A Time to Die (39 page)

Tobey cut ahead of the civilians, Kathy following close behind as an older soldier in the same camo as all the others came walking up. He smiled as Tobey came into view.

“Been a long time,” the man said as he walked up the ramp.

“General Rose,” Tobey said and saluted.

“Drop the shit, Major,” the general said and held out a hand. Tobey shook it warmly. “Who’s this with you?” He looked at Kathy and seemed about to say something when Tobey cut him off.

“You remember my wife passed away?”

“I do now, I’m sorry.”

“It was a while ago,” Tobey explained. “This is Kathy Clifford.”

“The reporter,” General Rose said and took her hand in a warm yet gentle shake. “I thought you looked familiar.”

“Thank you, yes, I’m a reporter.”

“And a fairly famous one. Do you know there is a warrant out for your arrest?”

“I figured there was,” she admitted as they followed the general down the ramp. They had to almost shout over the sounds of constant gunfire. “Considering what’s going on, are you going to turn me in?”

“Probably not,” the general admitted. He gestured to a waiting Humvee. It was still painted in desert tan and had a little flag with four gold stars [[He’s a lieutenant-general earlier, and before that there’s a mention of his losing his ‘star’, as in singular for a brigadier-general. Which?]] stuck to the fender. “Ms. Clifford, would you mind waiting in the Humvee?” She looked from the general to Tobey and nodded reluctantly before heading off.

“The situation looks bad, sir,” Tobey said once she was out of sight. The general was watching the Mexican families offloading from the Chinook. Enrico and Manuel Vetares both waved to Tobey and gave little bows of gratitude. Many of the others waved as well, some with tears of relief pouring down their faces. They knew how close to a horrible end they’d come in that house in the desert.

“Most people don’t know how bad,” General Rose admitted. “We lost all contact with command authority six hours ago. Until then we’d been receiving conflicting orders to deploy to several different locations with various missions in mind.” He sighed and shook his head. Tobey could see the weariness there in his eyes. The air echoed with several dull thumps from grenades. “I stopped paying attention after I told them we couldn’t deploy without air support and they just repeated the orders over, and over, and over again.”

Crews had rushed into the Chinook and were refueling it and bringing fresh ammo aboard for the guns. A new flight crew was checking the bird out, though to Tobey they looked just as tired as the ones who were shuffling off for rest. He looked to see huge stacks of 463L master pallets piled high with all manner of gear.

“You’re getting ready to evac?”

“Not particularly,” the general said. “We don’t have the lift capacity. We had to seal off the airfield from the west hangars. Another twenty-five Chinooks over there, and three Globemasters.”

“We could move a lot of people and equipment with those C-17s,” Tobey noted.

“We’re short of pilots,” the general admitted. “All the rotary wing pilots made it, but only two of the heavy transport pilots. I think we could make a run at the hangars, maybe run and gun it to cut a corridor…”

“But without pilots, no joy,” Tobey finished. General Rose nodded. “What about the guy flying that gunship?”

“It crashed. We checked out the crash site about 15 minutes after he went down. Did a low and slow with a couple of Cobras. Only those infected lunatics and some piles of chewed meat. Damned shame too, I knew about him. Tough as nails fighter jock. Came out of Mexico with that gunship and a load of survivors from a crashed plane.”

“Guy that resourceful might have survived,” Tobey suggested.

“Maybe,” the General said with a shrug.

“Mind if I pick up a squad, take a Blackhawk and go looking for him?”

“Can’t give a bird to a civilian, son. You know that.”

Tobey nodded and after a second he stood up straight and came to attention. “Sir, Major Tobey Pendleton reporting for duty. I’m formally requesting to be reactivated.”

The general regarded him for a long moment then came to a somewhat less straight attention and saluted. “I kind of figured you might. Captain Drake?”

“Sir,” an Army captain said, coming from the Humvee where Kathy watched. The man handed something to the general who in turn put it in Tobey’s hand. Tobey opened the box and found two silver oak leaf emblems.

“Wrong rank, sir,” Tobey said.

“No Colonel, correct rank.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“Thanks for coming back, we need you. Now get with the captain here, draw a uniform and he’ll get a squad of operators for you. See if you can find that damned pilot.”

Kathy watched the proceedings, knowing what had just happened and feeling dread. She didn’t know if she loved him, but did know she cared for the older man a lot. He’d saved her life a couple times now and they’d been lovers ever since that first night. She never imagined she’d fall for a soldier.

