Dead Island: Operation Zulu (13 page)
They were crawling through the tall grass. Arkady watched as several zombies hungrily pulled themselves along the ground towards the mercenaries. The Russian commander noticed most of them were burned or still smoldering from the lab fire. Orlac had also seen the group of advancing undead and had stopped to gape at them. Arkady shoved him hard. The scientist let out a low whimper, glanced back at Arkady, and continued forward.
"Do not stop, Doctor." The Russian smiled. "They look very hungry."
"Smells like pork," Nico chuckled as he grabbed the female doctor by the hair. She screamed in pain as he gave her a good jerk then let go. "Quiet, love! We don’t want any more company.” He grabbed her by the waist. She tried to pull away, but he grabbed her tighter.
"Nico, later," Arkady said. "We need to keep going. We have a plane to catch."
"Da!" Nico grabbed let go of Doctor Moreno and pushed her ahead of him. "We will have plenty of time later, love!" He licked his lips. "It will be fun, my dear.” He laughed sarcastically.
"We need to hurry, or there won’t be a later," Kata said as she watched the furrows in the grass from the zombies that were trailing them. "They don’t get tired."
"But they are slow," Yuri said, walking behind his cousin.
"You are foolish, Yuri." Kata turned her eyes forward. "Speed does not matter sometimes. Those things are hungry, and sometimes, being hungry is an advantage."
"Kata is right, Yuri," Arkady said, picking up his pace a little. "Sometimes, motivation outweighs superiority." He pulled out an old K-bar knife he’d gotten on some mission years ago. "Here is motivation." Arkady, with a speed none of them knew he possessed, stabbed Doctor Henstridge in the stomach.
"Niles!" Orlac screamed, surprised.
"Nothing personal, Doctor." Arkady frowned and twisted the knife in Henstridge’s gut. The doctor tried to say something as he grabbed at the Russian's hand, but nothing came out. Arkady pulled the K-bar out of the Doctor and shoved him to the ground. Sensing or smelling the blood, the zombies began to crawl faster through the grass. The group could see several furrows in the high grass heading for Henstridge. Arkady wiped the bloody blade on his pants and shoved it back into its sheath. "Let us hurry now. The good doctor will only stay warm so long."
"You animal!" Orlac growled, but did not make a move at the mercenary.
"Animal?" Arkady grabbed Orlac by the right cheek. "Animal. I have just bought us some time. Do not waste it, Doctor!" He squeezed Orlac’s cheek hard then pushed him away. The doctor almost tumbled into the grass but caught himself. He didn’t want to be anywhere down there right now. Cheeks stinging, eyes watering, he looked over at Doctor Moreno. Nico was shoving her along and rubbing his crotch. Orlac found her eyes and saw that she had gone somewhere else, far away from this insane island. Defeated, the doctor quickly followed his captors away from the undead that would momentarily be feasting on his friend. Right then, Orlac didn’t know which was worse: the mercenaries or the zombies. As they double-timed it away from the area, all that could be heard was the horrible tearing and chewing noises coming from the grass.
CHAPTER 45: WHAT HAPPENED TO ALL THE SLOW ONES?
Hale and his team moved swiftly around the burning compound. All the buildings and vehicles were now consumed in flames. Black, thick smoke rolled upwards into the sky. Over four hundred deaders roamed around the inferno. About half of the undead were on fire or burned. Some of them were walking, burning skeletal figures. The group made their way to the holes in the fence they’d cut earlier in the day and began exiting through them.
"Mac, Winger, keep cover. Everyone else, through the fence." Mac and Winger turned at the rear of the group and raised their rifles. Six of the undead were running fast at them. The two men fired on the rapidly approaching deaders.
"Go! Go! Go!" Newman shouted. Wickham and Diamond were the first ones through, followed by Zoe West and the German. "Come on, mates, we ain’t fuckin’ around here!"
Gonzo, Cord, and the presidents both made it through the opening and headed down the trail to where the vehicles were parked.
"Shit!" Mac shouted as he slammed another magazine into his rifle. A crowd of thirty or more of the undead were running at them. "What the hell happened to all the slow ones?"
"Son of a bitch!" Hale turned back from the openings in the chain link. He brought up his mini-14 in time to fire off a couple of rounds into the crowd of runners. At this point, they would be overrun. He grabbed Newman by the harness and shoved him roughly through the opening.
