Run (Book 2): The Crossing (20 page)

Keleher leapt up into the turret on the Hummer and jacked the slide on the fifty cal. Anna popped out of the machine gun turret on the LAV. “Like this?” she asked into the radio.

Everyone heard Stark over the radio again, “Yeah, pull that handle back and she’s ready to go. It will kick some, but the mount will take care of most of it. Use short bursts, or you’ll lose control quickly.

“Okay,” the young woman said, and pulled the slide on the LMG. Dallas saw her take a breath and then she squeezed the trigger. The advancing dead were taken from the right side by her copper-jacketed fire, and they fell over like tenpins, toppling into the water. The burst had lasted two seconds and she followed up with another two second burst, shifting the barrel of the weapon to the left slightly. She mowed the dead down. “This thing is awesome!” she shouted with a maniacal smile.

Bourne also noticed that the monsters were falling fast. “Murray, hold your fire! Save the fifty, and check your six!” A dead woman, looking fresher than the folks from the water but still missing her right arm, was stumbling toward the back of the Hummer. Murray shot her with his sidearm.

Seyfert, Androwski, and Wilcox showed up, the jittery kid unslinging his rifle. Androwski  grabbed the kid’s rifle barrel as he was starting to aim, and jerked it up yelling and pointing toward the LAV. Wilcox nodded and, switching to single fire, started picking off the dead near the LAV. Androwski and Seyfert began working on the vehicle, but neither Dallas nor Rick had any idea what they were doing or why.

There were three former humans left on the dock when the LMG clicked empty. Anna had her right pinkie finger in her right ear and was moving her jaw around trying to dissipate the ringing from the weapons fire. Rick and Bourne took care of the last three advancing dead, but there were several still near the barge or sloshing out of the water. The new target seemed to be the Hummer, and Murray, Biggs, and Keleher were shooting them with pistols as they got near. Bourne continued to give radio orders. “Murray, bring the Humvee down the dock halfway. It will put you out of danger from all directions except the rear, and it will block any oncoming hostiles from getting to us.”

Private Wilcox was knee deep in the water near the LAV covering his friends when Bourne saw him. “Wilcox! Get out of the water now! Move!” Wilcox backed up the ramp, and none too soon as two infected broke the surface of the water five feet from where he had been standing. The private shot both, but more ripples behind them indicated there were others to follow. A savage scream echoed over the marsh, sending icy tendrils down the boy’s back. He spun his weapon in all directions but couldn’t see the screamer.

Bourne re-loaded his pistol. “Everyone stay out of the water, we have submerged hostiles, and you can’t see them.”

Androwski and Seyfert moved to the rear of the LAV, the SEAL lieutenant calling the colonel, “LAV’s ready, sir.”

Dallas had overheard. “Ready for what?”

The colonel was peering into the water next to the barge. “Amphibious incursion into the Mississippi River. Murray, how many on the dock behind you?”

Keleher turned in the turret and looked behind. “Eight sir, but there’s a pack coming through the boat yard.”

“Copy, destroy the ones on the dock and get up here ASAP. Dallas, Rick, help me cast off. Keep the two end lines around the cleat but loose, dump the spring line in the middle. Androwski, get your team in the LAV. Stark, get in position in front of the barge, you’re towing us.”

Gunfire erupted once again as Keleher fired his M4 from the turret. Stenner and Murray leaned out the Hummer’s windows and also fired on the dead on the dock. The contingent of infected coming through the yard had grown. There were dozens now. Keleher took in the scene quickly. “Sir, we’re about to have a shit-load of company!”

“I see them. We need to work fast.”

The LAV moved into the water as Wilcox slipped in through the turret. Androwski and Seyfert were riding on the outside of the hull, and Seyfert jumped onto the barge when the vehicle was close enough. The SEAL grabbed a heavy line and started making loops with it. He threw it to Androwski, and the two of them made a triangle with the rope, the top point attached to the LAV, and the two bottom points attached to the front corners of the square barge.

Keleher spun in the turret and jacked the charging handle of the fifty caliber M2, aiming at the oncoming horde. He seemed to have an epiphany, and lowered the barrel considerably before he opened fire. The weapon was extremely loud, and when he was done his ears were ringing as the colonel came over the radio demanding to know why he fired.

