BIOHAZARD (31 page)

“Nash,” somebody said.

I breathed in and out. Sighted. Squeezed the trigger with a half-assed prayer brushing past my lips. I caught the driver in the throat, I thought. He snapped back in his seat, hands flying from the wheel trying to stem the flow of blood from his neck. The truck went out of control, bouncing off a minivan, and spinning up onto the sidewalk and ramming the remains of a police patrol car. And there she died.

The driver struggled out and Texas ran up on him and blew him away with the .50 cal Desert Eagle. But the others were coming.

As they got in closer, I saw it was true what they said about these animals. They
did
wear the scalps of their victims. They wore them in scarves and belts. And not just those things, but necklaces of blackened ears and teeth strung on wires, a wide and gruesome collection of mummified body parts.

Carl dropped two with his AK and it was just sheer pandemonium as we all cried out, firing, pouring everything we had at our attackers whose numbers were swelling as more of them came running down the street. Already, eight or ten of them were down and writhing and they’d been replaced by twice that many. Even Janie was shooting with the Browning .45. Mickey had Carl’s .22 Airweight.

One of them got with twenty feet of our position by crawling underneath some cars and I popped him right in the face. The slug went right in through one of the plexiglass eye ports and the Clansman was thrown up against a truck. But he did not go down. He took three or four shambling, zombie-like steps forward, bright red blood spouting from the entry wound and then went down, face-first.

Others closed in.

One jumped on top of a truck and threw his spear. It barely missed Janie. Carl blew him away. I ran out of rounds and had to switch to my Beretta 9mm. I shot one and then another and then something clubbed me in the back and I went down. I hit the ground and twisted away just as an axe bit into the pavement where I’d been. I jumped up and emptied the Beretta into my attacker and then another jumped me, tossed me against the car. He lashed out with a knife and I just avoided it, kicking him in the belly and hammering his scabby bald head with the butt of the Beretta until something gave in there with a wet snapping.

Carl emptied his AK and starting blasting away with his Mossberg. Texas Slim was hit with a spear in the side and went down. Gremlin was beaten down with a club. Mickey fired her Airweight, jumping around with great athletic grace and popping them one after the other and then she was out of ammo and two of them grabbed her. She fought and kicked and they slammed her face-down on the hood of a car. They were going to rape her then and there because that’s how the Clans operated…not with military precision or organization, but with sheer mania.

Carl blew one of them away with the Mossberg, scattering his guts for twenty feet and, dropping and turning, wasted another. Then three of them knocked him down and it was all over as they raised their hatchets.

But Janie grabbed an axe from one of the dying ones and buried it in the back of a Clansman. He spun around, axe sunk in his back and smashed her with his fist. She went down and he leaped on top of her, tearing away her shirt, her white breasts exposed. He grabbed them with his filthy, pocked hands.

“JANIE!” I cried out.

And then I was in the mix. I ran and punted the Clansman in the head like I was kicking the winning field goal and the Clansman rolled away, limp as a rag. Then I leaped, diving, and took out two more like bowling pins, jumping to my feet and kicking one of them until they were no longer moving. Then I took up Carl’s dropped Mossberg and cracked another in the face hard enough to rip the gasmask right off him. He stood there, his face like a fleshy, grinning skull covered in clots of oozing white jelly. Mickey hit him from behind with a club and his skull cracked with an audible snapping. I gave him the butt of the Mossberg full in the face and down he went. Four Clansman were left and they came on screaming and swinging chains and throwing hatchets.

And that’s when the birds came.

18

There was a sudden wild squawking and chirping and trilling and we all looked skyward. Even the Clansmen. Except there was no sky. Above the surrounding buildings it was black and the air was thrumming with the flapping of hundreds of thundering wings. Janie was on her feet, zipping her coat shut and covering herself when they came. I threw myself at her, knocking her down as two- or three-hundred birds came swooping down in a single shrilling mass. There was nothing to do but cover my face and roll into a ball, covering Janie’s body with my own.

