The Zero Dog War (25 page)

Chapter Twenty-Three: Full Metal Reanimator

Undead Army of the Unrighteous Order of the Falling Dark

The Zero Dog Compound

Garage

7:21 p.m. PST April 19th

Necromancer Overlord Jeremiah Hansen might as well have been Napoleon at the Battle of Austerlitz, such was his brilliance. He’d already sent the bulk of his zombie forces against the main house. They’d advanced toward the ground floor in a dark, shuffling mass and piled up against the windows and doors. They smashed at the glass with rocks, patio chairs and decorative lawn gnomes. The heavy chatter of gunfire roared somewhere to the north. He directed another zombie wave off toward the gunfire, hoping to catch the mercenaries in the open where he could surround and destroy them.

Jeremiah kept back an honor guard with him at the garage. The honor guard consisted of the fifty zombies who’d survived the attack at his gelatin plant, zombies he’d come to think of as his core veterans. He’d decked these battle-tested undead out in firefighter gear—a little trick he hoped took the fire out of that mercenary woman’s Bunsen burner. He’d already used his honor guard to break into the garage, where he’d found a ton of really great stuff, including the mercenaries’ black tank vehicle that had caused him such grief. Hard for his undead army to do much against armor like that. So, as Blake would say, he’d just have to remove the asset from the balance books.

A quick search turned up some weapons among the stores of ammunition. He grabbed some cylindrical grenade-looking things. Perfect for what he had planned. He looked at the closest zombie, a twenty-something woman, her once-flawless skin now not so flawless—rather gray, truth be told—blonde hair the color of straw on the ground at the county fair, and painted into some kind of designer dress that looked as if it’d been expensive before she’d died in it. She wore narrow, spike-heeled shoes, also expensive-looking, ruined now by mud and grass. A conspicuous Gucci handbag hung from one slumped shoulder. She’d been beautiful once, yet with one of those spoiled rich, bitchy faces that had given him nightmares in high school.

“This is going to hurt you more than it’s going to hurt me,” he assured her. “But your sacrifice will never be forgotten…um…whatever your name is.”

She moaned an interrogative. Something that sounded like, “Guuhuann?”

He couldn’t help staring at her lips when she moaned. Most of her shiny lip gloss had smeared off and now some kind of fungus grew there. Kind of disturbing, actually. He might’ve thrown up in his mouth a little.

He put one of the grenade canisters in her hand, concentrating on guiding her actions through their silver cord connection as she climbed up on the back of the tank using boxes and an empty 55-gallon drum. The entire time she filled the air with a constant stream of moaning and groaning as if she were bitching at him about the hard work. She fell twice, thanks to those stupid-ass, ridiculous shoes. He nearly yanked out all his facial hair in frustration. The gunshots grew steadily closer, distracting him, filling him with the frenetic, unrelenting urge to
hurry
.

He closed his eyes, concentrated and looked through the distant dead eyes of one of his zombies. He caught a bleary glimpse of a huge, dark shape. The demon, Jeremiah recognized an instant later, when muzzle flashes from the gun it held lit its terrible face in bursts like lightning. He saw some pale creature—a vampire—fighting alongside a werewolf swinging a golf club around like a war hammer, both of them bashing and breaking and slicing their way through his zombie front line. To his left, a gigantic housecat pounced on his undead minions and tore them to shreds. What next? Chimpanzees with rocket launchers? God, what a headache these people were. A freak-show circus with claws and guns. He shifted more reinforcements in that direction, trying to swamp them beneath the undead tide.

Back inside the garage, his chosen zombie fashionista finally made it to the top of the tank. The hatch gaped open. She stood there swaying, looking down into the hatch, toying with her designer Gucci handbag with one hand while the other clutched the grenade.

Blake ghosted up beside Jeremiah, apparently finished hiding his Audi as per their Assault Plan Action Item Number Three. Somehow the man had freed the car from police impound without complications. His abilities struck Jeremiah as a trifle disquieting.

“A detachment of mercenaries is trying to fight its way here,” Blake said.

“Tell me something I don’t know.”

“If they reach this vehicle…”

“Don’t get your undies wet. I’m all over this. Watch.” He saluted the girl zombie and she stepped forward and fell into the turret with a thud. A pained groan echoed out of the hatch.

“Impressive.” Blake stroked his chin. “What exactly did that accomplish?”

“Follow me and see.” He hurried outside, moving the rest of his zombie flame-resistant commandoes out with him. Blake followed close behind. No moon tonight, just starlight, and the darkness lay deep and thick, while the night air sang with a chorus of gunfire, zombie moans and the dull, arrhythmic thud of feet on the grass. Jeremiah and Blake took shelter behind some trees, and Jeremiah closed his eyes and concentrated on directing the fashionista zombie inside the tank to reach over and pull the ring pin on the grenade.

