wake of corpses. For a moment, Clark lost sight of the soldier in the crowd. Suddenly he heard a grenade explode and saw Rocha running back toward the truck. He was limping and an infected was riding on his back, trying to bite his shoulder. Rocha yanked his third and last grenade from his vest, pulled the pin with his thumb and tossed it behind him. He only had one of his knifes left and used it to stab the infected on his back. The monster fell away with the knife embedded in its eye socket just as the grenade exploded. The concussion knocked Rocha face down into the street.

“Rocha!” Clark screamed and knew he had to help. He needed to get down off the truck. He slid his legs over the side and started to work his way down when Rocha began to stir. He looked up and saw Clark. “No!” Rocha yelled from where he lay on the ground in the pouring rain. “Stay up there!”

Clark continued to shift his weight over the side and began to slip as the defibrillator backpack pulled him down. He cursed himself for not leaving it on top of the truck. “No, Goddammit!” Rocha yelled as he stumbled to his feet and limped to the truck. He shoved Clark back onto the top of the vehicle. “It’s over, man. I’m as good as dead.”

Clark sat back up on the top of the truck and wiped his eyes. “What?” he asked. “What are you talking about?” Clark looked around. The area was free of infected for the moment, but he saw dozens more already coming, drawn no doubt by the sound of the grenades. “Get up here.”

“I have to draw them away from you,” Rocha said. “I’m bit, man. My leg is a mess.”

“Like hell,” Clark said. “Get up here. You don’t know the infection will set.”

“Don’t feed me that shit, man. My blood is O-positive. No hope for me,” Rocha replied. “You stay up there with the documentation and you make damn sure it gets back to Command.” Rocha took the satellite radio from his pack and handed it up to Clark. “Take this. You’re going to make it out of here because one of two things are going to happen. That squad is going to drive by, see my sign and pick you up or Command is going to send out a team to come get you.”

“You called Command?” Clark asked.

“No,” Rocha said. “That is what you are going to do.” Rocha looked around and walked to an old truck which had run head-on with a taxi. He opened the door, reached behind the seat and brought out a tire iron. Rocha held it up as if appraising it for a second and then brought it down with a crash through the windshield of the truck. Clark cringed at the loud noise.

“What are you doing?” Clark yelled.

“I’m making some noise,” Rocha said. “Now quit talking to me and get on the radio.”

Clark had no idea what to say. He wanted to order Rocha to get on the truck. He also wanted to tell him to go to hell for getting him into this mess.
Except this last trip was my idea. I’m the one who wanted to go to the hospital,
Clark thought and suddenly felt like an asshole. “I’m sorry I got you into this,” he said.

Rocha nodded and held up the tire iron. He swung it back and then forward, smashing the tool through the windshield of the next car beside him. “Don’t mention it,” Rocha said. “I’m just doing my job.”

Clark watched as the infected honed in on the noise. One rushed at Rocha and he used the tire iron in a backswing to crush its skull. Another approached from the side and Rocha kicked it out of the way and started off in a limping run, banging the sides of the cars with the tire iron as he ran. “Rocha!” Clark screamed as the tide of infected turned at the noise and went after the soldier. “Stop! Listen to me. I can cure the disease!”

Rocha did not look back and quickly disappeared in the sea of crashed cars. Clark sat cross legged and alone on the top of the truck with the defibrillator still on his back. He looked down at the radio in his lap.
Don’t let them kill you, buddy,
he thought.
I can beat it. I know I can.
After a moment, he pressed a button on the side of the radio. “Hello?” he asked. “Is anyone there?”

A voice came back through the speaker on the radio. “Unknown caller, this is Command, Corporal Creed speaking. What is your situation? Over.”