These Dead Lands: Immolation (10 page)

Reader touched Hastings’s arm and sank to the ground. Hastings followed suit as Reader pointed at his own eyes then down the ridgeline. The soldier looked scared. Hastings turned and spotted a reeker coming in from the opposite direction. Behind it, three other corpses staggered through the brush.

And a hundred feet behind those were at least a hundred more.

Oh, fuck.

Guerra’s voice crackled over his headset. “Six, this is Guerra. We’ve got reekers coming down the road, maybe five or six dozen. They’re still several hundred meters away, but I think they see the Humvee. Over.”

Hastings kept his voice low as he responded, “Roger. We’ve got a hundred plus moving through the trees. Break. Ballantine, SITREP from you. Over.”

“Six, Ballantine. I’m secure for the time being, sir. Still have my eyes out, but there’s no activity on this side. Over.”

“Roger. Are the keys in that truck? Over.”

“Ah, Six, if you’re talking about the one with the supplies in it, answer is no. And that Dodge we came in isn’t going anywhere. There’s a huge puddle of either oil or fuel beneath it. Over.”

Hastings had no idea what supplies might be in the truck Ballantine had scoped out, but chances were good they weren’t worth the risk. “Roger that. Pull the lady out of the truck and head back to the Humvees. We’ll be joining you momentarily. Over.”

“Roger that. You want me to spike the truck? Over.”

“Your call, Ballantine. Over.”

The lead zombie lurched to its right, the speed of its stiff gait increasing. It moaned and stretched out its arms. Behind it, the other zombies began to moan as well. Hastings recognized the pattern. They had detected a possible meal.

“Holy
fuck!
” Frank suddenly leaped up from behind a good-sized rock about twenty feet between Hastings and the approaching zombies, leaves falling from his blond hair.

He had obviously covered himself with forest detritus in an attempt at camouflage. He was in a position where he could have opened up on anyone who had gone to assist the woman. But Frank hadn’t planned on the appearance of the dead, much less a mass of them.

Hastings raised his rifle, sensing Reader doing the same beside him. Through his red dot scope, he saw Frank reach down and grab something. It was a naked boy about five or six years old. Like the woman, he had been beaten and, judging by the blood on the insides of his thighs, sodomized as well. The boy’s expression was totally passive, and he made no noise, as if his injuries were of no consequence. Frank suddenly lifted the boy and hurled him toward the approaching zombies. The kid didn’t even scream. Frank then turned and sprinted down the ridge, back toward where the woman was tied to the tree.

“Get the kid then go for the woman,” Hastings told Reader. “I’ve got Frank.” Without waiting for Reader’s response, he stood and fired three shots at Frank, hitting him in the legs and lower back.

Frank cried out as the metal-jacketed rounds tore through him, and he collapsed face-first right in front of the woman.

“Six, what’s up? Over!” Ballantine asked over the radio.

“We’re good to go, Ballantine. Hartman, bring the Humvee. We’ve found a woman and boy. Frank is injured and down for the moment. Hurry it up. We’re going to have to move quick to get away from the reekers coming through the woods.” Hastings checked on Reader, who was already standing over the boy.

The lead zombie was twenty feet away, and Reader didn’t hesitate a moment. He fired a round through the grotesquerie’s skull, dropping it. He then scooped up the silent boy and darted for the ridge.

Heading for Frank, Hastings pushed through a bush and jumped down the face of the ridge. Frank rolled over onto his side with a groan and pushed up on one elbow. He looked down at his legs, an expression of incredulity on his face. As Hastings trotted toward him, he reached for his rifle. Hastings put a round through his arm.

Frank collapsed back to the forest floor. “You
fuck
!”

Hastings stopped and knelt with his knee directly on Frank’s face. The man made a muffled noise, but Hastings ignored that and kept him pinned.

Hastings nudged the rifle out of Frank’s reach then pulled the matte-black Glock 17 pistol from his belt. Going through Frank’s pants pockets, he found a folding knife, a battered canvas wallet, and a set of truck keys. He tossed the wallet. The GMC logo was on the key fob, so he put the keys and the knife in one of the cargo pockets on his ACU trousers then went through the pockets of Frank’s vest. He pulled out three Magpul magazines filled with what looked like .308 ammunition and two empty mags. Hastings stuffed them all into his knapsack. He looked toward the ridge, and he saw bobbing heads come into view. The zombies were catching up.

“Six, this is Ballantine. Hartman’s in position, and I’m back in my truck. We’ve got a shitload of reekers at the back door. What do you want us to do? You want us to get rid of this roadblock? Over.”

“Ballantine, roger that. I have the keys for Frank’s truck, so I’ll be taking that with us. We’ll be coming out soon, and we have company. Work fast, hooah? Over.”

“Roger that, Six. We’re on it! You need me to send anyone in to help? Over.”

“Negative. If we don’t make it out before the zombies get there, move out. Over.” Hastings got to his feet.

Frank thrashed about on the ground and swung out a hand that held a small blade. Hastings stepped back and stayed just out of range.

“Okay, Frank,” Hastings said. “Get up.”

“I can’t, you fucking asshole! You shot me in the spine. I can’t feel my fucking legs!”

Reader ran up to them, breathing hard. The boy in his arms lay still with his eyes closed. Reader kept his body between the boy and the woman tied to the tree.

“Captain, we gotta get out of here,” Reader said, turning to glance back at the zombies. One of them tumbled down the face of the ridge, then another, and another. They slowly picked their way to their feet and continued shambling forward. “One runner’s going to ruin our day.”

“Roger that. Move on. I’ll be right with you.” Into his radio, he said, “Ballantine, Reader is coming out with the boy. And release the Asian girl; she was telling the truth. These guys were raiders. Over.”

