The Hunt Chronicles (Book 2): Revelation (32 page)

A few minutes passed and Pitman began to withdraw from the vegetation.  Again, he was as quiet as a mouse.

When Pitman returned, he knelt near a small cleared area and started to draw what he had seen in the sand.

“Your boys are up there,” he said sourly.  His face expressed disgust.  “Judging from the clothing, two were changed into scabs.  I counted seven of the monsters.”

“Gardner?” Campbell asked.

Pitman shook his head sadly.  “It’s… not pretty, sir.”

Pitman continued to draw in the sand, and started to point out where he saw scabs.

Fish examined the hastily drawn map, noting our current location and judging distance. 

“Alright,” Fish grunted, “Pitman, you take Enrique and circle around.  We’ll give you Dobson’s radio.  One click for yes, two clicks for no.  Other than that, radio silence.”

“Why are we splitting up?” I asked.

“We can’t let any of them get away,” Campbell answered before Fish could.

“Yeah,” Fish nodded.  “Pitman, take out any scabs that run.  Otherwise, I’ll let you know when to join the battle.  Remember, stay off to the south.  I don’t want to hit you in a crossfire.”

“How I get sucked into this?” Enrique grumbled.

Fish cocked an eyebrow.  “Because, little man, you’re quiet.”

“You not much taller than me,” Enrique shot back.

Fish ignored him and looked at Pitman.  “One click when you’re in position.  You ready?”

Pitman attached Dobson’s radio to his web belt.  He nodded and tapped Enrique on the shoulder.  The two left, taking a wide loop around the bluff.

“Okay,” Fish said, after they left.  “Keep your eyes out for Pitman and Enrique once the shooting starts.  They should be around this direction,” he pointed at the dirt map.

I repositioned my gear as we waited, making sure everything was in a good place and my magazines were easily accessible. 

Fish went over basic tactics, mainly for the benefit of Campbell and me.  Just because I was a veteran and Campbell was an officer didn’t mean we were tactically proficient, and we were about to go into battle with two highly trained Spec Ops guys.  I’m sure they didn’t want the two of us flubbing up the assault.

One thing Fish brought up was cover.  “Stay behind trees if you can.  You want as much cover as possible.  These shitheads are pretty damn accurate with their spears.”

“Not to argue,” Campbell said, “but when I was in Officer Candidate School, they told us to stay away from walls and other objects.”

“That’s because of ricocheting bullets and debris from their impact,” Dobson pointed out.  “Hopefully, scabs haven’t learned how to use guns.  I wouldn’t worry too much about a spear bouncing off a tree.”

I made a mental note that if we survived this battle I was going to ask Fish to teach me how to fight hand to hand.  I had never really been in a fist fight growing up and every time I had been in melee since The Awakening, I had gotten my ass whipped.

I checked Boomer’s stitches and saw that some had torn slightly open, but were still holding.  For the most part, he seemed to be in good shape.

Fish had put his earpiece back in, and looked up.  “They’re in position.  Remember what I told you.  Don’t break the line.”

Our positioning was simple.  Dobson and Fish were taking the outer edges of our line, while Campbell and I took the middle.  They would handle the flanks.  Campbell and I only had to worry about what was coming at us dead on.  Fish was off to my right while we snuck across the stream.  We stayed about twenty feet apart, and Fish had been adamant about Campbell and me staying five feet behind his and Dobson’s line.  

Dobson and Campbell had M4 Assault Rifles, while Fish was settling for his .45.  I had my AR-15 rifle poised as we prowled up the bluff.

Fish had already disappeared from view on my right.  I didn’t hear him enter the foliage, and remembered to take extra care as I snuck through the brush.  Boomer, after slightly struggling up the bluff, prowled up next to me and waited.  His head was low and his tail was up.

Slowly, I began to get a view of the area Pitman had described.

I held my breath, trying not to make a noise as my stomach started to wobble.  Bile was building up and I turned away from the horror.

