Outbreak (Book 1): Emerald City (30 page)

TASHA

“Let me know when you are in position,” Williams’ voice said over the radio. After leaving Tanner on the rooftop, Williams had the other four of them split up. Tasha and Ortiz went around and behind a row of cargo containers to get an angle on the garage from the right. Williams and Cleveland were to approach from the left side. “I want to try and make friendly contact with the people inside first,” Williams had said. “Hopefully all will go well from there.”

“And if it doesn’t?” Tasha had asked.

“Annihilate all opposition inside the garage,” he said. “Your job will be to put as many rounds into that building as you can. Don’t worry about hitting anything with the SAW machine gun, just fire at the windows because with that thing going off, anyone inside is going to be face down on the floor and hopefully not shooting back. Got it?”

Tasha nodded.

“Good,” he said and turned to the others. “We have no idea what else we might find in there. We could find prisoners, dead bodies, a bunch of vegetables, or maybe someone injured. So, everyone needs to be ready for anything. Depending on how things go, we either meet up inside the garage or back at the fire escape. Let’s move.”

Tasha followed Ortiz into position and now looked at one of the men through a window. He was sitting on a bench, smoking a cigarette. Tasha knelt on the ground next to Ortiz behind one of the cargo containers and could hear the hiss and growl of the creepers at the fence. Ortiz looked at her. “If those vegetables break through that fence,” she whispered. “I’m racing you back for that fire escape.”

“I ran track in high school,” Tasha said and smiled. “Hurdles.”

“Shit. Figures.”

Tasha hefted the machine gun. On the rooftop, Tanner had quickly explained the gun fired the same rounds as the M16, but it didn’t use a magazine. Instead, the rounds were linked together and held in a plastic container which attached to the side of the weapon. Each container held 250 rounds. The gun only fired on full automatic and it fired them really, really fast. “So you need to be careful with how many rounds you shoot at one time,” Tanner had said. He recommended she not try shooting it when standing up because the gun would be hard to control and bullets would go everywhere. If she could, she would be best off resting it on something or using the little bipod legs that were at the end of the barrel.

Tasha decided the bipod legs would work best in this instance so she extended them, pointed the machine gun at the garage, and got down on the ground behind the weapon in the way Tanner had shown her. “I’m ready,” she said to Ortiz.

“Good to go,” Ortiz said into her radio handset.

“Moving to contact,” Williams said. “Wish me luck.”

Just then Tasha saw the smoking man hop down from the bench he had been sitting on. “Hold up!” she said and Ortiz repeated it through her radio.

“What is it?” Williams asked.

A door opened from the back of the garage and the smoking man stepped outside with a cigarette in one hand and a shotgun in the other. Tasha did not know how she knew for sure, but she had no doubt the man was sick with the virus. His skin was pale and waxy, his eyes were red, and he moved like he ached to his core.

“Hold your fire,” Williams ordered through the radio and Tasha saw Williams lean out from behind a trailer at the other end of the garage. “Hey, buddy!” he called out.

The smoking guy jumped like he had been stung. “What!” he cried out. “Hey! Where are you?”

“Calm down,” Williams said waving one hand and only showing half of his body from behind the tractor trailer. “Don’t shoot. I’m friendly.”

“Like hell you are,” the guy replied. He pointed his shotgun at Williams who promptly ducked back behind the trailer.

“Put your gun down,” Williams yelled. “It doesn’t have to be like this. We’re United States Military and we’ve come to help you. I’m not the bad guy. The vegeta … the infected, those are the enemy. Let’s calm down. We can work together.”

“Infected?” the smoking guy asked without lowering his shotgun. “That what you call them? Look like zombies to me.”

“Actually,” Williams replied. “We call them vegetables.”

The man apparently did not find Williams very funny and looked at the door to the garage he had come through. “Hey!” he yelled. “We got someone out here!”

Williams peeked back out from behind the trailer. “Calm down,” he repeated. “I know you’re scared.”

The smoking guy looked offended. “Screw you man, I’m not scared! I’ll blow a hole clear through you.”

“If you start shooting, you’ll stir up those vegetables so bad that there is no way that fence will hold.”

“What? You can see them too?” he asked and turned to look. “Well shit,” the guy said. “Look at all those bastards. I’ve been trying to figure out what called them.” He rubbed his forehead. “Wait a minute … I bet it was the goddamn drill.”

Now Tasha understood why there were so many zombies stacked up. If that asshole had been holed up in the garage using power tools, then she was surprised there were not even more creepers.

