The Fall of Society (Book 2): The Fight of Society (25 page)

            The horde was disrupted in the chaos of the explosions. Black smoke engulfed them as the last of the fire licked charred bodies, but they began to regroup as hundreds more pushed their way through the hospital at the slightest whiff of possible food. It was a feeding frenzy that so far yielded nothing for them, yet they pushed on like the mindless, ferocious beasts they were. They would never stop, not ever, until every living creature on the planet was dead—and this group was their current target.

            John and Lauren picked themselves up and staggered to the boat. Tom tapped his foot on the gas pedal to keep the engine at peak readiness. “Let’s go!” he shouted as he looked in the rearview. John helped Lauren in the boat, but he didn’t get in. “What’re you doing?” Lauren asked.

            “I’m gonna cover you guys, don’t worry,” John told her and then looked toward the truck. “Go! Go!”

            Tom dropped his foot on the gas pedal and the truck moved toward the parking lot exit gate with the boat and the group in tow.

            As she pulled away, Lauren’s eyes were locked with John’s. “Now you care about two survivors, don’t you?” she told him.

            John didn’t answer, but cracked a slight smile before he turned and ran across to the far, back corner of the parking lot.

            The dead massed into another horde and emerged like a phoenix from the black smoke…

            The big rig rolled toward the back gate and many walking dead could be heard outside the gate.

            Tom activated a remote detonator—

            KA-BOOM!

            The entire gate disappeared in a fiery explosion, the dead on the outside vaporized, and the big rig barreled through it and took a hard right with smoke and fire licking their heels.

            John got to the truck parked in the back corner and jumped in the bed, he quickly checked the Mark 19 grenade launcher and then pulled back on the loading handles with both hands, the weapon told him that it was loaded with a loud
cha-clink
and he grabbed the vertical firing handles…

            The undead transformed into a stampede raging after the truck and John…

            He took aim and depressed the weapon’s trigger with his thumbs—

            CLANK! CLANK! CLANK! CLANK! The weapon reported each shot…

            The stubby weapon spat out a grenade every second…

            John swept its barrel from left to right…

            A continuous volley of large projectiles flew across the parking lot and impacted into the undead minions. Each 40-millimeter grenade exploded and affected every cannibal within fifteen-feet. Many were completely blasted apart; some lost legs or arms as they were ejected into the air from the explosions.

            John’s stone-like eyes zeroed in on targets and the grenade launcher barrel did his will, sending out his anger one grenade at a time. His enraged face vibrated from the weapon’s jolts as it sucked in the belt-fed grenades, shooting them off, and the empty shell casings, along with the disintegrating belt links, dropping out rapidly—
cling, clink, clang, clang
—on top of the truck. He fired a dozen rounds at the stenches going after the big rig truck and destroyed all of them in fiery disruptive blasts. He jerked the weapon back in the hospital’s direction and grenades flew all over the undead, detonating at their feet and on the building’s walls as they poured out.

            The launcher went empty and John worked quickly to reload it, grabbing a fresh grenade belt and lifting the weapon’s top cover. He inserted the first grenade in the feed chamber, slapped down the cover and pulled the charging handles back. Three fast movers reached him before he could resume firing so he killed them with his pistol and then continued to rock n’ roll with the launcher. He fired at the closest ones that made it to him while he was reloading—they were only thirty feet away when they were blown apart by the grenades. John saw something he couldn’t believe at the hospital doors. The person screamed. “Wait! Don’t leave meee!” It was David, shouting at the top of his lungs.

            He came out in the midst of them and several of the corpses were clinging to his body, eating him as he ran. Incredibly, he was able to move even with so many trying to bring him down. David tried to fire his weapon at the undead, but a ghoul tore into his arm and ripped it off in torrents of blood.

            “Waitttt!” he wailed like a child.

