The Hunt Chronicles (Book 2): Revelation (18 page)

“Sir,” DJ grunted as we approached.

Campbell acknowledged us, and then turned to Kat who was holding a crate.  “Kat, distribute the radios to the team. “

“Captain,” Fish started, “you aren’t going on this mission.”

“Excuse me, First Sergeant?” Campbell shot back.

DJ raised his hand, “Hear us out, sir.  We need you here for command and control.  That ain’t my thing.  Besides, Enrique is good, but no one drives Big Red like me.”

Campbell seemed like he was about to argue more, but Fish cut in.

“DJ is better at this shit than you, sir, and I need the best drivers and shooters if I’m going to get through a few thousand Zulu’s and rescue these dumbasses.”

“The Major said that there was only a thousand,” Campbell contended.

“Yeah,” Fish said, then gestured at the overcast sky, “But it’s dead-weather.  I’m betting those numbers will double or triple by the time we get there.”

Campbell eyed me, as if I didn’t belong in the conversation.  I backed up and leaned on a truck, pretending to check my AR-15.

“Look you two, I’m tired of sending others out to risk their lives while I sit here safely and worry if the teams are going to make it back,” Campbell looked at the ground and then back up to DJ.  “Especially you, XO.  You have a wife and child back here.  I don’t want to have to tell your son you’re not coming home.”

“Make no mistake, sir, but I do what I do
for
my wife and son.  Don’t let your pride or guilt make crappy decisions.”  DJ’s hard face softened under his thick beard.  “We all have our jobs to do.  This is mine,” he gestured back into the heart of the camp, “and that is yours.”

Campbell released a heavy sigh and handed his radio to DJ.  “Alright, but don’t make any stupid decisions,” he said to the big man.

“Heh,” DJ chuckled, “don’t tell me, tell Fish.  He’s in charge.  I’m just his driver.”

The trio broke up and I followed them in between Big Red and Vader where the rest of the rescue team was gathered.

“Uh, why am I going?” Daniel asked as we approached.

“Because, we may need a medic,” DJ responded.

“And we don’t need to worry about keeping you safe because we now have Rich here to take care of people’s bumps and bruises,” Fish grinned.

“Great,” Daniel sighed.  “I feel so needed.”

“You are,” I laughed.  “We need you.”

“Doesn’t make me feel better,” Daniel moaned and walked over to Jenna.

“Alright,” Fish barked, “slight change of plans.  DJ is now driving Big Red.  Campbell is going to stay back and coordinate with the group we are rescuing.”

“Figures,” I heard Gonzales whisper under his breath.  I don’t think anyone heard him except Rachel who was standing next to him.

“Alpha Team is Big Red, where I will be calling the shots.  Cecil, you’re heading up Bravo in Vader and Gonzo will be our backup with Charlie Team.  Group up!” Fish ordered and everyone gathered around their vehicles.  I stood next to Chad in front of Big Red.

Fish pulled out the paper UTM map of Melbourne and continued, “Alpha Team will evaluate and proceed to the objective,” motioning his finger down the main road into downtown Melbourne.  “Cecil, you will lead Bravo north and run parallel.  Do not move into the hot zone until I give the order.”

Cecil eyed the map.  “Okay.  We’ll wait near the old church,” he said, pointing at a small block of buildings just north of Historic Downtown Melbourne.

Fish motioned to Gonzales.  “Gonzo, keep Charlie back and out of danger as long as possible.  We may need you to cause a distraction or bring Daniel to someone that is hurt.  Do not move into the hot zone unless I call for it.”

“Roger that, Top,” Gonzales answered, and patted Daniel on the back.

Just then Lee Ann led a small group of people into the motor pool.  They were all carrying milk crates full of Molotov cocktails.  When John Ivanison from Maine told us that fire tended to keep the dead at bay, Campbell ordered a bunch of Molotov cocktails made for a last resort defense of Camp Holly.

“Everyone take a crate.  We’ll put two in Big Red,” DJ ordered.

Cecil raised his hand.  “I thought we weren’t going to use fire.  Something about burning the city, and maybe ourselves?”

