These Dead Lands: Immolation (72 page)

Outside, the bodies were piling up, especially around the front door. Hastings saw vehicles roar past in the distance, Humvees and trucks and MRAPs bolting for the rail yard. None slowed to assist beyond raking the herd with machine-gun fire.

Gutless fucks,
he raged impotently as he tagged another reeker. The pile outside the door was already three deep and five times that wide, a ragged semi-circle of death. Doorways usually served as fatal funnels, but Hastings had never seen one become so effective. The dead had no cognizance of the fact that their relentless advance would only serve to get them killed. And as long as the ammo held out, Hastings intended to kill as many of the walking corpses as he could.

Ballantine’s voice came over his headset. “Crusader One One, this is Crusader One Seven. Over!”

Hastings waved for Everson to take his place, and the old Marine crept forward. Everson was limping a bit, but the crusty old guy with the long hair and biker’s demeanor didn’t seem bothered by anything other than the dead gathering outside.

Hastings keyed his radio. “One Seven, send it!”

“One One, we’re approaching you now. Where do you want us? We’re in a five-ton with a fitty and five M4s in the bed. Over.”

“One Seven, stand by.” Hastings bent over Everson. “Ballantine’s about to roll up in a five-ton. I need to take a run around and see where the best pickup spot will be. Hold them back!”

“Oo-rah!” Everson shouted. If Hastings didn’t know any better, he would have thought the old guy was actually enjoying himself.

Hastings ran down the length of the barracks, looking out windows as he went. The view was much the same—zombies, and lots of them. When he got to the back door, he found the presence of the dead was substantially less. Still not a walk in the park, but it looked like a better bet than heading out the front, and people could jump out faster than if they tried to go out through the windows.

“Crusader One Seven—” Hastings heard the roar of the five-ton truck’s diesel engine. A moment later, it thundered past the side of the barracks, blasting right through the gathered zombies. He caught a glimpse of Slater manning the M2 .50-caliber machine gun in the cab-mounted gunnery ring. Slater was firing off to the truck’s right, away from the barracks. “Ah, One Seven, I’m thinking we’re going out the back. Over.”

“Roger, One One. It does look a bit lighter back there. Get them ready to go. We’ll circle back. Over.”

“Roger, One Seven.” Hastings ran back to the front door. He bent over Everson and motioned him to pull back and let another gunner take over.

“What’s up, Captain?”

“Ballantine and the guys are going to pick up folks in the back. I want you to get them organized. Looks like you have a bit of a limp going on, Mister Everson, so I don’t think you should be the last guy in here.”

“Appreciate the thought. Who will be, then?”

“Me,” Hastings said.

Everson frowned. “I don’t know if that’s—”

“I got nothing left to live for, Marine,” Hastings said. “Get them organized, and move them to the truck. Get it done.”

Everson obviously knew they didn’t have the time to get into it, but he hesitated for a second anyway before nodding and setting off into the barracks. He shouted orders, rounding people up as the big five-ton circled back, the .50 cal in its turret clattering away.

*

Ballantine half-leaned out
the passenger-side window and turned toward the back of the truck. “Okay, get ready to move them out!” he yelled to the guys in the back.

“Ready!” Guerra shouted.

“Don’t fuck around out there, and leave someone behind for security!” Slater said. “I’ll hold the fuckers back on the front radial, but the rest of you joes need to slag ’em where you see ’em!”

The truck crashed through another echelon of reekers, leaving them pulverized and twisted into pretzel-like shapes. Dark gore splattered across the rig’s flat windshield, and the driver moaned like one of the dead.

“You’re not going to get sick, are you?” Ballantine asked the man.

“No, Sergeant,” the corporal replied, then he promptly threw up in his lap.

Ballantine shook his head. “Dude, just keep going until I tell you to stop. All right?”

“Sure thing,” the driver said, then he gagged again as the truck rolled over more ghouls.

The boys in back were already opening up, nailing stragglers that pursued the truck. There was no sense in letting them close up on it after the rig was stopped.

Ballantine watched the barracks building grow larger in the gore-encrusted windshield. “Okay. Okay, stop us here, man.”

When the truck ground to a halt, Ballantine rolled up his window and pitched open the cab door as Slater began hammering the zombies with the .50 cal. Expended cartridges rolled all around the top of the cab, banging off the hood as they fell.

“Don’t open your door, and sit here until it’s time to roll,” Ballantine told the driver, then he bailed out and slammed the door shut behind him.

Guerra, Reader, Tharinger, and Hartman jumped out the back. Stilley stayed in the truck bed and hosed the dead with a SAW, hooting and hollering about queer zombies and yogurt. The other guys advanced to the rear of the barracks and blasted a hole through the reekers there. Ballantine watched the bodies hit the deck without even having to fire a shot of his own.

He pushed his way through the door as two gunners stepped out, civilians with sweat-drenched faces and clothing. He left them for Guerra to sort out.

Everson limped toward him, his furry brow furrowed and his lips compressed into a tight line behind his beard. “Ballantines! You’re up!” he shouted, pointing at Kay and the boys.

