Toward the Brink (Book 3) (15 page)

H
olmes looked
out through the windows of the small cabin. They’d made better time than they had expected.

“There it is, Mr. Holmes … Sandspit.” Red Beret handed over the night vision scope.

Holmes could see a large catamaran tied up near the harbor, and it occurred to him that’s what his
friends
had crossed the sea in.

“Impressive, mist—” Holmes almost gagged. “There’s movement, people moving about near that building!”

“Gimme a look.”

Holmes handed the scope back to the commander (Holmes still allowed him to think he was the commander) of their raiding party.

“They’re not people, Holmes. They’re foamers. About a hundred or more.”

“You can handle them, can’t you?”

“Of course. A hundred foamers is like a hundred unarmed gangbangers. Easy as pissing. They look like they’re headed to that building up from the harbor area.” He handed the scope back to Holmes.

While Holmes watched through the scope, Red Beret told the other men aboard this, the command boat, that they were about to confront foamers once more. The dawn was just breaking.

“
T
hat’s it
, old man, that’s where they are!” Holmes called.

“Did you call me?” Red Beret stuck his head back inside the cabin when he heard Holmes’s cry.

“The bastards I’ve been tracking and the prick responsible for all of this—they’re in
that
building!” Holmes turned to Red Beret, the gleam in his eye visible in the faint light. “Let’s get ‘em, cowboy!”

N
ow was not
the time for the Tall Man to care about Chess’s motives, or anyone else’s, for that matter. They were in perhaps their worst predicament since the foamer outbreak, made worse by the added factors of unfamiliar terrain, a bad defensive position, almost nonexistent field of fire, and no escape route.

If the Tall Man, Mulhaven, Chess, or any of the military guys who had arrived in the C-17 had stopped to think about it, they probably would have considered suicide a viable option. Fortunately, they didn’t have the luxury to think about it; like all well-trained and disciplined military personnel, they acted.

The real driver of the group was, as always, Elliot. He was not military-trained and had never considered a career in the services. Defending an establishment that ultimately produced people like Etheridge, Holmes, and Hadlee—the fool who had tried to use his position as head of the Department of Homeland Security to usurp the power of the president—was not how he envisioned his life. He’d never seen himself having to flee across two countries to avoid undead creatures either, but hey… shit happens.

“Chess, get two guys, one with a rifle and one with a shotgun, to watch the front entrance. I’ll get two on the exit,” the Tall Man said.

“There’s more,” the agent at the window called.

“More? Let me—”

“Get on with what you’re doing, Chuck.
I’ll
handle this.” Elliot had heard the Tall Man tell Chess what was needed, and he didn’t want him sidetracked. “You can’t be everywhere!”

“Tristan, take another three into the room next to us, and place two at the window.”

Tristan didn’t waste time with replies; he called out to three others then disappeared. Only the sound of their boots were heard as they made their way into the adjacent office.

“Someone hand me a rifle,” Elliot called.

“No, Elliot. Not you, you’re needed here!” Cindy’s voice suggested she was not to be argued with even in a situation such as this.

“It’s okay, Elliot, we’ll man the window,” a soldier replied.

“Thank you, and be careful, okay?”

“You got it, boss!”

One corner of Elliot’s mouth rose slightly.
Boss
. He liked it.

“Shit,” came a voice from the window. “There’s thousands of the fuckers—oops, sorry, Miss Cindy, I didn’t mean to—”

“Never mind. Just make sure you get every fuckin’ one, okay?”

“Yes, ma’am!” came the quick reply. If not for the dark, Cindy would have seen—and appreciated—the salute given to her out of pure respect by the soldier.

Mulhaven and two Secret Service agents acted as roving guards and kept check on the other rooms of the administrative part of the building. The windows of these rooms didn’t face the direction the foamers came from, but in the heat of battle, they wouldn’t want them left unguarded.

“One shot, one kill,” the Tall Man reiterated. “One shot, one fucking kill. Got it?” He took an LED pen light and, cupping his hand over the lens, took stock of their response.

