Finest Hour (25 page)

As soon as the guards saw him, they charged, shuffling down the long concrete ramp with bayonets extended. From the stiff way they moved, Mason had no doubt that they were infected.

He swung his rifle up and took aim.

Rodriguez saw it too and immediately began firing. His first shot hit the lead man in the hip. The guard stumbled but didn’t fall. Rodriguez’s second bullet punched a hole through his shoulder. Still, he refused to go down. The second guard was only a few feet from skewering Rodriguez when the side of his head exploded like a bloody cantaloupe. The momentum whirled him around into the first man, taking both of them to the ground. Rodriguez rushed forward and fired shot after shot until both men lay still.

Cobb and Bell rushed around the corner, slowing as they approached Rodriguez. They looked as if they didn’t know whether they should pat him on the back or say a few words over the fallen men.

Mason waved his arms to get their attention. When they turned in his direction, he motioned for them to take cover along the face of the building. All three hurried up to the wall and formed a single line next to the service door. Once they were in place, he approached from the other side of the door.

Bowie followed at his heels but quickly detoured to inspect the two dead men.

When Mason arrived at the service door, Rodriguez said, “Good shot, Marshal. You nearly blew his head off!”

Mason spoke in a calm but firm voice.

“Rodriguez, I need for you to understand something.”

“Yeah? What’s that?”

“If you ever break ranks again, I’ll shoot you in the back.”

Rodriguez cracked a smile, but when he saw the look in Mason’s eyes, it quickly faded.

“Tell me that you understand what I just said.”

“Whatever.”

“No, not whatever. Tell me you understand.”

He shrugged. “All right. I understand. No reason to get all pissy on me, Marshal.”

Mason said nothing more. It was the only warning he would give.

They waited for a long moment to see if anyone would come bursting out of the building.

No one did.

He twisted the knob and pulled the service door open. The room was dark, but there was the faint sound of sobbing coming from the back. He motioned for Rodriguez and Cobb to enter first. As soon as they did, one man went right and the other left. Mason shuffled straight up the middle, finally finding cover behind a large metal drum.

Bowie came in behind him, circling the barrel before heading off in the direction of the noise. A few seconds later, he began to growl. It was a sound Mason knew too well. Bowie had found something that he didn’t like.

Looking down the sights of his rifle, Mason stood and navigated through a maze of barrels, sprayers, and paint rollers. At the back of the room, he found Bowie wrestling with an infected man. Another of the M14s lay on the floor at the man’s feet, but there was little chance of him bending down to retrieve it. Bowie had already latched onto one of his forearms and was now using his considerable body weight to sling him from side to side.

As soon as Mason saw an opening, he fired twice, hitting the infected man in the chest with both bullets. The guard fell to his knees, and Bowie immediately lunged forward and ripped out his throat. As blood leaked out onto the floor, Bowie released his bite and turned to stare at the small office door that the man had been guarding.

The crying was definitely coming from inside.

Cobb, Rodriguez, and Bell approached from behind Mason, their eyes scanning the room for movement.

Mason pointed to the door, and Cobb and Rodriguez hurried into position at either side. When they were ready, he nodded. Rodriguez pushed the door open, and Cobb quickly rushed in, sweeping the room. After a moment, he lowered his rifle.

“What is it?” asked Mason.

Cobb looked back over his shoulder with a big smile on his face.

“We found them.”

Four young cadets sat on a dusty concrete floor, huddled around a small wood-burning heater. In one corner of the room was a five-gallon bucket, and in the other, a flap of cardboard soaked with what looked to be day-old chili. The men were disheveled, their eyes sunken in from exhaustion. Cuts and bruises covered their faces, clearly the result of a fight that had been lost. One of the teens sat away from the others, curled into a ball, weeping uncontrollably. The other three squinted at the shine of Mason’s flashlight, hands shielding their eyes.

“Rodriguez, is that you?” one of the cadets said, hope creeping into his voice.

“It’s me, brother.”

Bowie pushed his way in and began rubbing against the young men. All of them struggled to make sense of why a giant dog was suddenly slathering their faces with slobber.

Cobb, Rodriguez, and Bell hurried forward and helped the cadets to their feet. The young man who had been crying began to babble incoherently about an army of the undead. Mason stepped closer and placed a heavy hand on his shoulder, hoping that it might help to keep him from hyperventilating.

“Listen to me, son,” he said in a firm voice.

The cadet slowly quieted, but the terror never left his eyes.

“You’re alive. Do you hear what I’m saying? You’re alive.”

He swallowed and offered a short nod.

“Take a moment to breathe. Don’t think about anything. Just breathe.”

The young man closed his eyes and tried to calm his breathing while the other cadets were led from the room.

“What’s your name?”

“Private Cantor, sir,” he choked.

“All right, Private Cantor, can you tell me what happened? How did you get in here?”

“They captured us the night before last.”

“Who captured you? The infected?”

“Yes, sir. There must have been a hundred of them.” His voice broke. “There was no way we could have stopped them from taking him.”

“Taking who?”

“The Commandant.”

“The infected took the Commandant?”

He nodded. “They dragged him away last night. If it hadn’t been for their leader—”

“They have a leader?”

“An army officer, I think.”

“Was he like them?” Mason said, looking back at the dead guard. “Disfigured and crazy?”

“He was disfigured. But he spoke real calm and clear, like he still had his wits about him.”

Mason wasn’t surprised. While it was true that many of the infected had become consumed with an irrational rage, others had managed to keep their sanity. It made sense that those who retained their intellect would rise to positions of leadership. Such was the case with Erik, the infected man who had helped him to save the town of Boone from a gang of convicts.