Some of the women from the farm house came over to her and thanked her in their halting English, or translated by children before being led to where hundreds of civilian dependents waited under huge tents and inside hangars. All the while the sounds of gunfire never stopped as the enfermo, as the Mexicans had been calling them, waged a nonstop assault against the airfield.

A few minutes later a soldier came striding towards her. He was dressed in full combat gear, web harness bulging with magazines and equipment. The uniform looked brand new, including the silver oak leaves on the shoulders. It wasn’t until she noted the rifle slung over his shoulder was an HK-91, same as Tobey’s rifle that she realized the soldier was Tobey.

“You clean up nice,” she said as she ran into his arms. He was a little stiff at first, then put and arm around her as she angled her head up and kissed him. “I thought silver was a colonel,” she said.

“Lieutenant-Colonel,” he corrected, “I was promoted upon reactivation, I guess. I doubt it’s strictly legal…”

“What’s legal during a zombie apocalypse?” she asked. He just shrugged. Another soldier came running up and saluted.

“The squad is loading up, Colonel,” he said and snapped a quick salute. “Pad seven,” he said and pointed to where a black helicopter squatted, its rotors starting to turn.

“Very good, Sergeant. I’ll be there in a minute.”

“And where are you going?” she asked.

“I’m taking some men to go looking for the pilots of the gunship that saved us. The general said his staff will see to you and the people from the farmhouse.”

“So you’re just going to run off and leave me here?”

“Well,” he said and shrugged, “what am I supposed to do, take you with me?”

“Actually, yes.” Tobey started to laugh, then cut it off hard when he saw the look on her face. He took an unconscious step backwards as she slowly put her hands on her hips and just glared.

Chapter 25

Tuesday, April 24

Afternoon

The desert was quiet as the sun blazed down on them. Andrew was perched on a badly rusted guardrail, trying to balance between the pain in his ass from the metal he sat on, and his foot and stump which throbbed in time with his heartbeat. He couldn’t remember walking this much since his Academy days. As bad as he felt, his new friend Chris was worse off. The older man, a former three-gun champion, was average in that he walked very little very day. He looked like he’d been rode hard and put away wet.

The two of them looked like spring chickens next to the last of their number. Wade was younger than either of them, but probably weighed as much as the two of them put together. A self-proclaimed video game champion, he told them at every step that he’d now walked further than he had in his entire life. The man had to be in the worst physical shape of anyone Andrew had ever met.

“Can… we… stop… yet?” Wade whined as he finished the last few steps to catch up with them.

“For a few minutes,” Andrew said. Wade fell onto his ass with a meaty whack sound. Chris just elected to lean against the same guardrail that Andrew was sitting on.

“They’re never going to give up,” Wade said. “Are they?”

“I don’t think so,” Andrew agreed.

Chris looked down the road south and let his head hang, slowly shaking it from side to side. “How do they keep going?”

“The virus… does something… to their metab… olism,” Wade huffed.

“Better just sit there and breathe,” Andrew suggested. He was checking his pack at the time, verifying how much ammo they had left. He knew it was only a matter of time before they couldn’t go any further. Maybe sooner rather than later for Wade, then they’d all be forced with the decision to stay and fight, or leave those who fell behind for the crazies.

For all of Wade’s failings, and the short time he’d known him, Andrew knew there were a lot of them, Wade had come through when it counted. He’d manned the chief gunnery position on the AC-130. Without him they would have never been able to save those people in the farmhouse.

Andrew cocked an ear and listened for a moment. None of the familiar sounds he’d come to associate with their pursuers. He pulled out a water ration packet from the backpack and popped the release tab, took a drink and passed it to Chris. The man took a drink and passed it to Wade, who drained the container in several log guzzling swallows. Chris and Andrew exchanged looks. Andrew just shrugged and checked how many they had left. Three. One and a half liters. Wade looked like he could have drank it all on the spot, so he left the rest in the pack. The heat was already brutal and they were sweating like pigs.

A few more precious minutes went by as they all rested in the way they found best. Wade flopped out flat on the concrete, ignoring the oppressive heat, and slowly resumed something approximating normal breathing. As if on cue the unmistakable sound of grunting came from down the road. Wade’s head came up and he moaned out loud.

“Let’s move,” Andrew said and hopped off the guardrail. His ass was grateful, his limbs were not.

