looked around the room, his face cloaked with dread at
the next question. “Mike, where are the rest of your people?”
The man’s facial muscles slumped further
and tears began forming in his eyes. He just shook his head and clutched
Duncan’s jacket, sobbing. Mike tried to sit up but slid sideways, trying not to
lapse into unconsciousness. He pulled Duncan to him and struggled to stay
alert. “They came in on the main road—two guys in a semi-truck. Said their convoy
was attacked a few miles away and they needed help. While we scrambled to
muster our resources, they turned loose a shitload of zombies from the back of
their rig. Must’ve had a hundred of those things,” he panted, struggling to
catch his breath. “Then they fired tear gas into the windows of the buildings
to drive us out while the creatures tore people apart in the confusion. There
were at least four of those fast-moving mutants too but we got a few of them
early on in the battle.” His face went blank. “My crew—my entire crew was wiped
out before my eyes.”
Duncan hung his head, trying to process
the information and worrying about the timeline for the inbound helos. He
looked at his friend, running a cool compress across his forehead. “We received
a message from here two days ago. Sent by you, Mike Rollins, requesting us to
come out with our tactical specialists.”
Mike grimaced in pain as he tried to
straighten his back against the wall. “We were attacked four days ago. They
kept me alive—drugged me with some heavy shit and then had me read the messages
you received.” He rolled his head back and forth. “I heard myself talking,
knowing what I was saying but unable to stop myself.” Mike began weeping and
then choked on a cough, curling onto his side. “Why did they do it—why? We were
just a small outpost—there’s nothing in this area of worth. They took a few of
our fuel trucks and supplies but we just didn’t have that much.”
Chapter 13
Carlie, Eliza, and Brinkman had moved into
the treeline a hundred yards away from the main buildings. They raced along an
old deer trail for another hundred yards, making an abrupt left turn followed
by another short bounding movement to the right to evade anyone watching from a
distance. With their location concealed by the dense shrubs, they paused to
catch their breath. She scanned the surrounding forest for signs of movement
but saw nothing. The sound of the shambling mass of undead below drowned out
even the wind rushing through the trees and the smell of pine was quickly
replaced with the stench of decaying flesh.
“We have to remove the mortar team first
and then worry about the other spotters after that,” said Brinkman as another
round whirred through the air, impacting the cafeteria below.
“I concur,” said Carlie while removing her
tinted snow goggles and lowering them around her neck. She raised up her
binoculars and focused on the direction the mortar had just come from. When
she was done she glanced over at Brinkman, noting his youthful face. She knew he
had been in a recent deployment to the Middle East before the pandemic struck
but was unsure just how much combat experience he possessed. Anyone still
breathing in this new world had done their share of dispatching the undead and,
regrettably, most likely other humans who had threatened their survival. Still,
combat had enough unknown variables and chaos and she hoped that Brinkman was
as versed in real-world fighting as he was with the concepts on paper that he
often presented in pre-mission briefings.
“I want your tactical updates on anything
pertinent to what we’re about to do but follow my lead when we breach their
perimeter and eliminate the personnel,” she said, finally settling her gaze on
a small dug-out to the southwest where the mortar crew was located.
“Copy that.”
She lowered the binoculars and stood up
then made her way along the narrow trail that led through the dense spruce
trees
the next question. “Mike, where are the rest of your people?”
The man’s facial muscles slumped further
and tears began forming in his eyes. He just shook his head and clutched
Duncan’s jacket, sobbing. Mike tried to sit up but slid sideways, trying not to
lapse into unconsciousness. He pulled Duncan to him and struggled to stay
alert. “They came in on the main road—two guys in a semi-truck. Said their convoy
was attacked a few miles away and they needed help. While we scrambled to
muster our resources, they turned loose a shitload of zombies from the back of
their rig. Must’ve had a hundred of those things,” he panted, struggling to
catch his breath. “Then they fired tear gas into the windows of the buildings
to drive us out while the creatures tore people apart in the confusion. There
were at least four of those fast-moving mutants too but we got a few of them
early on in the battle.” His face went blank. “My crew—my entire crew was wiped
out before my eyes.”
Duncan hung his head, trying to process
the information and worrying about the timeline for the inbound helos. He
looked at his friend, running a cool compress across his forehead. “We received
a message from here two days ago. Sent by you, Mike Rollins, requesting us to
come out with our tactical specialists.”
Mike grimaced in pain as he tried to
straighten his back against the wall. “We were attacked four days ago. They
kept me alive—drugged me with some heavy shit and then had me read the messages
you received.” He rolled his head back and forth. “I heard myself talking,
knowing what I was saying but unable to stop myself.” Mike began weeping and
then choked on a cough, curling onto his side. “Why did they do it—why? We were
just a small outpost—there’s nothing in this area of worth. They took a few of
our fuel trucks and supplies but we just didn’t have that much.”
Chapter 13
Carlie, Eliza, and Brinkman had moved into
the treeline a hundred yards away from the main buildings. They raced along an
old deer trail for another hundred yards, making an abrupt left turn followed
by another short bounding movement to the right to evade anyone watching from a
distance. With their location concealed by the dense shrubs, they paused to
catch their breath. She scanned the surrounding forest for signs of movement
but saw nothing. The sound of the shambling mass of undead below drowned out
even the wind rushing through the trees and the smell of pine was quickly
replaced with the stench of decaying flesh.
“We have to remove the mortar team first
and then worry about the other spotters after that,” said Brinkman as another
round whirred through the air, impacting the cafeteria below.
“I concur,” said Carlie while removing her
tinted snow goggles and lowering them around her neck. She raised up her
binoculars and focused on the direction the mortar had just come from. When
she was done she glanced over at Brinkman, noting his youthful face. She knew he
had been in a recent deployment to the Middle East before the pandemic struck
but was unsure just how much combat experience he possessed. Anyone still
breathing in this new world had done their share of dispatching the undead and,
regrettably, most likely other humans who had threatened their survival. Still,
combat had enough unknown variables and chaos and she hoped that Brinkman was
as versed in real-world fighting as he was with the concepts on paper that he
often presented in pre-mission briefings.
“I want your tactical updates on anything
pertinent to what we’re about to do but follow my lead when we breach their
perimeter and eliminate the personnel,” she said, finally settling her gaze on
a small dug-out to the southwest where the mortar crew was located.
“Copy that.”
She lowered the binoculars and stood up
then made her way along the narrow trail that led through the dense spruce
trees
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