Two long boards had been lashed together, forming an ‘X’ shape.  Tied to the makeshift cross was Gardner.  He had been stripped naked and his left leg was completely missing.  The other leg had been skinned and large portions of his thigh were gone.  His chest had been broken open and all of his organs were absent.  I could see his spine on the other side, through the opened ribcage.

Large spikes pinned his wrists and feet to the cross.  His head lifted in a silent cry, followed by the recognizable gurgle of a zombie moan. 

I turned my despair into anger.  I needed the anger to get through this.

Two scabs were nursing another who had bullet holes in his chest and leg.  I recognized another as Jean, a member of Gardner’s hunting party.  She walked over and ripped a chunk of meat from his leg. 

She handed the meat to the wounded scab and he devoured it.

I noted the location of the other scabs, and then my eyes fell on Chad.  He was sitting twenty yards away in the middle of the clearing making a spear.

I took aim at Chad, awaiting Fish’s signal.  I felt a sense of calm as I moved my weapons sight over his head.  His killer was dead, and soon, he would be put to rest.

The clunking sound of the slide on Fish’s .45 echoed.  Jean fell as the side of her head exploded in red and brown mist.

Unsuppressed weapons fire soon exploded around me as Campbell and Dobson began to shoot at their targets.

My eyes quickly focused back on Chad, who was starting to get up.  I released six rounds, three of which hit him.  The first two were body shots, but the last one caught him in the neck.  He fell over before he was able to stand completely erect.

Other scabs growled and wailed as the hail of fire continued.

One of the beasts retreated towards the opposite tree line.  I caught a flash of fire out of the corner of my eye, and the scab stumbled and then fell.  Enrique emerged from behind a tree and shot it two times in the head with his rifle.

“Move!” Fish shouted, and the four of us pressed forward.  Boomer stayed close to my leg.

All seven scabs were either dead or severely wounded, but even a hurt scab had the ability to continue fighting regardless of its injuries.  Three were back on their feet in seconds.

A spear was hurled our direction narrowly missing Campbell, who had ducked behind a large palmetto bush.  Both Dobson and I converged on the creature.  We had to hit the scab over ten times before it fell back from a round penetrating its skull.

Enrique and Pitman were now in the fight.

One of the scabs charged Pitman.  The large man emptied his rifle into the beast, but it still came.  Enrique, who was in the middle of changing magazines, saw this and unsheathed his lawnmower blade.

Before the scab was five feet away from Pitman, Enrique flanked it and hacked the creature’s head off in one swipe.

Another scab had charged Dobson, and Campbell pivoted to cover him. 

Boomer barked ferociously.  I spun to see Chad about to leap to my right, toward Fish.

Why isn’t Fish firing?
I thought.  I moved to have a better angle.

Fish was wobbling forward, as if his legs had refused to give up.  His gun arm, however, was lowered and his head was slightly askew, as if he were about to pass out.  Fish teetered to the side and fell to the ground.

Chad had landed just a few feet from Fish and was raising his spear.

“Boomer, go!” I shouted as I released another volley of bullets at Chad. 

Sand danced around my old friend and he dodged for cover.

Boomer read Chad’s motion and leapt on him, tearing into his shoulder.

Chad flipped over and over, sending him and Boomer into a crocodile death roll.

I was running forward before I realized it.  Shooting at Chad was impossible with Boomer in the way.

I was only four feet away when Chad threw Boomer across the clearing.

I aimed and shot Chad in the gut as he rose to meet me.  The impact only slightly affected his momentum, though, and he grabbed my rifle.

My finger pulled uselessly on the trigger, and I realized the bolt was locked back.  I was out of ammunition.

He yanked hard on the rifle, pulling me past him.  I crashed face first into the ground as the sling popped and broke from the stress.

I quickly rolled over and saw Chad wielding my rifle like a bat.  He swung hard toward my head.  I crossed my arms in front of me as the rifle smashed down.  I heard a crack from my forearm and a gut wrenching pain shot from my pinky to my shoulder.