“I can’t, Wade said, and put his hands on his knees. He shook his head from side to side and tears started to form. “Leave me.”

“So you want to get eaten alive?”

“Then shoot yourself,” Andrew said.

“What are you saying,” Chris asked, his eyes wide.

“I’m tired of listening to this fucker piss and moan! We’ve done everything we could to keep him alive and pull him on. He’s a drain on our resources.” Andrew walked over and bent, snatching the pistol from the big man’s belt. He expertly checked the chamber, cocked it, and held it out. “There you go, gamer boy.”

The other man took the gun and looked at it. It appeared to weigh heavily in his hand.

“What are you waiting for? You want to get eaten alive?” Wade gave a tiny shake of his head. “Then do it.” Wade looked back down at the gun. “Do it!” Andrew snapped, making Wade jump.

“Fuck you,” Wade said and put the gun down on the blacktop.

“What did you say?” Andrew said.

“I said go fuck yourself!”

“That’s what I thought you said. So you want to live?”

“Yes.”

“Good, then get up.” Andrew looked at Chris who’d looked shocked at the entire exchange and motioned with his head. The other man came over and they both took an arm, hauling his considerable bulk to his feet.

“I got it,” Wade growled and shook them off when he was most of the way up. He started walking down the road without being prompted any further. Andrew bent down and picked up the pistol, flipping the safety which decocked it.

“Would you have let him shoot himself?” Chris asked. Andrew flipped the gun in his grip and pulled back the action, revealing an empty chamber. Chris grunted and looked back down the road. There was a very slight rise a couple hundred yards off. A few dark spots could just be seen cresting the ridge. “Pretty over the top way to handle that.”

“Worked, didn’t it?”

They only made a little more than an hour that time. While Wade was just about at his end, Andrew had to admit he wasn’t the only one nearing their last gasp. This time they hadn’t made a lot better time than their pursuers. Their options were becoming limited.

“We need to slow them down,” he said, “let us catch our breaths maybe.”

“I can see what I can do,” Chris volunteered. Wade just lay on the road again and breathed.

Andrew considered for a moment then shrugged. “Sure, give it a shot.”

Chris took his M-16 and lay down on the road in a classic prone position, legs splayed and gun braced on his left elbow. “I don’t like these sights,” he grumbled as he tried them from different sight pictures before settling in. His thumb found the selector switch and flipped it from safe to single shot. A moment later the rifle went “Crack!”

Andrew had fished out the binoculars from his bag and observed one of the crazies jerk from a left shoulder hit.

“Were you aiming at the guy with the Yankee’s shirt?”

“Yeah.”

“Left shoulder. Far edge.”

“I was aiming for his chest.” Chris turned the gun in his hands and examined how the elevation and windage worked. He went back on target and gave the control knob a couple clicks. “Crack!”

“Stomach,” Andrew said. The crazy staggered from the second shot. The binoculars weren’t the best but he could see blood spreading from two wounds now. “Switch targets,” he suggested.

“But the first one isn’t down yet,” Chris complained.

“That isn’t entirely necessary,” Andrew said.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that bleeding out and wounded might be a better option than dropping them.”

“I didn’t think about that,” Chris admitted and switched targets. “Woman in the red dress.”

Andrew moved the binoculars. It was actually only half a red dress. The bottom part to be precise. She’d been attractive before blood was splattered down her face and breasts. A moment later the gun barked and a tiny hole appeared between those breasts. The woman fell like a ragdoll.

“Square on target. But about the wounding thing?”

“Sure,” Chris said and picked another target. For the next fifteen rounds he shot one person with each round. Every round was a hit, and all leg hits. One of the fifteen was still limping on, the other fourteen were on the ground. Andrew bit his lip and crossed his fingers as others came slowly into view.

“Come on,” Andrew whispered, “dinner is served you sick fuckers.”

“What’s happening?” Wade asked. Chris explained as Andrew watched through the binoculars. The first of the next wave reached the woman Chris had shot dead and stop, considering her. After a moment he walked on. “Damn it,” he spat, “they’re not stopping.” But no sooner had he said that then the next one knelt down and started tearing at the woman’s flesh. “Wait…” Several others joined the feast. Next others went for the man Chris had shot several times. He was lying there, still moving. That excited them and a dozen went for him.

“Here we go,” Andrew said. Dozens and dozens began falling on the wounded and dead. In a minute it became a slaughter. Even a few who hadn’t been shot were injured and set upon. “We’ve bought some time,” he said. “Can you walk, Wade?”

