The Passenger (Surviving the Dead) (9 page)

By then the front ranks were thin and my body was able to move forward enough to claw a few handfuls of meat, greedily shoving the prize into my mouth. The salty taste of hot flesh would have been easier to deal with if my brain wasn't sending signals to vomit that were being ignored.

The bodies behind me moved around the press, eager to follow the scent of the other victims. Somewhat relieved and still chewing my meal, I found myself following them.

No. Not
myself
, goddammit. My body. My body followed them.

A tall window opened into the night, the glass long since removed and the space turned into a clever escape route. The heavy wood planking over the empty hole lowered down like a drawbridge on heavy cable, landing on a makeshift catwalk that led to the adjacent building.
Beyond it, the family that had escaped the swarm was trapped.

On the street below
, a few dozen ghouls clawed at the brick, hands sweeping only a few feet from the isolated stretch of roof where the family cowered. A woman, eyes fierce if understandably forlorn, two adolescent children, and a baby not old enough to walk.

The older kids were boys for whom shaving was still an abstract concept. They might have been twins; each had similar hair and eyes, shape of face and bearing. The baseball bats cocked over their shoulders even rested at the same grim angle. A dozen other dead people went down the ramp to the rooftop in front of us, the family ready in the dead-end corner created by the makeshift construction behind them.

The boys were vicious and effective, knocking the first few enemies from the slender ramp easily. But they were also reckless, overreaching and allowing themselves to be grabbed. The bottom dropped out of my stomach as I watched them tumble to the pavement below under the iron grip of ghouls who got in just close enough. The woman, who I assume was their mother, screamed with such force I actually heard her voice break. Something in her throat snapped under the incoherent wail of anguish. Moments later, the horde was on her.

The best that can be said
of her suffering was that it was short-lived. I'm not even going to think about what happened to the baby.

It was over fast in real time but
took forever in my head. Human bodies hold so much damn blood. I was soaked in it by the end. A dark corner of my brain laughed as my body and the other monsters tried to find their way back off the roof, a process of pinball-like trial and error that took much longer than the killing.

The rest of me retreated. Turns out that while sleep was denied to me in my deathless state, good old-fashioned fugue states were still possible. I withdrew, a buffer of mental static wrapping around me like a warm blanket, and the world became a buzzing annoyance instead of an in-your-face horror show impossible to ignore.

Without that defensive reaction, I would have gone insane. I'm still not sure I didn't.

TWELVE

There were sixteen of them, split into two groups, riding in from either side of the tracks.

They had caught Ethan’s platoon unawares, hemmed in, and sandwiched in the saddle of two hills, still preoccupied with engaging the undead. Their plan was obvious: ride in like a hammer and crush the soldiers against the anvil of the horde. It was a good plan, well thought out, and well executed. Well timed, even. If Kelly hadn’t told Ethan to fall back, he never would have seen them coming. But as it turned out, he did.

Luck. What a lady.

Ethan watched the marauders
come out of the trees and spur their horses to a gallop. For a few seconds, they stayed close to the treeline. But as they neared the bottom of the hill, one group slowed and let the other ride ahead. They realigned single-file, quickly and with expert precision, on a vector that would allow them to strafe the platoon with impunity.

Ethan called out a warning to the men behind him, and like the disciplined professionals they were, the other squad leaders echoed his command. With nowhere to run, and no cover, each man fell down onto his belly to reduce his target profile. He heard Kelly tell his men on the upward side of the hill to maintain their assault on the infected, ordering them not to allow the ghouls to get over the shitpile. The other squads turned toward the riders, lay prone, and aimed their rifles. In less than five seconds Cole had switched back to his SAW, deployed the bipod mounted under the barrel, and readied it to fire.

The riders came within range, stood up in their saddles, and took aim.
AK-47s. Seems like every marauder in the world has one these days.
Ethan brought up his sights and picked a target. Next to him, he felt the buffeting patter of Cole’s SAW as he opened fire, the concussion blasting his face and pounding his ears. Ignoring the pain, he put his reticle just in front of a rider and squeezed the trigger. His aim was good, and he saw the man squeal in agony as the rounds tore into his stomach. Amazingly, he recovered quickly, bared his teeth, and returned fire.

His aim was off. The rounds cut the air over Ethan’s head and sent up spouts of dirt behind his feet. Gritting his teeth, Ethan lowered his aim.
If you can’t get the rider, take out the horse.
His thumb flipped the selector to full-auto and let fly a burst into the horse’s forward flank. Although fighting the effects of tunnel vision, he still saw blood erupt from the animal’s skin as the rounds struck home. To his shock, the animal faltered only a little and kept running. The rider tried to steady his aim, but his horse passed Ethan and he couldn’t swivel around far enough to get a shot.