My eyes fluttered open as I battled the agony.  Chad was lifting the rifle again.  Suddenly, he was thrown forward and over me.  Boomer had pounced on his back.  The hundred pound dog’s weight and momentum sent Chad hurtling to the ground behind me.

I scrambled to my feet, favoring my injured arm.

Boomer was tearing at the back of Chad’s neck as the scab wailed in frustration.

I wrenched my pistol free from its harness.

“Boomer!” I screamed, but he didn’t seem to hear me.  Boomer was in bloodlust.

Chad wailed as Boomer bit and tore deeper into the back of his neck.  There was a sickening crack as the canine snapped the scab’s spine, and Chad’s body went limp.

“Boomer!” I yelled again.  The canine backed away.  He was pacing back and forth on the other side of Chad, as if ready to pounce again if need be.

I walked up to Chad, gritting through the pain.

He was lying face down, but his jaw was twitching and snapping at Boomer. 

Boomer had torn the skin and most of the muscle from Chad’s neck. A portion of his skull was exposed. His neck was broken but he was still alive.

Blood pooled in the sand around Chad’s body.  Even a scab couldn’t survive these injuries, but he could still reanimate as a zombie. I wasn’t going to let that happen.

I stood near Chad’s head and aimed my pistol at his temple.

“Goodbye, friend,” I whispered, and shot Chad, ending his turmoil.

Fish was lying a few feet away, and I stumbled toward him.  I crashed to my knees next to Fish and checked to see if he was breathing.

“Is he alive?” Pitman asked, jogging over to me.

I felt light breath coming from Fish’s nose.  It wasn’t strong, but it was there.

“Barely,” I grimaced, wincing from my own injuries.

I examined my forearm.  Just below the elbow, a huge purplish red area was starting to swell.

“I-I think my arm is broken,” I groaned.

Pitman took a quick look, causing me to cry out in pain as he touched it.

“Yeah, it’s broken alright.”  He smirked, “Are you just trying to avoid that ass whoopin’ I owe you?”

“Yeah, that’s it,” I said, clenching my teeth together.

Everyone had gathered near us, except Campbell.  I looked over at the cross where Gardner was hanging and saw Campbell with his hand on the now zombified man.  He was saying something, though I never found out what it was.

My heart went out to Campbell.  Since I had met him, he had lost everyone in his original command.  First PFC Vanerka was killed defending Ace Hardware.  Then Specialist Combs, Campbell’s right hand man, had been mortally wounded during that same attack, and later died from his injuries.  PFC Gonzales died less than a week ago, and Cecil had murdered Private Trent and Private Manns that very day. 

Now Campbell stood next to the last of his soldiers.  The Captain shook his head and backed away from the zombie.  He raised his rifle and shot Gardner twice in the head.

“We need to move,” Dobson said, examining Fish.  “Not sure how much longer Fish has.”

“I’ll carry him,” Pitman said.  He slung his rifle behind him and then gently picked Fish up, and cradled him over his shoulder.

“Are you going to make it?” Campbell asked as he approached me.

“Yes, sir,” I answered, and picked up my gear.

“Let’s get moving,” Dobson said, taking the lead.

Campbell retrieved Fish’s radio and called back to the camp.  By the time we made it to the beach, Jenna and Daniel had pulled up in another boat. 

Daniel began to work feverishly on Fish, immediately inserting an IV and examining the wound on Fish’s shoulder.  He radioed Rich on the trip back, relaying the seriousness of the former Green Beret’s injuries. 

By the time we made it to Camp Holly, Rich had the infirmary prepped for surgery.  Daniel and Doctor Tripp assisted Rich.  Two hours later, they came out and told us Fish was stable.

Rich made a cast for my arm and gave me four stitches on my scalp. 

Rich had worked tirelessly to keep Jada alive, and in the end, was successful.  Rich was right, Private Manns had ripped her arm right out of its socket, but she had never been bitten.