Red Hammer: Voodoo Plague Book 4 (13 page)

I was more than a little freaked out by the female I had
just encountered.  I’d seen the same level of intelligence in the warehouse
back in Nashville, but it hadn’t really sunk in just how effectively they could
coordinate their efforts.  I wouldn’t be caught with my pants down again.  As
soon as I saw a female, she was going to die, otherwise I was going to wind up
someone’s tough, stringy dinner.

We had quickly finished off the remaining infected with our
rifles, then climbed over the crest and down onto the road where the abandoned
vehicles sat.  With Scott and Yee on security, Martinez and I started checking
them.  The first MRAP had skidded off the pavement and into a ditch.  The ditch
was deep enough that the two passenger side tires were hanging in the air and
the truck rested on its frame.  It wasn’t going anywhere without help from
another large vehicle.

The second MRAP was sitting in the middle of the road,
driver’s door open.  And it was out of fuel.  I looked around and guessed the
drivers had felt ill and stopped the convoy.  They had apparently managed to
get out of the vehicles before turning, but they’d left the engines running,
which had eventually consumed all the diesel fuel in their tanks.  I expected
to find the same problem with the Humvees, and did.  OK, Plan B.  I checked the
jerry cans mounted on the back of each vehicle, finding plenty of fuel.  It
would just take time to fuel one of them up.

Pointing at a rack of four cans on the back of one of the
Hummers, I grabbed one and handed it to Martinez, grabbed another and headed
for the MRAP.  The fuel transferred slowly, and I heard five suppressed rifle
shots from behind me while I was holding a can up to the side of the big truck. 
Martinez was busily bringing me more full cans of fuel.

“Status?”  I asked over the radio, not stopping my work.

“Four males.”  Scott answered.  “The first round was a body
shot.  Center mass.  He didn’t even flinch.”

“Everyone remember your briefing.”  I said, lowering an
empty can and lifting up a full one.  “Head or heart shots, or they don’t go
down immediately.”

I received three acknowledgements, then snapped my head up
at the faint sound of jet engines.  It had to be the Russian CAP.  Were they
only up looking for other aircraft, or was the pilot bored and scanning the
area with FLIR? 

“Make dumb!”  I said into the radio and quickly lowered the
can of fuel to the pavement, spilling half a gallon or so onto my boots.

Make dumb was our pre-arranged signal to try and fool any
aerial observers.  On FLIR at night, as long as we weren’t doing anything other
than just standing or walking around randomly, we would look just like any
other infected.  However, fueling a vehicle, or holding a rifle would give us
away to any reasonably sharp observer.  I slowly shambled away from the MRAP,
Martinez slowly walking over to stumble around with me.  I couldn’t see Scott
or Yee, but they should be doing the same, their rifles hanging from their
slings.

The noise grew louder as the jet approached, but the way
sound bounced around the adjacent canyons I couldn’t tell from which direction it
was approaching.  Eventually it passed over us, traveling east to west.  It
wasn’t showing any light, which didn’t surprise me for a military aircraft in a
combat zone.  But even without being able to see it, I could tell when it flew
over us and the direction it was going.  Giving it a few minutes to get out of
range, I dashed back to the MRAP when I felt it was safe, calling an all clear
to the rest of the team.

The jet was flying away from Kirtland AFB, most likely on
the outbound leg of its patrol.  Would it follow the same path back to base? 
Was I worrying over nothing?  No, I wasn’t.  We had to plan for the worst and
hope for the best.  Assuming the Russians weren’t keeping an eye on the ground
this close to their captured base would be foolish.  I would, and no matter
what one might think of the Russians, they weren’t stupid and they sure weren’t
incompetent.  We had to assume they would be back.

Hoisting up the can of fuel I thought about what I’d once
known about Soviet military protocol and procedures.  They would typically
establish a 200 mile CAP around any operating base.  I knew we were about 70
miles from Kirtland, so I could expect that pilot to travel another 130 miles
before turning around.  When any nation is flying patrols, they fly slow to
conserve fuel, but fast enough to cover their assigned areas in a reasonable
amount of time.  I had been able to tell from the sound of the jet that it was
just cruising along, not in a hurry to get anywhere.  He was probably flying at
about 300 knots, or about 345 miles an hour. 