“I took out the part of the dock where it meets the land. It’s history, sir, they can’t get up without climbing now. It will slow them down.”

“Good thinking, Corporal,” the colonel said as the vehicle pulled up to him. The barge swayed slightly as the Hummer drove aboard, three of the men jumping out to assist. Dallas had let his line go and already had the chains out of the box. He was covered in rusty stains as he looped the chain through the welds in the barge and on the vehicle. He attached the hooks to the links in the chain after pulling it taut. Rick also cast his line away, he, Murray and Biggs copying Dallas’ chain attachments, and soon the vessel was ready for transport.

“Okay, Stark, let’s get underway.”

“
Copy that, sir. Everybody hold on to something
.”

The flat barge lurched forward once, twice, three times, and then they were pulling away from the dock. A fat infected man in shorts, running extremely fast for being so large, sprinted from the crowd of dead, leaping across chasm onto the splintered dock. He landed hard, and got up slowly, mouth agape and growling. Dragging his left leg, he limped quickly down the dock, screaming as he came. The barge was ten meters from the end of the pier as the infected man jumped with his arms straight out, trying to get to the men on board. He hit the water after a two meter flight, floundered for a few seconds and sank.

Rick sighed as he and the others looked at the spot where the man had gone under. “Poor bastard. Add another undead lurker to those beneath us. How many do you think are down there right now reaching up for us as we pass?”

Bourne looked ashen. “Damn it, I didn’t think of that.” He got on the radio for all to hear. “Listen up, when we get across the river, and we are about to make land, check the water for hostiles. We should be quick about it as well. Stark, pull us up on the beach, and we’ll drive right off the barge. Everyone get back in the vehicle they were in before we hit the river.”

Stark maneuvered the LAV out of the causeway and into the river proper. The Mississippi wasn’t at its widest here, but it was still a kilometer across at least, and the going was slow as the LAV was pulling considerable weight. Several partly submerged pleasure boats were barring the passage, and Stark worked his magic by avoiding the wreckage time after time. The survivors were less than one third of the way across the river, Bourne daring to think that it was a beautiful day, when he felt a tug in his right shoulder, and lost his balance. He spun half way around and fell to the deck of the barge, disoriented. The colonel put his hand to his shoulder and it came away bloody. Then the pain set in. He had about a half a second to think
Jesus, I’m shot!
before he heard bullet plinks off of the LAV and barge over the roaring in his ears.

Rick and the men hit the deck, but Dallas was still standing, unsure of what just happened. Biggs grabbed the big man’s arm and yanked him to cover.

Androwski raised his MP5SD3. “Return fire, that red boat to the left!” Two speed boats came rocketing from the other side, spewing gunfire as well. Everyone on the barge began firing. Bourne heard someone yell
The colonel is down
! before he reached across his body and drew his sidearm. Pain lanced through his entire right side, and he almost dropped his weapon. He closed his eyes as the whole world went green, and suddenly Seyfert was at his side kneeling over him with a wide, flat bandage, and a silver package that looked like pop tarts.

“Dallas, help me get his shirt off!”

Bourne was unprepared for another spear of pain when the SEAL and the Texan rolled the colonel on his side. They began extricating the officer from his shirt as bullets whizzed by overhead. The roar of the Bushmaster atop the LAV drowned out most of the rest of cacophony, but Bourne heard Seyfert say
It’s a through and through
.

Dallas was unstringing the bandage as Seyfert tore into the silver package with his teeth. “What is that?” the Texan demanded.

“Kwik-clot,” the SEAL replied, and Bourne’s blood went cold. He had seen the trauma chemical used in triage, and had heard how much it hurt. “S…Seyfert, unh…don’t…” But the SEAL had already dumped a portion of the package on his back where the hole must be. This was a new level of agony, and the colonel gritted his teeth against it, cursing.

“Dallas, put the bandage on the exit wound, hurry!” Dallas applied the compress to the wound, which had already stopped bleeding, and they lay the soldier back down, “That wasn’t so ba…” began the colonel, but Seyfert dumped the remaining powder from the package into the entry wound in his right pectoral muscle. Bourne screamed.