“We’ve got to get out of here before they come back,” Cantor said, trying to pull away.

“Don’t worry, we will. Go join the others, and tell them I’ll be out in a minute.”

The cadet nodded and hurried out.

Mason took a moment to study the room. Other than the stove, potty bucket, and food scraps, there wasn’t much to see. Bowie had discovered something in the corner and came over with it in his mouth.

“What did you find, boy?”

Bowie dropped a crumpled military jacket that one of the soldiers had been using as a pillow.

Mason picked it up. Based on the rank and awards, it had to be the Commandant’s. There were a few small bloodstains, but none that suggested he had suffered a mortal wound while wearing it. He placed the uniform jacket back on the floor and stepped out of the office. 

Cobb immediately said, “Those creatures took the Commandant.”

Mason nodded. “I heard.”

“So, what now?” said Rodriguez. “Do we go looking for him?”

Once again, the question was not as easy as it seemed. The addition of four cadets would ordinarily have made the team stronger, but these four were in no condition to fight. If anything, they would likely prove to be a liability.

“You, Cobb, and Bell are going to get these men back across the bridge.”

“I’m not leaving the Commandant.” Rodriguez nudged the dead man with his boot. “Not to these monsters, I’m not.”

“You’re going to do exactly as I say.” Before Rodriguez could argue, Mason added, “Besides, we’re not abandoning the Commandant. I’m going after him.”

“Alone?” Rodriguez said with a cynical smile. “You think you’re some kind of superhero?”

Mason whistled, and Bowie hurried over to him.

“No, not alone,” he said, patting Bowie.

Bell suddenly shouted from the front door.

“Marshal, we’ve got company!”

Mason and the cadets hurried to the door and peered out. At least two dozen infected men and women shuffled across the open field, moving in their direction. All of them were in uniform, and all carried bayoneted rifles. Cantor’s description of an army of the undead suddenly made a lot more sense.

Bell looked to Mason. “Orders, sir?”

Mason spun and did a quick assessment of the room. Shelves filled the left side of the building, most of them stacked with five-gallon buckets of paint. The back of the room had several industrial paint shakers, as well as racks stacked with paint rollers, trays, extension rods, and other painting equipment. There were four small windows along each side wall as well as the service and rolling bay doors. The walls themselves were standard sheet metal, capable of being taken down with little more than a can opener. Of all the igloos in which to get cornered, a paint shed had to be one of the worst.

“Listen up!” he shouted. “Enemy inbound. I need everyone outside.”

For a moment, no one moved.

“Now!” He shoved one of the cadets through the doorway, and the others quickly followed.

Mason estimated that they had maybe sixty seconds before being completely overrun. Even if they could maintain that same lead as they ran back to the truck, it would be a tossup as to whether or not they would have time to load up and drive away. He had been forced to drive a truck through a mob of the infected once before, and he had no desire for a repeat performance. If the cadets were to have any chance of escape, he would have to give them a little more time.

He called Rodriguez, Cobb, and Bell closer to him.

“You three get everyone to the truck. And I mean everyone. No one gets left behind. I’ll give you as much time as I can.”

“What about you?” said Cobb.

“I already told you. I’m going after the Commandant. Now go!”

“Marshal…” Bell’s voice was thick with worry.

“It’ll be fine. Bowie and I will give them something else to chase. If it works the way I hope, you should have plenty of time to load up and get back across the bridge before they know any better.”

“And if it doesn’t?”

“Then you’ll have a race on your hands.”

“Come on, Bell!” Rodriguez cried, tugging her by the arm. “We got our own shit to deal with!”

Mason stared at Rodriguez for a moment, reminded of a hundred other soldiers just like him. Each and every one had been a prick to be sure, but they were also the ones who typically came out of a firefight in one piece.

He nodded to Bell. “He’s right. Go!”

The cadets turned and ran across the field as one big group, Cobb leading the way, and Rodriguez and Bell taking up the rear.

“Bell!” Mason called out.

She slowed and looked back over her shoulder.

“You’re in command.”

She hesitated. “Sir?”

“That means you have permission to shoot Rodriguez if he gets out of line.”

A brief smile tickled her lips.

“Yes, sir.” She wheeled around and raced after the other cadets.

Mason flipped the M4’s selector switch to semi-automatic and brought the weapon to his shoulder. He took aim and squeezed off a quick three-round burst. One of the infected fell, but it hardly made a difference. He stood his ground for another ten long seconds, swinging his rifle from left to right, dropping those leading the pack. Bowie stood beside him, growling, his back hunched and paws scratching at the dirt.

When Mason had given the cadets as much of a head start as he dared, he lowered his rifle and bolted toward a thick outcrop of trees. Bowie seemed surprised by the sudden retreat, but it took him only a moment to catch up to his master.

“Don’t worry,” breathed Mason. “Our fight is still coming.”

Chapter 16  

Having passed the South Hangars and skirted around Terminal A, the unique Cesar Pelli arches of Terminals B and C came into full view. Three mile-long runways crisscrossed the field to form a triangle that lined up almost perfectly with the air traffic control tower. Dozens of commercial airplanes remained docked at the terminals, flights that had been canceled when people realized that the virus could not be escaped. Luggage carts lay toppled over between planes, leaving suitcases of every size and color spread in front of the terminal viewing window.

Several of the larger airplanes had dumped sewage onto the tarmac, the blue sanitizer mixing with human waste to form sickly green puddles that buzzed with flies.

“Do you hear that?” Samantha asked, stopping and turning her head to one side.

“The flies?”

“No. Listen.”

Tanner stopped and listened.