Another hundred armed men would be helpful, but it’s the best we can do
.

He searched for the Weatherby Magnum then stopped when he realized that, along with most of their ammunition, it was on board the catamaran.

Fuck.

The Tall Man, in one giant stretch, hopped onto the chair next to the soldier for a final check. “Okay, open fire when they get to the edge of the parking lot.”

He eased himself down off the chair. He didn’t want to break an ankle in the dark. He made his way to the other room to inform the other soldiers when they could fire.

“Where do you want me, Elliot?”

There was just enough light for Elliot to make out the features of Bob Charles. Even if he hadn’t seen him, the deep baritone voice of the former president signaled his presence.

“Bob.” Elliot showed surprise. “I, err … well, we got all areas covered, I think.”

“Surely there must be something?”

Elliot didn’t want to tell the former supreme commander that he wasn’t wanted. Maybe he could help, maybe …

“Why don’t you and Mr.Transky help Mulhaven keep everyone calm? That will be a hard job when the shooting starts.”

“Sure, I’d be glad to.” Bob’s shoes made a shuffling sound in the carpet as he turned around. “And thanks, Elliot.”

Before Elliot replied, three shots in close succession rang out from the window above.

The battle had started.

Two more shots followed, then fire from the next office.

“Remember, one shot per foamer!” the Tall Man yelled.

If the foamers hadn’t heard the voices, they were aware of the shooting. Their lumbering gait picked up, their focus now directly on the market ahead.

Food.

S
harp whip
-like cracks traversed the water to the three large pleasure cruisers, now within half a mile of the Sandspit Harbor.

“They’ve started shooting,” Red Beret announced.

A thin streak of uneven yellow appeared in the eastern sky—the sun had risen—but storm clouds were also present. The dark clouds mixed with the haze of the smoke that still lingered; it promised to be an overcast and bleak day.

Holmes took the night vision scope and lifted it to his right eye. “Apparently, foamers, thousands of them, are marching down the road toward that building. Confirms my thoughts of where they might be, eh, commander?”

“Yes, it does, but I’m not so sure our force of twenty or so can handle all those foamers plus these people you’ve followed.”

“Perfectly understandable, my good man.” Again he sounded like Etheridge. “But here’s what we’ll do.”

After he listened to Holmes’s tactical plan, Red Beret ordered that the boat be brought to a stop; the other two stopped as well. They would sit and watch the show from out here on the water. As long as the sea didn’t get rough, they could stay for some time. The bows of the three boats huddled together in the water.

“It will depend on how much ammunition they have, but this could go on for some time. And you can rest assured, the tall fellow I told you of will keep one round in reserve for every person in that structure.”

“And when they’re about to use it, we’ll charge in like the 7th Cavalry and rescue everyone. Well, rescue them from death at the hands of foamers, anyway.” Red Beret turned and winked at Holmes.

Hmm, maybe he can be of use after all. I’ll probably need someone to keep the others in line. We’ll find out soon enough, I imagine
.

The shooting at the fish market intensified. Semiauto fire still rang out but was so intense it sounded like full-auto.

“Let’s hope they get most of those foamers before we come in. Make it a hell of a lot easier on us, eh?”

“Damn straight!”

Yep, he might be of some use
.

B
rass shells flew
in all directions, hit the walls and the carpet, and occasionally struck the top of someone’s head.

“They’re coming thick and fast now!” Chess yelled. He had taken position at the window while the previous soldier took a breather and changed mags.

“I’m out,” the soldier at the window next to Chess said and jumped from the chair to allow his replacement to get into position.

“How many you have left?” the Tall Man called from the hallway that divided the two main office rooms. A smaller office and a storage room separated the larger rooms, with the restroom at the rear.

“I got one clip,” said the soldier who stood on the chair to continue the fight.

“I’ve got this and one more.” Chess popped off four or five well-placed shots.

“Shit!” the Tall Man cursed then noticed Elliot flashing by in the near dark. “Where are you—”

He got no response, but moments later Elliot returned with two of the soldiers who had been left to guard the front and back entrances.

