Zombie Rush 3 Page 12

  "I can stay with them through dinner, but then I have to get back to the hospital and claim my bed," Julia said.

  "Claim your bed?" Krissy asked her friend and teacher.

  "Yeah, there are only so many and people are coming in every day, so I have to claim my spot or sleep on the floor."

  "That's nonsense," Benson said. "I need your help; come stay with us. We have a big tent with an extra room. All we need is to find a cot, some bedding, and you're all set."

  "No, I really couldn't."

  "Well, suit yourself. You're welcome to if you change your mind," he said. "Thank you for staying with them as much as you have; I appreciate it." Benson finished and unfortunately had to leave immediately.

  The first person he saw was Calvin and his own personal ass polisher, Fenton, standing like they owned the place. As soon as Benson arrived, he could see that Boweaver was way out of his league and more than a little sick from watching the still life flashing of pictures every ten seconds showing a new scene of what was happening on the roof.

  Benson saw the look of ecstasy on Web's face when he slashed the throat of the stranger and let him fall. Behind him he saw the people tied and awaiting their fate, and when Web opened the rooftop door, everybody knew what he was allowing onto the roof. A collective low moan sounded from the crowd when the zombies entered onto the scene.

  Benson didn't bother watching anymore; instead, he scanned the skyline to see where he was located. The rooftop was uncomfortably close to the compound. He could even distinguish who he believed to be the good doctor crawling up onto a lift behind the spectacle.

  The maniac is still determined to be in the limelight. Something on the rooftop, however, seemed to be distracting him. Benson went over to Boweaver.

  "Did you do anything you're going to regret, Boweaver?" he asked.

  "No, I just got here and have been watching like everybody else. I don't even know what I could do."

  "Good man, keep up the good work."

  "What do you want me to do?"

  "Just keep everybody calm," Benson said when suddenly the people watching cheered. He turned and looked to see a living human clearing the roof of zombies.

  "She cut that guy's ropes!" a voice in the crowd shouted.

  "What's her weapon?" another voice chimed in.

  "That's the Sharonator!" a man shouted.

  "No way," another responded.

  "Look at that wheel kick; it has to be her."

  Benson had to admit he recognized the name. It wasn't often that a local kid got a break on a pro-circuit like the WMA. He hoped that she had enough in her to hold out until they got there.

  "Malcolm, we gotta go. See if we can round up fifteen or so shooters to go with us."

  "I got some soldiers that were on one of the C130s on standby. They are anxious to get into the action," Malcolm replied.

  "Yeah, we'll see if they say that in an hour." Benson smiled at the newly arrived soldiers in clean and pressed uniforms looking like they just came off leave. A resentment went through him. While he was here fighting, they were relaxing and waiting for a safe entrance to the compound. Time to earn their keep. The C130 they had arrived in came in last and unloaded a Typhoon APC and a machine-gun-mounted Humvee.

  Benson rode in the passenger seat of the Humvee behind two of the faster moving front-end loaders that cleared a path through the zombies. The number had been knocked down quite a bit, but there were still pockets here and there due to the threat of Web's sniper rifle. Now they were out in full force, knowing that Web was elsewhere and preoccupied.

  "So where have you been held up for the last few days?" Benson asked, wondering if there was any outside news to be heard.

  "I'm not usually allowed to talk about our assignments … but that was before. I suppose it doesn't matter now," Captain Sauk said. "We got turned away from the Fort Snelling Air Force Base in Minnesota four days ago. We flew up to Grand Forks Air Base knowing that they ran B52s out of there at one time, but that had been turned over to a drone program facility a few years back. So we settled in at the public base there for a couple of days to try to sort things out. There, we had some contact with the drone program at the air base. They had operational units all over the globe providing data and some of what we saw … well, it just didn't make sense."

  "I don't suppose it did. I mean, none of this really makes sense, now does it?" Benson added, trying to keep it relaxed so that he might get more out of the captain. "How was it confusing to you?"