“Hey!” the smoking guy said to Williams, lowering his weapon. “How did you get in here?”

“We came in through the gate over on the other side,” Williams replied. “Got caught up in your little ambush.”

“Shit,” the man said. “If you’re here, then I guess that means there isn’t any more Pete and Ted.” The man raised his shotgun again and pointed it at Williams. “That’s messed up. Ted was a worthless piece of shit, but Pete … he wasn’t nothing more than just a kid.”

Williams ducked back behind the trailer. “Nothing I can do about that now,” he said. “They opened fire on us, all we did was fight back.”

“Yeah, I’m sure,” the smoking guy said.

Williams leaned out again from behind the trailer so that just half of his face was showing. “Point that weapon somewhere else,” he said. “I’m telling you. It doesn’t have to go down this way.”

“What you talking about?” the guy asked. “Ain’t nothin’ goin down. It's just you and me, talking.” He pointed the shotgun straight at Williams.

“Enough of this shit,” Ortiz said from beside Tasha and stood up. She pointed her rifle at the man. “Hey! Put your gun down. Put it down, now!”

The smoking guy swung his shotgun around and aimed it at Ortiz. “Son of a bitch! How many of you little cockroaches are there?”

“Over here!” Williams called out. “Don’t you point that at her!”

Tasha looked over at the creepers against the fence. They were becoming agitated from all the shouting. They were clawing and grabbing at each other and the links in the fence.

The smoking guy went into a coughing fit and appeared to give up. He pointed his shotgun in the air and held his other hand up, palm out to face Ortiz. “Hey, it’s cool,” he said between coughs and started slowly walking backward toward the garage.

“Don’t move!” Ortiz ordered, but the man kept walking away.

“Ortiz!” Williams shouted. “Stay calm! We can still make this work so that everyone wins.”

“It’s cool,” the smoking guy said. He was only a few steps away from the door. “I’m just going back in to get my smokes.”

“Sir! This is your last warning, do not enter that building,” Williams ordered. The smoking man flipped Williams the bird and kept going.

“Screw it,” Williams said and keyed his radio. “Tanner, take this dipshit out.”

“What?” the guy asked when suddenly a bullet zipped past the guy’s head and ricocheted off the asphalt behind him.

“Damn it,” came Tanner’s voice through the radio.

“You sons a bitches!” the man yelled and fired his shotgun from the hip as he ran for the backdoor to the garage. Another bullet zipped by as the smoking guy pushed through the entrance and was gone from sight.

Tasha heard the creepers going ballistic against the fence, but she ignored them.
I have one job to do and I do not intend to screw it up
, she thought. The smoking guy was already out of sight, so she aimed as best she could at the windows of the garage and opened fire. The machine gun roared and the windows exploded. Tasha could not believe how fast the gun shot. Every time she pulled the trigger, chain links and shell casings would fly out to her right. She did not want to go through all of her ammunition, so she would hold the trigger for a couple seconds, release, aim somewhere else on the garage, and then shoot again for another couple seconds.

Ortiz knelt next to her. “Williams said to get ready to move forward,” she yelled over the gunfire. Tasha let off one more burst of rounds and picked up the machine gun. The entire front half of the weapon was hot.

Tasha watched Williams and Cleveland sprint for the far corner of the garage and Ortiz ran forward to the same door the smoking guy had disappeared through. Tasha stayed right on her heels. As soon as they reached the door, Tanner’s voice came through her radio. “Hold up,” he said and Tasha heard the zip of a bullet fly through one of the broken windows. There was the smack of something wet and a second later, the thump of a body hitting the floor.

“Okay, go,” Tanner said.

“Going in,” Ortiz replied into her radio.

Tasha did not know if she was supposed to go first, but she charged inside anyhow. It was darker than she had expected and it took a moment for her eyes to adjust. The garage was big but mostly empty. She saw what looked like an armored bank truck at the far end. Glass from the broken windows she had shot out was everywhere. The smoking guy was lying dead under one of the windows with the side of his head blow off.
Nice shot, Tanner,
she thought. “I don’t see anyone else in here,” she said into her radio. “Clear?”

“We’re coming in,” Williams replied. “Don’t shoot us.” A door nearest the armored car, at the far end of the garage, slammed opened and Williams peeked inside before coming in. Cleveland was behind him and he quickly fanned out.

"Tanner, is there anyone else outside?" Ortiz asked into her radio.

"Uh," Tanner replied. "Wait ... no. I don’t see anyone. Just a crap load of vegetables at the fence.”

