Red Hammer: Voodoo Plague Book 4 (17 page)

The stairwell was pitch black.  As black as the deepest, darkest
night I could imagine.  I ran my hand along my rifle and found the switch for
the mounted flashlight and turned it on.  The beam was bright and focused and
let me see, but only what was right in front of me.  It didn’t spread out
enough to afford me any peripheral vision.  Fortunately, we were in a stairwell
and any approaching infected would be funneled into a narrow corridor right in
front of me.  A moment later Scott and Martinez clicked on their lights and
everyone breathed a small sigh of relief.  I’ve never been afraid of the dark,
in fact I prefer to work under the cover of night, but the infected had changed
that dynamic.

“I’m on point.  Sergeant Scott on rear.  Let’s move!”  I
said and started climbing, rifle up and aiming the flashlight ahead of me.

I heard them before I saw them, and it sounded like a lot of
feet coming fast.  I stopped on the second sub-basement landing, and before I
saw the ones coming down I heard a suppressed rifle start firing behind me.  A
moment later a second one joined in, then the first female rounded the turn
above me at a run.  I had her spotlighted and immediately pulled the trigger. 
She crumpled, but two more came into view before her body hit the ground. 
Muttering a curse, I started firing as quickly as I could in single-shot mode. 

I drilled one of the two through the head with my first
shot, but the second was really moving fast and jumping to clear the body in
front of her.  She wasn’t an easy target and my first round punched through her
shoulder with no apparent effect.  I followed up with a second shot that tore
out her throat before severing her spine.  The body crashed to the stairs,
tumbling down, and I had to jump to the side so it didn’t take my feet out from
under me.  Then a solid mass of infected moved into the light of my flashlight.

The group was an even mix of males and females.  The females
were aggressively pushing the males out of their way as they tried to reach
me.  I flipped the rifle’s fire selector to burst and kept firing.  Bodies were
dropping every time I pulled the trigger, and the stairwell was quickly filling
with corpses.  This slowed the infected’s advance, but it was also blocking our
path to the surface.  There were already enough dead bodies on the stairs and
landing above me that we’d have to waste precious time moving them just to
climb up.

“Sit-rep!”  I shouted over the din of battle, not wanting to
take my attention off the seething mob above me.

“We’re holding them, but don’t see an end.  Ammo’s going to
be a problem.  Fast.”  This was Scott, speaking in a staccato between rifle
bursts.

He was right about our ammo.  We had come well armed with a
good supply, had been able to replenish when we found the MRAP, but in this
target rich environment we were burning through it like a drunk sailor goes
through his paycheck when he gets to port.  I wasn’t seeing any indication the
number of infected was thinning, and I momentarily wondered if the outside doors
into the loading dock had been breached.  At the moment it didn’t matter.  We
didn’t have the time or ammunition to keep standing here and fighting.

Behind me was the door into the second sub-level, and since
it hadn’t slammed open to admit a horde of infected I hoped it was a safe
assumption that level was clear.  At least clear near the elevators.

“Doc, is there another set of stairs?”  I shouted, shooting
a female that leapt over the pile of bodies I had shot.

“At the other end of the building.”  She shouted back,
sounding absolutely terrified.

“How far?”  I asked, changing magazines.

“I don’t know.  A long way.  It’s a big building.”  I could
hear the fear in her voice and was afraid she was about to completely lose it. 

“Martinez, take the doc and see if there’s an air shaft or
any way up.  Scott and I will come through behind you and hold the door.

“Copy.”  Was the only reply, then a moment later, “We’re
clear.” Over the radio.

Scott and I started backing up, stopping when our backs
touched.  We were both firing nearly as fast as we could in burst mode, really
burning through the ammo.  When our backs touched I kept firing with one hand
and reached out with the other and grabbed the vertical metal handle on the
door.  Yanking it open I yelled for Scott to go through and I followed a split
second later, nearly tripping over the threshold.

In the second sub-level hall I let my rifle drop to the end
of its sling, took two grenades off my vest and pulled their pins.  Tossing
them through the still open door I wrapped my hands around the handle and
pulled it closed, maintaining my grip and sitting down on the floor with my
feet braced against the wall. 