“True,” Fish grunted, “but I would rather have them and not need them, then the other way around.  We may not know exactly what effect fire has on the Zulus, but I think those people from Maine are straight shooters.  I want to have a backup plan… just in case.”

No one had to ask what he meant by “just in case”.   Everyone took the crates and put them in their respective trucks.

“Alright, everyone mount up!” Fish commanded.  “Check your radios.  Make sure they’re all on our runner frequencies.”

Alpha, Bravo, and Charlie teams all loaded into their vehicles.  Boomer jumped in the back of Big Red’s cab with me and Chad.  Enrique and Gardner jumped on the back of the fire engine.

Jenna climbed into the driver’s seat of her truck, while Gonzales jumped into the passenger seat.  Daniel climbed in the back, toting his medical bag.

Cecil, Sam and Private Trent shut the doors on Vader, and the Armored Personnel Carrier roared to life.

“Ready,” Cecil said over the comms.

Chad fished out his cell phone and started recording.

“Going to rescue four idiots in the middle of hell.  How do you feel about that, Christian?” he said jokingly to me.

“Makes me wonder who the real idiots are,” I responded, and then pushed the camera down.  “Come on dude, don’t put it in my face.”

“How about you, Boomer?” Chad said, moving the camera to Boomer who was sitting between us.  His tail was wagging in excitement and his maw resembled a grin.

Boomer turned and licked the cell phone, slapping saliva all over Chad’s fingers.

“Hey dog!” Chad groaned.

“Knock it off!” Fish barked.

Big Red’s engine roared to life.  “Ready,” DJ announced.

“Alright, Alpha is taking the lead.  Charlie, bring up the rear,” Fish broadcast into the radio.  “Captain, we’re ready to move out.”

“Roger that, Top,” Campbell’s voice replied.

The bus that we had taken from the post office was parked as the gate to the compound.  Kat was in the driver’s seat and pulled the vehicle away, making an opening wide enough for us to exit Camp Holly.

The three trucks left, speeding down Route 192 toward Melbourne.

Once we crossed into the city, we were met with scores of the walking dead.  The smell hit us hard, too.  We never smelled the dead at Camp Holly, except from the few that stumbled upon our camp.

“This rescue is going to suck,” Chad whispered to me as we ran through a dozen zombies. 

“As long as we don’t have to leave the truck, we’ll be fine,” I responded.

“Yeah.  What are the chances of that?” he grinned.

“Slim to none,” I smiled back. 

“Stallion, this is Alpha team,” Fish said, radioing Camp Holly.

“This is Stallion, go ahead,” Private Manns’ voice crackled through my ear piece.

“Any word from Major Dobson?”

“Yes, First Sergeant.  Actually a few words.  Like ‘Where the hell are you guys?’ and ‘I’m almost out of ammo’.”

“Put the Captain on!” Fish growled.

“Go ahead, Fish,” Campbell’s voice said.

“What’s the SITREP?” Fish asked. 

Just then, Big Red punched through a small sedan, sending it twirling away from the fire engine.  We were all jolted to the side as DJ regained control.  I looked behind us and saw that Enrique and Gardner were holding on for dear life to the side rails.

DJ was maneuvering around a small construction site and almost ran headlong into a dump truck.

“Sorry,” DJ snorted.

“The Major sounds like he is in a bad way, Fish.  What’s your ETA?”  Campbell said, unaware of the calamity.

“About one-zero mikes,” Fish said after a moment of giving DJ the evil eye.  “Does the Major see any business signs?   We need an exact location.  Over.”

“Roger.  Checking.”  The radio fell silent for a moment.

“We could always just follow the dead,” DJ remarked.  “If that Major is shooting a firearm, it’s a given that the dead-heads will all be flocking to him.”

“Fish,” Campbell came back on the radio, “He says he is on top of a cargo truck.  Dead-heads are climbing up the front and he is barely holding on.  The only sign he sees is a cigar shop sign.  Over.”

“Roger that.  Tell him we will be there in a few minutes.  Fish out.”

