Rotter Apocalypse (30 page)

Raising the rifle above his head, Denning approached it. When he got close enough, he slammed the butt into the EMT rotter’s face with such force its skull cracked. The thing’s head shot back, and then it surged forward. Denning crashed the rifle into the rotter again, this time knocking it off balance. Another blow and it fell over backward. Standing over the EMT rotter, Denning repeatedly slammed the rifle butt into its head, knocking out its eyes, breaking most if its teeth, and dislocating its jaw. He kept up the assault until the skull ruptured, spilling its brains onto the grass. Only then did Denning stop, his anger having dissipated along with the threat.

He hovered over the body, breathing heavily from the exertion. He suddenly felt drained. His arms ached. His vision blurred. He had overworked himself. Once he had rested for a bit he and Windows could—

*  *  *

Windows watched in horror as Denning collapsed onto the grass. She ran up to him, fell to her knees, and rolled him over. His eyes had rolled up into his head and his breathing had stopped. Placing an ear to his chest, she could not hear a heartbeat. Tearing open his shirt, Windows placed her hands over his sternum and pressed hard three times. Listening again, she still heard nothing. She repeated the process another five times. Denning’s heart never responded.

Sitting down cross legged on the blood-soaked grass, Windows cradled Denning in her arms and sobbed.

The hardest part of the morning so far had been descending the eastern slope of the Diablo Range. Once on the valley floor, the line proceeded toward their objective: the Sierra Nevadas on the eastern side of the valley. Headquarters had cautioned them to move slowly since the armored and recon units as well as air support were dedicated to the drive to Berkeley. That suited Natalie fine. For over an hour her section of the line had leisurely advanced through farmland and open fields toward their destination, the town of Delhi. Those abandoned farm animals that had escaped from their enclosures had done well, for she saw clusters of cows, chickens, and pigs roaming across the valley as well as an abundance of rabbits and deer. After walking for over an hour, they had not encountered any rotter activity.

As they closed to within a mile of Delhi, gunfire sounded to the north, a few rounds at first that increased in intensity within a minute.

Ari moved closer and nudged Natalie’s arm. “You hear that?”

“Yeah.”

“Makes me nervous,” said Ari.

Natalie saw Mesle a few paces to her left talking into his microphone. When he finished, she sidestepped over to him. “What’s going on?”

“I’m not sure, so don’t let your guard down. Get back in line and stay alert.”

“Copy that.” Natalie rejoined her unit.

The line continued its advance to the town outskirts. A few hundred yards ahead of them stood a fairground. A large, windowless building dominated the center. This was surrounded by five roofed-off open-walled areas, one of which contained animal stalls. At one point during the outbreak, the grounds had served either as a Combat Surgical Hospital or containment center. A military-style ambulance with its back door open sat parked to the right of the windowless building. Beside it stood a white tent with a large Red Cross emblazoned on the side. A two-and-half-ton truck stood in front of the building at an angle, partially blocking the view of the area, and one hundred feet behind that was a Humvee with its hood raised. There were no signs of combat or that the camp had been overrun. There were no bodies, blood, or debris. It appeared as though the military had packed up, pulled out, and left these vehicles behind.

Master Sergeant Napier held up his hand, signaling for the line to stop. Natalie placed her forefinger on the trigger guard of her M-16A2 in case she needed to fire quickly.

“Some of the squads outside of Modesto are reporting revenant activity,” said Napier. “Nothing compared to San Jose, though. We’ve been ordered to stop so the line doesn’t over extend, so take five.”

Napier walked up to Mesle and pointed at the fairground. “Take your squad and check out what’s inside those vehicles. They’ve probably already been cleaned out, but I’d hate to leave something useful behind.”

“Copy that.” Mesle stepped away from the line and faced his squad. “You heard the man. Move.”

Stephenson sighed. “So much for taking five.”

As they approached the abandoned vehicles, Mesle pointed to the ambulance and tent. “Branson, see if there’s anything of use in them. And see if that ambulance still runs.”

Branson nodded and led half the squad to the tent.

“Natalie, Ari. Check out the Hummer,” Mesle ordered. “We’ll take the deuce-and-a-half.”

*  *  *

Branson’s unit approached the tent. When they were fifty feet away, he ordered them to stop. “Akers, you’re with me. The rest of you provide cover.”