“Tasha!” Williams yelled from across the garage. “Be careful. That guy was talking to someone in here.” Suddenly the back door of the armored bank truck opened and slammed into Cleveland, knocking him over where he hit his head on a workbench. A man stepped out, pointing an enormous silver handgun. Williams turned to duck out of the way and the man shot him twice in the back. Williams sprawled forward, his rifle clattering on the pavement.

“Man down!” Ortiz screamed. She aimed and fired at the bank truck but the man had ducked back inside. “Light that truck up!” she yelled at Tasha.

Tasha pulled the trigger on the machine gun and the SAW roared. It was incredibly loud inside the garage and shooting from the hip, bullets went everywhere, just like Tanner had warned they would. Tasha stumbled backward from the force of the recoil and she lifted the nose of the rifle. Rounds ripped up the back of the armored car and toward the ceiling. Tasha let go of the trigger and listened as the chain links and shells rattled on the floor. In the silence, the man jumped out of the back of the bank truck and ran for the same door Williams and Cleveland had just come through. Tasha pulled the trigger again and in the roar of gunfire, the man took a stripe of bullets in his back and sprawled dead against the door. Tasha released the trigger. Her ears rang in the sudden silence. She looked to Williams.
Please don’t let him be dead
, she thought and started towards him. Ortiz ran past Tasha and sprinted over to Williams. Williams flipped over onto his side. “I think I’m okay,” he said as he held onto Ortiz to stand up. He pulled the radio off his back and the three of them stared at it. Both of the other man’s gunshots had hit the radio, saving Williams.

“Thank God,” Ortiz said.

“Hey,” Cleveland said sitting up and holding his head. “What did I miss?”

CLARK

Clark stood on the sidewalk and looked up at the sky. He did not like what he saw. A menacing storm front was forming well off of the coast, but looked to be rolling in quickly on a cold, stiff breeze. The clouds were unbelievably tall and darker than any he could remember ever seeing in person. “Hey, uh, Rocha,” he said. “I’m thinking we should get inside.”

Rocha looked up from tying his bootlace. The two of them had stopped to take a break and for Rocha to get a bearing on where they were in the city. “Shit,” Rocha said. “That doesn’t look good. Going to be a hell of a storm.”

“Like something out of one of those disaster movies,” Clark said as he scanned the street. They had ducked under the awning of a warehouse. He peeked in a window and saw the space was nothing more than concrete walls and broken windows. It had been completely looted and there was nowhere inside to hide. “I don’t think we want to stay here.”

Rocha looked through the window and frowned. “No, we don’t,” Rocha agreed and took out his map. He traced a line on the paper with his finger. “I think I have a better option.”

Clark adjusted the straps on the defibrillator case he had turned into a backpack. It was heavy and biting into his shoulders. He shifted the weight of it and then leaned over to look at the map in Rocha’s hand. “What is it?”

“Check this out right … here,” Rocha said with his finger on a square. “A buddy of mine back in the day was big into motorcycles. I’m pretty sure this is a shop he used to go to. I’m thinking if we can find one or two motorcycles in there, we can ride back to Command. If we get a couple with kick-starters then we shouldn’t have to worry about the batteries being dead.”

“You ride?” Clark asked.

“Dirt bikes when I was a kid,” Rocha said. “You?”

“Yeah,” Clark said. “Super sport.”

Rocha looked impressed. “Not sure we’ll find those here,” he said. “I remember it being more of a Harley shop.”

“Works for me,” Clark said. “We get some wheels, maybe we can out run this storm. How far away is the shop?”

“Couple blocks is all.”

“Beats walking.”

“Damn straight,” Rocha said and after making sure the road was clear of infected, he lead the two of them down the street. They had been seeing more and more infected on the roads and Clark wondered if the things could feel the storm coming. Rocha said he wanted to avoid contact with them as much as possible, so Clark was not surprised when the soldier had picked up the pace. With a low groan at the load on his back, Clark followed Rocha running along in a hard jog. They came to an intersection and Rocha stopped. He nodded across the street at a building with an old sign that read
Johnny Rock Cycle Shop
. “That has to be it,” Rocha said.

Clark sucked wind and tried to catch his breath. He felt like they had been doing nothing but running for the last two days and the backpack seemed to be weighing a whole lot more than he had thought it would. Suddenly he heard the slap of feet running on pavement behind them.

