they were with the helo, they could’ve dropped
another round right on our heads.”
“We need to take out that mortar team and
as many of the spotters as possible,” said Carlie. “Even if we make it to
medical, they could pound us with rounds and drive us out into the approaching
zombies.”
“Alright, you take Brinkman and Eliza with
you and see if you can remove those guys. Kulovitz and I will head to medical.”
They split into their respective groups
while the torrent of undead moving in on the compound could be heard on the
other side of the command center. The hungry flesh-eaters made their way over
the snow-encrusted road towards their location, drawn by the recent explosions.
Chapter 12
Duncan and Kulovitz kept low and slunk
along the back walls of the buildings until they were at the rear of the
medical clinic. It was a three-story building that appeared largely intact by
the look of the windows. Duncan peered around the side at the growing menace of
zombies headed their way. “We’ve got about twenty minutes if we’re lucky before
they overrun the main compound,” he whispered. As he turned to speak, he saw a
flash of movement to his right. Behind Kulovitz was a slick-faced mutant
squatting on a half-wall by a dumpster. It sprung onto the ground and bounded
like a cheetah towards them, weaving around bushes. Both men began firing off
short, controlled bursts until its bloody form came to a sliding halt eight
feet from Kulovitz. He stared at the crumpled mess and then gave a wide-eyed
look to Duncan, who pointed to the rear exit and then began moving.
They cleared the lobby, which looked
untouched except for a few spent tear-gas canisters lying on the tiled floor
underneath a small broken window.
With each floor they cleared, Duncan noted
that there was very little disturbance to any of the furniture, desks, or
supplies. After reaching the third floor, they moved cautiously towards the
second room on the right where the heat signatures were indicated in the
previous transmission from Fort Lewis. Duncan gazed around the edge of the
wooden doorframe and saw a man in jeans and a camouflage parka pacing back and
forth along the window. He was clutching an AK-47 and nervously muttering
something to himself. Lying on the floor a few feet away was Mike Rollins.
Duncan studied the supine figure of his friend, watching to see if his chest
was rising and falling. Then he heard Rollins moan and saw his fingers twitch. Thank
the almighty, he’s alive.
The man by the window moved next to
Rollins and kicked him in the ribs. “Be quiet or I’ll break the rest of your
ribs.” As the man swung his leg back to deliver another kick, a 9mm round tore
through his jaw followed by another one to his forehead. Duncan sprang into the
room as the man fell backwards against the windowsill before sliding down to
the floor. Kulovitz followed behind, sweeping to the right as the two men
secured the small space.
Duncan squinted in the sunlight and slowly
moved forward towards the two figures, kicking the rifle aside and then
removing the dead man’s pistol and knife. Then he knelt down on the cold floor
beside his friend.
“My God—Mike, are you OK, buddy? What
happened?”
“Duncan,” whispered the man, his bleary
eyes trying to focus.
“Yeah, I’m here,” he said, lowering his
pistol. Mike was shivering and pale. On the floor were empty vials of drugs and
used syringes. Duncan examined a dried bloodstain on Mike’s left temple. “Do
you have any other injuries other than your ribs and head?” he said, examining
the man before pulling up the wool blanket from around Mike’s waist. The
pale-faced figure just shook his head. “There were several other goons up here
until this morning,” he said, whispering but only managing a raspy cough.
Duncan reached into his vest and removed a small flask of water, putting it up
to Mike’s cracked lips.
Duncan placed his other hand on his
friend’s shoulder and
another round right on our heads.”
“We need to take out that mortar team and
as many of the spotters as possible,” said Carlie. “Even if we make it to
medical, they could pound us with rounds and drive us out into the approaching
zombies.”
“Alright, you take Brinkman and Eliza with
you and see if you can remove those guys. Kulovitz and I will head to medical.”
They split into their respective groups
while the torrent of undead moving in on the compound could be heard on the
other side of the command center. The hungry flesh-eaters made their way over
the snow-encrusted road towards their location, drawn by the recent explosions.
Chapter 12
Duncan and Kulovitz kept low and slunk
along the back walls of the buildings until they were at the rear of the
medical clinic. It was a three-story building that appeared largely intact by
the look of the windows. Duncan peered around the side at the growing menace of
zombies headed their way. “We’ve got about twenty minutes if we’re lucky before
they overrun the main compound,” he whispered. As he turned to speak, he saw a
flash of movement to his right. Behind Kulovitz was a slick-faced mutant
squatting on a half-wall by a dumpster. It sprung onto the ground and bounded
like a cheetah towards them, weaving around bushes. Both men began firing off
short, controlled bursts until its bloody form came to a sliding halt eight
feet from Kulovitz. He stared at the crumpled mess and then gave a wide-eyed
look to Duncan, who pointed to the rear exit and then began moving.
They cleared the lobby, which looked
untouched except for a few spent tear-gas canisters lying on the tiled floor
underneath a small broken window.
With each floor they cleared, Duncan noted
that there was very little disturbance to any of the furniture, desks, or
supplies. After reaching the third floor, they moved cautiously towards the
second room on the right where the heat signatures were indicated in the
previous transmission from Fort Lewis. Duncan gazed around the edge of the
wooden doorframe and saw a man in jeans and a camouflage parka pacing back and
forth along the window. He was clutching an AK-47 and nervously muttering
something to himself. Lying on the floor a few feet away was Mike Rollins.
Duncan studied the supine figure of his friend, watching to see if his chest
was rising and falling. Then he heard Rollins moan and saw his fingers twitch. Thank
the almighty, he’s alive.
The man by the window moved next to
Rollins and kicked him in the ribs. “Be quiet or I’ll break the rest of your
ribs.” As the man swung his leg back to deliver another kick, a 9mm round tore
through his jaw followed by another one to his forehead. Duncan sprang into the
room as the man fell backwards against the windowsill before sliding down to
the floor. Kulovitz followed behind, sweeping to the right as the two men
secured the small space.
Duncan squinted in the sunlight and slowly
moved forward towards the two figures, kicking the rifle aside and then
removing the dead man’s pistol and knife. Then he knelt down on the cold floor
beside his friend.
“My God—Mike, are you OK, buddy? What
happened?”
“Duncan,” whispered the man, his bleary
eyes trying to focus.
“Yeah, I’m here,” he said, lowering his
pistol. Mike was shivering and pale. On the floor were empty vials of drugs and
used syringes. Duncan examined a dried bloodstain on Mike’s left temple. “Do
you have any other injuries other than your ribs and head?” he said, examining
the man before pulling up the wool blanket from around Mike’s waist. The
pale-faced figure just shook his head. “There were several other goons up here
until this morning,” he said, whispering but only managing a raspy cough.
Duncan reached into his vest and removed a small flask of water, putting it up
to Mike’s cracked lips.
Duncan placed his other hand on his
friend’s shoulder and
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