We approached a fork in the road.  DJ had to slow down to push a few more cars out of the way.  Big Red had no problem shoving the small vehicles to the side.

To the right of the fork, a large sign crossed over the road reading ‘Historic Downtown Melbourne’.  To the left the road curved and then ran parallel.

Fish keyed his mic.  “Bravo, continue on the left and hold position until we call for you.  Charlie, this area seems pretty clear.  Hold here until I give you instructions.”  Both Cecil and Gonzales said affirmative, and Big Red continued under the sign to the downtown area.

DJ pressed the brakes and Big Red slowly came to a stop.  Last time I was in that area, the streets were filled with green as people celebrated the Irish festivities.  Now, though, there was a sea of rotting corpses between us and our objective.

“Jesus Christ,” Chad wheezed. 

“Can it!” Fish ordered.

There had to be at least five thousand zombies, all pressing forward toward a lone man on the back of a produce truck two hundred yards away.

Chapter 15

The Rescue

June 23
rd
  Late Afternoon

“Christ is right,” DJ grumbled, staring off into the sea of zombies.

Fish ignored him and started barking orders.  “Christian and Chad, get on the back.  Everyone strap in and get the rails up.  Conserve your ammo and use the sticks.”

I told Boomer to stay and Chad and I climbed out the back and onto the spine of Big Red.  Gardner and Enrique had already started to strap themselves to the loops that were around a pole.  The pole itself ran from front to back of the fire engine, only broken by a metal defensive position in the middle.  This allowed anyone who was strapped to the pole to move up and down the vehicle unhindered and would have little risk falling off the side of the truck.

Chad and I followed suit and then the four of us began to put the rails on the side.  DJ had designed two foot walls that would hang off the edge, pointing at an upward angle.  The height made it virtually impossible for anyone to climb on the back of Big Red.

The ‘sticks’ Fish was referring to were long spears that were ten feet in length.  Just behind the tip of the metal spear head was a two foot long cross bar.  It allowed us to spear zombies and push them back.

“Everyone ready?” DJ called over the radio.

Before anyone could acknowledge, DJ hit the gas and Big Red roared forward into the ocean of dead.

The wind was blowing at our backs, so the full odor of decay hit us like a tidal wave once we punched into the hoard of zombies ahead of us. 

We barreled down the main road.  Most of the zombies seemed to be pushed out of the way by Big Red’s shovel in the front.  Others would get stuck underneath, causing us to lurch back and forth.  The mass of the giant fire engine absorbed most of the bumps, but not all. 

As we drove deeper into the downtown area, the architecture of the buildings changed.  All of the stores, bars and restaurants were conjoined, only separating for side streets.  Luck was on our side, because I didn’t see any vehicles blocking the road.  That could have gotten ugly.

“You okay, man?” Chad yelled in my ear over the roar of the engine and the chorus of the dead.

I nodded and looked at the man in the distance, standing on the back of the cargo truck. 

Four zombies were climbing on the hood of the truck.  He kicked the closest one in the head.  It fell back into another one and the two fell into the hoard below.  It didn’t make a difference, though.  More were climbing on the hood and to the top of the cab.

We were a hundred feet away when I saw him fire three shots at the desperate zombies trying to reach him.  All three bullets found their marks, and a trio of zombies fell back.  As we pulled up closer, I saw the slide was back on his pistol.  He was out of ammo.

Fish popped up from the cab of the fire engine, brandishing his suppressed .45 as Big Red pulled up alongside the truck. 

“Keep them off the other truck!” he barked at us.

The four of us all converged on the hood of the truck, poking the zombies with the spears and pushing them off.  There was little fear of them climbing on Big Red with all of our defenses.

The man on the truck leapt from the cargo section of the truck onto the back of the fire engine.  He hit hard and I heard him growl in pain.  I stole a quick glance at him.

Major Dobson was dressed in military battle fatigues, though they were barely distinguishable through layers of dirt, dried blood, and wear and tear.  He was tall at six feet five inches, with a month of unkempt facial hair that matched the dark brown hair on his head.  I couldn’t even guess what age he was, due to the dirt and grime imprinted on what visible skin that was showing.