“Roger, Six.”

Reader whispered, “Sir, I think you should check the woman.”

Hastings looked over and saw her head lolled to one side. “Get going, Reader. I’ve got this.”

“Okay, sir. I’ll drop the kid off and come back for you!” Reader took off, heading back to the road.

Hastings checked the progress of the zombies then went over to the woman. He slashed through the rope, noticing that her hands and feet were blue. She collapsed into his arms, completely limp.

He stretched her out on the ground. “Ma’am? Ma’am, can you hear me?”

“Hey, what are you going to do with me?” Frank asked. He was crawling away, still on his back and using his elbows to pull his body along the ground. His eyes were fixed on the approaching zombie horde.

Hastings ignored him. “Ma’am?” He gently pried open one eyelid. The eyeball was filled with blood, the pupil fully dilated. The other eye was the same. He put his fingers to her neck, checking her carotid. She had no pulse.

“Hey, Captain!” Frank said. “Help me out here, man!”

Hastings rose to his feet, staring down at the dead woman. He had no doubt she had succumbed to multiple internal injuries from the horrible beatings. Even if she could have been taken to a hospital when he’d first found her, the chances of her survival would have been remote. He was surprised she had lasted as long as she had. Frank and his boys hadn’t had her in their clutches for long, but they’d been busy at work.

“What’s the lady’s name, Frank?”

“What?” Frank shot him a confused look then continued his backward crawl. “What the hell do you care? Come
on
, man. Those things are getting close!”

Hastings knelt and gathered Frank’s weapons. He admired the rifle for a moment, a Sig-Sauer 716 assault rifle in the .308 caliber. It seemed that Frank and his dead brother Jerry simply adored their Sigs. He slung the rifle over his shoulder, dropped the Glock into his knapsack, then looked down at Frank. “But they’re not going to catch me, Frank. They’ll be too busy eating
you
.”

Frank didn’t look terribly surprised. “Yeah, you shoot a guy in the back and leave him for the dead. Typical of you fucking Army pukes.”

“We only do that to murderers and rapists of little boys. Enjoy the rest of your life, Frank.” Hastings turned and sprinted toward the road.

Frank started screaming a minute later.

*

Hastings made it
back in time to see Hartman using the Humvee to push aside the two cars blocking the road. A man’s body lay face down near a blue Ford Explorer. His feet were bare, which led Hastings to believe that Frank and his jolly band of men had taken the man’s shoes. A few feet behind Hartman’s Humvee sat Ballantine’s truck. Behind that was Stilley’s Humvee, with Tharinger keeping the .50 cal oriented on the zombies coming down the road. They literally covered the roadway, from side to side, moving forward like one giant undulating mass of rot.

“We’re about through here, sir,” Ballantine said. He stood off to one side, spotting Hartman’s Humvee as it pushed past the cars.

“You had Hartman come forward to do this work and left Stilley covering the horde with the fifty?” Hastings asked.

Ballantine looked at him blankly. “Well, yeah. We’ve got tons more ammo for the fitty than we do for the Mark,” he said, referring the grenade launcher on top of Hartman’s Humvee, which was still manned by a taciturn-looking Guerra.

So what if Ballantine’s family’s in Hartman’s vehicle?
He’s right. The ammo situation for the nineteen is more critical than the fifty. Leave it alone.
“All right, but don’t let the presence of your family screw up your tactical sense.”

“I’m not,” Ballantine responded.

“Just checking. Listen, I’ve got the keys to that pickup over there. If it’s got gas in it, I’ll follow you guys out. Where are the Asian woman and the kid?”

“I put them in Stilley’s Humvee. Did you know they butt-raped that kid and that he’s autistic?” Ballantine’s voice was tinged with disgust.

Hastings nodded. “And they killed his parents.” In the distance, Frank still screamed. “Hear that? I left that guy to the reekers. Might not make things even, but it seemed like a great idea at the time.”

“Hooah,” Ballantine said. “You should get moving, sir.”

Hastings sprinted toward the GMC Sierra pickup that had been pulled to the side of the road. He pulled open the driver’s door and climbed in, his nose wrinkling at the odor of old cigarette smoke as he slid the key into the dashboard-mounted ignition. The truck started on the first try, its big V8 engine rumbling. Ballantine hopped into his truck and pulled out after the lead Humvee. Hastings eased his foot off the truck’s brake to join the convoy. As he cranked the wheel to the right, he saw shapes looming inside the tree line across the road. The reekers must have finished with Frank.

“Stilley, this is Six. Move out, follow the GMC. Recommend you pass the other truck on the right side. There are deadheads coming out of the woods to the left. Over.”

“Roger that, Six,” Stilley blared. “Hey, sir, we’re going to need to find some time to tend to this kid. He’s been whacked around pretty bad. Over.”

“Understood, Stilley. Let’s leave the zombies in our dust, and then we’ll do that. Over.”

Hastings accelerated after the other vehicles. As instructed, Stilley pulled the Humvee past the dead pickup, hugging the right shoulder. A runner bolted out of the trees and sprinted toward the Humvee, releasing a loud ululating shriek. Tharinger chopped it in two with a burst from the M2, and while that didn’t quiet the corpse’s screams, it did prevent it from climbing aboard the Humvee.

Seconds later, they were through the barricade and on their way south.

*

Several miles down
the road, they pulled off into a clearing, and the Humvees formed up around the civilian pickups. Hastings checked out the back of the GMC and found it full of camping stuff, including tents. He also saw of some buckets of Wise Foods, emergency survival chow that had a shelf life of decades. Hastings had no personal experience with it, but he’d heard good things about the supplier. If nothing else, they could look forward to eating something with a bit more flavor than MREs.