He raised his M-16A2 into the high ready position, moved up to the tent, and motioned for Akers to open the flap. Akers pulled it aside, and Branson stepped inside. Nothing looked out of place. Five cots lined each wall, with a desk and medicine cabinet located at the far end. Walking between the cots, Branson crossed the tent to check out the medicine cabinet even though the drawers and doors had been left open. As he expected, everything had been cleaned out. They only items left behind were sheets and pillows. Moving over to the desk, he opened each drawer, finding only office supplies. He exited the tent.

“Whoever was here last took everything of use when they left.”

“Should we check out the ambulance?” Akers asked.

“It couldn’t hurt.”

The rear doors to the ambulance had been left open. All the drawers were open and empty, just like inside the tent. Moving along the left side of the vehicle, he stood on the runner and peered into the cab. Nothing was inside. Opening the door, he slid into the driver’s seat and pressed the ignition button. The engine sputtered. Branson pumped the gas pedal twice and tried again. This time the ambulance’s engine roared to life.

“That’s weird,” said Akers. “I wonder why they left it.”

Branson pointed to the fuel gauge. “Probably because it’s almost on empty. Maybe we can siphon some gas from those vehicles to use in this one.”

Akers ran off. Branson shut down the engine to conserve what little fuel he had left.

*  *  *

Mesle and Doreen approached the truck while Stephenson wandered off to check out the rest of the fairground. The back deck had been left down and, even at this distance, he could see nothing was in the bed. The two right rear tires had gone flat and the gas cap lay on the ground, indicating the military had siphoned off the fuel. What a shame. They could have used it to help clean out the valley.

Motioning for Doreen to follow him, he went around to the driver’s side door. Doreen raised her M-16A2 into the high ready position. Mesle opened the door and jumped back, a comical gesture since there was nothing inside the cab. Crawling up, he rummaged around for anything that might be of value.

“Find anything?” Doreen asked.

“A few empty MRE packages and a map of the San Francisco Bay area.” Reaching down to the floorboard, Mesle picked up a pack of crackers and offered them to Doreen. “Are you hungry?”

“I’ll pass.”

Mesle dropped the crackers. “Let me check under the seats.”

*  *  *

Natalie and Ari approached the Humvee on each side, their weapons in the high ready position. Natalie stopped by the engine and checked under the open hood.

“Do you know what’s wrong with it?” Ari asked.

“Not a clue. It must be something serious otherwise they wouldn’t have left it.”

Moving over to the driver’s door, Natalie opened it. “Holy shit.”

“What?” Ari sounded concerned.

“Somebody fucked up big time. They left an M240 machinegun sitting in back with several belts of ammunition.”

“Dibs.”

“No way,” said Natalie. “Finders keepers.”

Ari flashed Natalie a seductive smile. “How about I trade you for it?”

“Now that’s a possibility.” She handed Ari her M-16A2. “Hold this while I get this thing from the back.”

*  *  *

Stephenson stepped up to a door along the rear wall of the windowless building. If the military had used the fairground as a camp, then they must have set up some type of headquarters or supply room inside. If he could get in, maybe he could find something they could use. He tried the knob, and it was locked. Moving along the rear wall, he made his way down the left side of the building, trying the next door he came to. It was also locked. There must be something valuable inside if the military had secured it this good. Stepping down to the double doors in the center of the building, he grabbed the knob.

At that moment, Branson started the ambulance at the other end of the building. Stephenson looked toward the sound as he opened the door, and didn’t see the hundreds of rotters trapped inside until the horde pushed its way through the exit. Caught off guard, he didn’t have time to react. Seven of the living dead swarmed him, grabbing hold of his arms and chest and knocking him down. They had already begun to gnaw on his flesh and rip open his abdomen before Stephenson’s body hit the dirt.

The rest of the rotters fanned out and stumbled toward the humans gathered around the truck and the Humvee.

*  *  *

Doreen had seconds to respond. She raised her M-16A2, switched to full automatic mode, and fired into the horde until the magazine was empty. Only two rotters went down with head shots. The remaining bullets either slammed into dead flesh or missed. The horde still surged toward her, now only a few feet away. Doreen dropped to the ground and crawled under the truck.

