It was part of a weapons project designed to be dropped in enemy territory. The dead come back. They change. Extremely hostile. It was designed to be dropped in areas with heavy casualties, turn the enemy's dead against them.”
“Holy shit.”
“My sentiments exactly. I'd shoot for the head. Be sure it brings them down.”
A half-hour later, Stamford was climbing into a Blackhawk chopper with his squad. He had his M-16 ready to go. He had no idea what to expect. In Iraq, he'd killed two men. One an Iraqi regular and one an insurgent that had ambushed their convoy. He still could see every detail on both the men's faces. Often he saw them in his dreams.
He sat next to Chris Sampson, who was carrying the M-249 SAW. It had enough ammo in it to cut down a small army of whatever they were up against. He wanted to think zombies, but that sounded fucking crazy.
“You ready for this Lieutenant?”
“Flying into a horror movie you mean?”
Sampson was from Alabama, a blond-haired kid with a slow drawl. He loved Alabama football, evidenced by the crimson tide tattoo on his forearm. He had served with Stamford in Fallujah and promised if they ever got out alive, he would have his mother make them an honest-to-God Southern meal. Stamford was looking forward to it. Someday.
“About like that, yeah.”
“Beats sitting on my ass watching cable.”
As the chopper lifted off he scanned the men's faces. A few had their eyes closed, perhaps praying. Some looked down at the floor while others' eyeballs did a nervous jig back and forth in the sockets. He supposed each man dealt with fear in their own way. He'd never taken much to praying, although someone had seen fit to send his ass home from Iraq alive. Supposed there was a God somewhere looking after him.
Although he didn't pray, he hoped God wouldn't take the night off.
“Get out of there,” Tim said.
“I need to get the key off of him.”
“We'll find another way.”
“There's no other way,” Rob said. “I have to kill him.”
“Rob-”
“Gotta go,” Rob said, and ended the call.
He couldn't pinpoint Carl's location, but he could hear the undead man in the hallway. Somewhere. He crept forward, urging Kayla to follow. He crept to the junction in the hallway. If he went right, he'd end up back at the cafeteria. Something crashed in the cafeteria, which told him the janitor – or what was left of him – was in there.
He knelt down and was face-to-face with Kayla. “I have to go in there.”
“No.”
“Listen. That man, or whatever he is, has the key to the van. We need the key,” Rob said. “I don't want you out here by yourself, so I want you to stay close. When I tell you, close your eyes so you don't see. Understand?”
“Uh huh.”
“Good girl,” Rob said.
He stood up and propped open the cafeteria door, Kayla at his hip. There was no sign of the janitor in the cafeteria, only tables that had been tipped over. He crossed the cafeteria, Kayla following close. There was another set of doors opposite the ones he came in. He checked the floor for footprints or any sign of blood and saw none.
The kitchen door flew open and the janitor with came storming at them. Half his head had been turned to jelly. One of his eyeballs hung by a thread on the cheek. Rob told Hannah to close her eyes and plug her ears. He aimed the shotgun and fired. The shot went wide, the buckshot cutting holes in the wall.
He was about twenty feet away. Rob tried to back up and stumbled over Kayla. The janitor's head whipped around and he fixated on Kayla. She was in front of Rob, who was trying to get to his feet with the shotgun. His legs felt like iron and he couldn't quite grip the gun.
He pulled Kayla backward and got a grip on the gun. He leveled it and fired. The buckshot turned the janitor's head to jelly. The body slumped to the ground.
“Holy shit.”
“My sentiments exactly. I'd shoot for the head. Be sure it brings them down.”
A half-hour later, Stamford was climbing into a Blackhawk chopper with his squad. He had his M-16 ready to go. He had no idea what to expect. In Iraq, he'd killed two men. One an Iraqi regular and one an insurgent that had ambushed their convoy. He still could see every detail on both the men's faces. Often he saw them in his dreams.
He sat next to Chris Sampson, who was carrying the M-249 SAW. It had enough ammo in it to cut down a small army of whatever they were up against. He wanted to think zombies, but that sounded fucking crazy.
“You ready for this Lieutenant?”
“Flying into a horror movie you mean?”
Sampson was from Alabama, a blond-haired kid with a slow drawl. He loved Alabama football, evidenced by the crimson tide tattoo on his forearm. He had served with Stamford in Fallujah and promised if they ever got out alive, he would have his mother make them an honest-to-God Southern meal. Stamford was looking forward to it. Someday.
“About like that, yeah.”
“Beats sitting on my ass watching cable.”
As the chopper lifted off he scanned the men's faces. A few had their eyes closed, perhaps praying. Some looked down at the floor while others' eyeballs did a nervous jig back and forth in the sockets. He supposed each man dealt with fear in their own way. He'd never taken much to praying, although someone had seen fit to send his ass home from Iraq alive. Supposed there was a God somewhere looking after him.
Although he didn't pray, he hoped God wouldn't take the night off.
“Get out of there,” Tim said.
“I need to get the key off of him.”
“We'll find another way.”
“There's no other way,” Rob said. “I have to kill him.”
“Rob-”
“Gotta go,” Rob said, and ended the call.
He couldn't pinpoint Carl's location, but he could hear the undead man in the hallway. Somewhere. He crept forward, urging Kayla to follow. He crept to the junction in the hallway. If he went right, he'd end up back at the cafeteria. Something crashed in the cafeteria, which told him the janitor – or what was left of him – was in there.
He knelt down and was face-to-face with Kayla. “I have to go in there.”
“No.”
“Listen. That man, or whatever he is, has the key to the van. We need the key,” Rob said. “I don't want you out here by yourself, so I want you to stay close. When I tell you, close your eyes so you don't see. Understand?”
“Uh huh.”
“Good girl,” Rob said.
He stood up and propped open the cafeteria door, Kayla at his hip. There was no sign of the janitor in the cafeteria, only tables that had been tipped over. He crossed the cafeteria, Kayla following close. There was another set of doors opposite the ones he came in. He checked the floor for footprints or any sign of blood and saw none.
The kitchen door flew open and the janitor with came storming at them. Half his head had been turned to jelly. One of his eyeballs hung by a thread on the cheek. Rob told Hannah to close her eyes and plug her ears. He aimed the shotgun and fired. The shot went wide, the buckshot cutting holes in the wall.
He was about twenty feet away. Rob tried to back up and stumbled over Kayla. The janitor's head whipped around and he fixated on Kayla. She was in front of Rob, who was trying to get to his feet with the shotgun. His legs felt like iron and he couldn't quite grip the gun.
He pulled Kayla backward and got a grip on the gun. He leveled it and fired. The buckshot turned the janitor's head to jelly. The body slumped to the ground.
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