The birds came down.

The world was a cacophonous storm of cawing and pounding wings. I felt them beating around me, feathers filling the air. Beaks pecked me, clawed feet tore my skin. There were so many I could not breathe. I was going to suffocate in feathers and bird shit. As I lay there with Janie, I thought I heard her scream and I was certain I did. I was gasping for breath. Crying out as beaks drilled into me again and again. With one hand I swatted at them and they pecked away at my palm, my fingers until they stung and bled. The air was thick with them, with that awful humming and fluttering and squawking.

And about the time my mind began to unreel from the crowding of birds, the feel of oily feathers and nipping beaks and the gagging stench of dander and rot…they lifted. They pulled away and were gone.

Then I looked finally. They weren’t gone at all.

They were attacking the Clansmen.

It was incredible but it was happening. Something about them had drawn the birds. I saw ravens and crows, buzzards and even a few huge vultures, as well as mutated forms with greasy green wings and scaly, knobbed heads, leering red eyes and hooked beaks that almost looked like sickles. They went right after the Clansmen and clawed them with their feet and pecked away at their gas masks, their mottled heads and yellowed hands. They hit them from every direction.

One of them tried to run with twenty or thirty birds on him, some circling and dipping in for attack, but most clinging tight and pecking away mercilessly. He looked like some kind of contorted, grotesque scarecrow that was finally getting his due from the birds he had frightened away for so long. He finally went down and the birds settled over him, pecking him until he was writhing red meat. I was astounded and I was pretty sure the others were, too.

Another Clansman who’d been making a pretty good show of himself by batting away birds with a swinging chain, their broken bodies littered at his feet, suddenly let out a piercing, guttural cry and…
disappeared.
He vanished as a flock of birds simply enveloped him. The crows and buzzards and the rest just kept cawing and squawking as their beaks rose and fell, coming away stained red, yanking out strings of tissue. It was an appalling sight. When he was down, crushing a few of his attackers beneath him, the birds kept at it, crowding in, fighting for space like piglets at their mother’s teats. The sound of the Clansman being stripped was simply awful…moist tearing sounds and crunching noises and pulpy hammering as beaks dug deeper for hot goodies.

It went on for about twenty minutes. We did not move. We didn’t dare.

After a time, many of the birds flew off, but most stayed and discovered the corpses and remains of Fisher’s people and began to feast. And that’s when I figured it out.
Of course.
What did vultures and buzzards, crows and ravens have in common? They were carrion-eaters. That’s probably why they had come in such numbers in the first place…to feed on all the corpses in the streets. But when they came—separate species flocking together for reasons I could not hope to guess at—they discovered the Hatchet Clans. They decided they looked tasty.

But why was that?

The Clansmen were hideously infected and disfigured by some creeping fungus, but they were certainly not dead, not soft and greening. But there was something that attracted the flock.

Something.

The birds were still everywhere, happily feeding, fighting amongst themselves for the tastiest bits, but they were paying no attention to my posse.

“All right,” I called out in a calm, cool, non-threatening tone of voice. “We’re going to leave now. Just everyone stand up and follow me out of here. I’ll get up first.”

Tensing, I slowly got to my feet, breathing nice and slow, trying not to gag on the stink of the carrion birds or what they were eating. A raven flew over my head, unconcerned. A huge buzzard pulled a stringy red flap of meat from a corpse’s neck, chewed it down, and made a sharp hissing sound at me. Its jaws yawned wide and it hissed again, then it got back down to its meal. I started breathing again.

The Clansman were nearly reduced to skeletons by this point. The one that had tried to run wasn’t much more than that. A raven was pecking through a gash in the gas mask, tearing out pink scraps while a pair of crows sat atop the bloody exposed ribcage, spreading their wings now and then, cawing, and digging out some juicy morsel overlooked.