Almost immediately infected were at the door, pounding on it
and screaming.  A few seconds later the two grenades detonated in the stairwell
with a bone jarring thump that traveled through the floor, my ass and up into
my back.  The pounding on the door ceased and the mesh reinforced window
shattered, the broken glass held in place by the wire reinforcement. 

Grenades are devastating weapons in enclosed spaces.  They
are designed to fragment into hundreds of pieces of steel that is propelled in
all directions faster than the speed of sound.  Then there’s the concussion
from the blast.  In a small area with hard walls and ceilings, such as a
concrete stairwell, either one of those two factors will absolutely destroy a
human body.  Combine them and carnage is assured.  So for a few moments all was
quiet and no infected were trying to follow us through the door.

Scott rushed up next to me and I looked up when I heard a
ripping sound.  He was tearing a long strip off of a roll of duct tape.  He
quickly used it to cover the shattered window, pulled off two more strips and
added them which completely blocked the opening.  Smoothing the torn end back
onto the roll and returning it to his pack, he squatted down next to me.

“Maybe the grenades killed all of them that saw us go
through the door.  Maybe, if we’re quiet enough, they won’t know we’re here and
try to force through the door.  Maybe.”  He whispered into my ear.  I nodded my
head.  Damn good idea.  Not the first time I was glad he was along.

I tipped my head down the hall in the direction of Martinez
and the doc who were checking doors by the light of a flashlight.  Scott turned
and trotted to them, his feet silent on the hard floor.  Turning my attention
back to the door, I made sure I had a solid grip on the handle and kept my body
tensed so constant pressure was on the door.  Yes, the door opened into the
stairwell and I’d yet to see an infected smart enough to
pull
a door
open, but I wasn’t about to take any chances.

It wasn’t long before I could hear them on the other side. 
There had to be bodies and bodily fluids everywhere, making the footing difficult. 
They were stumbling and banging into the metal railing.  A few times a body
crashed into the door.  I was pulling so hard against the handle that my back
and hamstrings were starting to cramp, but none of the infected tugged on the
door.  I worked hard to keep my breathing under control, afraid they would hear
me panting if I didn’t.

It was completely dark in the hallway where I sat other than
the small pool of light from the flashlight attached to my rifle.  To my right
I heard a scraping noise, much like someone walking with their shoulder rubbing
the wall.  Had to be an infected male.  I glanced to the left and could see the
lights my team were using to look for another way out, but they were too far
away to hear the approaching noise.  Oh shit!

“I got company down here.”  I said quietly into my radio’s
throat mic.  No response.

“Martinez.  Scott.  Do you copy?”  I said a little louder,
cringing internally at the noise I was making.  Still nothing back from either
of them.  I wasn’t speaking loudly enough to activate the radio.

I didn’t want to yell for them and alert the infected in the
stairwell to my presence.  So far, Scott’s duct tape trick was working.  They
weren’t paying any attention to the door.  But I didn’t want to release the
handle.  Even though my rifle was suppressed, it would still make enough noise
for them to hear.  Could they open the door?  Did I really want to take the
chance?

There was another bumping sound and the scraping stopped for
a moment, then resumed.  I looked in the direction the noise was coming from as
hard as I could, but couldn’t see anything even though the sounds seemed to be
no more than a dozen yards away.  I had next to no night vision at the moment
due to the light from my flashlight.  The only thing I had going for me was
that the males are blind.  I might not have been able to see him, or them, but
they couldn’t see me either. 

They had obviously been drawn to the fighting, and the
grenades I’d used had hardly been stealthy.  At least they couldn’t see me sitting
there waiting to get munched, but they might smell me.  I’d seen both males and
females tip their heads up to sample the air, much like a dog.  Another bump,
closer this time, and now I could hear footsteps.  More than one pair.

