The Pandemic Sequence (Book 1): The Tilian Virus (29 page)

“Stay with me, girl,” he said to the canine at his side. When she barked in reply, Mike found himself encouraged by the thought of the dog’s incredible survival over the past several years. As she continued her barking, he recognized a slight change in tone. Previously sounding her obedience, Gazelle now called out in warning. Lisa followed the direction of her stare.

“Oh my God,” she whispered into the air.

With a face suddenly ashen, mouth agape as muscles slackened, Lisa’s demeanor forced Mike to seek the cause. Turning to their rear, his eyes widened as he understood that their situation had transitioned from dire to hopeless.

Behind them, and approaching with feral steadiness, a massive number of Tils slowly walked down the highway. If the refugees were unable to advance, they would soon be overtaken by the Tils at their rear flank.

“So close,” Lisa said, her tone marked with abject resignation, “Damn it but we got so close!

“
Lisa…
LISA!!
” Mike shouted at her to break the defeated trance that now gripped her. Slowly turning to him, she stared at him with pure vacancy in her eyes.

“Lisa, listen to me. We need to advance and take out those gunners. It’s our only chance. Do you understand me? The gunners, that’s your target.”

“Gunners,” she mumbled. Then, as if woken from a deep sleep, her eyes refocused, filling with understanding.

“You with me?”

“
Yes, sir,” she replied with her former conviction. Though relieved to see her emotions under control, Mike worried how the other refugees might react to the sight of the Tils if his head of security froze from the full awareness of their situation. Pushing the thought from his mind, Mike began a hurried crawl around the minivan. The Tils were still several dozen yards behind and not yet running.
Why aren’t they running?
he thought as he wove his way through the maze of vehicles.

As man, woman, and dog rounded another car, they discovered both Erik and Dr. Marena huddled low behind the trunk of a black sedan. Just as Mike was about to speak, the gunfire, unrelenting since it began, came to a sudden and abrupt stop. Erik began to rise from behind the car, when Mike pulled him back down.

In answer to Erik’s questioning look, Mike told him in a hushed voice, “They want us to give away our position.” In confirmation of his assessment, a refugee hidden behind a truck several feet from them jumped into view and began firing towards the attackers. The man barely got off five rounds before his chest exploded from several shots of return fire.

“That’s a fifty,” Lisa said. Mike knew they were outgunned, but now wondered how many .50 caliber machine guns their hidden enemy possessed.

“We need to retreat,” Marena said. His voice shook with fear. Rarely making any excursions from the mountain camp, the doctor had seen little field action and the current situation was clearly taking its toll.

“Can’t,” Mike said. “Tils.”

As the doctor took to mumbling in despair, Mike scanned the wooded areas bordering the highway.

“So, what’s the plan, Chief?” Erik asked.

“Lisa and I will swing around to their east and west flanks. You two stay low and keep moving forward and warn the others about the Tils,” Mike said, trying to fill his words with authoritative certitude.

“How’re you gonna reach the woods? That’s at least a fifteen yard sprint in the open. You’ll be cut down before you take your third step,” Erik replied.

“That’s where the diversion comes in,” Mike said.

“What diversion?” asked Marena who had roused himself from his rumblings.

If the doctor had been anxious before, his blood pressure certainly sky-rocketed when he saw the mischievous smile Mike offered in reply while staring at the doctor’s medical pack.

* * *

The cessation in firing was short-lived as refugees attempted to strike back, only to be met with the overwhelming force of the enemies’ weapons. Through the bursts of gunfire, Mike could see the Tils closing the distance with the refugees. Though oddly still not rushing headlong in frenzy, the infected were now crouching and slinking between vehicles as if to avoid the flight of bullets in the air.

At the western edge of the highway, Mike hoped that Lisa had reached her eastern destination. Long seconds passed as he waited for Erik and the doctor to act. Finally, a thin stream of smoke wafted into the overcast sky. Soon other streams could be spotted, and then tongues of dancing fire grew large enough to mar the landscape with thick black smoke. Mike had doubted that any of the vehicles still had fuel, but their interiors would burn nicely, especially if doused with the doctor’s supply of rubbing alcohol. Mike hoped that the fires would also consume some of the Tils. Over a dozen cars and trucks now burned furiously, filling the distance Mike had to cover to reach the safety of the tree line with cover.

With a breath and a prayer, he lunged forward and sprinted through the smoke. The flash of gray at his feet let him know that Gazelle raced alongside him. Mike mentally screamed at his legs to maintain their balance as they turned over wildly in his dash. The smoke shield was significantly thinner the closer he got to the woods. Several shots whizzed by his head before he reached the ground safely within the woods.

Out of breath and fighting smoke-induced coughs, Mike allowed himself to rest for a fraction of a second. “Get up,” he commanded his body with a whisper.

As he rose from the undergrowth, he pressed his body against the rough exterior of a tall, green-needled tree. He was trusting that his six years of silent tracking and escaping would allow him to reach his targets without them drawing first blood.

Even though the sun had returned, the sky still possessed a grayish hue, which combined with the darkness from the thick evergreen canopy overhead and the smoke now creeping into the woods, provided excellent cover for his advance. Slipping silently from trunk to trunk, he moved as a candle-dancing shadow, a dark form seen briefly before melting away. Though big-city born, Mike had watched and learned from his companions through the years, and had grown to become a child of the forest. His feet moved mutely as he steadily closed in on the attackers. He heard the steady exchange of gunfire along the highway and followed the sound of the large caliber machine guns.

Pausing briefly in a thick bush at the base of a tree, Mike slowly scanned the woods before him. His heart pounded steadily, his lungs taking in deep, silent, controlled breaths. The mending bones of his ribcage strained with the expansion, but the pain was distant and mild. With each blast of the machine gun, he was able to narrow the area his eyes searched.