“Watch this,” Jeremiah said. “Say fucking
hasta lombardo
to their wheels.”

They waited. There was no explosion. His zombies shifted, now both restless and hungry. One of them moaned like a Swiss yodeler with a sore throat.

“What the fuck?” Jeremiah felt his face flush.

“I take it you expected something more dramatic?”

Jeremiah ran to the garage door and risked a look inside. Violet smoke billowed from the top hatch in a thick cloud. The air stank with a sharp, foul odor.

Blake stalked up beside him again. “A smokescreen.
Excellent
.”

“You’re not helping me. And people who aren’t helping me get eaten.”

Blake gave him a slim smile and set his briefcase on the top of a workbench. He popped the clasps, revealing a collection of folders, his PDA, a wicked-looking handgun and a gray cylindrical canister. “I procured this in case it proved useful. A thermate incendiary grenade. Extremely handy to have at business meetings and working lunches.”

“Blake, you are a very useful
hombre
.”

“I do my best.” He walked to the vehicle, pulled the pin on the grenade and tossed it into the hatch. A confused, high-pitched “Garuunh?” echoed out of the hatch, which still belched violet smoke, and everything had been obscured by purple haze. Any moment now Jeremiah expected Jimi Hendrix to come out and light his guitar on fire.

Blake wiped his hand on his trousers. “I suggest we beat a hasty retreat, since we’re surrounded by a great deal of explosive and flammable materials.”

They made it across the driveway and took cover behind a Douglas-fir. A stray branch smacked Jeremiah in the face and he ended up with the taste of pine in his mouth and sap on his cheek.

A deep bass rumble shattered the garage windows and rattled all the glass in the house, followed by a rapid series of small explosions—ammo cooking off. Another, larger explosion blew out the back of the garage in a huge ball of swirling fire flecked with debris. A smoking spike-heeled shoe went spinning through the air and impaled itself in the lawn. He thought there might still be a foot in it, but he didn’t look too closely. He’d always remember the sacrifice of what’s-her-face, the zombie with the chic purse.

The garage burned like a toy house built of kerosene-soaked popsicle sticks. The fire spread to the roof as more explosions ripped through the inside, making him flinch with every thunderclap boom.

“I think things are breaking our way this time,” Jeremiah said.

Blake smiled. “I believe you are correct, sir.”

Chapter Twenty-Something: Bridge on the River Styx

Mercenary Wing Rv6-4 “Zero Dogs”

The Zero Dog Compound

Great Room

1922 Hours PST April 19th

Jake moved to take point. He had his M9 out and a force barrier shimmered to life in front of him. I fell in behind to cover our six o’clock. We hadn’t taken more than a half dozen steps when glass shattered somewhere behind us. Gunshots rang out from the patio, single shot groupings—the rapid
crack, crack, crack
of rifle rounds.

Shit
. I again had to force myself not to run toward the sound of gunfire and join the fray. I looked toward the plate-glass window. Dark forms stumbled toward the house in an uneven line, too many to count. We were going to need backup.

I set a hand on Jake’s shoulder and he glanced at me. “Can you get Delta Force guys here?”

“They’re in transit, not even in Oregon yet. No way they’ll get here in time.” He shook his head. His mouth slashed across his face in a grim, jagged line. “But I’ll send out a distress signal to the DOD and see what I can get.”

“Do it. I’ll call 911, see if I can get SWAT here, give us some support.” Besides, it’d give Tiffany, Mai and Hanzo some more time to reach us. Maybe we’d get lucky and wouldn’t have to go searching through a dark house under zombie assault.

Jake nodded, pulled out his cell phone and dialed.

More gunshots. A long wolf howl echoed outside, lifting in pitch until it suddenly dropped into a snarl that sounded more like a blender full of gravel. Again, I took a step toward the door to the kitchen, wanting to be out there with my people in the thick of things, before I stopped myself. I shoved my hand into my jeans and pulled out my cell phone and hit 911, keeping my eyes on the window and those dark shapes lurching across the lawn. One of them fell into the bomb crater.

It took bloody forever for my phone to connect. The ceiling-mounted intercom speakers started playing something by Yanni. Next up, Zamfir, Master of the Pan Flute. Fitting music by which to die.

“911. What’s your emergency?” The operator sounded bored.

“I have zombies overrunning my house. They’re through the wire and in the goddamn flowerbeds.”