I sat there frozen, holding the handle with my head turned
in the direction of the approaching infected.  Straining my eyes, I finally was
able to make out a pair of feet dragging along the smooth floor.  A moment
later I could see a second pair, then a third.  Thankfully, they were all
following the wall on the far side of the hall from where I sat, but the hall
was only ten feet wide at the most.  Wide enough for small forklifts or pallet
jacks to get crates in and out of the vaults, but not nearly wide enough for my
taste at the moment.

The infected continued to approach at a steady pace, and for
a moment I thought they would walk right by me, but a thump against the door
from inside the stairwell caused them to pause.  They stood there for a moment,
and even though the light didn’t let me see above their knee level, I could
picture them tilting their heads back when I heard one of them sniffing the
air.  Shit.

I was five feet away from them, sweating enough that I could
feel it running down my sides and back underneath my shirt.  How the hell could
they fail to find me?  Time seemed to stretch out as they stood there, not
making a sound other than sniffing.  Watching the feet it took me a minute to
realize they were rocking slightly, side to side.  Then the one in front took a
step forward and stopped directly behind me. 

I could no longer see him just by turning my head.  I needed
to reposition my body so I could keep an eye on him, but was afraid to move and
risk making even the slightest sound that would bring an almost instant
attack.  The flesh on my back puckered and I could feel the goose bumps run up
and down my arms.  I was so tense I nearly broke my silence when a drop of
sweat suddenly ran down my side.          

The infected continued to stand there, sniffing and rocking
back and forth and I was to the point of ready to release the door handle and
draw my Kukri when one of the team made a noise down the hall to my left.  The
infected stopped sniffing and a moment later the three pairs of feet started
moving in that direction.  A long, silent breath escaped my lungs as they moved
away from me.

OK for the moment, I desperately tried to come up with a way
to warn the team of what was approaching.  The males couldn’t attack with the
speed and force of the females, but if they suddenly appeared out of the dark
and grabbed you, you could be just as dead.  I didn’t dare try the radio again
as the infected were still close enough to hear even a whisper.

At first, Oklahoma City was shockingly normal.  There was
civilian traffic, people seemingly going about their lives.  Then they came
around a curve in the road and encountered the first roadblock.  A dozen police
officers and more than 20 soldiers stood across the road, Humvees and a Bradley
backing them up.  The police wore respirators and the soldiers were dressed in
military MOPP – Mission Oriented Protective Posture – gear from head to toe,
including full hoods with respirators.  They looked like something out of a
cheesy Science Fiction movie, but there was nothing cheesy about the weapons
they kept trained on all approaching vehicles.

Roach hit the brakes, the truck coming to a stop with a
metallic squeal.  He thought about turning around and running, his mind
immediately going into a panic at the sight of the police, but another truck
had come to a stop behind him and he was stuck.  After a few moments one of the
officers waved him forward and he eased off the brake.

Coming to a stop he watched as the policeman walked up and
gestured for him to roll the window down.  Roach complied and the man looked at
him for a long moment, then shifted his gaze to check out the girl in the
passenger seat.  Her name was Synthia.  Roach suspected her parents had
christened her Cindy, but she had made sure he knew the correct spelling when
she told him. 

Roach had taken her up on her offer of sexual favors in
exchange for bringing her along.  She was actually younger than he had thought
at first, but he didn’t care that she was only 16 and he was committing more
felonies than he could count every time he touched her.  He found that he
enjoyed her more than he had expected, taking pleasure from being as rough as
he could be.  She had the bruises on her legs, ass and breasts to attest to
some of his fetishes.

“Where are you coming from, sir?”  The officer asked, voice
muffled by the respirator he wore.

“Tennessee.”  Roach answered, figuring the truth was best,
and also hoping the cop knew what had happened in Tennessee and he would get
some sympathy.  “Is there a problem?”

“No problem, sir.  We just need to check you for any signs
of infection before you proceed.  Please pull over there.”  The officer pointed
at a dirt lot to the side of the road where a large tent had been set up.  More
Humvees with mounted machine guns guarded the tent and were in position to
prevent any vehicles sent their way from proceeding without permission.  Roach
nodded and turned off the road, bumping across the rough ground. 