  "Well … there was no rate of spread. When a disease strikes, you usually have an origination point and the spread through the populace from that point. There was none of that for this. People woke up to this nightmare all on the same morning. The clock would show it in some countries as being a day later but in truth, it was all following the dawn. Something encompassed the globe that night and spread this thing to everyone it could touch in the course of twenty-four hours.

  "So after Grand Forks populace stumbled out to eat us, those who could fly, did. We took a couple of the hackers that we could fit and took to the air. We have been flying slow and low and only stopping for fuel. We dropped into Lawson Army Field to try to do an oil change, but we were barely able to get fuel. It was on our way out that we heard your broadcast."

  "So, in other words, you have never really had to fight these things?" Benson prodded.

  "Really? I mean you think that we have survived the last few days without ever killing a zombie? Did you notice the machetes or tomahawks strapped to the hips of my men? Every time we fueled up it was a battle for our lives. I have lost eight people to those blood suckers. We're Rangers, sir, and yes … we have killed many zombies. Grand Forks was a nightmare. I had people ten miles away on the base where the old unused airstrip had become a parking lot. We're lucky that it was Grand Forks, North Dakota, and the population was minimal. Now they're all dead or on the run…"

  "Probably not all, Captain; we're finding more than twice the amount of survivors than we had initially planned … which is a good thing. I have it over the wire that there is a quarter of a million dead people heading this way from Little Rock, so if you're planning on running, now would be a good time," Benson said coldly in an obvious test to the man's metal.

  "There is nowhere to run to, Patrolman Benson. We're here for the duration. What's being done about the approaching horde?"

  "Call me Art. I'm no more a patrolman than you're a dishwasher at the local diner," Benson replied. Captain Sauk pondered this for a minute before responding.

  "Okay, Art, you can call me Captain Sauk. I didn't do the dishes at the local diner; I was a cook. So what's being done about the horde?"

  Benson shrugged. "I don't really know. Lisa said she would handle it."

  "That's it? Lisa said she would handle it? Kind of lacking in leadership here, aren't you?"

  "Oh, I'm not in charge, and neither is Lisa or Krupp. This whole thing is just evolving as we go. I guess Lisa has final say though; she's who the people trust."

  "Sounds like a lot of work for one person. Is she up to it?"

  "More than I would have ever imagined. It's not like I have much say in the matter; I can only be in one spot at a time. She has a brain too. Her ideas don't always coincide with mine, but they do seem to work out in the end," Benson finished just as the front-end loaders split off, leaving a couple of the smaller, slower skid steers to tag along with the group. The buildings and alley in question were only a few blocks ahead if their spotters were right.

  "So tell me about the satellite situation ..."

  #

  Frustrated, Dean yanked the doctor to his feet. He thought they had set out to kill the bastard, but Kodiak was sure that Lisa wanted him alive, so alive it would be.

  "I have to get Charlie," Dean said and headed back up the stairs and into the room where the lift was approaching the balcony.

  "Looks like they found us, Dean. You'd better hurry up!" Kodiak shouted up the stairs. He walk
ed out on the balcony to see Charlie coming back with two passengers. He didn't like the idea of his boy picking up strangers—especially while unarmed—but he didn't appear too worried about it so Dean relaxed and even helped them off when they got close enough. He handed Charlie the shotgun.

  "Sorry," Charlie said, thinking that he would be in trouble for dropping it.

  "Not a big deal; he was bigger and more experienced than you. You seemed to do all right with what you had," he said, indicating the two people he rescued from the rooftop.

  "There was a third but I couldn't get their attention in time," Charlie said sadly.

  "Sometimes that happens. Check your rounds and let's go; seems there are zombies around."

  "Who would have thunk?" Charlie responded with a smirk.

  "You guys wait here. I'm going to clear us a path, so wait for my signal," Dean said after he peeked out the lobby door. He handed his M4 to the man, Vern. "Do you know how to use it?"

  "I'll figure it out," Vern said.

