So It Begins (13 page)

  “I think we’re good,” said Kline.

  “Move to the road, people, and let’s hightail it out of here and scout the town,” said Shaker.

  The gunplay had knocked the fight out of Hastings. She fell into formation with the rest of her former subordinates.

  “Dorna, you were the officer in charge of monitoring the reanimated. What going to help us beat or avoid them?” whispered Shaker into his comm. “Benedict’s prep was rather limited.”

  “Yeah, all I know is don’t get bit or have sex with one unprotected,” said Lao.

  “Ick,” said Dorna.

  “Hey, we had to watch a vid on it before we got dirtside R&R,” replied Lao. “Means someone had to be desperate enough to try it.”

  Dorna sighed. “More than one sadly, but it was hardly widespread. The reanimated are mainly used as slave labor. The ones in the labor force are fitted with controllers in the cerebellum. They shock parts of the brain to control and program movement. It’s choppy unless the insertion is perfect, but very effective. Most people called them stemmers because of the mistaken assumption that the controllers go in the brain stem. I guess it’s catchier that cerebellers. Stems are also what the controllers are commonly called. Personally, I’ve always thought it was stupid to use an infectious workforce, but settlers on a planet like this can’t afford to waste any resources, even their dead. The stems are fairly easy to insert and a syringe of infected blood and a couple of zaps from a defibrillator can usually revive anything dead less than forty hours.”

  “I hear the 121
^st
Starborne has an entire zombie legion,” said Kline. “The Host has bloodsuckers, patchwork soldiers, and were-beasties fighting for us, so why not? Use the monsters to fight the monsters. The Host never mentioned that we could end up fighting their own monster soldiers in the recruitment vids though, did they?”

  “Benedict’s 142
^nd
Starborne doesn’t have stem soldiers, does it?” asked Lao.

  “I don’t think so. Amazingly, this is the first known planetary outbreak. All previous outbreaks have always been limited to a much smaller geographic area before they were contained,” said Dorna.

  “Translation, they were flaypalmed,” said Lao.

  “Which worked, but using it against major civilian centers was banned by the Sway government after it incinerated a high-ranking politician’s kid,” said Hastings. “Otherwise, I would have flaypalmed the first two infected cities and the surrounding countryside.”

  “You could have done that? What about all the innocents?” asked Dorna.

  “I didn’t and look what happened to them. Do you think they’d prefer to have been incinerated quickly or be deaders?” said Hastings. “This all started ’cause some idiot violated protocol and didn’t report being bit. The reanimation virus killed that smuck who came back as a deader and went cannibal on his friends and neighbors.”

  “Not how I want to go. I get bit, I’m eating my gun,” said Lao.

  “We’ll just stay out of sight and we should be fine,” said Shaker.

  “Not necessarily,” said Dorna. “Sight is not as important as hearing and neither matches smell in helping them hunt living meals.”

  “Smell?” said Kline.

  Dorna nodded. “The olfactory nerve doesn’t connect to the spinal cord, it hooks right into the brain. More primal. Because it connects higher up than the stems, it is hard to bypass. There’s a failsafe in the stems that stops the legs when it loses a signal, but the arms and heads can still attack, especially if they smell something and are hungry.

  “And they’re always hungry,” said Lao.

  “True, which is why handlers are trained to not go near an unsecured deader,” said Dorna.

  “Okay people, something up ahead. Looks like a farmhouse,” said Shaker.

  “There’s livestock. Maybe that means people,” said Lao.

  “Not necessarily,” said Dorna. “Deaders are people-eaters. Livestock usually get left alone unless there’s fresh blood in the air. Then they’ll go into a frenzy and attack anything moving, including each other.”

  “There’s our solution. Anyone want to donate a few pints? Come on Shaker, it’s for a good cause,” said Lao.

  “Sure, I vote we use yours,” cracked Shaker.

  “I second it,” teased Dorna.

  “Forget I said anything,” said Lao.

  “No, it’s not a bad idea,” said Hastings.

  “What do you mean?” said Shaker.

  “If the deaders get one of us, it takes a long time for the virus to take affect. We set a trap and get as many of them into one area as we can,” said Hastings.

  “And throw the wounded to them?” said Kline.

  “Too cruel. We let them get into the middle with some grenades and go kamikaze. The spatter would fill the air, drive them all crazy. With luck they all rip each other to shreds and the rest of us pick off the survivors,” said Hastings.

  “Coldhearted,” said Dorna.

  “Maybe, but better dead than deader. And at least it would be quick,” said Hastings.

  “You going to do it if you’re wounded?” asked Shaker.

  Hastings paused. “I pray I have the guts, but yeah, I will.”

  Shaker made the mistake of locking eyes with her. He wanted to mock her, but found he couldn’t so he turned away. “Let’s do a recon.”

  The quintet checked each out each outbuilding and the main house, but all were empty.

  They repeated the process for all the buildings they came across as they followed the main road into town. Fortunately deaders wandered and didn’t stick to the roads. None of the searches turned up any survivors.