Rocha spun around. “Watch your back!” he shouted and brought up his machine gun. Clark turned around and just had time to put his hands up as an infected in a blue summer dress and long filthy hair bowled into him. Clark landed hard on his back, the makeshift backpack breaking his fall, and tumbled with the infected woman into the street. The infected rolled on top of him, so Clark put his hands around the infected’s neck and pushed with all of his strength to keep the monster at arm’s length. The infected bucked and snarled and grabbed at Clark. “Try to hold it still, close your eyes and hold your breath,” Rocha yelled. Clark did his best to keep the infected steady and turned his head away.

Thwip! Thwip!

With his eyes still closed, Clark felt his right forearm explode in pain and his arm buckle. Keeping his eyes and mouth closed, he heard Rocha run over. A moment later the infected was pulled off of him and Clark rolled in the opposite direction and held his arm against his chest. There was something seriously wrong. The pain was fiercely intense and he could not move his fingers. With his eyes still closed, he felt blood running over his other hand.
Jesus,
he thought.
I’m bit! The thing got me. Oh God.

“Shit, man,” Rocha said. “I’m really sorry, bud. Open your eyes. It’s okay.” Clark opened his eyes and held his arm. Rocha was kneeling over him, looking at his face.

“I’m bit,” Clark choked out.

“What? Where?” Rocha asked. Clark held up his arm. Blood was everywhere. “No,”
Rocha said. “
It’s not a bite. I hit you when the lurker jerked at the last second.
I feel like shit about it. I’m never that bad of a shot.”

Clark felt strangely relieved.
I’d rather be shot than an infected dead man walking
, he thought. Clark tried to sit up and Rocha put one hand in the center of his backpack and helped him upright.
“I’m really sorry,” Rocha said.

The pain in Clark’s arm was nearly unbearable. He was upset but wanted Rocha to stop apologizing. He needed the man to refocus on their current mission, which was getting the two of them somewhere safe to wait out the storm. He said the only thing he could think of. “Don’t mention it. I screwed up. It was my job to watch our backs.”

“I still feel like shit,” Rocha said. “I’ve never shot anyone on the home team before. We have to move though, man. We can’t get caught out here in the rain.”

“Help me up,” Clark said and Rocha put his arm around Clark’s back and helped him to his feet. Clark’s arm twisted just above the wrist and pain exploded up his arm. He felt dizzy and he bent over to try to get his head between his knees. “I don’t feel good.”

“You’re going into shock,” Rocha said, taking the defibrillator backpack off Clark’s shoulders and swinging it onto his own. He lead Clark towards the motorcycle shop with his arm under Clark’s shoulders.

“I’m not going into shock,” Clark mumbled as he watched blood drip onto the pavement. As they stumbled along, Clark heaved and threw up in the street.

“Damn, man. Hang on,” Rocha said and began to drag Clark to a side entrance to the shop. It was a small building with a single garage door and two large front windows. The side door was rusted and the door handle had been knocked off, leaving the door slightly ajar. Rocha leaned Clark up against the wall next to a small dumpster. “I’ll be right back,” he said and stepped inside the shop with his machine gun pointed out in front of him.

Holding his arm tight against his chest, Clark slowly slid down the wall and sat on the ground next to the dumpster. He was dizzy and his mouth tasted like stomach bile. Suddenly Rocha was back and instead of helping Clark stand back up, Rocha grabbed Clark by the back of his shirt and pulled him backward through the door into the shop. Clark slid on his ass with his feet dragging along. He watched Rocha close the door and slide a heavy tool bench over in front of the door to block it from opening. The shop was empty of any motorcycles. If there had ever been any, they were long gone. Rocha set down his rifle, unloaded all the stuff he was carrying and knelt next to Clark. “So much for riding out of here.” Rocha said. “How you holding up?”

“I … uh,” was all Clark could say.

Rocha nodded. “Okay,” he said and reached for Clark’s arm. “This is going to hurt but I’ve got to see what we are dealing with.”

Rocha began to examine the wound and pain raced up Clark's arm and his head swam. “God damn!” he cried. “What are you doing to me?”

“Just hold on,” Rocha said.

Clark squeezed his eyes closed against the agony, and tears rolled down his face. His heart slammed in his chest. “Is it bad?” he asked.

“Damn straight, it’s bad,” Rocha said. “The bullet passed through, but I nailed you right above the wrist. Your wrist is broken and by broken, I mean shattered.”

“Oh, God,” Clark groaned.

Rocha dug into his backpack. “We get this bleeding stopped and you’ll live,” he said. “But your arm’s in trouble.”

“What does that mean?” Clark whimpered.