  Dean gave him a nod before he unsheathed Shaaka and held the buckler in his left hand. He grabbed a breath and pushed through the door to the street where the mass of dead were just starting to move toward them. Charlie followed him out as he always did, with two in the chamber and two in his hand.

  There were no fancy twirls or spins to be seen; just a large, powerful man whose arms worked as a jackhammers plunging the point of Shaaka into one skull after another. He had killed so many that way, he no longer looked at the faces and simply fell into a rhythm of standing them up with the heavy wood buckler and plunging the sharpened file blade through skulls wherever it landed. You couldn't plunge a knife through a skull without serious effort but the long handle of Shaaka and the extra-heavy blade of the reshaped file was pushing through craniums as if they were honeydew melons.

  He used the buckler to clear a path through the mass of unmoving flesh he left in his wake before the others exited the building. Sharon led the way with Kodiak guiding Webber, and Vern in the rear holding Dean's M4. They saw Charlie in fire-ready position as he watched his father's back. It all had a strange feel of normalcy or complacency to it. They had never met before and everybody instantly assumed a role. These were not the soft office executives from a week ago. These were the new breed of people; fighters, killers willing to do whatever was necessary in order to survive. Everything seemed to be in its proper place and functioning as it should.

  The building where they had been held was starting to empty into the alley and the corners of the line were starting to circle behind Dean as Charlie fired and reloaded as fast as he could. Somehow Vern knew that his job was to keep moving them forward, and Sharon was having no problem keeping the path clear of the few that were coming in from the other direction. Maybe this was how death felt? Maybe the last few seconds of your life were moments of confounding peace and comfort even in the most extreme of situations.

  The roar of a low RPM diesel engine accompanying bright lights appeared from around the corner and soon passed right in front of them as they moved in to back up Dean. Dean backed off when the skid loaders arrived, knowing that he would be hurting more than he could help them. With them on hand, it was like turning a switch on the wall. Fight, battle, blood, mayhem; they show up, and you walk away without a concern.

  Not much was said between them as they rode in the APC back to the compound, Dean positioned strategically between Sharon and the doctor. Sharon and her group looked as if they wanted to literally tear him apart and feed him piece by piece to the horde outside. Dean was all for it; after what he had witnessed on the roof, he knew that this guy was not worth the time of a trial, but Kodiak insisted on getting him back to the lieutenant.

  He looked over at his son, Charlie, who stared at the serial killer with a cold, hard stare. He had never seen his son with murder in his eyes before. He liked it. It meant his son was not going to be a pushover who just accepted what happened. He would fight and stand up for what he felt was right.

  Dean silently wondered if this was still the same boy he rescued off of the roof just a few days before. Had the z-poc changed him or did it simply bring out those characteristics that Dean admired? He would never know. The whiny, little, snot-nosed gamer had become a man prematurely. He had become someone Dean could trust, someone who would fight for what he felt was right.

  The double-barreled shotgun that Dean had bought as an investment with the hopes of passing it on to his son rested casually on the boy's lap. What appeared to be casual wasn't actually the case, as he could see Charlie's hands positioned in such a way that the gun could instantly be brought into play. His son was not only a man, but he was a smart man who was ready.

  Charlie looked up at his dad as if he could feel his eyes on him and Dean smiled. Charlie's hand crept unconsciously toward the trigger of his massive gun and Dean smiled larger.

  "Not yet, son, soon … but not quite yet," Dean said as both turned and looked at the doctor, who also smiled as if he were part of their internal connection. Dean suddenly had the urge to pop his head like it was a pimple, but restrained himself.

  Chapter 12

  The Beat Goes On

  If the station was abandoned like they said, Tim felt it would be the Sixty-Six station just the other side of Mapleview Pike. That was a couple of miles to go and a lot of zombies to pass through. He was beginning to think that it was just too far to go with so many zombies on the move when a bright yellow spot in the sky started to grow. The sound of a turboprop engine propeller plane met their ears as soon as the single-man crop duster came into to view. Tim suddenly had an idea.