Cole let out a whoop as a burst from his SAW caught a rider full in the chest, stitched all the way up his face, and sent him tumbling from the saddle. Around Ethan, other soldiers’ bullets found their targets, but as the raiders swung their mounts and rode away, only a handful of horses were now absent their riders. The other men had either gotten away with only wounds, or escaped being shot altogether. That was the problem with using rifles that fired a cartridge rated as only marginally lethal against coyotes, much less people. Quite often, even when you caught them center of mass, the bad guys lived long enough to run away, or stay on their feet for a while and keep fighting.

The raiders had taken a beating, and they knew it. They spurred their horses for everything they were worth, trying to put some distance between them and the pissed-off soldiers they had just attacked. Ethan saw movement in the treeline as the riders neared it, and he felt a grin tug across his face.

From the cover of the forest, several rifles and a SAW opened up. This time, it was the horsemen who were taken unawares. Bu
llets thudded into their bodies and their horses. The SAW roared in anger, wreaking havoc among the hapless enemy. Ethan watched a man’s head disintegrate as a full-auto burst caught him in the face. Another was crushed beneath his mount as the animal pitched headlong into the ground at a full gallop. The horse rolled away and left the rider screaming on the ground, his hips turned sideways and both of his legs sticking out at odd angles, feet turned in the wrong direction. Ethan’s smile faded.

It was over in seconds. The guns ceased their c
hatter as half of the now riderless horses galloped away. The other half lay on the ground near their riders, dead or dying. A few of the marauders still moved, clutching wounds and screaming and begging for help they weren’t going to get. Ethan got up on one knee and cupped his hands around his mouth.

“Hold your fire!” he shouted at the trees. At least it felt like he was shouting, his ears were ringing so badly he couldn’t hear his own voice. “We need a prisoner!”

The other soldiers emerged from cover, and with a surge of pride, Ethan realized it was Justin and the rest of Delta Squad. Private Clark was with them, the heavy gunner from Alpha Squad, one of Sergeant Kelly’s men.
Must have sent him along as backup. Probably bitched about it, thought Kelly was taking him out of the action.
They kept their rifles leveled as they moved into the open, prepared to fire in an instant if any of the marauders tried for a weapon. The carnage was terrifying; men and horses lay scattered over a hundred-yard stretch, their bodies torn and broken. Before the Outbreak, the sight would have been enough to turn Ethan’s stomach, which was saying something. He’d been an EMT in his former life, and had seen the results of many a fatal car wreck.

Here, a man lay shuddering and whimpering, trying to stuff his guts back into his stomach, blood pooling beneath him.
His face was white as a sheet of paper, lips blue, eyes glazing over. Not much time left for that one. No use questioning him. Ethan swallowed his revulsion and moved on. Nearby, a horse lay writhing on the ground, screaming and tossing its head. He moved around its thrashing hooves and checked the next man. Face down, not moving, no rise or fall of the chest, several exit wounds between his shoulder blades. Ethan kicked him in the kidney. Nothing. He kicked him again, harder. Still nothing.

Next
, he checked a kid who looked no older than eighteen. One of his legs was hanging on by a twist of muscle tissue, the pale white gleam of his patella jutting out of shredded flesh. The kid’s eyes stared open, fixed and dilated. Ethan kept moving.

Finally
, he found a live one. He’d taken a bullet in the hip and another in his elbow. Survivable wounds with the proper medical treatment, although dancing and boxing were no longer career options. Ethan leveled the barrel of his rifle—which he now realized he’d forgotten to remove the suppressor from—and pointed it at the man’s left eye. He looked up, face frozen with fear.

“Hi there,” Ethan said pleasantly. “Staff Sergeant Ethan Thompson, United Stated Army. Pleasure to meet you.”

The man let out a breath, closed his eyes, and passed out.

*****

Lieutenant Jonas was pissed. He had screwed up royally, and he knew it.

“Didn’t think they’d come at us head on like that,” he muttered for the tenth time. “And in broad daylight too. Fuckers are getting ballsy.”

“Don’t beat yourself up, LT. None of our guys got hurt. That’s what’s important.”

Jonas turned his hard, granite-colored eyes on Ethan. “I should have planned for the possibility. I should have sent a few men down to stay behind cover and watch your backs. Instead, I kept them all up here by the U-trac. Figured if I made it look like an easy target, the raiders might try to ride in, smash the locks, and make off with the loot while everybody’s busy fighting the Rot.
It was just damned blind luck that Schmidt spotted those riders and moved his fire team down the hillside. God knows how many men we would have lost if he hadn’t. I should have sent them down there to begin with, and not kept them up here by the transport.”

“
Defending the U-trac was the logical thing to do, sir. It was a good plan.”