Ballantine ran toward his family, surprised at the sudden rush of emotion he felt when he saw his family safe and sound. For a second, he worried he was about to start blubbering all over the place.
Let’s hold on to the man card just a little bit longer, okay?

“Come on, guys, let’s go!” he yelled, waving his wife and boys toward him.

He hustled them toward the back door, holding his rifle with his right hand, his left firmly clasping Josh’s shoulder. Behind him, Kay took Curtis’s arm with on hand and held her rifle in her other. Guerra had organized the civilians and the rest of the guys into a defensive formation to provide cover while the civilians were hurried out to the waiting truck. Ballantine led the way, shooting at the reekers one-handed and scoring some kills.

“Dad, that’s so
cool
!” Joshua said.

Ballantine rushed him to the truck and practically threw him into the bed one-handed while Stilley kept blasting away at the zombies walking toward the rear of the truck. He did the same with Curtis then helped Kay climb up onto the rig’s rear bumper.

*

Diana pulled back
from the window she had been defending. The truck was right outside, its front bumper maybe twenty feet away.

“Diana, get the fuck out of here!” Hastings shouted over his shoulder as the rest of the civilians began falling back. “Take Kenny, and get out to the truck!”

“When are you coming?” Diana yelled, even though she was pretty much deaf at this point.

“Just go!”

The weird Special Forces guy was inflicting some serious punishment on the dead, while another man cowered inside the truck’s cab. Some zombies were making their way to the front of the truck, having successfully managed to evade being gunned down.

Okay. Time to go.
She stepped back and turned to her left, where Kenny—

—wasn’t. He wasn’t sitting in the corner any longer, screaming and crying. She caught a flash of movement near the hallway leading to the rear. A glimpse of blue Reeboks made her get to her feet.

“Oh, fuck!
Kenny
!” Diana charged after him, slaloming her way around the other people who were starting to hurry to the exit.

She emerged from the back door just in time to see Kenny darting away. Everson reached out to grab him, but Kenny was too fast. Kenny was gone around the corner, screaming and crying as he went. Diana slammed into Everson, rebounded, and race after Kenny.

“Come back, you little
bastard
!” she screamed.

She flew around the corner as the .50 caliber opened up, tearing the air apart like thunder. Diana got a quick impression of Slater hauling the big machine gun around and lowering its barrel, his face finally registering a degree of surprise she thought was beyond him. Then, she saw Kenny running right into a knot of zombies. The dead reached for him with hooked fingers, their dead eyes suddenly alight with joy that such a tasty morsel was delivering itself right to them.

Diana slowed, raised the little Sig rifle, and began firing. One, two, three, four, five zombies went down. Each time a reeker touched Kenny, she killed it. Kenny suddenly froze, face turned up the sky, tears rolling down his cheeks as he wailed in terror and confusion. The .50 caliber stopped firing.

“Kenny, get over here!” Slater shouted.

Diana fired her weapon one-handed as she reached for Kenny with the other. A round blasted a hole through one reeker’s skull, and then the bolt locked back. The rifle was empty. Diana dropped it and seized Kenny with both hands as a ghoul grabbed his shirt. She kicked the reeker away, tucked Kenny in close, then spun around to sprint for the truck. A zombie grabbed her and sank its teeth into the padded shoulder of her leather riding jacket.

*

Ballantine climbed out
of the truck bed as quickly as he could the second he saw Kenny dart around the corner, closely followed by Diana. He had no idea what was going on, but Everson was picking himself up from the ground, and Guerra had a shocked expression on his face as he shouted, “Get the kid! Get the kid!”

Ballantine watched as Diana blasted her way into the knot of zombies and grabbed Kenny. But by then, it was too late. The zombies had them both.

“Carl! Do something!” Kay screamed.

I am doing something,
Ballantine thought.
I’m saving my family.

Hastings flew out of a window, right over Kenny and Diana, firing as he went, a real John Wayne moment if ever there was one. He landed on a zombie and crashing it into some others, making them topple like bowling pins. Two more, he shot at close range, then he reached out and grabbed the hair of the zombie chewing on Diana’s jacket. He pulled and got only a handful of zombie hair. He let go of his M4 and yanked the ghoul by the collar, tearing it away from her. The reeker spun and latched onto him. Hastings straight-armed it, holding it away from him.

“Ballantine!” Hastings shouted. “Get in the fight, God damn you!”

“Aw, fuck!” Ballantine raised his rifle and surged forward, gunning on the run.

He didn’t do more than slow down the zombies he hit, but they took notice of his impending arrival and turned toward him, giving Diana enough time to spring away. She rushed past Ballantine like a pint-sized wide receiver going deep. Overhead, the .50 rapped out a quick burst, chopping a zombie in two as Ballantine drifted to his right and shot another. Hastings broke the grip of the zombie wrestling with him then slammed it in the chest with both palms, driving it backward three full steps. Ballantine fired, tapping a small hole in the corpse’s right cheekbone. The round made a baseball-sized hole in the reeker’s skull as it exited in a plume of gray-black matter.