"Aye, Major?" Newman stumbled to his feet on the other side of the fence. Hale grabbed Lucas by the shoulder and pushed him towards the hole in the fence line.
"Get down the hill!" he shouted. "Mac, Winger, let’s go!"
"Fuck it!" Mac fired several times as he moved backwards. "Fucking assholes!"
"Shit!" Winger dropped a magazine and jammed another in his rifle. The crowd was getting closer as the soldiers fired and stepped backwards in the major’s direction.
"Fire in the hole!" Hale yelled, and in a last-ditch effort he tossed a fragmentation grenade in the middle of the rushing mass of hungry dead. As the grenade exploded, Hale turned and squeezed through the opening in the fence, followed by Mac and Winger. The grenade stopped a few of the deaders, but those that hadn’t lost their legs continued after them. Bodies crashed into the chain-link fence in a frenzy. The fence groaned, creaked, and rattled as more and more of the needy mass grew and grew. Several of the undead found the openings in the fence line and aggressively pushed their way through it.
"Come on!" Hale shouted to the other two as he ran towards the trailhead. Mac followed, almost tripping in his hurry. Winger wasn’t so lucky and stumbled, crashing face first into the ground. Before he could get up, two of the fast deaders were on him. His rifle lost on the ground, he batted one of the hungry dead away with his free hand and kicked at the other while he tried to draw his Glock-19.
"Aw, shit!" Mac glanced over his shoulder and saw Winger on the ground, trying to fight off a couple of deaders. More of them were heading his way. "Major!"
Hale had almost started down the trail when he heard Mac yelling. The major turned to see Mac running back to where Winger lay struggling with the deaders. A whole lot more of them were pushing through the fence line. Hale raised his rifle and fired at the crowd.
"Fuck me!" he said, trying to stop as many as he could. Mac had made it to where Winger lay fighting the two flesh eaters. He smashed the one on his legs in the head until it slumped over and stopped moving. He swung his rifle like a bat, connecting with the second deader's head, sending him flying into the dirt, dead again.
"Winger!" Mac bent down.
"Shit! Shit!" Winger was grabbing his neck. The deader had taken a big bite out of it. Blood pulsed from between Winger’s fingers as he grabbed at the wound. Mac noticed the Australian had several bites on his arms and legs.
"Come on, Winger. I gotcha."
"Too late …" Winger groaned. The deader had torn into an artery. "Go, mate …" Winger let out a deep sigh, and he was gone. Mac could hear the approaching footfalls of the deaders. He looked up just in time to see a sprinting undead woman's head explode.
"Mac! Now!" Hale shouted from the trailhead as he shot another sprinter.
"Yeah, yeah." Mac stumbled backwards then ran at the trailhead full speed, followed by twenty or so runners. More deaders staggered behind those. Mac reached Hale’s position, and both men bolted down the trail, careful not to trip. The deaders tried to follow, but the path was too steep for their limited balance. Most of them fell and tumbled, breaking inelastic limbs. As the dead fell and crashed down the trail incline, the only noise they made was that horrible moaning. No grunts nor of groans of pain, just that unnerving, hungry moan.
CHAPTER 46: NOBODY STEALS OUR BABY
"That makes twenty," Sanchez said, dropping the binoculars to his chest. "Not bad for twenty-two shots."
"Eat me, beaner," Knox said as he stood up on the aft ramp. Crossley had lowered the ramp halfway so the soldiers could use it as a sniper hide. "I got the sun in my eyes on those two I threw. Still hit them," Knox said, reloading his rifle.
"Your mind wasn’t in it, Gator." Sanchez bent down and scanned the airstrip with the binoculars. "Probably thinking about your favorite sheep back home." He squinted. "Looks clear, amigo. You definitely earned third-best sniper."
"I just got a little overconfident, Pancho.” He smiled and wiped some sweat from his brow. "Besides, who’s counting?"
"You are." Sanchez slapped him on the back. "Don’t worry. I won’t let any of the others know." He laughed.
"Fuck, Poncho!” Knox spat some chew onto the ramp.
"Just kidding, Gator. Chill, bro. That was some good shooting. Let’s close up the ramp. It’s hotter than hell out here."