“Give your magazines to these guys!”

“Fast thinking, Elliot, fast thinking.” Elliot was a step ahead, and the Tall Man complimented him for it. The two soldiers could make out the silhouettes of the men at the windows, and were about to hand over two mags each when a heavy thud, like a battering ram, hit the outside wall below the window.

“What the—”

A foamer had launched himself through the air, grabbed hold of the window sill, and pulled himself in. Chess panicked, and in his attempt to avoid contact, he fell backward and off the chair. Chess had his finger on the trigger but had the forethought to raise the muzzle as he fell. Several rounds were fired into the ceiling above, but—thankfully—no one was injured.

The foamer was halfway through the window when it stopped to squawk at the occupants, like a cross between a crow and a cobra. This was the closest many had come to a foamer, and the panic followed.

“Back, get back into the other room!” Mulhaven ordered, afraid of what was to follow.

He stood by the door as he ushered everyone out before the green bile flowed; he’d seen enough of the foamer behavior to know it was next. He took one last look back at this foamer in the improving light, and noticed the difference in its appearance. The skin of this horror, or what was left, was as pale as the patches of snow outside. Some internal organs that were on view through the gaping holes in the body were dark and dried from exposure. The undead heathen still retained hair, but the eyes were the biggest difference from the foamers encountered previously. While every foamer Mulhaven had seen before now had fiery red embers for eyes, this foamer’s eyes were all white, like hard boiled eggs. The look of death itself. The creature screeched again as it struggled to get itself through the window.

“Fuck you!” the soldier on the other side of the window roared. He turned his M4 around and gripped it by the barrel—like a baseball bat—and swung the butt into the foamer’s face not once, not twice, but
three
times until the walking dead bastard fell backward to the ground outside with a squishy plonk.

The Tall Man jumped onto the chair where Chess had been. “Great job, soldier!”

He then hoisted himself up, Desert Eagle in his right hand, leaned out the window, and popped the foamer that had tried to crash this party once in the head.

Another look up at the parking lot and he knew what ammo they had wouldn’t be enough. If they were to survive, direct action was necessary—by him.

Where do all these fuckers come from?
he asked himself.

This would be their Battle of Pork Chop Hill, their Dien Bien Phu
;
he couldn’t let that happen. They’d come too far, they had too much to live for now. They had a future … they all had a future.

“I’m not about to let
this
happen!”

“What did you say?” Elliot heard the Tall Man, as did everyone in the room, but with the shooting starting up again he wasn’t sure what Chuck had meant.

“I’ll be back!”

In the dim light, Elliot thought his buddy resembled Arnold Schwarzenegger of
Terminator
fame—just a touch taller and with no accent.

No one in the room suspected anything untoward, and they allowed him to leave. When the two men from the opposite room came back, it raised Kath’s concerns.

“Where’s Chuck?”

“He said he would be right behind us after he checked the locks on the door.”

There was only one door in that room, and it opened onto the hallway. Why would he want to check that lock?

“Chuck? Chuck?” Kath ran across the hallway and into the next room. The window in that room, like that others, was situated high and in one corner. Like the others, it opened outward, and that was how she found it.

The Tall Man was gone.

T
here was but one hope
, as far as the Tall Man was concerned. He had to get to the catamaran, gather more ammunition, and get back before the inside of the building was breached. He’d jumped from the side window and landed without trouble. He was a veteran of more than forty night parachute jumps, so an eight foot drop in the early light wasn’t about to present a problem. He knew all of them couldn’t make it—not with a single dinghy to send back and forth. Everyone could swim the distance from the harbor to the cat if it weren’t for the ice cold water. Death by foamer, drowning, or just freezing to death—it wasn’t much of a choice.

The Tall Man kept twenty rounds of ammo in a pocket on the inside of his jacket. Mulhaven and Elliot did too, and he thought Chess and Tristan probably did also. He saw now that Chess was fully with them, and as he untied the dinghy, he allowed himself a smile. “That’s one thing I was wrong about, and happy to be,” he said quietly. He didn’t want to attract the foamers.