The Dead Series (Book 3): Dead Weight (10 page)

It shuffled forward
a few steps and stopped. Looking down, it spotted the fresh blood on the floor. The attraction so overwhelmed its limited senses that it didn’t notice the three men only feet away. It got onto its hands and knees, and then extended a blackened tongue to lap up the blood.

“Looks like a solo,”
the third man in the team said. “Take his ass out, and let’s get going.”

“Shut up, Timmons,” Fagan whispered. “
You know it’s not the one you see that gets you. I’ve got a feeling there’s more around.”

Timmons
bristled. He’d been on Dead Duty for three weeks and considered himself as good as the Staff Sergeant. Just lasting this long was an accomplishment in and of itself and showed he had his shit together. When he’d first been transferred to New Orleans, he was told his life expectancy would be measured in hours. All that had changed with the new tactics they’d developed. Before, they had to go room-to-room searching out the dead, but now they made the Z’s come to them. Their job was simple. Get the dead out in the open by spraying blood and then take them out with a shot to the head. They’d been doing this for a week and it was so effective they hadn’t lost anyone. Although they still weren’t taking back any more of the city, it was definitely safer.

A private
had come up with the idea after cutting his calf on some broken glass and leaving a trail of blood behind him as he headed to an aide station. He attracted such a long line of Z’s that when he showed up at the medical tent, they thought they were about to be overrun. The Z’s were so interested in the blood though, they ignored the human meat until it started methodically shooting them in the head.

Looking at the thing
with its face pressed into the floor as it licked at the blood, Timmons saw splinters sticking out of its tongue. With a shudder, he said, “Come on, Sarge, let’s cap this thing and move on.”

“You got somewhere you need to be?” Fagan asked.

“Anywhere but here,” Timmons replied quietly.

Fagan laughed and looked around before saying, “Alright
, go ahead and take him. Maybe my feeling is wrong.”

As
he raised his rifle to fire, Fagan told him, “You know the rules, solos get the knife. Conserve your ammo.”

Timmons nodded and handed his M-16 to Jimmy before drawing his bayonet from its sheath.
Stopping, he reached into his breast pocket and extracted his cell phone saying, “Get a picture for posterity. Fucking WiFi hasn’t worked in months, but it’s still good for something.”

Jimmy fumbled
with both rifles as he reached for the phone. Slinging one over his shoulder, he held the other at the ready as he pushed the touch screen to bring up the camera function. Nodding to Timmons that he was ready, he said, “Doesn’t matter if you win or lose, as long as you look good.”

“Then make me famous. I can’t send
it to anyone but I can still use it to impress the ladies back at base camp.”

Holding
his knife slightly away from his body, Timmons advanced into the hall in a crouch. Watching the dead thing bent over what would be its last meal, he visually marked the spot at the base of its skull where he would shove his blade in.

C
ompletely oblivious to the soldier’s approach, the Z continued to drag its tongue along the rough floorboards, making a rasping sound like a cat cleaning itself.

Standing behind the creature, Timmons couldn’t help but turn and
mug for the camera. He knew that once the dead locked onto food, they were oblivious to all else, so he felt safe.

Jimmy looked at the screen
of the phone and tried to line up the shot. He had Timmons in the frame but the Z’s head was cut off. He turned the cell to re-orient it and zoomed out but dropped the phone and raised his rifle at what he saw.

The Z had turned and
was looking at Timmons.

It rolled its eyes and let out a loud screech as it lunged forward and sank its teeth into the soldier’s shin. Timmons tried to jump back but only succeeded in throwing himself into the arms of two more dead who emerged
from the door behind him. One bit into his neck while the other grabbed the hand holding the bayonet, sinking its teeth into his wrist. The hallway was suddenly flooded with dozens of the dead as they burst through the doors and swarmed the doomed man.

Fagan fired two quick
shots; one was wasted as it plunged into the far wall, but the other was on target as it exploded the head of a Z in a spray of black mush. Screaming, “Ambush,” his voice was lost in the noise of Jimmy’s M-16 as he opened fire.

Smoke from their weapons filled the hallway as the two men
fired headshots to exterminate the dead. Timmons’ screams filled the air along with the whine of the Z’s.

Seeing
that one of the dead was digging its teeth into the doomed man’s chest, Jimmy switched his aim and mercifully put a bullet into the side of Timmons’ head.

Fagan screamed, “I’m out,” as he took a step back and dug in the bag
at his hip for more shotgun shells.

The bolt on Jimmy’s M-16 locked back, telling him it was
also time to reload. Having been issued only one magazine, he dropped the empty weapon and un-slung Timmons’ rifle. Seeing over thirty of the dead mobbing the hallway and heading toward him, he yelled, “Too many.”

Fagan whipped his head around as he looked for
his escape route. A veteran of combat in the Dead Cities, he never went into a building unless he knew how to get out. Pointing behind him to a window at the end of the hall, he yelled, “That leads to the alley.” Grabbing a hand grenade from the front of his harness, he added, “Move.”

Jimmy didn’t have to be told twice.

He ran to the window but found it jammed. Using the butt of his rifle, he shattered the glass. Sticking his head out, he saw that the area below was clear. The drop was about fifteen feet, but this was nothing compared to the alternative. To escape the dead, he would risk a jump from twice the height.

As he eased himself over the sill
, from behind him he heard Fagan yell, “Fire in the hole.”

At first planning to hang and drop, at these words Jimmy pushed out. He hit the cobbles of the alley and rolled, coming up into a crouch. From above, he saw Fagan leap out of the window and land awkwardly. The man had barely regained his feet when the grenade he’d dropped behind him went off
with a sharp boom. Dust billowed from the window along with a few body parts and a fine mist of black blood.