  Cautiously, they topped a hill. “Down!” Shaker hissed into his comm and the quintet dropped to the ground. “Multiple deaders surrounding that building.”

  Each of the soldiers moved to get a better view. There were several animated corpses moving around the grounds in random patterns, others appeared stuck to one spot while three were loading a truck with anything they could. It was full to the point of overflowing. The soldiers dropped their breathing masks to talk easier.

  “What the hell are they doing?” whispered Lao.

  “That’s a factory of some sort. Some of them must be pre-infection workforce stemmers. The ones loading must still be getting a signal, so they haven’t stopped. The ones standing still have no signals and have reverted to standby mode. The others are victims infected with the re-animation virus,” said Dorna. “Parts of that building look about ready to fall down. Looks like some of the deaders tried to make their own doors instead of using the open one. They’ve been know to attack buildings if they think someone is inside.”

  “Look at the third-floor window. A towel hanging out,” said Shaker.

  “So what?” said Kline.

  “Back home I lived in a high rise. That’s the signal for rescue in case of a fire,” said Shaker.

  “You think there are people in there?” said Kline.

  “There’s deaders sniffing around; they’ve got to be there for a reason. It’s a good sign. Ideas for the best way in and out with any survivors?” asked Shaker.

  “Blow them away and load survivors in the truck,” Kline said.

  “The truck I like, but a firefight is only going to attract any more deaders nearby and we have limited ammo. I think we need something quieter,” said Shaker.

  “Too bad I didn’t have time to head back to the station and get my aftershave. They’d never smell me then,” said Lao.

  “I’ve smelled it. They’d get one whiff and they’d leave you alone rather than endure the stench,” said Dorna.

  “That’s it,” said Shaker.

  “Lao’s aftershave?” said Dorna.

  “Better,” said Shaker. “And worse. Lao, you up for something crazy?”

  “Depends,” said Lao.

  “Follow me back to that farm. The rest of you watch the factory. If you see any humans before we get back, don’t let the deaders get them,” said Shaker.

  “We won’t,” said Hastings.

  It was twenty minutes before the pair returned and their comrades smelled them long before they saw their now browned uniforms and skin.

  “What did you do to yourselves?” said Dorna, pulling her face filter back up and goggles down. Hastings and Kline followed suit. “Cover yourselves in shit?”

  “Yep,” said Shaker.

  Dorna paled. “Any body fluid or solid contains the virus. You may have just infected yourselves.”

  “Nah, we used pig and cow shit,” said Lao.

  “How can you tell the difference?” she asked.

  “I was raised a farm boy. Trust me, I know,” said Lao. “Besides, the zombies left the animals alone. Shaker figures we don’t smell like people any more so we should be able to walk past the deaders without them coming after us.”

  “What do you think?” said Shaker.

  “That you are both nuts,” said Kline.

  “Actually, it makes sense. It could work,” said Dorna.

  “Could?” said Shaker.

  Dorna smiled. “The only way you’re going to know is to go down there and find out.”

  “No, I forbid it. We can’t afford to risk forty percent of our manpower this deep in enemy territory without knowing for sure if there are people still in there,” said Hastings.

  “Ma’am, right now I’m in command, so it is my call. Trust me, I’m not going to die. Any deader comes near me, I’m going to blow him to pieces. If this works, we get one great big advantage over the deaders,” said Shaker. “Kline, I want you to move around and take up position on the opposite side of the factory. Dorna and Hastings, watch our backs as we go in, but hold your fire unless I tell you otherwise or we’re about to buy it.”

  Kline was given a head start and once he commed that he was in position Shaker and Lao slowly made their way down the hill, imitating the side-to-side gait of the zombies. Despite the odd way of walking, deaders could move faster than the living for short distances and almost as fast as a trained soldier over the long haul. The only advantage they had was that zombies moved by instinct, so planning could help the living get away, but not always.

  The heads of the unfettered deaders and stationary stemmers turned to assess them, but none made a move as the fecally covered soldiers approached, lumbering toward the factory door. It was open to allow the loaders access. Shaker and Lao waited until the loaders passed outside, before going in. In a standard search pattern they moved through each section of the ground floor using hand signals.

  “No deaders on the ground floor,” whispered Shaker into his comm. So far his olfactory camouflage was working. Zombies didn’t talk, so he didn’t want to push their luck by risking one overhearing him speak.

  The pair moved up to the second floor, secured the door they came in and repeated the process before comming the info. When they made it to the third floor, it too was clear, but there was one locked door.

  “Lock the stairwell door,” whisper Shaker. Lao complied and Shaker knocked on the door. “Is there anyone in there? We’re here on behalf of the 142nd Starborne to evacuate the living.”

  There was a click and the door cracked open. An emaciated girl on the verge of her second decade looked out. “You’ve come to rescue me?”

  “Yes, miss. I’m Shaker, this is Lao. What’s your name?”