            John fired a string at David and turned his misery into oblivion. When he continued to fire at the converging horde, he saw something else that was incredible—among the many rushing out of the hospital, he saw Joe—he had turned into an infected, but that wasn’t the unbelievable part. As he ran toward John enraged to kill, he saw Corina—his daughter turned ghoul—riding Joe piggyback. The little stench was attacking Joe, ripping apart the flesh of his scalp, neck, and back. Joe didn’t care—he was lost in the madness of his infection, and all he wanted was to reach John for a meal of his own.

            John ended that desire with a few well-placed grenades; father and daughter were gone.

            The big rig rolled down the road parallel with the channel. Its dark waters looked uninviting, but it was their only choice. “Tom, how far is the boat launch? Over.” Ardent said into a radio.

            “Quarter mile ahead, we’re almost there,” Tom answered.

            They watched as many dead runners came out of the parking lot to pursue them. Lauren looked at the corner of the outside wall where she knew John was inside. They could hear and see his grenades exploding everywhere; it was a war zone in there. She wanted him with them and the desperation of it strained her eyes.

            “Come on. Come on,” she tensely muttered. “JOHNNN!” she screamed at the top of her lungs as they drove by.

            John kept firing, but there were too many. They reached the small truck and surrounded it. He abandoned the launcher and turned for a rope on the wall. The stenches clawed their way into the truck bed after him—they almost had him, but he kicked them off and climbed. Halfway up, he took out the remote detonator and pushed its button—the claymore mines Anthony had installed at the truck exploded and destroyed a couple dozen of them—he tossed the detonator and climbed for his life as flames nipped his feet.

            On top of the wall, John got a look at the situation—the big rig had already passed as they headed to the boat ramp. A large group of fast movers were gathering to his left and would be at his location within seconds. He jumped, hit the ground, checked his rifle, and ran after the big rig.

            “Hold on!” Tom said into the radio as the boat launch grew larger in his windshield.

            Tom dropped his foot on the gas pedal and the large truck accelerated, its engine roaring and its wheels spinning up dirt and concrete fragments as it reached ramming speed.

            John pushed his legs hard. He heard a gathering storm of thunder mass behind him and he glanced back to see around two thousand of the undead pouring out of the hospital. They crammed at the bottleneck of the gate, their immense pressure collapsing the wall and crushing the ones on the outside—a gigantic wave was coming and John would be the first one they reached.

            He ran faster.

            “Oh hell!” Tom said loudly as he braced for impact.

            The truck reached the boat launch and sped down the steep concrete ramp at full speed. The impact into the water was violent and sudden, a wall of white water exploding into the air as the truck displaced hundreds of gallons. Tom jerked the wheel to the left to get the truck out of the way for the boat. His face was thrown into the steering wheel, but the airbag deployed and saved him. The group in the boat were rocked and thrown to the deck, but they quickly regrouped and got ready for action. Some of the stenches were already there—on the other side of the channel—many undead assembled at the puny fence. They tore it down and walked over the channel edge to get at the group, splashing into the black waters and disappearing.

            The truck cab flooded quickly and Tom was waist deep in water as he tried to unbuckle his stuck seatbelt. He managed to get it free and went to open his door, but the water was already halfway up the window and the pressure was too much to open it. He grabbed his handgun to shoot out the window, but stopped just as a corpse appeared and pressed its face on the glass—it wanted in badly. Tom turned and shot out the passenger window, water rushed in, but he was able to pull his way out and swim for it.

            John’s legs were burning from running hard and his breathing labored as he used all his might to get away from the oncoming horde that was catching up with him. He took a grenade, pulled its pin and then dropped it at his feet for the undead to run into. He dropped a second one. The following explosions only took out a few of the thousands after him. Up ahead, he saw the big rig and the boat in the water.

            “Untie the boat!” Ardent shouted, and Bear ran to the rear of the boat and untied the straps.

            Bear saw Anthony near the front of the boat waiting for Tom. “Anthony, untie the bow!”

            Anthony reached down over the bow of the boat for the main tie down that was hooked into the steel eye in the hull, but he couldn’t undo it because of the boat’s weight. “I can’t unhook it!”

            “Then cut it!” Ardent shouted.