There!
His mind shouted as his eyes took in a slight flicker of movement several yards ahead. Though it was well hidden among the trees, he could see leaves rustling as the recoil of the large weapon pushed the surrounding air. With his target close, Mike pressed forward. It had only been minutes since the attack had begun, but he knew that the refugees faced an even more deadly foe that would be undeterred by gunfire.
Then why were they crouching?
his mind asked.

As if sensing the need for stealth, Gazelle matched her master in both speed and silence as both glided forward towards the enemy. Whenever he paused to seek the next location of cover, she stood dutifully motionless by his side. Quickly, Mike had advanced enough that a line of fire opened up and he could see the man who controlled the machine gun.

Covered in ragged clothing of brown and green, the man lay prostrate behind the weapon, with his right eye pressed tightly against the gun’s sight. Sparing a second to scan for cover once he took his shots, he slowly raised his firearms. To his right, he spied a thick congestion of entwined trees. Mike decided he would dive for their protection once he gave away his position by firing his guns.

His index fingers gently curled around the cool metal triggers. With long-established reflex, he could feel the series of muscles contract as he squeezed. Before the familiar click that would send forth the projectiles, Gazelle let out a wild series of barks. The distraction forced one of the rounds to go wide, while the other embedded itself into the prone man’s lower back. The slow motion advance through the woods sped rapidly into flashes of action.

At the onset of the dog’s barking, Mike had turned his head to his left as he blindly fired the guns pointed ahead of him. The bullets barely left their barrels before he felt the force of a collision. His weapons flew free from his hands once he hit the ground, followed by the crushing weight of a body smashing atop his own. His vision filled briefly with flashes of light while he screamed in pain as his mending ribs shattered once again. Hearing the growl from the figure crushing him, he managed to grab the Til’s throat before its mouth reached his flesh.

Mike struggled to maintain his grip while the Til’s jaws snapped wildly just inches from his face. The creature’s face was covered in half-healed scars, and the skin beneath its nose was stained a deep red from the slow, constant hemorrhaging of the virus. Scabbed fingers, some cut off at the knuckle and mostly nail-less, wrapped tightly around Mike’s wrist.

Turning his face away from the Til for fear of its saliva or blood reaching his eyes and mouth, he could feel the strength leaving his arm, and his elbow continued to give way. Reaching with his free hand, Mike grabbed the hunting knife sheathed at his waist. Armed with the blade, he still could not risk releasing the creature’s blood while it was this close to his face. Marshalling the little flagging energy still within him, Mike let out a loud scream as he forced his arm to push the Til away from his body. As his tendons and muscles cried out, he moved the Til further and further back until his own arm was fully extended. He could feel his shoulder begin to buckle towards dislocation as he drove the six-inch blade through the Til’s eye. When the guard reached the skeletal socket, he gave a quick twist of the handle. The Til jerked once, and then again, before its arms dropped from Mike’s wrist. Shoving the dead weight to the side, he gasped raggedly to catch his breath, wincing as his lungs pressed into broken bones.

With great effort, he struggled to his feet and began to search the thick woodland carpet for his fallen weapons. The metal showed clearly in the murky browns of the undergrowth. In the collision, both weapons had come precariously close to going over a steep incline some forty feet in length. His eyes searched the trees for further Tils, as he reached down gingerly to retrieve the guns. As he rose back to his full height, he noticed the distinct booming of the .50 caliber machine guns was absent amid the sounds of small arms fire. Mike wondered if it was an indication of another lull in the attack or if Lisa had achieved her target on the eastern side.

Even if the heavy guns are out of commission
, he told himself,
we still need to cut through the enemy line
. Moving more stiffly than during his previous stalking, he slid through the trees as best as his battered body could manage. He allowed his senses and instincts to direct his path, while his mind tried to determine how much time had elapsed. From his vantage point, he could still see the flames of the burning vehicles. Without a gasoline accelerant, Mike knew the interior of the cars and trucks would not burn for long.
Minutes,
he realized with surprise. If he was to judge by the beating his body had taken he would have assumed hours had slipped past.

Though the fires were visible, he had difficulty locating the refugees as they were hopefully making their way forward. The Tils advancing along the highway, however, were quite distinct, their numbers crowded closely together and appearing as a fleshed wave inching along a paved shore. The encroaching tide of infection had moved past the burning vehicles. Mike knew if the refugees did not break through soon, they would be crushed between bullets and disease.

Crouching low behind a heavily-leaved sapling, he identified two more targets. Closer to the road than their comrade had been, the two figures positioned themselves among the few remaining trees before the woods gave way to the highway’s shoulder. Armed with semi-automatic machine guns, each would briefly spray the highway below with bullets before returning to safety behind the trunks. It had surely been luck that his attack on the .50 caliber had not been heard, but Mike understood that such lightning would not strike twice.

Past the two attackers closest to him, Mike could see several dozen others arrayed across the blockaded highway. A brief glance was all he needed to recognize how strong the enemies’ position was. In his current state, he accepted his inability to enact a silent approach, let alone take on that large of a force with two handguns.

Mike forced his mind to process his options rapidly, fearing the seconds of delay that brought the refugees closer to a horrifying end. Before the idea was even concluded, Mike turned and retreated with as much haste as his body allowed. The needed immediacy of action allowed for a slight carelessness as he rushed through the trees. Sparing no time for subtlety or safety, he quickly returned to the site of the struggle with the Til. Grunting through the pain, Mike lifted the heavy machine gun and its metal case that overflowed with the belted cartridges. With a combined weight of well over one hundred pounds, he strained as he half-carried, half-dragged the weapon. What should have been crippling pain in his chest was masked by the adrenaline in his veins and the determination in his will.