Lowering the empty can and grabbing another full one, I did
the math in my head.  It should take him roughly 25 minutes to fly the
remaining 130 miles.  50 minutes until he was potentially back over our heads. 
45 to be safe.  I may have mentioned that I’m not one of those people that can
do math in their head quickly or easily, and by the time I had figured all this
out the new can of fuel was empty.  Sitting it down I decided we were good with
the 25 gallons I had poured in.

We were just over four miles to our target.  Ten minutes at
the most in the MRAP.  That would give us 35 minutes to locate, retrieve and
load the SADMs before we needed to either take cover or make dumb again.  Calling
the team in I hopped behind the wheel, hit the starter and checked my GPS.  We
were already pointed in the right direction and as soon as Scott and Yee piled
into the back and slammed the door I started us moving.

Within the first half a mile we started smashing infected
under the armored bumper.  There were a lot of males, but there also seemed to
be a lot of females charging us out of the dark.  A few of them acted like the
ones I’d encountered during the original outbreak, running straight at us and slamming
into fenders or doors.  But there was a large contingent of smart ones that
chose to try and run alongside us, just watching and waiting for an
opportunity.  They recognized we were secure inside the big vehicle and weren’t
going to sacrifice themselves in a futile attempt to get to us through the
armor plating.  We quickly outdistanced them, but I could see them following in
the mirror, the crowd growing as we drove.

Topping a small rise in the road we were suddenly in town. 
Los Alamos isn’t large, barely boasting 12,000 full time residents, and like
many small towns it has a sharply defined edge where all signs of civilization
other than a road just stop.  This was where we found ourselves, driving by a
fenced county maintenance yard, then a small strip mall.  Right after the
shopping area the road forked and Martinez checked her GPS and told me to go
right.  Wheeling onto the new road we quickly entered an area with 12 foot tall
chain link fences on either side, the coiled razor wire that topped them
gleaming faintly in the moonlight.  On each fence, at fifty foot intervals,
groups of three large signs were attached. 

US Government Property – Deadly Force Authorized Beyond This
Point, Electrified Fence – DO NOT TOUCH and ACTIVE LAND MINES - DO NOT ENTER
were the warnings in both English and Spanish.  Behind each fence was a fifty
yard stretch of flat, open ground covered with neatly raked sand that ended at
another equally tall fence.  Both fences also had cameras mounted on the top of
every post.  Behind the second fence were large, paved parking areas that were
mostly full of cars, squat buildings barely visible beyond.  I had been here
before and had seen the signs. 

On one trip I had stopped into a local Starbucks and had
overheard a group of college aged tourists talking about them.  They were
laughing and joking, saying they didn’t believe them, that the government would
never put out land mines or shoot a trespasser inside an American city.  I had
kept my mouth shut and shook my head.  I didn’t know what government they were
talking about or what they thought went on in Los Alamos.  Guess they didn’t
pay attention in history class.

“GPS says it’s that building right there.”  Martinez pointed
at a large, single level structure on our left, hardly visible behind the two
fences and full parking lot.

I braked to a stop, staring at our target.  My eyes were
drawn to all the vehicles in the parking area.  Lots of vehicles meant lots of
people had been at work.  That meant lots of infected inside the fence, and
that probably was really bad news in the case of the females.  Los Alamos
employed some of the smartest people on the planet.  If these females had
retained their higher brain functions they were probably still smarter than half
the surviving population.  Great.  I took a moment to share my thoughts with
the team, then drove forward, looking for a gate into the complex.

We found the gate easily enough, but driving through it was
a different story.  Actually, there were two gates.  The first one sat parallel
to the outer fence, the second to the inner fence, the driveway between them
fully fenced on each side.  The outer gate was the same 12 foot high chain link
mesh with razor wire on top, hinged to swing in towards a small guard shack
offset to the side.  If it was just the gate, we wouldn’t have had a problem,
but leading up to the gate were half a dozen bollards sticking up out of the
asphalt.  I was familiar with this type of security measure.  The bollards were
retractable via hydraulic rams underneath the street and were made of
reinforced concrete wrapped in cast iron.  They were two feet in diameter, and
when extended stuck five feet up into the air creating a barrier that not even
a tank could break through.  Unfortunately for us, they were fully extended and
completely blocked our progress.