The gunfire seemed to have slowed down, with sporadic plinking, then the turret on the LAV rotated, and the Bushmaster fired once more, five quick shots. Stark had never stopped moving forward the entire time, and Bourne noticed that the far side of the river wasn’t so far away anymore, before unceremoniously passing out.

29

Dead grey hands reached for him from all sides as he used his empty rifle as a club to keep them at bay. His son, his mother and father, his uncle Joe, his next door neighbor Harry, they were all there, hungering for him. His shoulder hurt fiercely for some reason, so he looked down briefly to evaluate it, knowing that taking his eyes off of the enemy in a critical situation such as this would be his demise. His rifle was suddenly gone, and so was his arm from the shoulder down. A nub of white bone protruded from his fatigue T-shirt where his humerus used to be. He looked up just in time to see his dead wife open her mouth and lean forward, her fetid breath an olfactory horror.

Bourne opened his eyes. A ceiling fan was above him, and the most horrible black and white wallpaper imaginable assaulted his eyes as he scanned the area. He was on his back on a bed in a cheap motel room, his right arm in a sling. He was terribly parched, and he attempted to reach for the glass of water on the nightstand next to him, but his left hand was cuffed to the bedpost with a set of long manacles that you would see a dangerous prisoner wear to court.

He was beginning to worry until a giant of a man came out of the motel’s bathroom wiping his hands. The colonel breathed a sigh of relief. “Dallas,” he croaked, surprised at the sound of his own voice. The Texan jumped as if someone had put firecrackers in his skivvies, then smiled his big country smile when he saw their commander awake.

“Dammit, pard, ya ‘bout gave me a coronary!”

“Why am I cuffed to the bed?”

“Oh. Yeah, sorry ‘bout that. We didn’t know if ya was gonna make it, so we trussed ya up some ta keep ya off’n us should ya…ya know…turn.” The big man fumbled through his pocket and produced a key. With some effort he was able to unlock the cuffs, and the soldier was free.

He tried to sit up, but everything got woozy, and Dallas caught him before he slammed back into the pillow. “Easy there, pard, ya been down a full day.”

The colonel reached for the water, but Dallas beat him to it and handed it to him. “Where are we?”

“The Cockroach Motel, an’ that’s no lie. Damn critters’re huge, an’ twice as scary as the livin’ dead. Bout forty miles east’o the Mississippi.” Bourne heard
Missippy
from the southerner.

“What happened?”

“Ya got shot.”

“Yes, but what happened after?”

The big man stood and grabbed his radio from on top of the ancient tube-style TV. “Damn place ain’t even got HBO.” Dallas pulled a rickety chair over next to the bed and gingerly sat down, as if he expected that the furniture wouldn’t hold his massive frame. “Well, they came on us fast, bunch a yer black-camo asshole buddies. They started firin’ from one o’ them half-sunk boats, and Andy thinks you done took the first round. Then a speed boat come zippin’ at us from th’other side.” Dallas shook his head. “Dumbasses was shootin’ at a tank expectin’ ta’ win. Anyways, that kid Wilcox opened up with the big gun and turned their boats inta Swiss cheese, and them fellers with ‘em, but not before…”

Bourne furrowed his brow. “Before what?”

“Biggs. He got shot, almost in the same spot’s you did. He bled out on the barge, we couldn’t save ‘im.

The colonel was used to loss, but he still felt a personal responsibility for his men. “Did we lose anyone else?”

Dallas nodded in the negative. “The Kelly-kid took one in the hip, but it wasn’t too bad, and I got this,” the big man rolled his pant leg up and showed the colonel a bandage on his right calf. “I can see yer face, so nah, it ain’t a bite. I got grazed in the fire fight, it ain’t but a scratch.”

“So how did we get here?”

“We drove,” he shrugged. “Got this far and Androwski pulled us in here for some R&R. Said we was gonna burn out, an’ that you needed to lay down proper like, or you might get infected. Ya’ bullet hole I mean,” he added quickly, “not with th’plague.”

“We need to move,” the colonel said sitting up, “we’re running out of time.”