Around me, the others began to get up. Very, very slowly. They were seeing that they were dead center of the feeding grounds now. The birds were everywhere. Lined up atop wrecked cars and trucks like soldiers in ranks. Flying though the air, circling high above and not very high above at all. Buzzards walked around with chunks of red, ragged meat hanging in their jaws. Vultures were pecking their entire heads into the body cavities of sprawled corpses, shaking their entire bodies as they ripped at something within. When they pulled their heads free, savagely gulping down morsels, they were red and dripping.

I led my people forward, thinking the whole time,
this is either gonna work or we’re all about to die in the worst way imaginable.
But I did not hesitate. Years back, in Youngstown, I’d known a guy named Roger Sweed who worked at the zoo with the big cats. He claimed that when you had to deal with them you never showed fear. When you were in their areas you had to act like you belonged there. So that’s what I was doing now: just threading my way amongst the corpses and birds, being perfectly casual and disinterested in what they were doing. Which was not real easy when a raven plucked an eye out and stood there watching me, the eyeball dangling from its beak by the optic nerve.

I walked on, my empty Savage in one hand and Janie’s hand in the other.

There was bird shit and feathers everywhere, scattered bits of human, dead birds lying in tangled heaps and others dragging injured wings that scampered away as I approached.

Birds squawked at me, but I ignored them. I moved through breaks in their ranks, paying no attention to the ones that flew just over my head. Flies lit off corpses and scattered limbs and viscera, huge buzzing clouds of them. They droned at my ears and crawled over my neck but I did not swat at them. The entire time I thought the birds would attack at any moment.

But they never did.

19

“It’ll be dark in an hour,” I said, as we paused to reload our weapons, hiding out in a trashed pharmacy.

Carl looked around the devastated city. “So we better find somewhere to lay low for the night.”

“Shit, shit, shit,” Gremlin said. “I thought we were going to be out of here. Somewhere else. Fuck.”

Using the U.S. Army medical pack I’d gotten from Sean, I attended to Texas Slim’s spear wound. It was a nasty looking gash across his ribs, but hardly fatal. I disinfected it, closed it with a couple butterfly bandages, taped a sterile battlefield dressing over it, and gave him a shot of antibiotics just to be safe. He’d be sore for a few days but nothing more.

Janie was off looting through the store. She was gone quite awhile. When she got back there was a funny look in her eyes.

“Where you been?” I said.

“Just looking around,” she told me. She was lying and I knew it. But I wouldn’t realize how big of a lie it was until much, much later.

“Why don’t we keep going…we have guns,” Mickey said. “Within an hour, I think, we can be at the garage with the Jeep. Why wait until tomorrow?”

Texas Slim grinned. “Because when it gets dark, child, out come the oogies and the boogies and the things that go bump in the night.”

“Let’s risk it,” she said. “We get that Jeep we can be out of Gary in twenty minutes.”

“Why don’t you just do us all a favor and shut up?” Janie said.

“Take it easy, Janie,” I told her.

Her eyes were not just blue at that moment but glacial. “Jesus Christ, Nash. She’s been with us a few hours and she’s calling the shots? Who the hell asked for her advice anyway?”

Mickey shrugged. “I was just saying.”

“Oh, shut up.”

They stood there, staring at each other while I was getting annoyed and Texas Slim and Carl were silently amused and Gremlin was practically in heat. “Hey,” he said. “Just like Roller Derby. We’re gonna have us a cat fight. Out come the claws! Fur is gonna fly!”

“Why don’t you go fuck yourself?” Mickey told him.

“No, I wasn’t thinking about fucking myself. I was thinking about fucking somebody else.”

I got in there then. God knows I’d had enough of that fucking idiot by then. I shoved Gremlin and put him on his ass. “Knock it the hell off. What did I tell you about that shit?” I had a sudden desire to throw him another beating. The only time that asshole took a break from whining and complaining was to start panting over one of the girls. “Keep it in your fucking pants. Christ.”