“I’ve got this,” Scott said from the backseat.  “I paid
attention when these were being installed at Fort Drum.  Just need someone to
watch my back.”

I glanced at my watch, noting we had about 25 minutes before
the Russian should be back overhead.  Looking around I saw multiple males and
several females converging on us. 

“How long will it take you?”  I asked as I made sure my
rifle was ready.

“Two minutes, maybe.  There should be a maintenance hatch in
the ground next to the guard shack.  Once I’m inside I can release the pressure
on the hydraulics and they’ll retract under their own weight.”

I nodded, checking on Yee before we stepped out to meet the
infected.  He had been bitten on the arm when we were fighting the infected
earlier.  The bite hadn't broken the skin, but it had damaged some of the
tendons in his forearm.  He demonstrated his readiness by holding up the hand
and opening and closing his fingers.  Telling Martinez to slide behind the
wheel, I popped my door open and stepped out, Scott right behind me.  Yee went
out the far side of the MRAP and took up station there, opening up with his
rifle a moment after I did.

As we engaged the approaching infected, Scott ran a slalom
pattern through the bollards and up to the gate.  He already had a pair of
short handled bolt cutters in hand that he’d dug out of his pack, immediately
setting to work cutting an opening in the chain link.  I didn’t have time to
watch him, but could hear the snip of the cutters as I acquired and fired at my
targets.

A large group of females was approaching at a sprint and I
decided to try a different tactic.  If these were smart ones, which I had every
reason to expect they were, as soon as I shot the one in the lead, the others
would peel off and start trying to flank me.  Not that there was room for them
to go anywhere with the road fenced on both sides, but I wanted to test a
theory.  The first female I targeted was running at the back of the group.  I
fired and she tumbled dead to the pavement, the ones in front of her continuing
their charge without missing a step.  Smiling, I kept firing, working my way
forward until there was only one female left. 

She sprinted at me, still not screaming.  I held my fire,
rifle ready but not pointed directly at her, waiting until she was only 20
yards away.  I had been on my knee so I was in a more stable shooting position,
and as she approached I stood up, took a step away from the MRAP and aimed
directly at her face.  She looked around, and not seeing any other females
skidded to a stop, no more than 10 yards from me. 

“If you can understand me, turn around and walk away and
I’ll let you live.”  I said.  Other than curiosity, I couldn’t explain why I
was messing around like this.  The female just stood, staring at me, opening
and closing her hands much like a big cat sheathing and unsheathing its claws
before attacking.  My aim didn’t waiver.  My finger was on the trigger, half
the travel already taken up.  If she even twitched in my direction she would
die.  She looked like she was thinking.  Weighing her options.  But she didn’t
seem like she had understood a word I’d said.  A long moment later she tensed
and opened her mouth to scream.  I shot her between the eyes before she was
able to utter a sound. 

While I was testing my theory, Yee had been firing steadily,
keeping the infected at bay on his side of the truck.  Now I had to start
engaging the males that were approaching.  There were a lot of them, a rough guess
putting the number at over 100.  I started working on thinning them out,
pausing and looking to my right when a loud explosion sounded.  I could see a
cloud of smoke and dust hanging in the air in the no-man’s land between fences,
debris raining down in the area of the blast, and it took me a moment to
realize an infected had gotten in there and stepped on a land mine.

I went back to shooting, hoping Scott was hurrying, then
another explosion sounded from behind me not far from Yee’s position.  Had to
be females climbing the fence from inside the compound.  There was no way the
males could have gotten in there.  I kept shooting, but the mass of males was
growing and they were approaching faster than I could put them down.  Pausing
to change magazines I glanced around when I heard a metallic scraping sound,
relieved to see the bollards slowly descending into the road.

“Mount up.”  I ordered over the radio when I saw Scott
squirm through the hole he’d cut in the gate and run towards us.

We all piled back into the MRAP and Martinez hit the
throttle.  The truck bounced as we rolled over the bollards.  Seems releasing
the hydraulic pressure does lower them back into the ground, but the rounded
tops remained sticking above the pavement a few inches.  Nothing to even slow
us down, she continued to gain speed, crashing the armored front of the vehicle
into the center of the gate.  I had braced for the impact, but didn’t even feel
it as the 14 tons of hurtling steel tore through them like they were made of
tissue paper.  Two more land mines detonated to our left as more females tried
to reach us.