“Yeah, except for the fact that
my bluff got called and I wasn’t ready for it. Damn near got you all killed. It should have occurred to me they might attack while the platoon was fighting the infected. I fucked up, Sergeant. I fucked up bad, and I can’t afford to be making those kinds of mistakes. When officers fuck up, good men die.”

Jonas looked miserable, a
ngry, and ashamed all at once. Ethan tried to think of something helpful to say, but when he thought about it, he realized Jonas was right. The lieutenant
had
fucked up. But while Jonas didn’t mind voicing his mistakes to himself, he didn’t tolerate that kind of criticism from his men. He evaluated his soldiers, not the other way around. Ethan decided to change the subject.

“Any word on Austin and his men?”

Jonas nodded. “Kelly just got off the horn with Command. As it turns out, the PI geeks have access to a master list of all known survivor communities, and lists of their citizens. Those that gave ‘em, anyway. Fort Unity is on the list. Austin’s story checked out; he’s the sheriff there.”

A door clattered open on the U-trac and the man in question stepped o
ut, along with his nephew and deputy. As they approached, the looks they turned on Ethan were not happy ones. He had to fight the urge to let a hand stray toward his pistol.

“I understand you’re in charge here?” Austin said, addressing the Lieutenant.

“That’s right. Lieutenant Clay Jonas, First Reconnaissance Expeditionary.” He held out a hand. Austin stared at it for a long moment before shaking it.

“My men and I are headed to a place called Broken Bridge. Little town a few miles west of here. Maybe you
’ve heard of it?”

Jonas thought for a few seconds, then shook his head. “Sorry, can’t say as I have.”

“It’s a pretty large trading post. Couple hundred people living there. They’re the third town to go dark in as many weeks. I’m on my way there to find out why.”

“
What do you mean ‘went dark’?” asked Jonas.

“There’s a few towns around here
that managed to scrape together enough materials to generate electricity. Not much, but enough to power radio equipment. Sort of a network, you see. We all stay in touch with each other, share information, give warnings about marauders, do trade negotiations, that sort of thing. Three weeks ago, one of the towns didn’t check in when they were supposed to. A few days later, we had another one go quiet. Then Broken Bridge. One or two, we might just chalk up to bad luck, but three can’t be a coincidence. Something happened to those towns, and I aim to find out what it was and make sure it doesn’t happen to Fort Unity.”

Jonas’ expression hardened
. It was a long instant before he spoke. “I’m sorry to hear that, Mr. Austin. I truly am.”

“Seeing as you know about it, Lieutenant, what do you plan to
do
about it?”

“I’m not sure there’s much I
can
do for you. We’re behind schedule as it is, and we need all the resources we have with us. We expect heavy fighting where we’re going.”

Austin took half a step closer, glaring. “I just told you there are people dying out there.
Dying
. People you’re supposed to protect. You remember swearing an oath to do that, don’t you?”

“I am well aware of my responsibilities, Mr. Austin,” Jonas said flatly.
“I don’t need a lecture from
you
on what they entail. If you have a bone to pick with the military, do it someplace else. I don’t have time for it. We’ve got our own problems.” He pointed a finger at the cluster of dead bodies at the base of the hill, marauder and infected alike. Austin’s eyes shifted that way, resting there for a while. His anger dimmed.

“Of course. I heard the Army was stretched pretty thin. Didn’t realize how bad it was.”

“We’re all doing the best we can.” Jonas turned to Ethan. “Sergeant, find Hicks and have him bring around their horses. Mr. Austin, I wish you luck. If I could go with you, I would, but this platoon is needed elsewhere.”

Ethan watched the hope fade from Austin’s face.
He had obviously expected Jonas to offer assistance, and now it was clear that wasn’t going to happen. Still, he had a point. If decent, honest people were in danger, the Army had to do something about it, even if it was inconvenient. 

“Maybe there’s another solution.”

All eyes turned to Ethan. Jonas’ expression was one of warning.

“Just hear me out, sir.”

“I’m listening.”

“We don’t need to send the whole platoon, do we? Maybe just a few guys, like three or four. I could ask for volunteers.”

Jonas thought about it. “But the platoon would have to move on. You’d be stuck out here alone with no way to catch up.”

“Sure we could
. FOB Harkin could send a Blackhawk. They could pick us up from anywhere in the region and drop us back at the U-trac when we’re done.”

Ethan had met the CO of Forward Operating Base Harkin just after the battle of Singletary Lake. He was just a pilot back then, and he had flown the chopper that rescued Ethan, Cole, and several other soldiers from the roof of a boathouse. To express his gratitude, Ethan gave the man a bottle of Ten Canes rum, a box of tampons
, and a jar of instant coffee—a small fortune in trade items. Ethan was willing to bet the pilot would remember him. He said as much to Lieutenant Jonas, and watched the spark of hope in Austin’s eyes begin to flare again.