“Did you say zombies, ma’am?” A little more interest now, but not much. From the sound of it, a person worked the emergency phones for two months and had seen it all, ranging from cannibal corpses to anal-probe-obsessed aliens.

“Zombies, as in walking dead people who want to eat you.” A flurry of gunshots cracked outside.

“Is that gunfire?” Definite interest now and a bit of alarm. About goddamn time.

“We’re shooting zombies. What do you fucking think?”

“Please remain calm, ma’am. I have a unit on the way. You need to make sure all those weapons are on the ground when the officer arrives.”

“Yeah, that ain’t gonna happen. Wait—are you sending
one
officer?”

“We’re sending a unit now—”

“Send
all
of them. Now!”

An explosion tore apart the night, as loud as ten thunderclaps at least and a couple of low-rider stereos thrown in for the hell of it. The windows rattled in their frames. Glass shattered on the side of the house nearest the garage. That definitely couldn’t be good.

“Ma’am? Can you hear me?” A gratifying note of panic echoed over the phone for the first time. “Is everyone okay?”

“No!” I screamed into the phone. “We have zombie infestation out the ass and half the house just blew up! Now get us some fucking help!”

I snapped the phone shut. Jake had already finished his call. I could tell from the look on his face he didn’t have an answer I wanted to hear.

“The DOD’s in contact with the governor about rolling out National Guard units.”

The good news surprised me. “How long?”

“At least an hour. More like two. They’re thinking containment, not rescue.”

“Shit.” Containment, not rescue. I should’ve guessed the universe would continue its long history of taking a crap on my head.

A shape thumped off the window so hard the glass shook. I whipped my head around and recoiled in horror. A zombie mime slapped his white-gloved hands against the glass. His white makeup caked and smeared over his gray flesh, his beret sat askew on his head and one of his suspenders dangled at his side. A track of dried blood ran down from the mime’s right eye socket, where there gaped an empty hole bisected by black makeup lines. The undead mime pressed his face against the glass, biting at it, smearing greasepaint and flicking a black tongue between painted black lips. I might’ve screamed, but I couldn’t tell because I had already called my magic and the power began to arc through me. Heat started to radiate off my skin.

Jake had his pistol up and aimed at the zombie mime. Another zombie, this one a middle-aged woman in a mud-caked dress, stumbled up to the window and began to bang on it. More Reanimated Corpse Threats swarmed up against the house. They stared at us with dead eyes.

If we attacked, we’d just break the window, and that would be only slightly less counterproductive than dousing ourselves with butter and chives and rolling out the red carpet for a zombie luncheon.

“Forget them,” I said. “We have to keep looking for the others.”

Jake turned back to me. I took off toward the hall to the north wing at a run. Jake cursed under his breath and ran after me, but I didn’t slow. I had to fight to keep my worry from distracting my focus. If Mai, Hanzo and Tiffany weren’t in their rooms, we planned to sweep the entire ground floor and finish at the front door. If all went right, we’d pick up my missing people and escape in the Bradley. If we couldn’t meet up…well, I sure as hell wouldn’t leave anyone behind, even if I had to burn the house down around me to reach them.

I ran under the arch into a hallway filled with darkness. A tall zombie stood swaying at the end of the hall. It sniffed the air and moaned. A surge of fear rushed through me as I stumbled to a halt. The zombie dragged its hand along the wall as it stumbled toward me, a dark shape reeking of decay and giving piteous moans.

I threw out my hand and loosed a stream of fire that knocked it backward. The zombie thrashed and burned. Jake ran over and put it out of its misery with a headshot, and we spent the next thirty seconds jumping on it, trying to put out the flames. Smoke curled along the ceiling and a smoke detector began to screech. The sound stabbed through my brain like an ice pick.

Jake shot the smoke detector, and it died with a warble and a sad beep. Best wasted bullet ever, in my humble opinion.

“Let’s go.” I started forward, but Jake grabbed me and pulled me back. Fury sparked inside me. “What the hell, Jake?”

“I go first,” he said. I opened my mouth to tell him to shove it sideways and do a hula dance but he held up a hand. “Don’t breathe fire at me. I have the gun and the barrier magic. You can cover my ass.”

I nodded—maybe a little ungraciously, but I had no time for getting panties in a bunch. Good tactics had to rank ahead of pride. If I had to avoid using fire, I’d be less effective until I armed myself.

We moved out and turned down a connecting hallway. Lights might give our position away, so we stalked through the darkness. I could hear faint, trailing moans and an almost continual muffled banging, but when I glanced behind me I saw nothing but dark hallway and beyond it, shadowy shapes of furniture and random décor.