He was holding his ankle in agony, but seemed to suck it up and try to stand.

“Where are the others?”  Fish yelled to the man as he banged on the top of Big Red’s cab.  DJ pulled the fire engine away from the truck and let it sit in the middle of the road.  This made it so the zombies couldn’t climb onto anything and reach the back of Big Red.  We were relatively safe, but it didn’t make me feel good with thousands of zombies converging on us.

“Where are they?” Fish repeated harshly.

The man seemed to strain as he tried to subdue the pain in his ankle.  “Over there,” he gestured toward a cigar shop sandwiched between two other stores.  “We have to get them!”

We all looked at the building.  It was only two hundred feet away, but there were hundreds of zombies packed between us and it.  The windows were mostly intact except for a couple that were spider-webbed.

“That’s suicide!” Chad and Gardner said in unison.  Enrique said something else in Spanish.

“Those people are a lost cause, Major,” Fish told Dobson.

“The hell they are!” Major Dobson shouted back.  “They
are
the cause!”

“What the hell does that mean?” Fish said as he started to climb back into Big Red’s cab.  The major limped after him. 

The four of us didn’t bother pushing the zombies back with our spears.  There was nowhere to push them to.  They were crammed so tightly together that it would be like trying to push a cinderblock wall back.

A minute after they entered the cab, I heard Fish get on the radio.

“Stallion, this is Alpha.  We are about to do something stupid.  Wish us luck.”

“What does that mean?” Campbell asked.

Fish briefly told him about three more survivors trapped in the cigar shop and that it was ‘imperative’ that we rescue them.  Fish didn’t go into detail and Campbell didn’t ask.  I think the Captain knew Fish was smart enough to make those types of decisions.

Those of us on the spine of Big Red heard the exchange and we each swapped dreadful looks.

“This is stupid,” Gardner said.  “They are as good as dead.  We’re going to be dead-head food if we try to go in there.”

“No shit,” Chad agreed.

“You gringos are locos,” Enrique exclaimed.

I, on the other hand, wasn’t too scared.  Whenever I made runs into the city with Fish, he tended to amplify my courage.  I knew he would come up with the sanest plan possible.  Boy was I wrong.

Minutes ticked by before Fish and Major Dobson appeared from the cab.

“Alright,” Fish snarled as he approached us.  “Here’s the plan.”

My heart was beating faster and faster as Fish went over his insane plan to rescue the three people in the cigar shop.  It was the type of plan that would easily work minus five thousand or so zombies.  He recited the plan into his radio so that Bravo and Charlie teams knew their parts, though they were small in comparison to what we were about to do.

The whole plan depended on if the major accurately saw his three companions make it into a back room, and if our Intel from our friends in Maine was accurate. 

“Alright, everyone know their jobs?” Fish asked.

Gardner and I nodded like good soldiers, but Chad had something to say.

“Fish, man, this is locos, like the Mexican says.”

“Si,” Enrique agreed.

“You and Pablo are welcome to leave if you don’t like it!” Fish growled back, waving his hand toward the mass of zombies below the fire engine.

“Why are they questioning you, First Sergeant?” the Major said angrily.

Fish ignored him, and continued to stare at Chad and Enrique.  The two clamped their jaws shut and nodded in submission.

The plan was ‘locos’, but I sucked in my gut and accepted it as it was.  I could hear Boomer barking in the back of Big Red’s cab.

“Boomer!” I called.  Boomer climbed out of the cab and cautiously stepped onto the back of Big Red.

“You better hold onto him,” Fish whispered to me.

I nodded and grabbed the pole connected to the truck with one hand and Boomer with the other. 

Rain started to lightly fall around us.  I wasn’t sure how that was going to affect one of the major parts of the plan.

Fish grabbed the crates full of Molotov cocktails and handed them Dobson.

“I still think I should go in with you guys,” the major stated, grabbing one of the crates.

“Too bad, Major.  I go in with the guys I know.  Besides, you’re worthless with that ankle.  Just do your part.”  Dobson seemed about to protest again, but Fish quickly tossed him the .45 and grabbed an M4 Assault Rifle.

