The Zone: A Post-Apocalyptic Thriller (Infection Chronicles Book 1) (8 page)

They were out of the line of sight of the APC for a few moments when Steele pushed open his door. “Slow up.”

Delroy slowed the vehicle. Steele leapt out and sprinted for cover between two houses. The SUV clamored away.

Steele crouched down, hiding behind a corner and some shrubs. He waited for the APC to round the corner. But he could hear movement behind him. Steele craned his neck to see a lurker shuffling toward him. It was a man in a tattered suit. Blood red eyes, and rotting flesh. Blowing the lurker’s head off would give away Steele’s position. The APC would be coming around the corner any moment. No time to engage the stiff or he’d lose his window of opportunity. The lurker was about fifteen feet away. With any luck, the APC would round the corner before the infected stumbled upon him.

Steele had the gunner in his sights the moment the APC turned. He gripped the trigger, waiting until the timing was just right.

CRACK!

Steele squeezed the trigger. The gunner’s head burst open. Blood oozed down the side of the vehicle. Before the body could even slump, Steele launched toward the APC. With his side arm in one hand, and a magnetic grenade in the other, Steele sprinted as fast as he could. 

The gunner’s body was pulled down into the APC, and another man took his place. The new gunner swung the machine gun around toward Steele and fired off several rounds.

The major kept running straight toward him. He could hear bullets zip past his ears. Rounds exploded at his feet, blasting bits of concrete. Steele kept charging toward the muzzle flash. He fired off several 9mm rounds at the man’s head.
 

The bullets peppered the gunner. His body jerked with each hit, then he slumped over. 

The air was full of smoke and smelled like a mix of gunpowder, diesel exhaust, and oil. It smelled like war, and Steele kind of liked that smell. It was exhilarating and his adrenaline spiked. 

Steele’s heart was pounding and his blood rushing when he reached the APC. He armed the magnetic grenade and attached it to the wheel rim. Then he ran for his life and dove for cover on the other side of the street. 

Five seconds later, the grenade detonated. The ground rumbled. Metal ripped apart, and rubber melted. The explosion rocked the APC, toppling it over on its side. Black smoke billowed from the burning tires. The S9 gel contained within the grenade cut through the hull and coated the interior. Steele could hear the screams of the men remaining inside.

One of the thugs tried to crawl out of the APC. His skin was charred and smoldering. He clawed his way through the top hatch and fell out onto the ground. He was unrecognizable. A collage of blackened and blistered skin. Red and raw. 

Steele watched, cautiously. His instinct was to give medical aid to the wounded. But he knew there was at least one more guy inside, judging by the screams he had heard. Still a possible threat. The first rule of tactical combat casualty care is
do not provide care if your life is in danger
.

Steele had learned the hard way how deadly a dying man could be. It was early in his career, during his first tour in Syria. An insurgent detonated an IED (improvised explosive device) in a local school. The suicide bomber suffered massive injuries and was hemorrhaging profusely. Steele administered first aid, thinking the bomber could provide valuable intel. As Steele was hovering over the man, he jammed a knife in Steele’s chest. It punctured a lung. Steele almost died. That was the last time the major risked his life for anyone but his troops.

The man in the street gasped his last breath and fell silent. The interior of the APC seemed lifeless. Steele scanned the street. He didn’t see the Range Rover anywhere. The thought crossed his mind that Delroy and Parker had just left him. He couldn’t hear the sound of the engine. Just the crackling, burning of the APC.

The major glanced at his watch. He had an hour to get to the extraction point. But if Delroy and Parker had abandoned him, he’d have to beat them there. And that seemed impossible. 

INFECTED BEGAN TO swarm around Steele. The stiff in the tattered suit stumbled into the street. Steele grabbed the sword from behind his back and spun it around. His eyes scanned the crowd of infected gathering around—maybe fifteen of them. Not bad. At least it wasn’t a hundred.
 

Their feet scraped across the concrete as they staggered. Their bodies were contorted into ghoulish shapes. Maybe muscle spasms were causing them to seize up, Steele thought. They snarled and moaned and drooled. And they smelled. A pungent, putrid stench. The kind of stink that burns your nostrils and makes your eyes water.

Steele took a moment and just watched them. It all seemed so surreal. Mindless creatures, endlessly roaming. How did this happen? What were they? He knew only one thing for sure—he never wanted to be one. Steele pulled his tactical goggles down over his eyes. It was time to get to work.

SWOOSH!

Steele swung the blade, slicing off a lurker’s head—it spun and splattered on the ground. Steele slashed in the opposite direction—another head toppled.
 

Swish.

Another severed head.

Swoosh.
 

Infected guts spilled out.

Slash.

A torso cut in half.
 

Spinning and slicing, Steele worked his way through the stiffs. Dark blood and guts spewed everywhere as Steele hacked and slashed. He left a trail of eviscerated remains behind him. Soon, he had chopped all of them down. The bodies writhed and twitched on the concrete.
 

Steele lifted his goggles and wiped the blood from the blade. As he surveyed his handiwork, he heard the scraping sound of the SUV’s rims against the concrete. An instant later, the Range Rover rambled around the corner. Steele trotted to the SUV and climbed in the passenger seat.

“You didn’t think we were going to leave you, did you?” Delroy said.

Steele lifted an eyebrow.

“Give me more credit than that, Major.”
 

“Drive, Delroy.”

“Yes, sir.”

Delroy dropped it into gear and hit the gas. The rims were like a disc grinder on concrete. The grating sound got annoying quickly. It would certainly draw a crowd wherever they went.
 

The SUV sped down the road and weaved through the neighborhood, mowing over lurkers here and there.
 

“We’ve got a little bit of a problem,” Delroy said.

“What is it?” Steele asked.
 