            Anthony took a knife and tried to cut the tie strap, but it was at a difficult angle and the boat was moving around. He extended his body on the boat’s rail, holding himself from falling over with one hand while he tried to cut the strap with the other; he was exposed to whatever lurked under the dark surface of the water, now only inches from him. A hand burst through the surface and grabbed Anthony—it took the knife from him. “I’ll do it,” Tom said as he swam up and Anthony nearly shat himself.

            Ardent started the boat’s ignition and one motor spun to life. The other one kept turning over, but wouldn’t catch. They didn’t realize the motor’s noise was serving as a beacon to the underwater dead—several stenches burst out in splashes of white across the stern of the boat—it was shallow water at the launch ramp and the dead were able to stand. They immediately attacked. “They’re coming!” Maggie yelled and grabbed her weapon.

            Lauren checked her AK and started firing. They all did, except for Anthony and Ardent as he kept trying to start the second motor. “Goddamit! We didn’t test that motor long enough!” he looked toward Anthony. “Is the strap cut?”

            “Almost!”

            “Hurry up!” Ardent shouted.

            Tom was slicing the strap as fast as he could, but the material was tough and taking more effort than he expected. The knife’s serrated edge sounded like a zipper against the thick material as Tom pulled it back and forth as fast as he could.

            Halfway through…

            More ghouls emerged from the water at the stern end of the craft and threw themselves at the boat as they tried to climb in. The group continued to repel them.

            Tom was three quarters through the strap when a corpse splashed out of the water behind him and pounced.

            “Oh fuck!” Anthony shouted and tried to grab his pistol, but he fell back onto the deck.

            Tom ignored his attacker and kept cutting the strap because he saw all the stenches attacking the boat—he had to cut them free. The beast tried to bite and claw into Tom’s back, but his PVC armor protected him. The thing reached up toward the side of Tom’s body, which wasn’t completely protected, and dug its filthy claws into his armpit. Blood sprayed the water and Tom screamed in pain…

            Dozens of them thrashed in the water aft and the group killed many with nonstop gunfire, but more kept appearing, faster than they were being killed.

            Tom cut the rope and then swung the knife around and impaled it into the top of the stench’s head. “Tom!” Anthony cried and extended his hand down. “Grab onto me!” Tom was weak and barely grabbed his brother’s hand.

            “Is it cut?” Ardent shouted.

            “Yeah, go! Hit it!” Anthony answered. As he pulled Tom onboard, his blood spilled on the white deck. “Oh no! No!” Anthony said with devastated eyes and looked for something to stop the bleeding.

            Ardent pushed the boat’s throttle forward and the one engine revved to full power, water churning violently from the propeller. The legs of a foul corpse were shredded and it was pulled under the red waters. The other engine never started so they only had the one and it wasn’t powerful enough to break them free from the hold of the creatures. “Damnit!” Ardent mumbled. “They’re holding us!” he shouted to the group.

            “Shit! Come on!” Derek said as he reloaded his weapon and continued to fire.

            Anthony got back to Tom with the only thing he could find—a dirty towel and some duct tape—and wrapped the towel around his brother’s armpit, securing it with a few feet of the tape. “I’m sorry, that’s all I can do right now,” Anthony said in near tears.

            “It’s okay. Go help them,” Tom said in a weak voice. “I’ll be alright.”

            John got to the launch ramp and saw the predicament the boat was in. He fired a few rounds from his rifle, but saw it was useless with so many. “They’re coming!” John shouted to them and pointed back.

            “Oh God,” Ardent mumbled when he saw the large horde coming down the channel road. “Hurry! Get them off our ass!” he yelled to the group.

            Many of the ones in the water took notice of John and came after him—too many for him to kill by himself, not to mention the horde closing in behind him—so he ran down the road. Several undead began to climb over the boat’s railing one-by-one and the group shot them pointblank in the heads; they wouldn’t stop, and more waited to replace them. Bear had an idea and turned to their supplies stacked in the center of the cargo area. He threw some stuff aside and found what he wanted—a chainsaw—he turned on the gas valve and pulled the starter cord. It roared to life. “Move! Move! Move!” he shouted.