The laundry-room door gaped open like a wound. Jake cleared it as I covered him. Nothing inside but drifts of unfolded clothes in laundry baskets. We pressed on. I set my hand on Jake’s shoulder and when he glanced at me I signaled, indicating our objective just ahead.

Tiffany’s door was closed. We stacked up against the wall. Jake glanced at me for confirmation. I nodded. He swung out in front of the door—

Something moved in the darkness.

“Look out!” I yelled.

Another zombie careened around the corner, hands out, and grabbed for Jake. He pivoted and with one fast, deceptively smooth motion he put a bullet in its forehead and dropped it. Then he spun back and kicked in the door. The frame splintered and the knob punched a hole in the drywall when it banged open.

He glanced at me. “Check inside. I’ll hold them off.”

I started forward, but he stepped in my way. When I looked up at him, he pulled me into a fierce kiss. “Be careful,” he said when we moved apart. I bit down on a quip about how sucking face while being attacked by zombies couldn’t be recommended by the Surgeon General and brushed past him into Tiffany’s rooms, yelling her name. No answer. I ran through the apartment, sick at heart with dread, but the place was empty. More gunshots came from the hallway, making me flinch.

I ran back into the living room, summoning my magic, feeling the heat waves radiating off my skin. “Jake, you okay?”

“Peachy,” he called from the hallway. “She in there?”

“No…”

A cup of tea sat on an end table, still steaming. A romance paperback lay open and text down near the lamp. Tiffany had been here and not long ago. I hurried back out into the hallway. Jake stood against the wall, scanning up and down the hall. Several zombie bodies lay crumpled on the floor, their dead eyes now completely sightless.

The power cut out. John Tesh’s orgasmic synthesizer crescendo died an instant death. The hum of the house—something I was never consciously aware of until everything electronic suddenly went dark—lapsed into silence. Even though we’d had no lights on to avoid attention, the house seemed to swim in gloom now that I knew the lights
wouldn’t
come on, even if I wanted them. Bad time to regret not buying that automatic generator six months ago.

My breath rasped in and out of my mouth. “Not good.”

“No.” He ejected the Beretta’s clip, squinted at the remaining rounds and slapped it home again.

Moans echoed down the hallways and stairwells. More glass shattered—damn all those windows. Sure, I’d loved the view, but they were a complete liability in a zombie attack. It seemed ludicrous to the point of criminal negligence that I’d never planned for the zombie apocalypse before. If we survived, I’d move us into an underground bunker hidden in the Rocky Mountains.

My cell phone rang, startling me. I pulled it out and stared at it lying in the palm of my hand. I flipped it open. “Yeah?” If it were a telemarketer, I’d shove the phone up some zombie’s ass and leave it there forever.

“This is 911 Emergency.” The same woman dispatcher I’d talked to earlier. “Has the police officer arrived?”

“Hell if I know. Look, I’m fucking
busy
.”

“Did you see any police lights? We haven’t heard from him since he headed to your location.”

“Maybe that’s because he was
eaten
by all the
zombies
.” I snapped the phone shut, thought hard about flinging it into the wall, but restrained myself. I didn’t have any phone insurance. I glanced at Jake. “I’ve got a bad feeling about this one.”

He gave me a tired grin. “We still have bullets. And if you still have bullets, you’re still kickin’.”

“Three of my people are out there without any support, without any armor,” I said, and cursed. “And here I am flailing around trying to find them, not helping anybody. We need to step back, think this through. I need a view of the battlefield.”

As afraid as I might be for Tiffany, Mai and Hanzo, I had to get a handle on the situation. I hadn’t heard the Bradley, though I could still hear small arms fire somewhere, but did it come from outside or inside? My people needed me to lead. And to lead I had to know what was going on. Without any battlefield intelligence we had no hope of coming up with effective strategy.

“If we head upstairs, we might get cut off,” Jake warned.

“We’re already cut off. I don’t know where the hell he got so many damn zombies. Did a circus troupe come down with the plague or something?”

Jake didn’t answer. Another explosion rumbled outside, this one much smaller. A grenade, it sounded like. I fought off the panic and the frantic
need to do something now
thoughts crashing through my brain.

“All right.” I took a deep breath. “I haven’t heard the Bradley or the chain gun.” I swallowed and my throat clicked. “We get a look-down view and start fighting from the balconies and the roof if we can’t get to the Bradley. With no intercom and no headsets we can’t communicate a rally point.”

He nodded. “Then we get to the armory first, then get our look down and plan from there.”

When we ran down another hall, glass crashed—a sound I’d come to dread. The sunroom at the end of the hall began to fill with zombies spilling in through the windows and clambering over furniture. They came right for us.