“Gas tank may have gotten hit,” Delroy said. “Or a fuel line.”

“We’ve got roughly six clicks to the extraction point. Let’s see how far she takes us,” Steele said.

The engine was sputtering within a mile. It clamored to a stop in the middle of the road several hundred yards later.
 

Delroy punched the steering wheel. “Damn it.”

“Looks like our lease is up,” Steele said. “Time for a trade in.”

“Coming right up,” Delroy said. “See anything that strikes your fancy?” Dozens of parked cars lined the roadway. They were covered in dirt and grime, and none of them had been started in several months.

“Find one with gas that will start,” Steele said.

 
Delroy hopped out of the SUV and began scavenging the roadway.

“Parker, keep an eye on her,” Steele said, nodding to Chloe.

“Yes, sir,” Parker replied.
 

Steele stepped out of the SUV and scanned the area. It was empty for now. But that wouldn’t last long. The lurkers had a way of finding you. Mostly attracted to sound, but some swore they could smell living flesh. Like a shark sniffing a drop of blood in a square mile of water. People said a lot of things, didn’t make them true. But stand in one spot for long enough and the lurkers would come for you.

Delroy scampered from car to car, looking for something suitable. He finally settled on a 2036, Vexpa sedan. Black with leather hand stitched interior. It was a nice car, although it looked like every other clunker on the road covered in dirt and grit. The problem with modern cars was their antitheft systems. Biometric authentication made them virtually impossible to steal. Fingerprints, retinal scans, voiceprint, and even brain wave readings were used to identify the owner. It wasn’t the type of car that you could just
jimmy
the door.

The problem with these biometric systems is that individual data is stored in a multitude of servers. When those servers are hacked, data gets stolen. And you can’t change your retina, or your fingerprints. Well, you can, but it’s painful and leaves you with some rather unusual scars.

Delroy looked at the license plate. Within seconds, he was able to cross reference the owner—Martin Richey. A few clicks on his sat-mobile device and he was able to access Martin’s profile on a pirate site. It took a second to download his data. With Martin’s voiceprint profile, the device allowed a user to type in words and sentences—the device would then read back the phrase in Martin’s voice.

Delroy typed:
Open
.

A moment later the device said, “Open.”
 

The doors to the Vexpa unlocked. For as dumb as Delroy looked, he knew his way around security systems.

Delroy climbed inside and typed:
Start
.

The starter slurred a few times once the device said, “Start.” But the engine didn’t turn over. Delroy tried again, and the starter warbled. One more time. Finally, the vehicle roared to life.
 

Steele watched as Delroy swung the car around and pulled alongside the SUV. Delroy popped the trunk and Steele began transferring the duffel bags. A crowd of lurkers was starting to gather.
 

Soon, the ass end of the Vexpa was drooping. Parker ushered Chloe into the back seat. Steele slammed the trunk and hopped in the car. He looked at his watch—39 minutes to get to the extraction point. Plenty of time.

Delroy hit the gas, and the Vexpa lurched forward.

“Mr. Carlisle,” Chloe shouted.
 

Steele grimaced, then nodded to Delroy. He mashed the brakes.
 

“Is he back in the SUV?” Steele asked.

Chloe nodded.

Steele pushed through the door and marched toward the SUV. There were a few lurkers stumbling near the vehicle. Steele unsheathed the sword and twirled it. This was the last time he was going to retrieve that damn doll, he thought.

Steele slashed the blade like a ninja and lopped off a few heads. They hit the ground with a wet splat. He pulled open the Range Rover’s door and grabbed Mr. Carlisle from the seat.
 

When he spun around, another lurker lunged at him, clamping down on Steele’s forearm. Jagged, stained and yellow teeth gnawed at him.

STEELE FELT HIS heart pounding in his chest. He had gotten careless, he thought. Steele kicked the snarling bag of bones to the ground. He swung the blade and slashed the lurker’s throat. Its head fell backward, still attached by a flap of skin. Blood spurted in the air from the carotid artery. The cervical spine protruded through the stump that used to be the thing’s neck. The body flopped around on the concrete. The head was still gnawing and gnashing on the ground. 

More infected were gathering around.

Steele glanced down to his arm to take a damage assessment. The lurker had gnashed on his titanium forearm. Its grimy teeth didn’t puncture Steele’s skin. He breathed a deep sigh of relief, then dashed to the Vexpa.

 
Steele hopped in, Delroy floored it. The tires squealed, and the Vexpa darted down the street. Several infected were staggering in the road. 

“Warning: objects in roadway,” said the automated safety control. It was a soft, soothing female voice.  “Please take evasive maneuvers.” The Vexpa began to automatically brake. 

“Override active safety features. Full manual,” Delroy yelled. But the car didn’t respond. It continued to break.

“Shit,” Delroy exclaimed. The car ground to a halt. Delroy grabbed his mobile and typed in a phrase. Lurkers gathered, pawing at the car. Smacking the windows. Their muted snarls filled the cabin.

After a moment, Delroy hit play on his mobile. In Martin Richey’s voice, the device said:
Override active safety features. Full manual.

The car released control back to Delroy. He punched the gas and did what he loved to do—run lurkers over. Bodies buckled over the hood, denting the sheet metal. 

BAM.

PLUNK.

SMACK.

It was like a video game to Delroy, and he was having the time of his life. 

Steele handed the tiger doll to Chloe. “Thank you,” she said.

“I’m going to give you a top secret, priority one mission. Do you think you can handle it?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. It’s your job to keep track of Mr. Carlisle. Don’t let him leave your sight. We’re not going to be able to go back and get Mr. Carlisle anymore. Is that understood?”

Chloe nodded. She paused for a moment, deep in thought. “But I thought we never left a man behind?”