“Don’t ram the gate!”  I suddenly shouted to Martinez before
she could destroy the last line of defense against the packs of infected that
were pursuing us.  She jammed on the brakes, the big tires screeching in
protest as we came to a sliding stop with the front bumper only a couple of
feet from the inner gate.

I briefly explained what I was thinking and Scott and Yee
jumped out with me.  Yee moved to the back of the truck to cover us from the
infected while Scott and I checked the gate.  This one was hinged as well,
opening into the compound.  Large hydraulic arms on each side were mounted to
the bottom rail of each half of the gate, able to pull it open or push it closed. 
Scott clicked on his red lensed flashlight and examined one of them, jerking
back when a female slammed into the chain link and tried to force her arms
through to grab him.

“They can be released, but I can’t do it from out here.”  He
said, raising his rifle and shooting the female that was still banging on the
gate.

I looked up at the top of the gate, 12 feet in the air with
a thick coil of razor wire attached for good measure, then at the idling MRAP. 
Issuing orders over the radio I quickly got Yee moved out of the way, then
Martinez made a series of K turns until the vehicle was reversed, backing up
until the rear bumper touched the gate.  Scott and I scrambled up over the hood
and onto the roof which was about eight and a half feet high.  Standing on the
roof, the top of the gate was just above waist level and Scott used his bolt
cutters to quickly dispense with the razor wire. 

While he worked I looked back down the driveway.  Yee was
racking up a respectable body count, but just like earlier, the crowd was
growing and despite his efforts the front edge was continually growing closer. 
Another land mine detonated, much too close, and Scott and I both ducked
involuntarily when a piece of shrapnel pinged off the armored side of the
vehicle we were standing on. 

“Ready.”  Scott called, storing the cutters and swinging one
leg over the top of the gate.  I moved up next to him and started taking out
infected.  There were several in the area, mostly females, and all of them were
making a beeline for the rumble of the idling diesel engine. 

“Go.”  I said, shooting a sprinting female. 

Scott grabbed the top rail in both hands, swung his other
leg over and again defied his appearance by climbing down the gate with far
more agility than I expected.  He ran to the arm on the left and knelt over it
with his multi-tool and I had to shoot more infected that were closing in on
him.  It took him less than 30 seconds to release the arm, then he ran to the
other side and repeated the process.  By now I was firing nearly every second,
the number of converging infected inside the fence increasing.  Another land
mine detonated and Yee yelped.

“Talk to me, Yee.”  I said on the radio.

“Took some shrapnel in the leg.  I’m fine.”  He said.  I had
to take his word for it, but his rate of fire never faltered.

“Done!”  Scott called out and yanked the gate open, dropping
to a knee to join the fight. 

Martinez backed up until the MRAP was fully inside the
gate.  When she came to a stop I scrambled over the roof, down across the windshield
and to the ground.  Scott was keeping the infected knocked back for the moment
and I grabbed a length of heavy chain out of the tool box mounted to the side
of the vehicle, telling Yee to fall back over the radio.

“Yee needs help.”  I heard Martinez in my earpiece and spun
to see the young Sergeant sitting on the ground, legs splayed out in front of
him, still firing his rifle at the quickly approaching herd.  I ran over to
him, seeing the spreading pool of blood he was sitting in as I approached. 
That piece of shrapnel had severed something big in his leg and he was bleeding
out.  The closest male was only a few feet away, hundreds more no more than ten
yards behind him.  I gripped the chain, cocked my arm back and swung.  The end
of the chain whipped around and crunched into the male’s head, shattering his
skull and dropping him in his tracks.  Hooking my hands under Yee’s arms from
behind, I ran backwards as fast as I could, dragging him along. 

Scott met us at the front corner of the MRAP, plucking the bloody
chain out of my hand as I ran by with Yee in tow.  Slamming the gates, he
wrapped the chain around the two center posts, wedging the ends through the
brackets that held the chain link mesh tightly stretched.  This wouldn’t stop a
survivor for longer than it took them to unwrap the chain, but the infected
weren’t smart enough to figure that out.  I hoped.  Moments later the leading
edge of the males crashed into the gate.  It rattled and moved a couple of
inches until the chain arrested its travel.