His ears
were ringing from the noise of the gunfire in the confines hallway so Jimmy could barely hear Fagan say, “AMF.” Short for Adios Mother Fuckers.

Turning around to try and get his bearings, he saw Fagan lob another grenade though the window. The Staff Sergeant
ran toward him yelling, “Move! I’m not sure what the fuck just happened but it’s not good.”

Without hesitation, he followed his unit commander through a series of back alleys. From around them, the sound of gunfire and explosions mixed with the occasional scream of terror or triumph echo
ing from the other buildings.

They came
to a main street and Fagan took the lead. He immediately drew back after peeking around the corner. Motioning for Jimmy to pass him a hand grenade, he said in explanation, “I used mine up.”

As he unhooked it from his web gear, Jimmy asked, “What is it?
What do you see?”

“What the fuck do you think it is?” Fagan said harshly. Seeing the Private’s eye
s flash in anger, he added in a slightly softer tone, “Listen, I don’t know what’s going on. Those Z’s back there ambushed us, and that ain’t normal. It’s like they were waiting for us. You can hear shit jumping off all over the city, so that means it’s not just us. Around this corner are about fifteen Z’s feeding on someone who wasn’t quick enough to figure this out. Thirty feet past them is a Stryker. Its rear hatch is open, so my guess is they’re feeding on the driver. I’m going to frag the Z’s while you haul ass to the ride. As soon as you get inside close the ramp. I’ll hold them off while you’re doing that, so don’t waste any of your ammo. We’re going to get inside that tin can, fire it up and get the hell out of here.”

“That’s the plan?” Jimmy asked.

Looking him dead in the eye, Fagan asked, “You got a better one?”

Jimmy could only shake his head.

“Good, then do what I tell you to,” Fagan said.

Pulling the pin from the grenade, he glanced around the corner before throwing it underhand. Opening his mouth and covering his ears to lessen the concussion, Jimmy mimicked him
as the explosion almost knocked them off their feet.

The body parts thrown into the air by the blast hadn’t
even hit the ground as Jimmy rounded the corner. Five Z’s had been completely obliterated and the rest had been knocked down. Running past them, he could see the open hatch of the Stryker beckoning. He hoped that nothing was waiting inside and threw himself through the hatch. As he recovered, he rolled over and hit the button to seal the vehicle.

Spinning around
and bringing his rifle up, he saw Fagan standing in the opening with his shotgun at the ready. As the hatch sealed, the Staff Sergeant turned and said, “Can you drive this thing?”

Jimmy had
grown up on a farm and could drive anything, so he nodded.

“Then get it moving. I’m going to man the .50
and direct you,” Fagan told him.

As he headed for the driver’s compartment, Jimmy said, “I
don’t know the way to the base.”

“We’re not going to the base,” Fagan replied. “We’ve got troops all over the place
we need to pick up.” Pointing to the increased sound of gunfire and explosions coming through the open hatch in the roof, he said, “This shit is jumping off big time so we need to get everyone out.”

The diesel engine roared as Jimmy hit the accelerator and headed down the street. Seein
g a group of Z’s feeding on someone near the curb, he swerved and ran them over. The .50 caliber heavy machine gun manned by Fagan barked first, so he only rolled over dead lumps of meat. Following Fagan’s directions, they picked up seven soldiers. An eighth flagged them down as they headed back to base camp, but she was covered in the black slime that the dead had for blood. Knowing that the woman was infected, Jimmy sped by as Fagan exploded her head with a burst from the .50.

As they pulled up to the base camp, Jimmy could see it was swarming with activity. They were waiting in a long line of vehicles to enter when he noticed the armed men and women lining the perimeter. When they finally reached the gate, Jimmy asked the guard what was going on. He was informed that everyone had been pulled back and the orders were to hold in place. No more incursions into New Orleans were authorized until further notice.

He started to ask what was going on
, but the MP only waved his hand and said, “Now move that piece of shit. You’re blocking traffic.”

After
he parked the Stryker, Jimmy helped one of the men they’d picked up get to the aid station. He’d broken his leg when he’d jumped down on top of the Stryker from a third story balcony. That had been the hairiest pick up, since the area was swarming with Z’s. Jimmy had to make three passes; running down the dead while Fagan took out dozens with his .50. After twenty minutes of this, he could finally pull the Stryker below the stranded soldier without being overrun.

The medics were busy with the flood of wounded coming in
as soldiers stood nearby with their weapons ready. Everyone was being stripped down to his or her underwear and examined for bites before being treated. Once checked, they were treated for non-Z wounds or shot in the head if they had been infected.

As he was helping the wounded man get his pants over his broken leg, from behind him Jimmy heard the crack of a .45. Not even turning to look, he knew someone had been eliminated. The soldier he was helping had been facing in that direction and had seen the MP step up behind a woman and shoot her in the back of the head. Jimmy could see the look of fear on his face
, so in a soft voice, he said, “You’ll be okay, Troop. It’s just a broken leg and you ain’t no horse.”

A medic approached and examined the man for bites
before helping him to his feet. Not wanting to be pressed into duty here, Jimmy edged to the entrance of the triage tent and ducked out. He’d left Fagan at the Stryker, so with no one around to tell him what to do next, he went in search of food. Still new to the camp, he wandered through the confusion caused by the recent activity of the dead. All around him, he could hear people speculating about what was happening.

He could tell them in a few simple words
; the dead were getting smart and the living were getting screwed.

Following his nose to one of the mess tents scattered across the compound, he joined the line of soldiers waiting for food. He knew this wasn’t his assigned place to eat but no one questioned him.
He sat down with his tray and had just raised his fork to his mouth when a voice said, “You did good out there today, Troop. We saved a lot of guys.”