A soldier met them in the parking area and told them to stay
in their vehicle.  He backed a few feet away and kept watch on them, rifle up
and across his chest.  Ten minutes later a figure dressed all in white
protective gear, like a scientist from a biohazard lab, emerged from the tent
and shouted to the soldier who waved Roach and Synthia out of the truck,
telling them to leave the keys.  They were escorted to the tent flap and
entered a small area that was completely draped off with clear plastic.  Two
more soldiers in full MOPP gear and the figure in white were waiting for them.

They were handed a red plastic bag and told to strip naked. 
Roach started to protest but one of the soldiers stepped forward and roughly
gestured at the bag.  Synthia didn’t hesitate to strip, and in moments was
completely naked.  Roach saw the person wearing white notice her bruises, but
nothing was said and no questions were asked.  With a sigh he stripped his
clothes off and added them to the bag which was tied shut and tossed back out
the entry.  The soldier handed Roach a small plastic tag with a number on it
that he had snapped off the rim of the bag.

Next they were moved forward into a second curtained area. 
Here there was a floor made of slats of metal with a shallow catch basin
underneath.  Plastic pipes ran straight up eight feet then bent to create an
overhead lattice to which several shower heads were mounted.

“You’ll want to keep your eyes closed.”  The man in white
shouted a moment before turning a valve built into the thickest pipe. 

The shower heads sputtered to life, a chemical smelling
liquid raining down on them with some force.  The liquid was cold and Synthia
started to shy away from the stream, but was told to stand still.

“Rub all of your body.”  They were told, both of them complying
in hopes the cold shower would end faster.

After almost two minutes the shower heads were shut off and
a flap in the curtain to their front was opened from the far side.

“This way.”  Another figure, also in white, waved them
forward.  They stepped into yet a third curtained area.

Two more soldiers guarded another flap that appeared to open
into the main tent, but this plastic wasn’t clear and Roach couldn’t get a good
view of what lay beyond.  A small table sat to the side, various instruments
resting on it.  First their temperature was taken with a probe that went into
their ears.  Next the man held up a device that looked much like a test meter
that a diabetic would use to check their blood sugar levels.  He held his hand
out and took Roach’s right index finger. 

Finger inserted into a slot, he pushed a button and Roach
felt a sharp prick.  The man released his hand and stared at the device until
it beeped twice and flashed.  Snapping the slot off the unit he tossed it into
a red biohazard bag before clicking a fresh one into place.  The process was
repeated with Synthia.  A minute later each of them were motioned forward
again, the soldiers stepping aside when the flap was pulled open.

“This way, please.”  A middle aged woman in surgical scrubs
stood waiting for them inside the main area.  They stepped through the flap
which she carefully resealed behind them.  From a cart she picked up two thin
paper gowns and handed them to Roach and Synthia.  Roach gratefully pulled his
on, happy to cover his nudity.  Despite his predilections he was far from an
exhibitionist, and didn’t like being seen naked, even by his victims.

“What was that all about?”  Synthia asked as they were
escorted to the woman’s desk where she waved them into chairs before sitting
down and looking at a computer monitor.

“Decontamination and check for infection.  You’re both clean
or you wouldn’t be in here.”  She waved around the room where several more
identical desks were occupied by more workers wearing scrubs and people wearing
the paper gowns.  Several police officers, without respirators, stood around
the perimeter, keeping a close eye on everyone and everything.

“Now, I’ll start with you,” she said, looking at Synthia
over a pair of reading glasses perched on the end of her nose.  “Name, age and social?”

Roach tensed.  Immediately started thinking about how he was
going to handle the situation when it came out that Synthia was only 16.  He
looked around for anything he could use as a weapon, but there was nothing. 
Synthia surprised him, solving the problem by lying.  She gave a different name,
claimed she was 20 and said she didn’t know her social security number.  The
woman looked her up and down, nodded and punched the information into the
computer and watched the screen for a moment.

They’re running background checks right here!  Roach felt
himself flush with anxiety.  Had anyone flagged him in the system?  Had the
Army or the Nashville police put an alert out for him?  If he gave false information,
what would happen?  The woman would call one of the cops over, that’s what
would happen.  Then he would be fucked.