Bent over checking underneath the front seats, Mesle was vulnerable when the living dead attacked. He climbed into the cab. Because of the awkward position his foot slipped on the landing and he fell onto the floorboards, his legs dangling out. Dead hands clutched him. Mesle kicked, preventing any of the living dead from getting a hold and pushing several away. That gave him the seconds he needed. Crawling into the cab, Mesle grabbed the door and pulled. Several pairs of hands wrapped around the edges, preventing him from closing it. He slammed it several times, and each time he did more rotters clasped the door. When they yanked it open, it knocked Mesle off balance. Several rotters grabbed him by the legs and dragged him out of the truck. He thrashed around, but there were too many to escape. Dozens of dead hands clawed at him, stripping off his uniform and tearing away chunks of flesh. Others ripped open his chest, plunging their hands inside and tearing out his internal organs. A rotter in a tattered and discolored lab coat clutched Mesle’s intestines and unwound them. A dozen of the living dead fought over the length like dogs over a link of sausages. Mesle remained unaware of any of this; his mind already had shut down from pain and fear.

Doreen had made it halfway under the truck when several pairs of hands grabbed her ankles. Rolling onto her back, she wrapped her hands around the axle and held on, kicking furiously and breaking free of their grip. More and more hands clutched at her. One rotter in a Navy ACU and missing its right arm crawled under the truck. Doreen struck at it with her left foot, ripping off its nose. She slammed her foot into its face three more times. The first two kicks shattered several of its teeth and tore open its gums. The third caught it under the chin and bent its head at an awkward angle, snapping its neck. It went limp, blocking others from getting under the truck.

In her struggle, Doreen had not noticed the five rotters that circled around the front of the truck and doubled back along the other side. They dropped to the ground and crept under the vehicle. One bit into her left shoulder, the other into her right hand. The pain caused her to loosen her grip. When she did, the pack on the other side of the truck pulled her out. More than a dozen rotters tore into Doreen’s body and fed off of her.

Those that did not get close enough to feed swarmed around the truck and headed for Natalie and Ari.

*  *  *

When the horde burst out of the building, Napier had seconds to assess the situation. Stephenson was down, and Mesle and the women were about to be overwhelmed. So far, none of the horde seemed aware of Branson and his people. Under normal circumstances, he would dispatch troops to assist them. Doing that, however, would endanger the entire line. He needed at least a hundred and fifty men to engage the revenants in hand-to-hand, which meant pulling off a quarter-mile section of line and exposing the northern and southern sectors of the line to a flank attack. He could not sanction that for the lives of four people. When he saw the horde drag Mesle from the cab of the truck, he knew he had made the right decision.

Napier called out to those troops closest to him. “Hold the line and don’t let any of these motherfuckers past! Fire at will!”

*  *  *

Branson heard a commotion on the opposite side of the building. He motioned for his men to be quiet and shut off the ambulance’s engine. It sounded like a horde of revenants. His fears were confirmed when gunfire broke out along the line.

“Follow me. Stay close to the building, and be ready for anything.”

*  *  *

“Fuck,” said Ari. “We’ve got company.”

Natalie pulled her head out of the back of the Humvee in time to see the rotters from the building converge on Doreen and Mesle. Unslinging her M-16A2, she and Ari were about to rush over and help their friends when a pack tore Mesle out of the cab and another crawled under the truck and set upon Doreen. The rest of the horde approached their Humvee. Natalie reached out and stopped Ari as a hail of gun fire shot across the fairground, most of it aimed at the rotters grouped around the deuce-and-a-half. Because of the angle at which the truck was parked, it stood between the line and the horde, making the soldiers’ aim inaccurate. The few rotters that had circled around the vehicle to get at Doreen and some of those still emerging from the windowless building went down. Most rounds slammed harmlessly into the side of the truck. Many went wild, shooting past Natalie’s head or ricocheting off of the Humvee.

One struck Ari in the right leg above the pelvis. She cried out and collapsed, dropping her M-16A2 into the grass. The rotters were only twenty feet distant. Natalie bent over, wrapped an arm around Ari’s back, and lifted her to her feet. The two women limped as fast as they could to the Humvee. Ari nearly tripped, but Natalie held her up and dragged her along. When they reached the vehicle, Natalie shoved Ari inside and slammed shut the door. Before she could make it around the front of the Humvee, a female rotter in an Air Force ACU reached the fender, and a second in a California Highway Patrol uniform grabbed her by the shoulder. Natalie body checked the latter, knocking it into the approaching horde. Climbing onto the Humvee’s hood, she ran across, jumped down on the other side, and ran for the driver’s door. A stray round impacted against the back plate of the Humvee, sending a tiny fragment of metal ricocheting across the roof and into Natalie’s left eye. Involuntarily closing both eyes, she felt around for the opening and slid into the driver’s seat, closing the door seconds before the horde swarmed around the Humvee, closing around it in all sides four or five deep. Those closest to the vehicle clawed to get in, leaving streaks of gore across the glass.