"Right, right." Knox smiled and walked back into the cargo hold of the plane. Sanchez grabbed up the ramp remote and pressed the button to close. The aft ramp slowly rose up and shut. Both men could feel the cool air from the plane's air conditioning system start to kick in. It still wasn’t cold because of proximity, but it was a lot better than the tropical heat outside.
"Get them all?" Crossley asked, climbing down the ladder to the cargo bay.
"Yeah," Knox nodded as he popped open a water bottle. "We shouldn’t have to worry about any deaders for a while."
"Until more show up," Crossley said as he stepped to the deck. He glanced at his watch. "It’s getting late, guys. Any word from the general?"
"The major?" Sanchez was unwrapping a power bar. "Not yet."
"Probably wrapping shit up." Knox took a swig from his water bottle then wiped his mouth. "We should be heading home soon."
"I hope so." Crossley opened up a locker and reached inside. Sanchez took a bite out of his power bar as his headset clicked to life.
"Poncho, Poncho. This is Diamond."
"Hey, Diamond," Poncho said with his mouth full. "You guys—"
"Listen! We can’t reach the captain or Wu! The Russians are headed your way and coming for the plane!"
"Shit!" Sanchez swallowed.
"What?" Knox looked over at him.
"We’re on our way. Don’t let the Russians take it!" Diamond continued. "We’ll be there as soon as we can!"
"Got it!" Sanchez said, shoving the remains of the power bar into his tac vest. "Get your asses here!"
"Will do!" Diamond clicked off.
"Hear that?" Sanchez asked, getting to his feet. Knox nodded and headed over to one of the weapons lockers.
"What’s going on?" Crossley asked, seeing the two readying weapons. "We leaving?"
"No, flyboy.” Knox grabbed up the last rocket launcher from its case. "Russians are coming, and they want your bird. We are going to make sure they don’t get it.”
"Mother fuck!" Crossley shook his head. "I knew it! I knew it! Never should have taken this gig!"
"No use in throwin’ a fit," Knox said, slinging the launcher and grabbing up a mini-14.
Crossley let out a breath then nodded. "What do you need from us?"
"Here." Sanchez held out both his hands, which held a pair of .40 caliber Beretta handguns. "You know how to use these?"
"Yeah. I trained with a .38 many years ago." Crossley took the rifles from Sanchez. "I was an Air Force mechanic."
"Good for you," Knox said, loading magazines into the pockets of his tac-vest.
"Listen, Mr. Crossley," Sanchez said as he handed him several loaded magazines. "You and Mister Jackson sit tight. In case it all goes to shit, then you use those."
"Got it," Crossley said, shoving the magazines into his pants pockets.
"Just keep a watch up front." Knox loaded down with weapons and ammunition. "I’ll be up in the tower. Lower the aft ramp, and Poncho here will have his ass parked there. We’ll be on your radio freq, so you see anything we don’t, give us a heads up."
"Got it."
"Don’t worry, Mister Crossley." Sanchez smiled as he slapped a magazine into his rifle. "We got this."
"It’s Nate, Poncho." Crossley headed back towards the cockpit with his newly acquired weapons. "Just Nate."
"Nate."
"Okay, Poncho." Knox would have looked comical with all the weapons he had strapped to himself if their situation hadn’t suddenly become so desperate. "Lower the back door, and I’m gonna get my ass over to the tower."
"No problemo, Gator." Poncho grabbed up the ramp remote and lowered it. "You watch your ass, Terrance."
"Aw, shit!" Knox said, waddling from the weight of his weapons away from the plane. "Were’ in trouble now, Poncho. Ya called me Terrance."
The cockpit door opened, and Crossley stepped inside, carrying both of the Berettas. Jackson was busy trying to read a bloody page of his book that he’d salvaged from the deader's head cheese. He looked up to see Crossley setting one of the pistols down beside his seat.
"What the hell is that, Nate?" he asked, folding the page in half and stowing it in his shirt pocket.
"Bad news, Cal," the pilot said. "Those Russian fucks that shot up the airport are headed this way to steal our baby."
"The plane?"
"Yep."
Jackson grabbed the other Beretta out of Crossley’s hands and shoved it down next to him. Nate, surprised, sat down in his jumpseat. "Cal, I thought you hated guns."
"I do, but nobody steals our baby!"