What about the information Synthia had given?  The computer
beeped and the woman looked at the screen, then up to Synthia, then back to the
screen.  After a moment she seemed satisfied and clicked something with the
mouse.  Did a picture come up?  Had Synthia been lying to him about her name
and age?  If so, why would she say she was younger?

“Sir?  Name, age and social security number.”  The woman was
staring at him over her glasses, fingers poised above the keyboard.  Roach
didn’t know what to do.  Did he roll the dice and give his correct info?  Did
he have a choice?  She was asking for a social security number, and he didn’t
think he’d get away with playing dumb.  There were probably very few adults in
America that didn’t have those nine digits burned into their memory.  Could he
give fake information and bluff?

“Sir?”  Roach saw the woman glance over at one of the cops,
and from the corner of his eye he saw the man start walking toward them.

“Lee Roach.  33 years old.  US Air Force Captain.”  He said
it all in a rush, then rattled off his social.  The woman started typing, the
cop walking up and standing behind Roach before she had finished inputting the
last bit of information.

Roach could feel the stare of the police officer on the back
of his neck.  He forced himself not to turn and look up at the man, certain his
face would betray something.  Instead, he maintained a calm façade and watched
the woman watch the computer.  When it beeped she leaned forward slightly to
stare at the monitor, then shifted her gaze to Roach for another inspection
before turning back to the photo on the screen.  After a bit she nodded and
clicked the mouse.

“Thank you, Captain.  What are you doing here?”  She asked. 
Roach noted that the cop hadn’t left.

“I was at Arnold Air Force Base in Tennessee when the second
wave of infection hit.  The base fell and we made it to Nashville and onto the
evacuation train and out of Tennessee.  There were some problems in Arkansas
and we set out on our own.  I’m trying to get to Tinker Air Force Base to
report.”  Some of it was the truth, some of it was bullshit, but it was the
best Roach could come up with on the spur of the moment.  Enough truth to match
events, and there was no way for them to double check or prove he wasn’t really
trying to get to Tinker, a few miles outside of Oklahoma City.  As long as
there weren’t any flags in the system put there by the Army, he felt he was
good.

“And who is Tammy to you?”  She asked, using the fake name
Synthia had given and looking between the two of them.

“She’s my girlfriend.”  Roach answered quickly before
Synthia could say anything. 

The woman nodded and started typing some notes into the
computer.  The cop finally got bored and wandered off.  Roach wanted to heave a
sigh of relief, but resisted the urge.  Finally she finished typing, clicked
twice with her mouse and looked up at them.

“Thank you, Captain.  Do you know how to get to Tinker?”

“Yes, I do.”  Roach lied.

“Good.  You can get out right through there.  Have a nice
day.”  She pointed at a sealed flap guarded by two of the cops.

“Our clothes?”  Roach asked.

“You have the tag?”  She asked, and Roach held it up for her
to see.  “There will be a stack of bags outside the door with a soldier
guarding them.  Give him the tag and he’ll give you your clothing.”

Not wanting to spend another minute being questioned about
who he was or what he was doing, Roach quickly got to his feet and led Synthia
to the exit.  One of the cops pulled the flap open and they walked out into
bright sunshine.  To the right was a soldier with a pile of red bags on the
ground behind him.  Roach retrieved their bag and they quickly dressed there in
the open, no options for privacy available.

“Where’s my truck?”  Roach asked the soldier.  The man just
pointed across a large lot, Roach looking until he spotted the vehicle.  Two
minutes later they were in the truck and back on the road.

“Who’s Tammy?”  He asked when they were clear of the roadblock.

“My sister.  She was killed by an infected.  I figured they
wouldn’t know that, and if I told them I was only 16 they’d probably have taken
me away from you.”

Roach was surprised at the answer.  It sounded like Synthia
actually wanted to be with him.  She could have gotten away easily just by
telling the truth.  There would have been nothing Roach could have done.  She
would be free and he’d be looking at the inside of a jail cell.  Or worse.  For
the first time in his life, Roach felt something akin to fondness for another
human being.