“No can do there, Colonel, we’re outta gas. Seyfert, Murray and the blonde kid, Stover?”

“Stenner.”

“Yeah, I been callin’ him blondie, he hates it. Anyways, they went lookin’ fer some diesel. The Hummer’s on fumes, and the LAV’s got about a quarter tank.”

“How long have they been gone?”

“Couple hours. Listen, I gotta call Andy and let ‘im know you ain’t dead. He wanted ta’ talk t’ ya the minute ya woke up, or know iffn’ ya kicked it.”

Dallas put in the call, and Androwski showed up two minutes later with Rick. They congratulated the colonel on not dying, and Androwski related their story again with little difference. One thing he did add was that they had briefly captured a Triumvirate soldier. He was in his mid-twenties, and certainly had not been military trained. He had been on the partially submerged pleasure boat that had originally opened fire. His partner had been fatally shot in the chest during the fight, but he hadn’t seen it, and the man had turned and bitten him in back of the leg. Androwski and Seyfert questioned him, and the young man said that the Triumvirate wanted Bourne back, but they all thought he was a prisoner, kidnapped from the checkpoint and moved across the country under duress. The soldier was horrified to learn that the colonel had been shot during the fire fight. Seyfert drew his combat knife, and the man apologized vehemently, telling the SEALs that he and most of his compatriots had been forced to join the Triumvirate, and then forced to do its bidding regardless of how tasteless any duty may be. He divulged the fact that there were hundreds of people out looking for Bourne, and Brooks was among them. Bourne’s captors were to be taken alive if possible for questioning, but dead was just as good as long as Bourne was alive and well. Seyfert thanked the man, then shot him in the head, citing that he was infected.

“Sir, we’re set to move in the morning,” Androwski continued, “as long as we get the fuel. Our guys were carrying two cans each, so that’s about thirty-three gallons. Should be plenty to get us to a fueling area.”

“Well done, Lieutenant. I’m concerned about remaining in one place though. It seems every time we stop, the dead find us.”

“Agreed, sir, but there hasn’t been any Lima activity since we got here. This town is totally abandoned.”

“That’s what scares me.”

“Roger that. We’re all jumpy. We’re prepped to hump out of here pretty quick once the fuel arrives though, and if the fuel team doesn’t get back by zero-four-hundred, we’re jumping in the LAV and heading for the gas station to look for them.”

“Where exactly are we?”

“Wisconsin. Approximately forty miles east of the Mississippi, and sixty miles north of Illinois.” He put his finger to his ear and held up the index finger on the other hand. “Roger that, Stark. Be there in two mikes. The fuel is here.”

“Again, well done, Chief.”

“Thank you, sir. I’ll help fuel the vehicles. Glad you’re vertical… or will be soon. Sir.”

“Me too.”

Chris, Anna, and Rick were waiting outside the door, and Anna poked her head in as Androwski left. “How is he?”

“He’s alive,” Bourne answered, trying to sit up.

“Lay your ass right back down, soldier,” she said sternly. “It won’t do to have you opening that wound after I stitched you up. Bullet missed your lung and your shoulder blade, you were lucky. You can get up tomorrow.”

The colonel raised his eyebrows, but conceded and put his head back on the pillow with a grimace. “You stitched me?”

“I did,” she stabbed an index finger at him, “so imagine my displeasure if you open it up again.”

The survivors left the crappy motel at zero-four-hundred the following morning, never seeing a single infected while they were holed up. They travelled for the better part of a day, with sporadic undead sightings, but no hordes. The Triumvirate didn’t bother the group either, and they drove in relative quiet, only stopping to relieve themselves and walk the dog. They turned south before they would hit Lake Michigan, and at fifteen-fifty hours, Bourne called a halt to inspect something. It was getting difficult to traverse the country now without hitting populated areas, and Chicago, the third most populated city in the United States, was just under one hundred miles to the east.