“Slowly,” the man said.

“Good enough.” Andrew and Chris helped Wade to his feet and they were moving again.

Andrew kept trying to figure out what road they were on. The group had literally stumbled across it an hour after they left the gunship crash. Now they’d been leapfrogging as often as they could keep moving for almost seven hours. Despite that, Andrew guessed they’d gone less than ten miles. Many rural roads only had road signs around intersecting byways.

As they were walking a road sign finally came visible. It took a few more minutes of walking for it to get close enough to read. Highway 83 was what the sign read. And just past that, a sign gave a more precise location. “Laredo – 12 miles”.

“Wow,” Andrew said, “we were way off course when we crashed. Must have been just across the Rio Bravo.”

“Is that bad?” Wade asked.

“We’ve been heading north, I thought we were further east. Maybe this had been Highway 16 into Hebbronville. Much smaller town, maybe five thousand people. Laredo is a quarter million or so.”

“That’s a lot of people,” Chris said, “more chances of getting help.”

“Right,” Wade agreed. The grade had leveled out and headed down slightly, allowing the big gamer to feel a little relieved.

“Not good,” Andrew said, shaking his head for emphasis. “If you haven’t been keeping up with current events we’re in the middle of a pandemic?”

“Zombie Apocalypse,” Wade corrected.

“Whatever,” Andrew spat. “The point is a large part of that horde following us came from big cities. You notice they’re not dressed like farmers?” Chris pursed his lips as he considered. “Do you really think this plague isn’t north of the border?” The two other men shook their heads in the negative and Andrew just nodded.

They stopped again for a break as the afternoon slowly advanced. The sun was dipping towards the horizon cooling things off fractionally. After a half hours rest they were up again. But after walking only a few minutes Andrew stopped in his tracks. The other two men went several steps before they realized he’d stopped. They looked back just as he started pulling magazines out of his pack.

“What?” Chris asked, then looked down the road in the direction they’d been heading. Only a few hundred yards away people were walking towards them. “Are they…zombies?” Andrew stopped stuffing mags in his belt long enough to hand Chris the binoculars. The shooter put them to his eyes and adjusted them. “Zombies,” he said simply and handed the binoculars back.

“Take some magazines,” Andrew said, handing over several. “Wade, here’s that handgun again.”

“I’m not very comfortable shooting people,” the big man complained.

“Do you have any idea how many you gunned down in that plane? Just take the damn gun, okay?” He took it and Andrew spent a second going over its operation. He finished by jacking the slide and locking the safety. “Flip this, point, pull the trigger. Got it?”

“Sure,” Wade said and gingerly put the gun in his pocket. “What now?”

“We head east, no choice. The river is about five miles that way, but it won’t do us any good. So shallow this time of year you can walk across it.” Andrew pointed about fifty yards in the direction they’d been heading. A dirt road went off to the east. “If we’re lucky we’ll find some shelter before we get overrun.” With varying levels of effort, the three men moved up the road and turned down the gravel way, moving at a right angle to the two approaching groups.

From almost three hundred yards away, Andrew turned and lifted the binoculars. He was saying a silent prayer to a God who he rarely addressed that the crazy fucks would just keep going in opposite directions, or maybe come together in some apocalyptic killing frenzy. The two groups met about seventy-five yards south of their road’s cutoff.

They slowed as they approached each other, seeming uncertain if they were friend, foe, or food. Sure enough, there were some squabbles, though none went past the grabbing and biting phase.

The crowd grew steadily as two massive flows continued to run into each other and built, slowly overflowing the road to both sides. Andrew thought it reminded him of how bacteria swarmed in a petri dish. As long as they’d had a direction and indications of prey, they’d had no problem walking onwards almost forever. But now they were almost confused, lacking direction or coordination. And endless number flowed into the ever growing swarm.

“There must be a million of them,” Wade said, watching with a hand up to shield from the afternoon sun.

“Ten thousand or so at least,” Chris suggested. Andrew just nodded. The tableau was deeply disturbing, and strangely compelling. He wished he were watching from twenty thousand feet instead of just a few hundred yards away.

“Let’s get the fuck out of here before they see us,” Wade suggested.

“Just hold up a few,” Andrew said. “As long as we keep down and don’t be obvious, I think we’re safe. Besides, I want to know what happens.”