Dobson reached into his pocket and pulled out a Zippo lighter.  “This better work.”

“DJ,” Fish said into his radio, ignoring the Major, “We’re ready!”

Immediately, Big Red came back to life.  The fire engine heaved as it lurched forward into the packed zombie hoard.  Groans and moans were snuffed out as Big Red either knocked them to the side or crushed them under its immense weight.

DJ moved the truck so that the rear was facing the front of the cigar shop.

“Hold on!” DJ’s voice roared over the radio.

He threw the fire engine in reverse, and we jetted backwards over the zombies blocking our path.

We didn’t have a brush guard on the back of Big Red.  The zombies were all mushed and smashed as the fire engine’s massive tires and weight turned them into goo.  I didn’t think the smell could get worse until that happened.

The front of the cigar shop was fast approaching and Big Red slammed into the curb, sending everyone airborne and back to the metal surface of the fire truck.  I groaned from the impact, but it was short lived as the rear of the truck smashed through the front of the cigar shop.

Big Red was taller than the overhang that was providing cover for the front of the shop, and the small roof split in half as the fire engine rammed into the building.  The truck violently shook, jostling all aboard.

“Now, Major!” Fish yelled to Dobson.

Major Dobson, after recovering from the impact, lit the first of the Molotov cocktails.  Once the cloth wick was on fire, he threw it off the side, near the rear of Big Red.  Seconds later, he threw another one on the opposite side.

Fish, Gardner, Chad, Enrique, and I gathered toward the back end of Big Red.  Chad and Enrique had AR-15s slung in front of them and were wielding spears in their hands.  Gardner and I had our rifles at the ready.

“Go, DJ!” Fish barked into the radio.

Big Red heaved forward and stopped after five feet.

“Move!” Fish ordered us.

On either side of Big Red, the Molotov cocktails had created pools of fire at least ten feet in diameter.  The building wasn’t on fire, though. 

The zombies were not trying to cross through it, but rather hung around the edge.  The ones that were caught in the initial bursts of flame were trying to scatter, futilely attempting to escape the fire that was starting to consume them.

Fish was first, and leapt down off the back of Big Red into a pile of corpses.  I saw one legless zombie reach toward his boot.

“Fish, watch out!” I yelled as I started to climb down.

Fish grabbed his small sledge and smacked the creature on side of the head.  I heard a dull crack over the moans of the dead.

“Watch your feet as you move in!” Fish snarled. 

Conserving his ammo, he marched into the cigar shop with his M4 rifle dangling on a single point sling.  Any zombie movement was met with a hard and swift swipe of his small sledge.

I helped Boomer down and the rest of our team got off the truck.

We sloshed through the blood and body parts that littered the small safe zone Big Red and the two pools of flame created.  Fish was already in the cigar shop, pushing over a tall display case.

“Get movin’!” Fish barked.  We made it into the store and helped create obstacles by knocking anything not affixed to the ground over.

Two more splashes were heard behind me, as Dobson dropped more Molotov cocktail down to ward off the dead.

In just one minute, we had created a funnel for the zombies to walk down, just in case they braved the fire.  They could still climb over the various pieces of furniture that created the passage, but it would slow them down immensely.

“Get in position!” Fish ordered as he moved to the back room.  There were two doors.  One that went out back to the alley and the other was off to the side and likely led to a back office or bathroom.

Chad and Enrique lined up on the outer edges of our line of defense, spears in hand.  Gardner and I stood between them, at the end of the funnel.  The plan was for Chad and Enrique to push the zombies over while Gardner and I split the lane of fire.  That was only if the fire caused by the Molotov cocktails didn’t work.  So far, though, the zombies were not crossing into the flame.

I heard Fish banging on a door behind me, but didn’t let it distract me from my job.

Nature, it would seem, didn’t like us too much.  Just seconds after we lined up, the light drizzle outside turned into a torrential downpour.  I could see Dobson struggling to light another cocktail and the pools of flame, though not dying out completely, were struggling to stay alive.