“It means that I’m going to do what I can to save your arm.”

“Save my arm!”

“I need to you to calm down, Doc,” Rocha said. He dug through his pack and pulled out a needle and a small brown bottle. He filled a syringe. “This will help with the pain.”

“What will … hey, wait!” Clark protested.

Rocha stabbed Clark in the shoulder with the syringe needle, depressed the plunger, and withdrew the needle. It was done in only a couple seconds and the pain in Clark’s arm immediately began to recede. “Oh, hey,” Clark said. “What was that?”

“Morphine,” Rocha said and pulled more supplies from his pack. “I need you to stay with me while I clean up your arm and set a splint.”

Clark was feeling much better. “No problem,” he said. “I’ll watch your back.”

“You do that,” Rocha said and went to the workbench along the back wall of the shop. He rifled around for a moment and came back to Clark with two foot long, thin metal bars. He then took a roll of tape out of his pack and set them all on the floor. Next he used a medical kit to disinfect and bandage the wound and then with the metal bars and tape, he made a quick splint for Clark's arm. When he was done, he started putting everything back into his pack. Clark was impressed with the soldier’s efficiency and skill.

“Thanks, Rocha,” Clark said. “I thought I was the doctor on this team.”

“Damn straight,” Rocha replied. “How does it feel?”

“Can’t feel much of anything.”

“That’s probably for the best. Hang out here, I'm going to see if I can get hold of Command.”

“Roger that,” Clark said and watched as Rocha stepped away with his radio. He could hear Rocha talking but the words were fuzzy to Clark’s ears. Whatever Rocha was saying and hearing, it had him taking notes, which Clark saw as only a good sign. Rocha finished up and came back to sit by Clark.

“Ok,” he said. “Good news and bad news.”

“I can’t handle any bad news,” Clark said. “Just tell me the good stuff.”

“Fair enough. I got hold of Command. They can’t get us a chopper, but they said that there is a military squad which checked in this morning and they are only about a mile from our current position. We are to go to a spot on their most likely route and flag them down.”

“Most likely route? What does that mean?”

“That's the bad news,” Rocha said. “But you said you didn’t want to hear it.”

Clark closed his eyes. It had been a long, difficult couple of days. “Who cares anymore,” he said. “Give it to me.”

“You got it,” Rocha said and took out his map again. “Command can’t raise these guys on the radio right now. Fortunately, Command was able to give me the estimated route the squad leader said he was going to try and take. The highway they are on is only about two blocks from here. I figure if we hurry, we can get to that road and intercept them when they come along.”

“Assuming they haven’t already gone by,” Clark said.

“I don’t think they have. Command said that the squad reported running into some trouble with their vehicle and were working on acquiring a new one.”

“Okay, let’s go,” Clark said, starting to stand up. He got dizzy and Rocha had to catch him.

“Slow down there, Doc,” Rocha said.

“Like you said,” Clark groaned. “We need to move.” Clark leaned hard on Rocha to get his legs under him and stand up. He tried to elevate his wrist, but the swelling in his hand and arm made it difficult to do much more than just bend his arm at the elbow.

“You sure about this?” Rocha asked. “Maybe I can just run up the road and flag them down. Then circle back for you.”

Clark thought about that for a minute. He looked around the garage and tried to think of how he could barricade himself in. It did not look promising and in his condition, he would not be able to put up much of a fight if infected or anything else came along. His eyes swept past the spot where he was just sitting and saw the sizable pool of blood on the garage floor.
Then there is the risk of sitting here bleeding to death
, he thought. “No,” he said. “I really don’t want to die here. And we have to get this documentation to Command.”

“Don’t worry about the paperwork. We’ll get it there,” Rocha said.

“Promise me something, Rocha,” Clark said. “This research is more important than anything else. You, me, everyone. They cannot get lost out here in the middle of nowhere. They have to get back to Command, no matter what. I want to personally see that happen, but if I can’t, promise me you’ll get it done.”

“You doubt I can handle it?” Rocha asked.

“Jesus Christ, man. Don’t take it personal. I know you can handle it. But, if I stay behind and something happens to you out there on the way to intercept the squad passing by, then I could die here. If that happens, we lose the records. If I come with you, it doubles the chances of getting the documents back to Command. Plus, I really don’t want to die. Understand?”

“Damn straight,” Rocha said. “We’ll make it happen. Let’s get you set and haul some ass. That storm is still coming. I
f it starts raining, we can’t be stuck out in the open. You’ve seen what happens to lurkers when they get stirred up, right?”