Before the plague, if you had googled the population of Dixon, IL, you would have found out that approximately fifteen thousand people had lived there. A quaint arch with the town’s name in bold capital letters would welcome you should you visit. Now Dixon, like most cities and towns in the United States, was a ruin. It didn’t smolder anymore, the fires having died weeks ago, but something else odd had happened here. The main street through town had abandoned and wrecked vehicles as had the other towns that the survivors had visited, but the vehicles were pushed to the side, some into storefronts, some tipped over. Everything on the main street, from the destroyed vehicles, to the downed power poles, to the store front bricks was covered in a dry brown stuff to about three feet high. It may have been a liquid once, but it had dried, and now it was mostly just a stain. Not a single window remained in any standing building, and even the trees were dead, the smaller ones uprooted and knocked over, the larger ones wilted and droopy. Only a few bodies remained in the streets, also covered in the brown substance, and these were so badly broken as to be almost unrecognizable as human. Against anything solid, such as a wall, or one of the aforementioned vehicles, the brown material had accumulated in drifts of sludge, like someone had spackled the cars to the road with brown goo.

Nothing was alive in Dixon, but there didn’t seem to be any dead either. At least none moving. The team stopped mid-way down Main Street, and a very cautious Murray and Stenner got out of the Hummer and took a quick look around. Everyone was on high alert, but no one had detected any movement, and the thermals in the LAV weren’t displaying any out of the ordinary heat signatures.

Murray regarded the nearby sludge drifts and the stains. He inspected some vehicles and even got on one knee and examined something in the middle of the road while Stenner covered him. Murray pulled out his combat knife and pried something from the street. It was stiff and brown, and when he pulled it up, he wrinkled his nose and pulled his head back. He stood up puzzling for a moment, then looked around, and held his wrist in front of his mouth and retched. “It’s people,” he said into his radio and gagged again. “This brown shit used to be people.” He walked to one sludge pile. “You can see bits of bone and clothes, the rest is…pulp. Jesus. I, ah… I want to leave.”

Anna was skeptical. “What could do that to a human being?”

“I’ve never seen anything like it,” admitted Bourne. “We should keep moving.”

Two hours and six towns later, the group had gotten used to the sight of the brown stains. Wherever there was a tight spot, such as a road with buildings, or a traffic jam on the highway, or a bridge, the human pulp was present.

After more driving, the LAV and the Hummer crested a small hill and in the center of the road was a Blackhawk helicopter, the pilot taking a piss off the side of the road. Four men scrambled to get back in the bird, but the vehicles reached the helo before it could take off, and Seyfert popped his head out of the turret to tell them to power down. Although the weapon was already charged, he jacked the charging handle on the LMG and pointed it at them for emphasis. The men exited the helo with their hands raised.

Murray and Stenner got out of the Hummer and frisked the men as they were covered by Seyfert, confiscating sidearms and stowing them. Each man wore black camo with a gold III stitched over the left breast. Androwski came from behind the LAV. “Now what are you boys doing so far from home? Still looking for your missing colonel?”

The men gave sideways glances at each other, but no one answered. Several other questions were thrown at the Triumvirate soldiers, but they wouldn’t respond. Colonel Bourne strode out from behind the LAV, and upon seeing him, all four men stiffened and saluted.

They looked confused. “We thought you were captured, or dead, sir.”

“I’m neither, Captain, as you can plainly see. Why is your bird parked in the middle of the highway, and not in the air? Step forward, Captain, and report.”

The tallest man moved up and addressed Bourne. “Begging the colonel’s pardon, but we’re not supposed to divulge—”

“Dispense with that shit, Captain. Judging by the looks on your faces and the fact that you called me colonel, you know who I am. I’m giving you a direct order, answer my question: What are you doing out here?”

“Monitoring the swarm, sir.”

Bourne had no idea what the man was talking about. “Repeat that.”

“The swarm, sir, our orders are to follow at a distance of about fifty miles behind and report on any direction changes. We’re conserving fuel by hanging back and shutting down. It’s difficult to get fuel while—”

“Captain, what the hell are you talking about? What swarm? Fifty miles behind what?”

The man looked incredulous. “The swarm of Fallen, sir, the vanguard passed by this way a week ago. Actually, it takes them about a week to move the whole horde about two hundred miles.”

Bourne looked at Androwski, who shrugged, and the Triumvirate soldier to the left of the captain said, “He doesn’t know, Bill.”