  "Stop the rig," Tim said and climbed out.

  "Watch my back," he said as he moved out onto the road and signaled toward the sky. A dip of a wing told him that he was seen, so he started to drag his arm in long sweeping movements pointing toward the north end. The duster went out on its long gradual turn and Tim made his signal again as the plane flew by at speeds of over one hundred miles an hour. A spin before it reached the apex of its return arc told Tim that the pilot understood. He slowed his flight and started flying low and slow off to the north of the highway while expelling massive clouds of smoke. Another turbo prop plane joined in and the zombies first just watched the plane fly back and forth, then suddenly began to move toward the buzzing planes, unaware that there was no way to get to them.

  The highway didn't clear out completely, but it became sparse enough for the smaller Hummers to get around and the bigger trucks to run over or plow out of the way. It was as close to a snatch-and-grab mission as they'd had up to that point, and everything had to go smoothly or they would lose people. He slowed their column down as they came to the last overpass before the Sixty-Six station. Eyes on the scene told him that they were going to need a big distraction.

  "Hey, Carlos, are you ready to play a little chicken?" Tim asked as they headed back to their rigs.

  "Whatever it takes, brother," Carlos replied.

  "Okay, let's back up and get on the frontage road. Then we'll set that wing shop over there on fire and lob a couple of mortars into it for some noise. Once they're all looking that way, you come in from the back and drag their asses away. Leave two of your five with me, and don't be afraid to use the fifty on your way back."

  "Roger, don't worry about the fifty; I'm going to ride that bitch personally." Carlos winked and went back to his rig. Two of the newer members were soon trotting over to join Tim.

  After explaining the plan to his group, Tim went over to the landscaping contractor trucks that were full of shooters and had a skid loader trailered behind each.

  "We have a plan to get them off the roof and into the trucks and it looks like we can leave you guys out of it."

  "Well, we're not going to leave you out here, and we don't want to travel back alone, so give us something to do while we wait for you."

  "Easy, keep the frontage road back out onto the highway open so when we move we have somewhat of a clear pathway out
of here."

  "We can do that."

  The Chicken Shack was filled with zombies, but that didn't stop Carlos's crew from knocking the spigot off of a couple of small LP tanks and tossing them in through an unlocked door. As soon as they reached the group, Tim had them lob a couple of incendiary mortars in through the roof of the fast food joint. Tim expected an explosion, but the ensuing mushroom cloud surpassed conventional blasts.

  Every zombie's head in the lot turned at the sound of the explosion. The urge to go toward the disruption must have overwhelmed them because they moved as one away from the Sixty-Six station. Carlos fired up his Hummer but, at a signal from Tim, held position. The explosion looked like it had been enough to wipe the memory of the people on the roof out of their minds.

  The people on the roof were split between watching the zombies leave, the skid loader battle out on the frontage road, and the few who noticed a small convoy tucked behind the trees on the south side of the lot.

  They couldn't wait until the lot was completely cleared of Z's, so he sent Carlos and his group out to handle the slower zombies and block the return of the others. Tim took four on the ground with him while three still in the Hummer covered the west and south ends. The pickups with empty skid loader trailers lined the frontage road as shooters in the bed scanned the horizon. A ladder was handed down from the rack of the lead truck and set up on the canopy. After the first one came slowly down, Tim wondered how they got up there. He went to the building's glass door and listened. Danvers and Green took the initiative and backed him up. Tim gave them a nod, signaling that there were infected inside, and the two instinctively checked the readiness of their weapons.

  Tim cracked the door open and after a quick scan, slipped in with his back to the window. Zombies were clustered around a door to the back of the station where the work bays should be. Danvers and Green were joined by a couple of men from the landscaping crew holding lever-action weapons. Tim sent Green and the landscapers around a corner where more of the moaning could be heard, all moving silently and not distracting the zombies from their previous actions.